The devil entered the room smiling. “The Grandmaster of Flowers, Grandfather of Assassins, His Holy General Priest of Tyr, and the King of Corymr were talking. They ended up in an argument about whose followers were the toughest and most obedient. They all decided to find the best of their best and hold a tournament to see whose was most loyal.

Each of the four tried and tested their followers to see who was the most powerful and most loyal. At last, they were all ready to compete. They met at the edge of a cliff. At the bottom of the 50′ drop was a lake and in the lake were poisonous snakes, piranhas, and a dragon turtle. The only way out was to swim 200 yards across the lake, onto an island. The island was covered with lizard men and trolls. After passing through them, the followers would then have to enter a cave that led through a red dragon’s lair and would finally allow them to exit back near where they started.

Looking at his Royal Knight, the King of Cormyr said “Sir Knight, for the honor and glory of the kingdom I want you to cross that lake, and return here through the cave.” Looking over the scene, the knight replied “I am sorry my lord, but that is sure death. I cannot do it.”

Smiling, the Priest of Tyr turned to his paladin and said “You are the might of Tyr, most loyal and trustworthy follower. You know the task, accomplish it and receive the blessing of our Patron.” Shaking his head slowly, the Paladin replied “I cannot do what you ask.”

The same thing happened when the Grandfather of Assassins tried to send his man over the cliff.

The Grandmaster of Flowers turned to his follower and said simply “Do it.” Without so much as batting an eye, the Monk dove off the cliff and into the water. In a flash he was across the lake and entering the jungles on the island. As the group waited in anticipation, they heard a distant roar and flames came licking out the end of the cave. Shortly thereafter the brave young monk came running out, burned, battered and bleeding, but alive.

The Grandfather ran over and hugged the young monk. “Son” he said, “Truly you are the pride of all of the monastery. Ask for anything, anything at all and it is yours.”

Logan blearily finished the joke for the devil.

 “All I want…” he replied, “…is to find out who the son-of-a-bitch was that pushed me….”

The devil clapped his hands together “Excellent! It’s nice to know that decades of torment haven’t dulled your sense of humor. Now, do you know who I am?”

Logan thought hard his mind was a little blurry, the physical and mental torture of hell would take their toll on any mind, but he vaguely remembered that sharp smile, that piercing gaze, only he had been surrounded by white light, and there had been music…

“You were there when I died. You… Logan sat up and frowned a little. “You pretended I was going to Mount Celestia!”

The devil snickered. “Ah, yes. I couldn’t resist. The self-righteous are so fun to tease! Always so certain that you are morally superior, infallible even. The look on your faces when you find out you’re not as good as you thought…” The devil leaned forward a little, enough that Logan could feel the devil’s breath on his cheek. “Do you want to know how many paladins we have down here?” He grinned winningly.

Logan gave the devil a look. “What, are you the devil in charge of bad jokes? Is that the newest lineup in my eternal torment schedule?”

The devil was practically taken aback. “Why no Logan. I am simply a devil. One of thousands. I just wanted to see how you were doing, if there were any suggestions you wanted to make.” He oozed sincerity. “We take customer satisfaction very seriously down here.”

Logan was silent.

“Nothing? Nothing at all? Come now Logan, surely there is something that would make your stay more pleasant. Anterian Brandy? Another shot at Dorym? The chance to see Satin?” The devil held his face piously to the sky but kept an eye on Logan so he could savor his reaction. “Ah but this is hell. No un-damned souls allowed. Well, I suppose if we tried really hard, we could think of a way to corrupt her. Does that sound like a plan to you?” 

“You stay away from her!”

The devil blinked innocent eyes. “You know what? I agree with you. Damning people has never been as enjoyable as watching people damn themselves, and I don’t see her doing that in the near future. What to do, what to do…” The devil looked at the man who remained a brick wall. “Come now Logan, I can’t hold this conversation all on my own.”

Logan gave an almost smirk. “You’ve been doing a good job so far.”

The devil sighed.  “Well, if I can’t bring her down here, we could always send you up there. How does that sound to you Logan?”

Logan eyed the devil warily. “What’s the catch?”

“Let’s suppose that one hundred and thirteen of the most vile damned souls ever to exist staged a massive jailbreak out of the Shelves of Despond and were freely roaming the Faerûn. And let’s also say, hypothetically of course, that due to one of Ao’s many oversights we supernatural creatures of the heavens and hells don’t, ah, have as much authority on Faerûn as we imply. And let’s just say that this devil wishes this situation to be rectified as soon as possible so he doesn’t lose too much face. Now under all of these suppositions, can you think of any damned assassin skilled enough to actually track down and return these damned souls, but honest enough not to go running off on his own?” The devil steepled his hands pensively. 

Logan thought for a moment.

“Branislav Semyon?”

“Too noir.”

“Kinyel Druu’giir?”

“Too sweet.”

“Artemis Entreri?”

“Too fictional.”

“Me?”

The devil raised his eyebrows. “What an excellent suggestion Logan. I would have never thought of it without you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He passed it and a quill to Logan. “Just by coincidence, I happen to have written up this contract with your name on it. It’s a simple agreement: you send back all one hundred and thirteen souls; you get a second chance at life.”

Logan frowned “Shouldn’t that be ‘get into Mount Celestia?’” Logan corrected.

The devil laughed. “Oh no, I have no say over who goes there. All you get is one more chance to damn yourself.”

Logan nodded in understanding and looked over the contract, trying to make out some of the words.

“Don’t bother reading the fine print, it’s all standard legalese, I assure you. Besides, how much further down do you really have to go?”

Without a word, Logan signed the contract. He looked at the devil, a fire shining in his eyes that had long seemed extinguished. “When do I begin?”

“Now is good. Oh, and just to give you a head start, your first retrieval will be priest. Have fun.”

The devil waved his hand and Logan’s world went dark.

Flames. The horseless carriage thundered out of the fire and barreled through a dark pit of a tunnel. It’s lone occupant helplessly endured the terrifying ride. Logan woke with a start. His eyes snapped open. He felt his hands, his face, his clothes. He stared at his face in the dark reflection of the carriage window. Lantern lights from the nearby town came into view breaking up his reflection. The horses whinnied as the carriage came to a halt. The driver dismounted and opened the door for the lone occupant. Logan exited the carriage. It was a big town complete with the mayor’s mansion and other municipal buildings. He began walking the streets, moving amongst the scattered nightlife; the homeless, the tavern crawlers, and the prostitutes. He found his mark; a church of Ilmater. Logan entered the church, made his way through the pews to a confessional, and stepped inside. The silhouette of a priest was barely visible through the dividing screen. Logan sat, sighed heavily, and began:

“I would like to confess my sins, Father. It’s been a long time since I have been to a church. My name is Logan. I was an assassin. I was good at my job. Some fifty years ago I was contracted by a family to kill one of their own. As I tracked him down, I came across some of his associates and killed them.”

After a long moment the priest, who was quite disturbed by the tail, spoke.

“This is a terrible, terrible sin, my son. And it will require a terrible penance.”

Logan smiled grimly to himself.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, Father. You see the story’s not over. I did manage to find the man I was hired to kill. He proved to be more desperate than I thought. He bested me and killed me. And because I had killed in cold blood…I went to Hell.”

Logan silently paused for a moment. The only sound was the tense labored breathing of the priest.

“Now a fundamental fact of incarceration is that from time-to-time prisoners do manage to escape. It happened in Sembia. It happened in Cormyr. And six weeks ago, it happened in Hell. 113 damned souls managed to break out.  The worst, most vile creatures who ever walked Faerun. And now they’re back with a new lease on life, a second chance to spread horror, death, and destruction all over again.”

The priest found his voice again and spoke with a very dry mouth.

“But… the Lords of the Hells… surely having their minions back on Faerun spreading chaos and destruction… all this would bring smiles to their faces.”

“I’m surprised at you Father. You of all people should know even the Lords of the Hells have to answer to a higher power. The Lord of the First will get blamed for someone’s screw up and the person who screwed up needs someone to fix things. So, I have been sent to track down the damned souls and send them back to the eternal torment they deserve.”

The priest summoned up his nerve and spoke again in a small voice.

“And this someone… is you? And why are you telling me this…this ridiculous story?”

Logan almost smiled as the green-flecked steel blade of his scimitar slid effortlessly between a small gap in the wood boards of the confessional. The priest’s face locked in a silent scream as the blade found its mark. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the priest’s soul was ripped from his being and returned to the Shelves of Despond. Logan barely had time to revel in his kill before his body was wracked with pain beyond imagination. 113 names of damned souls had been etched into his flesh in infernal script, a reminder of his pact. He clenched his teeth and fought the pain as the name of the absconder burned away. A sign that part of his contract had been fulfilled.