He felt fairly good about himself tonight. Another soul had been sent back to hell; another tattoo had burned itself off his skin. He could still feel the tingles in his shoulder where the mark had been, and knew it would be raw for a day or two until the nerves settled back down.

While he reminisced he hadn't realized that his feet had been carrying him along without thinking, until he was standing in front of the door to his room at the inn.

He dug in one of his coat pockets until he finally came up with the key. The lock was sticky, and he jiggled it unsuccessfully several times before the knob finally turned and the door creaked open.

"Welcome home, Logan," the devil crowed from a chair in the corner, the local gazette in hand. "Welcome home."

Logan seriously thought about closing the door and just walking away.

The devil chuckled to himself at the look of abject disgust on Logan's face. He couldn't deny that he got a sadistic thrill out of just randomly appearing in Logan’s life, but the truth of the matter was, beneath the heckling and the irritation, he always had something important to discuss. 

“Couldn’t leave me in peace for even one day, could you?” he said as he walked to his room and wearily tossed his key onto the rickety kitchen table.

“Never. Not when you’ve got work to do and you’re whiling away the hours on unnecessary earthly indulgences.”

"Yeah, well, every man's soul's his own."

"Oh, no, Logan." His voice was low, serious. "Your soul is still mine. Never forget that." 

“Smug bastard,” Logan thought. “About that second chance,” he asked, “How does that work, exactly?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out… in the event you actually succeed in rounding up all one hundred and thirteen of your wayward brothers and sisters.”

Logan didn’t respond, he just walked to the wash basin, placed his hands under the tepid water and splashed water on his face.

“Have you heard the latest news?”

“I’m a little out of touch with current events.”

"Your lack of intellectual curiosity is disappointing, Logan," the devil said as he turned over a page and shook out the creases. He glanced over at Logan. "You really should take more of an interest."

"I'm taking 'em at my own pace,"

"Really? You seem more interested in the past than the present. While you were wasting time in the tavern reminiscing about bygone days, the guests at the Galloping Griffin Inn have been complaining about loud noises and a strong burning smell.” 

“The Galloping Griffin, huh?”

“Oh yes. Not everyone who books a room at that fine establishment has been getting the exact ‘happy ending’ they were bargaining—or paying—for. You might want to see for yourself.”

“Might I.”

“Don’t dilly-dally, Logan. I’m not keeping you up here to oggle the scenery or spend your money on junk food your body doesn’t require.” 

Without another word the devil was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The watchman winced as he lifted the sheet covering the dead man’s body.

“Is it...?” his partner began to ask.

“Yep,” the watchman sighed, dropping the sheet and rising to his feet. “Damn, a sight like that is enough to make even a man like me swear off sex for the next decade.”

His partner snorted. “As if you’ve had any in years to begin with. You’d think men in this city would be more careful, given how many deaths we’ve had in the past few months.”

Glancing over toward the room door, the watchman spotted a man hanging around in the hallway who didn’t seem to belong there. He wore no uniform but simply lurked in the background as if he was trying to stay out of sight while taking in everything he could.

 “Just what we need,” the watchman said, catching his partner’s attention as he strode toward the intruder. 

“Hey, you,” the watchman called to get the man’s attention. The man didn’t budge or even seem to react as he stood there in the hallway. “Hey! This is an investigation being handled by the City Watch, so unless you witnessed something we should know about, how about you move along.”

Logan didn’t answer and pulled out a fake badge as the two watchmen walked over to him. “Inspector Carcer.”

The watchman's eyes flickered over the gold badge, their posture stiffened when they recognized the superior rank. “Apologies sir, we didn't recognize you,” one of the watchmen answered.

“Who’s the victim?” 

“We don’t know yet. We were just assigned a short time ago,” the other watchmen answered.

“Looks like the same pattern as the other victims: strangled, his twig and berries not just cut off but the wound somehow burned closed,” offered the other watchman.

His partner looked at him incredulously.

“What?! I pay attention,” the watchman said with pride.

“What’s your name, watchman?” Logan said in a tone of authority.

“Claudius, sir.”

“Well Claudius, what else do you know?”

Claudius nodded. “The ring finger is missing as well. Just like the others.”

Logan nodded in acknowledgement and bent down to inspect the corpse for himself.

Claudius’ partner contorted his face. “I pay attention,” he whispered in a mocking tone.

Claudius scowled and punched his partner in the arm.

Logan’s acuite perception picked up on the horseplay taking place behind his back and he smiled to himself at the buffoonery.  “Looks like she’s got a grudge against cheating husbands.”

“And how are you so certain it’s a woman?”  Claudius asked. “We still haven’t talked to anyone who’s seen a thing.”

“Only a woman would do that to a man. Trust me.” 

Claudius shuddered, thinking about the body beneath that sheet. There was something about guys losing their privates that was particularly unsettling—at least to any other member of the male sex.

As Logan continued with his investigation he found a necklace on the ground near the body. It featured a large, elaborate pendant covered in jewels and pearls, hanging from a gold chain of unusual and intricate weave. The chain was now broken, as if it had been grabbed during a struggle. “Something I can look into later,” he thought to himself as he palmed the item.

“Oh! And this is the first attack in a reputable place instead of a flop house or ally,” Claudius’ partner added excitedly.

“Thanks Claudius,” Logan said as he stood up.

“I’m not Claudius, sir. He’s Claudius.”

Logan turned to face the watchmen and gave them both a scrutinizing glance. “You guys brothers?” 

“No sir,” Claudius responded. 

“Why does everyone ask that?” Queried not Claudius.

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A woman walked on a dark street,  humming to herself as if without a care in the world. Some might say it was dangerous for a lady to be alone at this hour. But she was not at all concerned for her safety. She knew how to handle herself, how to fight off those who might mean her harm.

That was perhaps the first crucial lesson she’d learned from her mother, so very many years before. Survival. Self-defense. “Never trust anyone else to take care of you, my darling child. You must always be able to take care of yourself.”

The music of the opera she’d heard earlier that evening played on in her head, so lovely and often, so sad. She had never heard this music until tonight—it came from after her era, but the story of the woman had spoken to her soul, her own broken heart.

No, no one had cried or placed flowers at her grave. No one had etched her name to a stone cross above her bones. And for that she was thankful, even after all of her decades of torment and misery. She would never bow before any god so cruel and heartless, the gods who had given her so few choices in life and then punished her for the choice she’d been forced to make.

She would never sing the praises of any god who had turned the only man she’d ever truly loved against her, dooming her to fire on Faerûn and then for eternity in the hells.

But now, she had broken free from that endless misery. She had emerged from centuries of torture to find a world both new and so very familiar to a woman such as herself.

Her mother had taught her many things as soon as she’d been old enough, particularly how to please a man. Since her return to Faerûn she’d survived on those well-practiced skills, all while expanding her knowledge, her understanding of this new era. She had plied her trade along this city’s riverbanks like a lowly courtesan, pleasing many—and dispatching a few who tried to do her harm or treat her with no respect. She had slowly saved her earnings, learned the language, picked up on the tools of the modern trade until she could rise from the murky landscape into the brilliance of city life once again.

She found it a pity that so much had changed in this world, and yet men were so much the same. A pure and honest man seemed nowhere to be found, and while that made her life easy in ways, it did nothing to soothe a heart that continued to yearn for love.

She spun the gold band on her thumb around with the fingertips of her other hand, sadness filling her once more. She regretted losing her favorite necklace during the earlier struggle, but this wedding band would be easier to sell for the gold she needed to survive.

“Ah, Tarane,” she said to herself. “I thought perhaps you were different. I thought you might truly know how to love me.”  And he had so reminded her, in pleasing ways, of her M’dhal, the man who had once promised her a life with him, an honest one. But in the end he had betrayed her heart just the same, choosing a loveless marriage of convenience and safety over the passion she could give him.

So she’d done the only thing she could do, really. It was tragic, but that was life.

And life was hers for the taking, the pleasure and the pain of it, once again.

Still humming to herself, she climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to the apartment which had become her new home. She wasn’t sure how long she could stay here... hopefully a few more weeks before its former occupant was noticeably missed. The young girl hadn’t known what had hit her, the poor dear.

They simply didn’t train courtesans these days like they used to.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Logan got moving early this morning. As the devil frequently reminded him, he didn’t exactly need to sleep, but there was something about simply lying down in the dark for a while that renewed his inner strength, made him feel at least a bit less like a damned soul who had no business being in this world.

He made his way to the Galloping Griffin Inn to find Claudius and not Claudius, as expected, now gone. Logan wanted to get in there before any more watchmen came around to continue working the scene. 

He spotted the innkeeper at the registration desk and walked over purposefully and introduced himself, then showed his fake badge. “Were you working last night?”

“Yes, but I told the City Watch everything I could yesterday. Don’t you guys talk to each other?”

Logan put on his best, ‘I understand smile’. “I often find it helpful to re-interview witnesses, to see if you remember anything more after the initial shock and surprise has worn off. I’d like to go over your recollections of events directly.”

The innkeeper sighed in annoyance. “Tarane Idler. Married, though perhaps not that happily. He was in the company of a woman who appeared to have long, light-colored hair, was wearing a classic black evening gown, and spoke with a heavy accent. After Lord Idler checked into the inn they shared a drink at the bar before going up to their room.”

Logan thanked the innkeeper and sat down in the lobby with the local gazette. He found the gazette had been more helpful in getting him up to speed: a string of murders over the past few years that seemed to be connected to one killer targeting men of a certain age range and general appearance, all of whom had been out to ‘enjoy’ the company of a lady of the evening.

Logan reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace he found on the ground near the body. As he visually studied it he thought about how many of the fugitives had brought things with them: garments, jewelry, or even an ancient weapon. Quite often those material items ended up being major clues in helping Logan identify his quarry--he wondered if that would be the case here. 

He decided to take a walk that afternoon to clear his head, so he hit up a few shops where he had established decent contacts with the owners. He paid off the guys working there to make sure they would help spread the word. There might be a lot of hot property that ended up getting pawned, but when said property was connected to a high profile murder case like this one? Most of the better brokers didn’t want to be associated with that kind of business.

Logan’s tactic of greasing palms paid off. The network he created directed him to Madroon’s Curios.

The business was housed in a nondescript building, its contents were anything but mundane. Shelves groaned under the weight of fantastic items large and small. Boxes and chests overflowing with mysterious relics were piled high in every nook and cranny, forming narrow passageways of their own. Dusty books of ancient lore, flasks bubbling with strange liquids, crystal balls filled with swirling mist, wands and other magical implements of all sorts, alchemical components in unlabeled tins; all this and more could be found here.

The elderly man behind the counter peered over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, and let out a low whistle as he gently examined the necklace. “This is remarkable.”

“Nice piece of work, is it?” Logan asked. 

“Nice? It’s extraordinary.” Madroon’s voice was filled with obvious reverence. The heavy set older man looked like he could barely move about the crowded store without banging into or breaking something, yet his hands handled the necklace with the delicate touch of a skilled surgeon. “Where in the realms did you come across this?”

“At a crime scene,” replied Logan. “Left by someone who was in a bit of a hurry.”

“They’d have to be, to leave something this valuable behind.”

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Logan asked.

“Impossible for me to put any kind of precise price tag on it without performing tests, but the design is clearly Netherese; Shadowed Age-era most likely.” 

Madroon shifted his gaze from the necklace to Logan.

“We’re talking about something worth tens of thousands of gold pieces, easily. And if it’s an original from Netheril, well...I know a few mages that would pay even more to have something like this in their collection.”

Logan appeared a little surprised. “Well, that’ll have to wait.”

Madroon laid the necklace down on the black velvet pad on his desk and sat back, rubbing his chin and frowning. “There’s something about this necklace that feels incredibly familiar, as if I’ve seen it somewhere recently, or something very similar to it. I know you can’t leave it with me here, but may I draw a sketch? For research purposes, and to check with some of my contacts.”

Logan thought for a moment before answering. “Sure. Anything you could find out would be of great use to me. But you report to me directly.” 

“Of course. Can I ask who you are looking for?”

“I assume you heard the news about the murder the Galloping Griffin?”

“The pecker thief?” Madroon exclaimed.

“Try not to sound so excited,” Logan said. “I wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, yeah, no. Just...this is certainly a big deal. I’ll definitely see what I can do for you.”

Logan waited in the shop for several minutes while Madroon worked on his sketch. Once Madroon was finished Logan began to walk back to his room at the inn. There was no other angle for him to investigate, at least not until he got further information from Madroon.

"Ah, lust and adultery. They never seem to go out of fashion." The devil said happily. "Having a nice time?"

"Doing what?" Logan asked as he looked up to see the devil fall into step beside him.

"Finding out about your new friend of course."

Logan shrugged and kept walking, not looking in the devil's direction, hoping he would get the hint. He did not.

"You know, your time might be better served visiting The House of Sune instead of going back to your room brooding." the devil said as he kept pace.

Logan stopped in mid-step.

"Why so surprised Logan? I'm a firm believer in worship. It's best of course when I'm the one being worshiped but we can't always get what we want," he said, smiling sunnily at Logan.

Logan’s suspicion increased tenfold and he turned to face the devil fully. "I'm almost afraid to ask where this is coming from?" 

"Why Logan, I'm merely trying to help. Do you doubt my sincerity?" When Logan's only response was a disbelieving look he smiled again and began walking, forcing Logan to catch up to him. "Try the Grace Street church Logan. I hear the services there are hot."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His footsteps made no sound as he walked across the stone floor. The temple resembled a party held by the elite more than a place of worship. It was, however, a temple, as denoted by the symbols and shrines everywhere. Mingled among the religious iconography were people, all of whom are quite good looking, and well dressed. The place smelled fragrant, thanks to several censers placed all around the building. The ceiling opened to the sky in the center, giving it a courtyard appearance.

“Welcome.” purred a feminine voice “I am First Heartwarden Cheria. How may I help you?”

Logan turned to address the woman. She looked more like an upper-class madame than a priestess, what with her revealing clothing, perfect makeup, and dark flowing hair.  He showed her his fake badge before speaking. “Do you know Tarane Idler?”

“Our worshipers  are some of the most prestigious men and women not only in the city but all of Faerûn. They rely on us to value their privacy.” she replied with a cool smile.

“Even more than their lives?” Logan shot at her. “I guess you haven’t been following the news, First Heartwarden, or else you’d know that Idler is dead. Two nights ago he was found strangled in a room at the Galloping Griffin with his family jewels and ring finger hacked off. “

Cheria’s professional demeanor slipped and faltered notably at the news.

“So you tell me—was it one of your priestesses that he was seen with, checking into the inn the other evening? If so, I think you’d like to know if you’re setting up your ‘prestigious’ worshippers with a cold-blooded killer.”

Cheria didn’t answer as the color drained away from her face.

“She is one of yours, isn’t she?” Logan pressed.

“No, she isn’t, but...I think I may know who she is. Tell me, did your mystery woman speak with a heavy foreign accent?”

“According to the innkeeper she did.”

“Then I do think the woman I have in mind is her, though it’s hard to say with complete certainty.” 

“What’s her name?” Logan inquired.

“Soraya Ventinari. She came here petitioning to join the clergy.”

“So you turned her down,” Logan said.

“I did. She came in about...three months ago. She was certainly well-spoken, attractive, put together, and showed an extensive knowledge of the arts and culture. A near perfect candidate. But she was, well...something seemed a little...” Cheria trailed off, as if uncertain how to express herself.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“Just...off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at the time, but it was as if she were not merely from another country, but from another time period entirely.” Cheria took hold of her holy symbol and shook her head. “And I also sensed something dangerous about her. In my profession I have to trust my instincts, and my instincts told me she was trouble.”

“I see,” Logan said. “So you’ve never set her up with Idler.”

“No, absolutely not. Lord Idler has been a worshiper of ours for several years, that’s true. But for the past several months he’s been training with another one of my priestesses. Rhaessa Carteri. She was the one who was supposed to meet with Idler for a date to the opera.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Rhaessa?” 

“I can’t recall, it has been a while. You don’t think...”

Logan pondered for a moment the possibility of what Soraya might have done to Rhaessa. Perhaps Soraya was keen on taking Rhaessa’s place...

“You're thinking Soraya may have done something to Rhaessa aren’t you?” Cheria asked.

Before Logan could answer, a small yellow bird landed on the pedestal of a nearby statue and chirped at him earnestly. Looking at the bird, Logan noticed there was a small scroll attached to its leg. He retrieved the scroll and read the text; it was a message from Madroon requesting his presence at the Brasserie Gallery. 

Logan had every intention of visiting Rhaessa, but if he was right and Rhaessa is dead that visit could wait. 

Logan thanked First Heartwarden Cheria for her cooperation and excused himself. Once he exited the temple he went off to meet Madroon.

The Brasserie Gallery was easy to spot thanks to Madroon waving him over like an excited child.

“So, care to explain to me why we’re meeting here?” Logan asked. “Don’t tell me our femme fatale has also robbed the Gallery.”

“No, nothing like that. But I knew there was something incredibly familiar about that necklace when you showed it to me. You’ll see, upstairs.”

Logan followed Madroon up the grand central staircase of the Gallery to the top landing. 

“I wracked my brain for hours trying to remember why that necklace was so familiar. Like something out of an ancient tome. Then it hit me, because I’d just been here not more than a couple weeks ago for the Chardin exhibit. Besides the fact that I know the permanent collection of Netherese art here like the back of my hand.”

Madroon walked with determination past the first spacious hall of elven paintings to a second room full of even more vibrant canvases, large and small. Logan knew next to nothing about this kind of art; it had never been in his range of interest. 

In the second room, Madroon headed straight for one medium-sized painting in an elaborate gold frame. It was a portrait of a woman in a fancy blue dress against a dark background. Her bodice had been undone to expose her breasts, and she regarded the viewer invitingly, as if beckoning to draw you into her world.

Logan walked up and took a closer look at the painting and noticed the expertly painted necklace around the subject’s neck. “I'll be damned.”

“I knew it! I knew it looked similar to the piece you showed me,” Madroon beamed.

“Who is this woman?” Logan asked.

“Sorella Ventdavathi,” Madroon answered. “Only one of the most famous courtesans of the Netherese Shadowed Age”

“A.K.A. Soraya Ventinari,” Logan said to himself. Logan then turned to address Madroon “Courtesan, huh?”

“Oh, but she was considerably more than that!” Madroon continued. “Courtesans such as Ventdavathi were highly regarded not only for their beauty but for their education and artistic skills, and ability to provide intellectual stimulation.”

Logan smirked. “As well as stimulation of a more physical kind, no doubt.”

“Of course,” Madroon grinned. “But the Hyrr’ol Turodahel, or ‘honest courtesans’ like Sorella, were some of the most powerful women in Netheril. For a young woman whose family could not afford a decent dowry, becoming a courtesan was often seen as a preferable fate to being locked up in a convent. Courtesans mingled with members of the noble families, the Council of Ten, even foreign emissaries and kings. They were skilled at reading and writing, they had freedom to travel the city and beyond without an escort. The clergy even turned a blind eye to their prominence in the region. It was believed these women helped discourage an even more terrible sin than infidelity, one which was rampant in other cities.”

“And that more terrible sin would be...” Logan began.

“Homosexuality.”

“But I’m guessing her fame didn’t come from making off with some of her customers’ family jewels.”

“Certainly not.”

“What happened to her?” Logan tried to read the brief biographical notes on the subject next to the portrait. “Sounds like she died fairly young.”

“Yes. Not so uncommon for courtesans I’m afraid, honest ones or not. That said, Sorella’s death was grim. She fled the city—as many who had the financial means did—to escape the plague that was ravaging the city. Over sixty thousand died before the danger passed. But when she returned, she found all of her remaining fortunes gone. Her home had been looted, and the city as a whole was far less welcoming to courtesans than before. The clergy needed someone to blame for the gods’ wrath in killing so many in the plague and these women made an easy target.”

“Typical,” Logan said.

“Sorella faced charges of practicing the dark arts before an Inquisition,” Madroon continued, “and where before some of her wealthy clientele might have held sway and paid some extra alms to the clergy to see her to freedom, those remaining alive were cowered into disowning her to protect their own self interests. Even her most ardent admirer, M’dhal, the individual who originally commissioned this portrait. He, too, would not put his own neck on the line to save her. She was convicted and sentenced to public execution.”

“Hell of an end to an illustrious career,” Logan said.

“Legend tells that not only did she refuse to repent for her sins before her death, but she cursed the gods, and the city while being led to be burned alive in the city square.”

Logan studied the painting for a while longer. “Well this certainly is an interesting connection. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything Inspector. It’s nice when I can put my obscure knowledge to real use for a change.”

Madroon hurried off to return to his shop. Logan followed him out soon after. He was now certain his current target was Sorella Ventdavathi. “Now to locate her,” he concluded to himself, stepping into the shadows.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In another tavern, further uptown, a woman sat sipping her own drink and waiting for someone to arrive. Someone--anyone, really. Tonight she was not feeling too particular. All she wanted was company, a man she could entertain to keep her mind from drifting to thoughts of the past, recent and far more distant.

She knew she shouldn’t feel sad, but she did miss Tarane now, even if he had proven himself unworthy of her. She had decided to keep his ring for a while, not ready to let it go. Even though it only fit on her thumb, she could imagine what it would be like to finally find a man who would marry her and treat her with proper respect.

“Can I ask what the lady is drinking tonight?”

She turned to examine the man who had finally taken the bait. Fair-haired but balding, a little stocky, not entirely unattractive but not exactly the type she usually liked the most. Maybe that was a good thing. She wasn’t ready to fall for another tonight, but she could always use the money. This city was not an inexpensive place to try to survive.

“An old fashioned,” she said, taking a last sip from her tumbler to see if he’d offer to buy the next round.

“Funny, you don’t look all that old-fashioned to me.”

“You might be quite surprised,” she said.

“I love your accent, what is that, Halruaan?”

“Orofin,” she corrected him. She still had trouble accepting, no matter how much this world had changed, that the city states of her past that had warred so much were now united into one country.

“Chasolné, the city of love! I should have known. Can I buy you another round? A beautiful lady like yourself shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

She glanced quickly at his hands—no wedding band, but she knew that meant nothing. Provided he treated her properly tonight she only wanted some casual company...or whatever else for which he’d pay her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Logan headed over to the address Cheria had given him for Rhaessa Carteri. She lived in an apartment above a storefront. No one answered when he knocked on the door. He decided to stake-out the place in a tavern across the street to see if Rhaessa or Sorella showed up.

He grabbed a table near the windows so he could keep an eye on the street. He listened to the other patron’s small talk as he sat and watched, keeping an eye on the outside. 

If neither woman made an appearance soon, Logan considered finding an alternative way inside the building. He had few doubts that Sorella had likely killed Rhaessa to take over not merely her apartment but in many ways, her life. It would make sense as a way for her to build a clientele and try to survive in this world. But for the moment he’d sit and wait, and try to make sense of this particular fugitive, her story.

Which of these tattoos is Sorella’s? he wondered, pulling up the right sleeve of his tunic to study his arm. And what did she do to end up in the Shelves of Despond?

“Contemplating the great mysteries of the universe, Logan?”

If he wasn’t so used to the devil’s out-of-nowhere appearances Logan might’ve jumped out of his skin. As it was, he merely rolled his eyes at the figure who had suddenly materialized across from him at the table. This time the devil was dressed in a dapper tuxedo, a red rose boutonniere pinned to his chest.

“Yeah,” Logan said, “like what you’re all dressed up for tonight.”

“Ah, an evening at the opera, my little minion! One of my absolute favorites is being staged tonight. Yon’Cath, of course. Thought I’d show up to give a little personal ‘inspiration’ to the singer performing Dispater.”

“I’m sure he’ll truly appreciate it. So tell me,” Logan asked, leaning across the table, “why Sorella Ventdavathi was sentenced to the Shelves of Despond. Simply for being a courtesan?”

“Not hardly. The gods have a bit of a soft spot for whores, at least the repentant ones. No, Sorella’s crime was her blasphemy, rejecting and cursing the gods in her hour of death.”

“So for that, she’s been tortured and imprisoned in hell for centuries.”

The devil raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t make the rules, Logan. If you don’t like the system, blame the gods, not me.”

Logan could only shake his head. “She was stuck living in an era and environment that gave her no other options to survive. I don’t think it’s fair.”

“And clearly, neither does Lady Ventdavathi. But before you get out the violins or sing a song of sorrow for this fallen soul, don’t forget about what she’s done since returning to Faerûn. Killing and mutilating all of those men...hardly seems like the actions of a noble, fair and ‘honest’ woman to me. What about you, Logan?”

He hated it when the devil was right.

“My my my, will you look at the hour? I’d better get going if I don’t want to miss the overture. You, too, might want to stay alert, Logan. I don’t want you to miss your chance to score tonight. But I’d watch out for this fair lady’s caresses...I hear she can burn you through to your very soul.”

In a blink of the eye, the devil disappeared. Logan sipped his ale, contemplating his next move. But then he saw her, across the street. A woman with long, amber-blonde hair, carrying herself with a style and allure that made her stand out in the crowd.

Sorella. It had to be her.

Logan watched as she walked up the block to the building entrance, then let herself inside. He waited a few minutes longer, contemplating his plan of action. He could hover by the door and hope someone would let him up, especially if he showed his badge...or he could try something a little more direct. As he thought, he took note of a flower stand at the corner of the street.

He gulped down the last of his ale and departed. He headed first to the flower stand and contemplated the various bouquets and single flowers available.

“Yes sir, can I help you?” the woman running the stand asked.

“Yeah, ah...what kind of arrangement can I get for...” he paused.

“Is this for a special occasion?”  the woman asked.

“Yeah you could say that.”

“Then may I suggest a dozen roses?”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Logan agreed. He couldn’t look too cheap if he was going to pull this off.

Logan finished the transaction and then carried his bouquet over to the building entrance.

He looked around to ensure he was relatively alone before he picked the lock. As soon as he heard the lock disengage Logan hurried inside and quietly made his way up the stairs. Remembering the apartment number Cheria had given him, Logan walked down the hallway as calm as he could manage, though his heart was going at a double-time pace. As often as he had done this by now, there was always a certain tension that came with first confronting one of the damned.

He knocked on the door, waited, but got no answer. 

He knocked again and a few seconds later heard a muffled “Yes?” come from the other side.

“I have a flower delivery for...Rhaessa Carteri?” he said.

“Rhaessa is not here today.”

“Could you sign for it? I don’t want to leave this out here in the hallway.”

There was a short pause. “How did you get in the building? The door is locked.”

“The nice old lady downstairs let me in.” Logan lied.

“Please, a minute,” he heard from inside. And even from out here, in the corridor, he could sense it; he felt the presence of another one like himself near-at-hand. It was a skill he’d only developed with experience, after all of the prey he’d tracked and returned to the hells so far. A subtle dark energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up...and the faintest hint of brimstone in the air.

The door was unlocked and then cracked open, until the security chain inside went taught. Logan peered around with a smile, trying to look cheery and non-threatening. Sorella studied him through the narrow opening, her dark eyes hard and distrustful.

He’d be, too, after centuries in hell.

“I’m sorry,” Logan began. “This is Rhaessa Carteri’s address, isn’t it? My boss’d be really mad if I left the flowers at the wrong place.”

“Yes, it is, but as I said, Rhaessa is not here. I’m her...roommate.” The woman spoke with a heavy accent as the innkeeper and Cheria had described previously. “I’m afraid she is away.”

“Hey, I just have to deliver the flowers. A pretty lady like you,” Logan tried to lay on the charm, a skill that he felt incredibly awkward about after all these years, “I’m happy to give them to you instead.”

That finally earned him a smile. The door closed again momentarily as Sorella undid the chain and then swung it open fully. She had already changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing on the street and into a floral, silky robe. The sight of her was enough to make Logan catch his breath, deadly fugitive from the hells or not. She did have a certain something about her that was enough to turn a man inside-out with desire...perhaps a power which had only been intensified during her centuries in the hells. But he also knew how deadly she was, so he kept his cool and remained cautious.

“Please, won’t you come in?” She invited him. “You are too kind with your charming words. I want to give you something for your troubles.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“Ma’am,” she repeated with a small laugh. “You are a gentleman.” She took the flowers from him and then padded on bare feet toward what appeared to be the kitchen.

Logan stepped inside and took a quick glance around the space to get his bearings and verify there was no one else in the apartment. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from somewhere quite far away. Almost another world, it sometimes feels to me.” She came out of the kitchen counting some gold coins.

For a second Logan almost hated what he had to do next. But he knew the longer he waited, the more danger he himself would be in.

His grip tightened on the hilt of his scimitar. She looked up at him just as he drew the weapon but he wasn’t fast enough for her infernal speed. The green-flecked steel blade sliced through the air and she was on him, screaming, her hands clawing at his neck and face, as she lunged at him.

“Bastard!” she screeched, her brown eyes alight with hellfire.

Logan flinched against the burning touch of her fingers searing his skin. He tried to block out the pain and summon his own infernal strength to push her off of him but she was strong—far too strong for a woman of her size.

The room filled with the sound of shattering glass as Logan crashed through the living room window.

“Dammit,” Logan cursed, frustrated and angry at himself. He shouldn’t have missed that first shot. 

Falling always hurt like, well...hell. There was no other way to describe it. But his body had been broken and mended itself over and over again, and he’d jumped out of windows and off rooftops far higher than five stories before.

He landed roughly on the ground in the alley outside.  Logan staggered to his feet, checking he hadn't lost his sword. 

The next thing he knew the wind was knocked out of body as she threw him against the wall with enough force to leave him briefly dazed.

She glowered at him, preparing for another attack. “Agent of Bel, who are you to think you can send me back there!” she hissed at him.

“I’m only doing my job, Sorella.” His voice was weak, his body ached, and if he’d been mortal the fall probably would have killed him.

“You can burn in hell, like all the others!” Rage filled every word she spit out at him. “All the men who used me and threw me away, now it’s your turn. I will take your manhood and leave you as worthless as they left me on my own funeral pyre.”

She was on him again. With her teeth bared in a feral grin Sorella leaped forward, her hands lashing out at his neck. Logan stepped forward and to the outside. He slammed the pommel of his scimitar and his other forearm against Sorella’s arms, blocking her assault. Sorella reacted quickly, folding her arm back to make her elbow a blunt object. Her momentum carried her forward, and her elbow hit Logan hard at the base of his rib cage. With a concussive whuff, he felt half his breath abandon his body. It was only an instinctive tightening of his abdomen that prevented him from being left gasping for breath. He felt her fist coming. If he stood still and looked for it, his upraised face would be a natural target she could not miss. She howled with rage as her fist came hurtling down, Logan darted to his left. As he moved, his left hand came up, and his blade slashed across her neck. Her screams fell silent as Logan’s blade found its mark. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as her soul was ripped from her being and returned to the Shelves of Despond. 

Logan fell to the ground clutching his chest and gritting his teeth as he fought the agonizing pain. Wisps of smoke escaped his grasping fingers as another tattoo burned away.

Later that evening Logan returned to his room at the inn.

He always preferred a clean kill. It was for professional reasons. It demonstrated skill and discipline. But when he was being honest, he knew there were spiritual ones, too. If it even made any sense for a damned soul to worry about spiritual reasons. He didn't know. Tonight, though, he hadn't had a choice of tactics. This one ended with his thumbs in the boy’s eye sockets before sending him back with a dagger thrust to the neck. Logan walked to the wash basin and shoved his hands under the tepid water. He rubbed his hands together loosening the gore caked on his skin turning the clear water a brownish color. 

"Kids! I love 'em. So natural and unspoiled. All that savagery and greed."

Logan scolded himself. He should have known that something was up when the devil appeared unannounced. He didn't turn around. "You must have enjoyed watching that."

"I always enjoy watching you work, Logan."

"He was eight years old."

"I don't make the rules. I just metel out the consequences for breaking them."

Logan removed his hands from the basin and reached for a nearby towel. "So, what you're telling me is that you're really just a cosmic bureaucrat."

The devil reached past him and reduced the towel to ashes with a brush of his fingers. "A little respect, if you please," he said dryly. "After all, what are you but a tiny cog in the same great wheel?"

"I'm a professional," he said, as he glanced at the devil's reflection in the mirror.

"No." Now the Devil was leaning against the wall. "You were a professional, Logan. And a good one, too, despite those flaws we've discussed. But you threw that away, and now you're just another minion...of...the hells." He accompanied each word with a poke to Logan's bicep.

"Screw you," Logan muttered, and crossed the room to get a fresh shirt. 

"Oh, come on. You ought to be used to the gritty side of death. Besides, think of all the people he would have killed if you hadn't sent him back. He was already on his third family, you know."

"Don't try to tell me that you care about his victims."

He pursed his lips, considering it. "No. Not really. Human suffering isn't of much interest to me. Unless I'm causing it, of course.”

"When are you going to stop trying to manipulate me and just let me do my job?”

"Why, Logan," the devil said with wounded earnestness, "our whole relationship was founded on manipulation. The pain, the visions, the dreams...For decades I had you writhing in the palm of my hand. I thought it worked for us. You don't agree?"

Had it been so simple then?  Logan thought. No separation, no freedom. His soul surrounded on all sides with agony. In hell, the devil didn’t have that face then. He didn’t need one. The torment, it had been...everything. There hadn't been any hope then, either. Nothing that would make him drive his thumbs through the green eyes of a child and rip the soul out.

"Yeah, well, you're not as good at it without the brimstone to help you out.”

"Is that despair I hear? Tsk, tsk.” 

"I spend my days and nights trying to slaughter my way to a second chance. What do you think?"

"So you're giving up on that second chance because you don't want to get your hands dirty. Goodness. What would Satin say?"

Bastard. He was always in his head. He never wanted, ever, to hear her name in his mouth. "You know, maybe she wouldn't care. Aren't you the one who's always telling me she's moved on?"

"I say a lot of things, Logan. I would have thought you had better sense than to believe me all the time."

There was a brief moment of silence. The Devil shifted impatiently. "This is all very self-indulgent, and I don't think I like it. I didn't bring you back from the Shelves of Despond to have you sit around and brood. In fact, as your employer, I forbid it."

With a wave of his hand a bag appeared. The devil leaned over and opened it. Logan half thought that he should brace himself for a stream of bats or flying rocks with teeth to come out of it. But no, he reached into it and tugged out a simple blue dress shirt with a matching surcoat on a clothes hanger. This wasn't making any sense. Logan’s expression must've said as much, because the devil smirked and handed them over to him.

“What's this?” Logan asked skeptically as he accepted the garments.

“We have someplace we need to be and you need to look appropriate.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner tonight. My treat.”

Located on the northwest corner of the intersection of the High Road and Waterdeep Way stood what has been called Waterdeep’s most plush inn. The Jade Jug was deserving of its prime location; many noble families envied the spotless, luxurious accommodations. Every detail, from handsoap bowls beside the piped-water baths to the bedside icebox filled with shrimp snacks and chilled wine, had been thought of. A guest's every need was attended to by a personal servant of their choice for the duration of their stay from those not presently engaged with another customer. Anything a guest wanted was instantly provided. The décor was muted, not garish or in bad taste. 

The devil and Logan pulled up in front of the inn in a well appointed sedan. A young male valet opened the mahogany door. “Welcome to The Jade Jug.” Said the valet as he assisted the devil out of the carriage.

As the sedan drove off, the devil and Logan were greeted by the maître d’. The mature male smiled broadly and escorted them into the inn. Without any introduction, the maître d’ immediately seated the pair.

“I’m impressed.” said Logan. “What is this really about?”

“I like you Logan. I’m just showing my appreciation for all of your hard work.”

“Yeah right. Just tell me what you want. What you need done. What you need undone. You don't have to spend three or four hours building up the suspense.”

“Do you know why I like you, Logan?"

"I always figured it was my pretty face."

"Mmmm....no. Think how many times I ruined it. Several hundred, I'd guess. There was the acid, the rats, the hooks-”

"Okay, then...why?"

"It's that defiant will, that pride. It's what brings all my best victims to me. But seriously, can't I just treat you to a decent meal, a show of appreciation to a hard worker from his employer, without having to endure this - this very disturbing display of paranoia?"

"Nope." He grabbed one of the rolls and started to butter it. "First off, you're the one who gets pissed whenever I dare to take five minutes away from my precious mission to get a bite to eat. And you're also the one who's led me to expect something nasty behind every supposedly nice thing you do for me. Paranoid. Ha!" He snorted. "What - you're gonna tell me that I need to get up and send the maitre d' back?"

The devil opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a slight cough from the waiter, who'd been standing beside the table unnoticed. He looked at Logan and raised an eyebrow at his simple, out of style attire. Barely acceptable by the inn’s standards.

The devil ordered the soup du jour and the salmon. Logan ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Whatever the devil’s trick was Logan planned on milking it until he decided to let the cat out of the bag on his real motive.

And then they waited. Logan just stared at him, not letting him out of his sight. The devil pretended not to notice, idly running his fingers up and down his necktie and looking innocently up at the ceiling. Logan was sure he was up to something. Finally the devil just let out an impatient sigh and looked back at Logan.

"Fine," he said, almost pouting. "Fine. You expect something, then fine. Be right back." He turned to look over at the door to the kitchen, and Logan followed his glance only to find that when he turned back, the devil had disappeared. That didn't bode all that well, but he'd be more subtle than leading Logan to an expensive inn only to ditch it and leave him holding the bill. That was way too obvious for his style.

He still hadn't come back when the waiter arrived with the soup. Actually, it was a different waiter than the one who'd turned his nose up at Logan’s outfit. He was still puzzled over this one when he turned and found the devil back in his chair, sipping at the glass of wine next to the soup. Logan glanced at the new waiter as he headed back to the kitchen.

"Different waiter," Logan commented, tasting his soup. 

"Observant."

"Should I ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing really. It's just that our previous waiter was in a brief altercation in the kitchen. One of the cooks provoking him with ... baseless rumors regarding the man's fiancé. Sad to say, the waiter now numbers among the ranks of the disgruntled unemployed. Pity."

"Yeah. Pity."

"Are you satisfied now? Was that enough to convince you that all of my dastardly shenanigans for the night are exhausted and we can have a simple dinner in peace, hopefully devoid of any further paranoia?"

"Fine. Whatever." Logan had to admit, though, that this little stunt did help to break the tension. He'd been too - too nice all night. It was almost reassuring to see evidence of the same old wickedness.

"I'd skip the soup and stick to the rolls if I were you, though. You know how disgruntled waitpersons can be."

Logan set his spoon back down on the table. Typical.

“Perfect.” He thought to himself.

He listened to two men at a corner table arguing over local politics when he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He’s here, he thought. Just then the door opened, ringing the small bell attached to it. Logan didn’t turn around, but he was fairly certain who it was. His suspicions were confirmed when he peaked at the window next to him and saw the elf’s reflection.

“Oh, hello there,” the elf said with a slight hint of a Sembian accent, “Logan, of all places.”

“Hasdrubal,” was all Logan said in reply, as the elf took a seat at the small table.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis now?”

“I should think so,” Logan said.

“Excuse me if I keep it formal with the man who killed my little brother,” he said.

“Your little brother was killing people across The Dalelands. I had to stop him.”

“You didn’t have to kill him. He’s gone on sprees before. He’s always stopped.”

“That’s not how it works.”

Hasdrubal leaned closer, though mostly for dramatic effect, he could easily hear what Logan was saying two blocks away if he wished, “You should have alerted me Logan. I would have dealt with it.”

“If he would have stuck to livestock nothing would have happened to him. Instead, your brother developed a taste for farmer’s daughters.”

The tall elf leaned back in his chair. He listened to the music and tapped his fingers on the table, his ancient eyes glaring at Logan.

“I like this song. Waylon?”

“Sturgill.”

“Ahh yes, the bard has good taste in music.”

“I thought it’d be a little modern for you,” Logan said to the centuries old creature.

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

They sat for another long pause.

“I can’t forget this,” Hasdrubal said finally.

“I don’t believe your kind forgets much.”

“No, we don’t. And our long lives let grudges fester.“ Hasdrubal paused, eyeing Logan’s coffee. Elves don’t eat really, but some have developed tastes for certain things, mostly wine. Logan knew Hasdrubal was a coffee drinker.

“Would you like some?”

The elf took the mug and put it to his lips, “That’s not bad for some backwoods inn.”

“I can’t believe you tracked me here. It took a lot to roust you.”

“My brother’s death couldn’t wait. I needed to take matters into my own hands.”

“So, you’re here for revenge?”

“Why else would I come to this godsforsaken town? You can’t have thought you would get out of this conversation alive.”

“I have my ways.”

“I know.”

“Your brother definitely knew.”

“That’s enough lapdog. Speak of my little brother again and I will eat your heart in front of you.”

“You mean you don’t want to hear how he died crying out for his brother? Assuring me his big brother would save him.”

Hasdrubal’s eyes narrowed and the room began to grow colder as he glared at Logan.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I was only doing my job. Your brother brought this on himself.”

“Enough Logan. You will answer for this.”

“I really don’t think I will.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I laced the coffee you’re drinking with a holy elixir, and I expect it to take effect any second now,” Logan said as he casually drew his scimitar from its scabbard.

Hasdrubal felt his body becoming rigid as the holy elixir coursed through his veins. Just then he realized one of them would be going back to the Shelves of Despond, but it wasn’t going to be Logan.

“You…You…Dos dalharuk d’natha!” he cursed.

From across the table Logan plunged the green-flecked steel blade into his chest. He watched Hasdrubal’s eyes widen as his face locked in a silent scream. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the man’s soul was ripped from his being. Logan gripped the table’s edge with his free hand and grit his teeth fighting the agonizing pain as another tattoo burned away. More than pleased that Logan had rid the village of the monster that was Hasdrubal’s brother and now Hasdrubal himself; the villagers all but ignored the exchange between Hasdrubal and Logan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The faint smell of brimstone awoke him from his slumber.

“Wake up Logan…”

Logan had gotten used to sleeping in discomfort. He had gotten used to not sleeping at all. One thing he never did get used to was the devil whispering in his ear for him to get out of bed and back to work. He hated that. And the devil knew it.

Logan turned to him with an expression of loathing and aggravation.

The devil returned his look with his constant sly smile exposing gleaming, pointed canine teeth.

Wordlessly Logan grunted and rolled out of bed.

“Chipper this morning I see.” The devil commented with a smirk. “That’s good. Means you’re up and ready to go. Ready to get a few more of my wayward souls?”

“Yeah sure.” Logan said unenthusiastically as he rubbed the residual discomfort from his shoulder.

“I surmise by the way you are rubbing your shoulder that you are no longer wearing a name. Dare I ask? Have you returned Hasdrubal to my loving embrace?”

“Yeah. A real peach.”

“Ah, but now you are one step closer to redemption. To gain your second chance at life. Surely you must feel some sense of satisfaction in a job well done. Although the job isn’t done yet, is it? There are still lots more souls out there just waiting for you to send them back to me. And you haven’t even discovered some of the more challenging ones yet.”

“Logan groaned to himself as he ran his hands over his face. It was too early for banter. 

“What’s my next job?”

“Don’t think of it as a job…think of it as the opportunity that it really is! How many souls do you think get this chance?”

“Who’s my next target?” Logan said somewhat agitated.

“This is what I love to see,'' he said in a velvety smooth voice. Abject misery in the midst of a seemingly perfect day. It does my heart good. Makes me glad that I picked you.”

“Thanks.” Logan replied sarcastically.

“Time to move on.”

“Move on to what?”

“To what indeed Logan.”

The devil grinned broadly exposing gleaming, pointed canine teeth.

“Time for work. The early bird gets the worm.”

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“It is morning. Almost one past midnight.”

“What difference does that make?”

“The devil is in the details, Logan. It’s the start of a new day with new opportunities.”

Logan angrily stabbed the dagger point into the nightstand and sat heavily on the bed.

“Can't you find someone else to torture?”

“Millions of them. They can wait. Everyone's in such a rush. I say, stop and smell the burning flesh of sinners.”

Logan groaned to himself as he ran his hands over his face. It was too early for banter. “What’s my next clue? Who’s my next target?”

The devil's face broke into a wide smile “That’s the spirit! I’m glad to see you have finally come to my way of thinking! That spark of hellfire within you may burst into flame yet! I’ll tell you what, I’m feeling generous today so I’ll give you a hint. But just one.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“When was the last time you’ve been to the theater Logan?”

If the devil was sending him to the theater then there was probably a good reason, an obscure one, but a good one. It was now barely dawn.

Nothing was open at this ungodly hour except for the bakery across the street from the theater. He chose the window seat for the vantage point. The baker’s apprentice brought him coffee and a danish.

As Logan nursed his coffee the familiar smell of brimstone caught his attention.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Man's gotta eat.”

"A man not on borrowed time, perhaps. But, for you, this would be classified as recreation. Like those idle thoughts of yours replaying that sweet bygone day with Dorym over and over. As if, you're expecting a different outcome. Some people would call that insane.”

“Yeah? What would they call a conversation with a devil over breakfast?”

The devil glared at him menacingly. “You have more important things to do.”

“You know, you should be grateful. You should be happy. Every week I send one of your sinners back to Hell. You do nothing but complain. Where in my contract does it say I can’t stop for a danish?”

“Don't get so cocky, Logan! You know what overconfidence leads to, don't you? You get bit in the ass!”

Without another word the devil was gone.

It wasn’t long before Logan noticed a couple of lithe bodies entered through the theater door. He crossed the street and followed. The corridors of the theatre were deserted. His footsteps made no sound as he passed. No one saw him to challenge him. He heard music and voices and then a loud crash and a scream. He hurried toward the sound. He was at the edge of the stage when a figure in the seats rushed towards him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” A little frowzy man in a billowing wrap screeched. “This is a closed rehearsal! How did you get in here?!”

“I walked in. I heard a scream.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” The director turned towards his troupe “Did you hear that boys and girls? He heard Kaylee scream from outside the house! That’s what I’ve been wanting from you all! Just don’t play it to the back of the house! Play beyond it! Beyond the house! Beyond the theater! Beyond yourselves!”

His words caused a murmur on the stage among the cast. Logan noticed a young woman who looked embarrassed. He figured that must be Kaylee.

The director turned to Logan, eyed him for a moment and turned back to his troupe.

“Alright boys and girls, take ten while Ideal with this…this…interruption.”

Logan rolled his eyes. Now he was going to have to deal with this pompous little man, and he was not happy.

“Our time is money Mister…Mister…what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” Loagn said flatly.

The director didn’t skip a beat “Why have you interrupted our rehearsal? We mount this show in two days. Our stagehands can’t seem to work within our blocking, and now you. Why are you here?”

Logan studied the little frowzy man. He could drop him right where he stood. Give the devil the ‘extra run-off’ as his contract put it. But he thought better of it. He still might be useful…for now.

“Well? I’m waiting!” The director prompted dramatically tapping his foot.

“I said I heard a scream. Who are you?”

The little man harrumphed “I am an award-winning director sir! And this! This is my theater!”

“I meant your name. Do you have a name?”

“Do you?”

“Logan. I’m a deputy for the Constable.” He was beginning to lose his patience with the pompous little man.

“Corbin Kimrey.”

“Do you mind if I look around?”

“Why? You’ve done your good deed for the day. Now you may leave, deputy.”

“You didn’t even know I was here until you saw me by the stage. Do you want to take the risk that I’m the only one?”

Kimrey hesitated.

Logan continued “You, yourself, said you only have a couple of days left before the show. Do you want to risk the safety of your actors?”

Kimrey gave in. “Oh all right, go ahead.” He said dismissively, waving Logan away. “Just make sure you don’t get in the way, all right.”

And as suddenly as Logan was the center of Kimrey’s world he was forgotten. Kimrey turned back to the stage with a billow of fabric and swept away.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He was seething. That pompous little bastard was on borrowed time.

“Excuse me sir.” A timid voice asked from behind him.

Logan turned wordlessly to see the young woman he had seen on stage earlier.

“Did you really think I was in trouble earlier?”

He didn’t know why, but the question seemed important to her. “Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

She sighed heavily and looked apprehensive. “I don’t think I was acting. I think I might be in some kind of trouble.”

“You’re Kaylee, right?” He waited for her to nod. “Why do you think you are in trouble?”

“Can we talk some place in private?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a break room in the back. No one should be there.”

Logan gestured for the young woman to lead the way. She took the hint. A few moments later they were sitting at a small table with coffee and muffins. Logan watched her pick nervously at a muffin cap. He was in no rush. He would wait until she was ready to talk.

“I heard you tell Corbin that you were a deputy… for the Constable.”

“Yes, I did. What’s this about?”

“I think a devil is following me.”

Logan nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”

“I’m sorry. You get used to referring to people by their character names during rehearsals. Not a real devil. I don’t know if they even exist.”

“Oh, they exist.” Logan muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“I wish I knew where to start.”

“I found the beginning is always the best.”

Kaylee nodded, pausing to gather her thoughts “I guess it all started right after casting a few weeks ago. Our current devil wasn’t the original one.”

“What happened to him?”

“A week into rehearsal he had an accident.” She said trying to remain unemotional. “He…he died.”

“And this new guy took over?” Logan prompted.

“A day or two later. It was a surprise too. His understudy should’ve had the role, but then this guy suddenly showed up.”

“Does this guy have a name?”

“Artemis Quinn. Has to be his real name. No one I know would choose that for a stage name.” Kaylee said then she shuddered.

“What is it?”

“There’s something about him…” she said vaguely.

“Like what?” Logan prompted.

“Like he’s not acting. Like he could really be that evil. But surely that can’t be. No one can be as evil as a devil, can they?”

“You’d be surprised.” Logan answered matter of factly. “But I’ll look into him for you.”

“Would you? I feel silly even asking, since it’s probably nothing, but his guy is creepy.”

Logan nodded, reaffirming his offer.

“Thank you.” Kaylee said as she quickly squeezed Logan’s hand.  A moment later another young woman dressed like Kaylee bounded in. 

“Hey! There you are! Corbin is bellowing for you. You’d better get on stage.”

“Thanks, Andaya.” Kaylee said quickly getting to her feet. She looked at Logan. “The dressing rooms are down the stairs and to the left. I’ll see you later.”

Logan waited until the two girls left. He even smiled slightly when he heard Andaya mutter “Hey he’s kinda cute. How’d you hook him so quickly?”

“He’s just a friend ok.”

“Then would you mind…? I like older men.”

Logan almost laughed. If Andaya only knew what kind of older he was, she wouldn’t be so eager.

A moment later he got up and headed for the dressing rooms.

No one saw him to challenge him. Most were on stage. His footsteps made no sound as he passed.

After a couple of abortive attempts, he found Quinn’s dressing room. Checking to make sure he wasn’t being observed, Logan slipped into the dressing room and started to look around.

“I ask you, does this look like the dressing room of someone qualified to play a devil?”

Logan turned around. The bane of his existence sprawled across the sofa dressed in a dancer’s clingy practice clothes.

“Beats me. I haven’t been here long enough to figure it out yet.”

“And here I thought you were a true professional. You really don’t want to disappoint me, do you Logan?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that song and dance before.” Logan said, continuing his search.

“I hold your future in my hands Logan. Remember that.”

“Like you’d let me forget.” Logan retorted but his audience was gone.

He stopped at a playbill in a frame. The paper had yellowed and was old and fragile looking. Logan thought he recognized one of the artistic renditioning's of the players, although it was drawn some time ago. He decided he would check out more than just Artemis Quinn.

The next morning Logan awoke abruptly. Now that he was awake, he wondered why. There was no sign of his irksome employer. He did feel hungry. Eating was one of the few things that made him feel human. He sat down in the dining area of the inn he had been staying at. It was early but the staff was up and willing to accommodate. The innkeeper’s wife served Logan an inexpensive but hearty meal. Logan had quizzed her the night before about the playbill he had found.

“What did you find out?” Logan said around a mouth full of egg.

“I’ll tell you while you eat.” The innkeeper’s wife said as she grabbed a nearby empty chair and made herself comfortable.  “Like I said before I’ve known Corbin Kimrey forever. A real staple of the community.”

“What about the other two?” Logan persisted.

“The girl hasn’t been in town long. I don’t have much else on her.”

“What about the guy?”

“Artemis Quinn, right? You sure you got the name right?”

“Positive. Why?”

“He died two generations ago. Papa remembers granny talking about him. Really famous performer in these parts.”

“No kidding?” Without looking up from his plate, Logan slid a pouch of coins to her.

“I have to get back to work.” The innkeeper’s wife said as she placed the coins in her pocket. “Can I get’cha anything else?”

Logan shook his head in the negative.

Logan lingered over his coffee once the innkeeper’s wife left, mentally going over the information he had collected. He finished his coffee and left the inn.

Kaylee was waiting for him at the stage door when he arrived. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I’m glad you’re here.” she said, visibly relieved to see him.  

Logan thought something seemed very odd. “Something wrong?”

“Not really…wrong…” she said hesitantly. “But…but… Artemis is the only one here so far…and, well…it's creepy. I decided to wait out here until someone else got here.”

“Has he done anything? Anything at all?”

“No.” Kaylee moaned miserably. “I feel like such an idiot. He hasn’t said…or done…but he…he scares me. I can’t. I’m gonna leave the show.”

“I’ll look into it. Stay out here. You’ll be fine.”

“Ok.” She said with a tremble in her voice. Logan looked down on her frightened face.  He couldn’t believe how expressive an actress’ face could be. 

Without another word Logan disappeared into the theater. The building was dark and empty and felt depressing. He could understand how someone jittery like Kaylee could find it creepy. Even Logan kept looking behind him, though to him, he called it instinct and professionalism.  

Artemis Quinn stood alone at center stage, spotlighted and dapper. Logan watched him for a moment as he portrayed Mephistopheles reciting a dramatic speech. Logan kept to the shadows and applauded politely as the speech ended.

Suddenly Artemis froze in the spotlight. “Who’s there?” He said in a booming voice.

“You don’t do him justice.”

Artemis dropped into a defensive crouch. “What do you want?” He asked peering out into the theater house. “You’ve come to send me back, haven’t you?”

Logan inched his way towards his prey.

Artemis was tracking the house and the timing. Then he sprang from the stage, over the orchestra pit and into the front row seating. He caught Logan by the arm and the two fell into the aisle. After a short grappling fight, Logan jerked the man to his feet. Artemis seemed to actually be trembling. He threw the actor into a seat.

“Are you that stupid?”

“What are you talking about?” Artemis said defensively.

“After all you went through you came back for this?”

Artemis stood and leapt lightly onto the boards. Logan followed slowly.

“This is my life!” Artemis declared, flinging his arms wide. “The stage! This stage!”

“Why are you after the girl?”

“Girl? What girl?”

“Kaylee. She thinks you’re stalking her.”

“Ah, yes. Sweet Kaylee. Such a pretty girl. Very talented. She told me this part was up for grabs. I should have thanked her. I’ll have to apologize to her…I’m not going to have time for that, am I?”

“We’ll see.” Logan lied. “Why a devil?”

“What other role could I play after where I’ve been?” Artemis snorted. “I wish you could have waited just a few more days. I had a great schtick planed for opening night.”

“Aren’t you through yet?!” A new voice demanded with an evil snarl.

Logan had a brief moment of déjà vu, until he realized it wasn’t his boss’s voice. This one was female. Both men looked at her in surprise and astonishment. Kaylee stood in the treater with her hands on her hips. Her eyes sparked with more than irritation.  

“You?” They chorused.

“You think I was foolish enough to keep my original identity?” Kaylee scoffed. “You think I want to go back? You’re kidding right?” 

Kaylee glared at Logan. “What’ve you been doing here? Why haven’t you sent him back? I gave you the perfect opportunity; alone in an empty theater. What do I find when I came in? You’re standing there yammering away like old women. You send a man to do a simple job…but I guess what they say is right, if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.”

An arc of lightning burst from Kaylee’s hands. Logan dove to the side. He barely wasted a glance towards Artemis but it was enough to know he had dove in the other direction. Somehow Logan had to keep her talking long enough to throw her off balance.

“So, why’d you turn over Artemis?”

“Better him than me.” she said with a verbal shrug. “And once I get rid of you there is no one to stand in my way.”

“What a pathetic over the top speech!” Artemis said scornfully. “If that’s the best you can do, you’ll never make it out of the chorus and into minor rolls much less aspire to the power you think you can hold!”

Kaylee whirled with a cry of pure rage and hurtled a barrage of arcane bolts at Artemis. The bolts caught Artemis and flung him backward on the stage. He was down but not out, and it was a distraction Logan could use. He launched himself at her, his left scimitar severed her hamstring causing her to buckle. The right scimitar bit deep into her neck. Her eyes widened as her face locked in a silent scream. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the woman’s soul was ripped from her being and sent back to where she belonged. Logan watched and felt nothing. No relief, no regret. His job was lessened by one more. Though he couldn’t avoid the pain as the mark of her name burned away. When he opened his eyes again, Artemis was staring at him in concern. Through gritted teeth Logan hissed at him.

“Opening night.”

“Thank you.”

Logan watched the performance from the stage wings. It was a brilliant production. He felt his employer appear beside him, but chose to ignore him until he spoke.

“Now tell me Logan, why is Artemis Quinn still on that stage?”

“We made a deal.”

“Oh really? And what kind of deal could you possibly make that would supersede our agreement?”

“He wanted to perform one more time. I thought he earned it.”

“You thought? I don’t pay you to think Logan. I pay you to send my escaped souls back to me.”

“You don’t pay me at all. But you could have mentioned there was more than one here.” Logan complained.  

“I could have.” The devil said thoughtfully. “Kaylee was a master of deception. Now she is where she can think about her mistakes and continue to learn from them over and over again for a few millennia. Then maybe she’ll have some perspective. You know there was a time she showed some real promise.”

Logan didn’t respond, nor did he pay the devil any more attention while the performance continued. He could tell by the reactions of the cast and audience the aura of power that surrounded Artemis Quinn and the depth of evil in his performance and even a few slight-of-hand tricks, that he was pulling off a performance of a lifetime. He knew Artemis could never fully capture the essence of the real thing standing next to him but for everyone else he could have been Mephistopheles himself. Artemis was heady with the applause when the curtain fell for the last time. He capered like a school boy high on the thrill, when he joined Logan in the wings. He sobered instantly when he saw who was with him. The devil merely regarded him coldly for a moment.

“An …adequate…performance, Mr. Quinn. See you don’t do it again. I’ll see you shortly.” Then he was gone.

Artemis swallowed a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to Logan. “I’m ready.”

“Not in the open.” Logan told him.

Artemis led Logan to his dressing room. He arranged himself artistically in a chair and looked up at Logan.

“Do it.”

With unearthly speed a precision Logan plunged the green-flecked steel blade into his chest. His eyes widened as his face locked in a silent scream. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the man’s soul was ripped from his being. Logan sank to the ground in agonizing pain and clutched his chest as another tattoo burned away. Artemis Quinn was nothing more than a memory.

“It’s unprecedented, you know. Over the millennia, there have been a few who slipped through the cracks. Isolated incidences. But never anything like this.”

“The Great Escape huh?”

“They planned this for centuries and now they think they’ve beaten me. They’re wrong Logan, no one beats me.”

The devil paused for a moment before continuing.

“On that note I want to congratulate you on your handling of Father Salinas.” He said in a velvety smooth voice. “A psychotic priest who was hanged for murdering sixteen boys in Damara, and another eight in Impiltur. How odd that a priest of Ilmater would think that he was serving his god by causing others to suffer, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less. What is it you want anyways?”

“Your every waking moment, consumed with holding up your end of our bargain.”

“I’ll do my job. Just be sure you do yours.”

The devil glared at Logan “Get that chip off your shoulder Logan. You’re in no position to make threats.”

Logan turned away from the mirror and locked eyes with the devil “Just remember… you need me as much as I need you. If you can’t police your own realm… no one will ever fear you again.”

The devil smiled broadly and clasped Logan by the shoulders. The runic tattoos on Logan’s body began to glow. Logan gritted his teeth and felt his knees buckle and his body was wracked with pain.

“Skaras Jax.” The devil said. The named rune began to glow brighter than the others.

The inn was close to violating the description of an inn. Inn implied rooms for rent with some standards of cleanliness. Flop house would be a kind description. Fleapit might be closer to the truth. Logan felt itchy just standing at the front desk. The obese, balding innkeeper sat behind the reception desk munching on a turkey leg.

“I’m looking for a man called Skaras Jax.”

“Never heard of him.” the Innkeeper said dismissively with a mouth full of turkey.

The green-flecked steel blade of Logan’s scimitar lacerated the back of the hand that was holding the turkey leg, exposing the bone. The Innkeeper dropped the turkey leg and cried in pain as his blood ran freely. His sudden recollection wasn’t much help. Vague dates. An argument over cheaper rates because the window was stuck and wouldn’t open all the way. As far as he remembered there were no acquaintances who visited nor any other strange goings on. Aside from the window business, Skaras Jax was pretty quiet. He’d come back one day packed up in 2 minutes and was gone. Logan took the key to the room where he had once stayed in and went upstairs. Gingerly, because he really did think the stairs were dangerous. The musty smell that came from the lack of fresh air, mixed with stale alcohol, and the stench of unwashed bodies got stronger as he reached the second floor. Logan grimaced as he fumbled with the lock. The door handle almost came away as he entered. The room was sparse with few comforts provided. The bed had seen better days, the wardrobe was at least intact.  Beside the bed was a small cabinet with a lamp but with no oil in it. Logan checked the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. He tried the cabinet but the top drawer was fake and the bottom was empty. He tugged at the drawer until it came out completely and looked into the empty space but nothing had fallen out of the drawer either.

“Lovely room” Someone drawled.

Logan whirled around in an instant.

The devil lounging on the bed laughed.

Logan grimaced and returned to his work.

“I have a story for you.”

“Can’t wait.” Logan said not looking up from his hunt.

“Once upon a time there was a very jealous man named Skaras Jax. Skaras was very possessive of his very beautiful wife Bella. Skaras loved his wife so much that he would regularly accuse his wife of being overly friendly and flirtatious and beat her for it. He was hell-bent on controlling her completely. He tried destroying her self esteem by ridiculing her in public and in private. But she wouldn’t leave him. She was very religious and blamed herself for not being a good wife. Then one day Bella made a new friend. And this new friend promised to protect her and keep Skaras away from her.”

“Only Skaras went from wife-beater to murderer and killed her boyfriend.” Logan was hoping that his brusque summary would shut him up.

“I don’t believe I said he was dead. Assumptions, Logan, from such a dedicated professional, I’m shocked.” The devil stood and frowned at the crumpled bed sheets and smoothed out his clothes. “Well you seem too busy. I’ll leave you to your task. Meanwhile I’m going to start a heated argument at city hall about how evil King’s Feast is and blame the rising crime wave on the local clergy. Maybe I can drum up a mob.”

“Maybe.” Logan agreed, not paying much attention.

The devil sighed “It’s been ages since I started a good riot. The trick is not to goad just any idiot to pick up a burning stick and an ax, but to convince people to turn on innocents in their own communities. It’s all the sweeter if they do so on the basis that it is a good and decent and moral thing to do.”

Logan continued to be dismissive as he ran his fingers around the window frame.

“I was going to remind you that his wife is dead albeit by his own hands. Oh…and you seemed to have missed a clue.” And with that the devil was nowhere to be seen.

Logan cursed.  He was playing games with him again. He stripped the sheets from the mattress and flipped the bed. Nothing. In frustration he kicked the bedside cabinet square in the middle of the false drawer. The lamp rolled off and crashed to the floor. The top of the cabinet, now bereft of the lamp, had come loose. Logan grabbed at it and with a little resistance the board came away. Underneath was a small shallow basin. It seemed as if the cabinet had originally been some sort of wash-stand, which accounted for the false drawer. And in the basin was a large envelope folded in and half jammed into the receptacle. Logan opened the envelope quickly and found a map and some other papers. He smoothed out the leaflets. The rantings of a madman bent on vengeance and a map of the cemetery. Logan had been looking for a dead man roaming about the city. Looking for a dead wife was somewhat easier.

It didn’t take long to find the cemetery. Moonlight shone on the hundreds of headstones. Logan stalked through the maze of graves until he finally stopped and ducked behind a mausoleum. Just a few feet away Skaras was crouched in front of his wife’s grave. Logan drew his swords and advanced slowly checking out the location of trees and gravestones he could use for cover if necessary. Skaras looked in Logan’s direction. His eyes red-rimmed. He had been crying. 

“Are you here to kill me?”

Logan cursed to himself at being found out before answering “You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.”

The man returned his attention to the grave and continued to weep.

“You’re the one who killed her. No point in crying now.” Logan continued.

“I didn’t mean to!” he protested. “Shoulda killed the bastard who was screwing her! It wasn’t her fault. She loved me. She would never cheat on me. He made her cheat on me. I shoulda killed him not her.”

“Yeah.” Logan said neutrally. “Time for you to go back to the hells.”

“But she’s not there!” Skaras wailed in anguish.

That’s when Skaras made his move and threw himself at Logan. Logan easily sidestepped Skaras’ desperate charge. The green-flecked steel blade slid between the man’s ribs. The man’s sobbing ceased in an instant. His eyes widened as his face locked in a silent scream. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the man’s soul was ripped from his being.

Logan sank to the ground in agonizing pain and clutched his arm as another tattoo burned away.

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.

 Logan was a professional and always had an air of control about him. Every move he made or word he spoke was calculated to achieve a desired effect. He never allowed emotions or the circumstances, no matter how dire, to master him. Logan tirelessly maintained himself in top condition, and constantly sought to improve his martial prowess. He was extremely cunning, able to out-think as well as out-fight his opponents. He never left a job unfinished, and he did not take threats lightly. However, for the most part, those that did not cross Logan had nothing to fear from him. He did in fact have his own code of honor although it was sometimes obscured.

 Word of his skill and talent had reached the ears of the Matron Mother of House D’Vestgar in Menzoberranzan. The Matron Mother secured Logan’s services and tasked him with ‘retiring’ her son Dorym who was a skilled assassin in his own right. Under the Matron Mother’s command Logan tracked Dorym for the better part of a year before finding him in Hillsfar. As he hunted Dorym in the streets of the city, he encountered some of Dorym’s companions who all eventually died by his hand. Logan and Dorym finally did meet face to face and an epic battle ensued. During the fight, Dorym struck a blow and Logan temporarily lost his sight. This gave Dorym the advantage, causing Logan to lose the battle, lose his life, and face eternal torment in the bowels of the hells.