Upon returning to the blissful warmth of the Hellsbreath Tavern, we silently lined up for food. Our main company was compromised of the more well-off pilgrims, capable of affording lodging — unlike their astral-travellers, come-gypsy comrades, who were slowly freezing outside. The occasional erinyes would glance our way, but for the most part the tavern's devils — a similar mix of breeds to the night before — kept their distance.

We ate at the end of a long communal table,i the room attached to the barroom; Valen balancing on the edge of the bench and pressed up on my left, Deekin across from us with his feet swinging in contentment, and a group of sullen githzerai on my right. We shovelled down a brown slop of vegetarian soup, sliced root plants floating on the surface and lending to dinner's overall dirty flavour. I washed it down with a tankard of ale that — apparently, no matter the plane — did not seem to differ too much in taste and purpose from any other beer in Toril.

Deekin had joined me in my toast to a warm dinner and warmer room — no matter how disgustingly brown or devil-filled and hellish — with a clink of our glasses. Valen, despite my insistence that a drink would do him good, had refused my offer; insisting it was neither the time nor the place.

Taking another sip of the cheap beer, and feeling the flush of alcohol on my cheeks, I begged to differ; Hell certainly seemed the place for a pint or three.

As promised, I told them all I knew of Aribeth, Deekin's eyes widening in recognition as I spoke. I'd explained how she had once been a Paladin or Tyr, before her city had sentenced her lover to death. Feeling betrayed, she'd let herself fall, her revenge leading her to becoming a Blackguard, before the Hero of Neverwinter had ultimately been forced to kill her. Deekin had asked none-too-subtly if I thought she could be redeemed.

"I think she can," I said with a nod. This, the previously quiet tiefling had seemed suddenly interested in, eyes on me as I answered. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

I took another gulp of beer, slowly defrosting fingers protesting at the movement.

Valen barely offered a word as we ate, glancing around us between each hurried mouthful of soup and the next and polishing it off well before Deekin and I. Pushing his bowl away, he washed it all down with dirty grey water that I hadn't dared touch.

Surely on a plane covered in ice and snow, clean water wasn't a commodity.

I rubbed my defrosting hands together uncomfortably, the material of my gloves — enchanted though they were, were not designed with waterproofing in mind — unbelievably soggy and cold. I balled my hands a few times, stretching my painful joints.

"Here," Valen said, noticing my discomfort. "Let me take them back to the room to dry."

I gave a flat smile. "Thanks, Valen, but I'm fine."

He frowned, reaching out and grabbing at the back of one of my hands and squeezing; once, twice. I felt a flutter in my stomach, pulling them away slowly.

"They're soaked," he admonished, shaking his head and reaching for them again.

I pulled them to my chest with a firm shake of my head.

"I said I'm fine, Valen." I snapped, instantly regretting my harsh ton at the widening of his eyes. They softened almost immediately with concern.

A smaller pair of gloves landed onto the table between us with a wet slap.

"Goat-man can take Deekin's gloves to warm," the little kobold requested around a spoonful of soup.

Valen glanced their way with an absent nod, before looking back up at me with a stubborn set to his jaw.

"Emma, show me your—" he started.

"Fine!" I interrupted him.

I peeled my gloves away slowly, my hiss of pain quickly turning to one of surprise at the colour of my skin. I'd expected them to be pale, maybe blue — but bruised a deep purple?

I blinked down at them.

"You stubborn woman," Valen gruffly chastised me.

Deekin peeked at my hands in interest, stating; "Boss' fingers look like worm he ate one time."

Valen wrapped one of his hands around my much cooler ones, almost completely numb but for the dull ache I'd been doing my best to ignore. With his free hand, he lent down beside him. I attempted again to pull away, but he held me firm. I didn't have the energy to argue, already caught out.

"I didn't peg you for a martyr," Valen stated with another shake of his head as he sifted through his pack.

I hadn't intended to be one! Shame mingled with my annoyance.

I'd only intended to ignore the pain until after a drink — to avoid acknowledging for a little bit longer that, beneath the gloves, my hands were probably worse than they felt. I fully intended to whip together a salve; I had everything I needed for one…

Still holding my hands within his own, Valen pulled out a healing potion, placing it on the table between us with more force than necessary.

I shook my head, quickly identifying the unnecessarily powerful healing potions. "I've got everything I need for a salve," I insisted. "Was going to make it straight after." I motioned at my mostly empty bowl and half-finished drink.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Valen relented, pulling away and removing the potion from between us with a grunt.

I should have realised he had given up too easily.

He pulled the cork loose and upended the entire contents into my glass, eyebrow raised at my open-mouthed disbelief. The blue liquid mixed with the remaining beer, bubbling as it mixed into a pale combination of the two.

He shook the remaining drops of the liquid out, before slamming the empty flask onto the table once more.

Deekin chuckled as he took another sip of his uncontaminated beer.

"Well, don't let it go to waste," Valen motioned at my drink. "We can't re-bottle that." He raised his eyebrow in challenge.

"Godsdamnit," I hissed, reaching for my drink with a distasteful grimace. "Stubborn asshat of a tiefling."

He shrugged, before standing and stepping away from the table, our packs in his hand.

I gave him a sarcastic toast and a lackluster glare, before forcing down the disgusting combination of flavours as quickly as I could.

"Make sure she has another if she needs it," Valen told Deekin, the little bard nodding along.

I rolled my eyes. "And where are you going?" I asked.

Valen slapped one of our two new keys down on the table, the other in his hand. "Bed," he stated. I thought again of our room from the night before, and wondered if this new one had an extra bed, as requested. "You should do the same." He looked between Deekin and I.

I gritted my teeth, slamming my now empty glass down and noting that my fingers were already returning to their normal colour. "I need another drink to wash that down," I insisted, shaking out my hands as feeling started returning to them, the tingling sensation almost itchy.

Valen shook his head when I motioned at one of the imps that was hanging from a rafter, motioning between mine and Deekin's glasses with a raised brow. The little shit stared right at me, not moving a muscle. The tiefling glanced uneasily in the devil's direction, arms crossed across his broad armoured chest. Deekin reached into my satchel on the bench beside him, fishing out a coin and flicking it into the air. The imp immediately jumped to action, causing Valen to flinch, as it dove for the coin with grasping fingers and spread leathery wings. Without any effort, it caught at the falling coin, before gliding out of the room. Deekin was grinning broadly at the display, obviously in his element.

Shaking his head again, Valen hefted our packs onto one of his shoulders with a look that clearly said 'have it your way'.

As he turned to walk away, I reached out to him, falling just shy of his arm. "We won't be long," I said gently, warmth spreading through my stomach at the smile I received in return.

"Be careful," he said, equally gentle, before nodding to the kobold and retreating to our new room, evidently unablea to spend a moment longer in the company of devils.

I hissed out a grimace as the imp returned with a beat of its wings, two cups in hand, the contents of one spilling over and dropping on the tiefling's shoulder as it passed overhead. I saw him wipe it clean in distaste, shoulders tense as he disappeared from sight.

The imp unceremoniously dropped our drinks in front of us, the wind from its beating wings causing my hair to tickle my nose as he lifted back into the rafters overhead.

"So you got a penchant for tiefs, ey, fireskirt?"

A dark drink appeared on the table beside me, just as the owner of the gruff voice plonked down on the bench beside me, straddling it sideways to face me and thrusting out a hand in greeting.

I took in the point-filed fingers, following the sinewy length of arm up to the face of the owner.

The tiefling from the night before.

Arden Swift?

I honestly wouldn't be surprised, things had a way of working out…

I crossed my arms, eyeing his outstretched hand with a raised eyebrow and shifting away to put a bit of extra space between us, the heat from his body radiating off of him in waves.

"My tags Swift," he introduced himself without pause.

Deekin crossed his arms on the table, eyeing the tiefling suspiciously. "Little kobold be Deekin," he said carefully, before looking to me. "That be Emma," at my introduction he gave me a conspiratorial wink.

The man, at least fifteen years my senior in looks alone — more, if you considered tieflings longer natural life spans — offered me a casual lopsided grin, pulling his hand back and not seeming the least bit offended as he wiped it on his chest.

"Emma," he greeted me with a deep nod, all mock-formality.

Atop his mop of shoulder-length salt and pepper hair protruded two black horns, one slightly chipped, and a recent cut interrupted his hair, showing angry red scalp — the wound was healing, but it was evidently a recent close scrape. His horns twisted forward, shadowing the smiling man's forehead, where Valen's own horns twisted away. I smiled, thinking the red-headed tieflings were the nicer of the two. The most pointed difference of all, however, was the two black leathery wings that sat folded upon his back, in place of Valen's spaded tail.

I wonder if he can fly with them…

"That looks recent," I motioned towards the injury. "Interrupted someone else's dinner, uninvited?"

Deekin — who had been watching the exchange carefully with darting yellow eyes — resumed eating his dinner at my snide remark, seemingly content that I was comfortable enough to make a snarky comment. The tiefling raised a hand to his head, understanding dawning in his eyes. His smile widened at my remark.

He slapped his raised hand down to the tabletop, causing me to jump slightly at the force of it. He shook his head, taking another deep sip of his drink.

"I like you, cutter," he chuckled.

Confident that he didn't mean us harm, I reached for my own drink, taking a couple of deep swallows. "So," I continued. "What's the story?"

He pulled his lips down at my insistence, before shrugging. "I had me a little tussle with the sensei." He lifted a leg, brushing against me as he swivelled to face the table fully. "But I've washed my hands of that."

I looked down at them pointedly, shuffling along the bench to put more space between us. I pulled my lips up in distaste, but smiled to show I was joking. "I wish you'd wash them more often."

I was awarded another chuckle and a lifted brow. "Why, what did you have in mind for them?"

Eww.

Deekin groaned at the comment, causing me to smirk around my glass as I took another drink.

"It seems we have a friend in common, in the sensei," I continued, pointedly ignoring his comment. "What happened?"

He lent an elbow on the table, resting his chin on a fist and turning to me. "Buy me some bub, and I'll tell ya," he motioned to his empty glass, voice low as he finished off his drink.

I rolled my eyes, but Deekin had already excitedly pawed through my satchel, flicking another coin into the greedy hands of the overhead imp. He pointed at mine and the tiefling's glasses with a toothy grin.

Grinning, the tiefling rolled his shoulders back, wings fluttering slightly at the movement. "It was just a harmless joke, was all," he explained, jutting his stubble shadowed chin towards the quiet githzerai further down the table. "These pouting pilgrims keep prattling on about 'the Sleeping Man this' and 'the Sleeping Man that.' The thought of waking the codger started tickling my funny bone." He shrugged. "Needless to say, when the sensei caught wind, she got all foamed up at the idea."

I smirked at the turn of phrase, wondering if these were colloquial sayings from someone born in Sigil or specific just to Swift. Because I honestly couldn't picture the usually proper Valen talking in such a way. I'd have to get a few drinks into him one day and see…

"How bat-man plan on waking the Sleeping Man?" Deekin leant forward in interest.

I snorted into my drink at Deekin's new nickname for the bat-winged Swift, trying — and failing — not to picture the old tiefling clad in the original batman costume; nipples, accessory belt and all.

He raised an eyebrow at the kobold, turning back to face me with a look of confused wonderment on his features. I shrugged my shoulders with a flat-smiled apology, motioning for him to answer the question.

Narrowing his eyes at the kobold, he continued cautiously. "An old bard gathers a few trinkets along the way," he explained, eyes finding my own again. He took another drink, building tension. Deekin, ever the receptive audience, leant forward further across the table. "There's an old instrument-maker in the Cage," he paused at my vacant expression, rolling his eyes. "Sigil," he explained in exasperation. "Honestly, has your soldier-boy tanar-ri taught you nothing, clueless berk?" His smile turned wicked as he raised an eyebrow. "Or you not much of a talker?"

I crossed my arms, fishing for a response before Deekin interjected helpfully. "Boss talks all the time," he explained with a nod. "Even when Deekin wish she wouldn't."

I smiled fondly at the kobold, before uncrossing my arms and finishing off my drink.

"So, this instrument-maker," I pressed with a raised eyebrow.

He smirked, waving a hand at me. "You're not fun." He sighed. "His trumpets are fashioned with a small portal to the Plane of Pandemonium…"

Deekin immediately perked up, reaching across the table to paw at my wrist in excitement.

"Ooh, Boss," he exclaimed, pulling away to make room as the imp added two more drinks to our growing collection. I reached for mine, fully intending to nurse this one. "Think of what Deekin could do with that! That sound perfect for kobold music."

I grimaced at the thought.

The tiefling, noting our interest, took a languish sip of his new drink, before continuing with the embellishments of one who liked to spin a tale.

"Put your lips to it and blow," he said, voice dropping as his black eyes darted to my mouth. He licked a drop of liquor slowly from his own lips, and I did all I could to not look repulsed. "And all the howling winds of that mad place blow with you." He smirked, voice lifting jovially. "I was planning on leaning up close and putting it right to the berk's ear… Nothing can sleep through such a cacophony, not even the Sleeping Man."

I let a smile curve my lips as I leant forward, matching his pose. "This trumpet," I started, my voice a low purr. "Any way I could borrow it?"

He leant closer, the smell of alcohol clear on his breath.

"Nothing is free," he hummed thoughtfully. "But it doesn't look like I'll be using it, not with the sensei torqued and watching for me. For the price of a little entertainment," his eyes dropped to my mouth again. "I'd be willing to let you keep the blasted thing. Interested?"

I glanced at Deekin, jutting my chin at the tiefling's rapidly emptying drink before giving Swift my full attention once more. "I'm not going anywhere with you," I told him with a playful whisper, eyes on his curved lips.

Swift laughed at my comment, throwing his head back and finally giving me some space to gather my nerve. From the corner of my eye, I saw Deekin flicking another hard-earned coin in the air with a smile.

"Okay, cony," he hummed, reaching into his pocket and drawing a deck of cards. He began shuffling them, eyes never leaving my own. "I'm going to teach you a card trick. I win, you show me just what you've done to get a tanar'ri to follow you to Cania," he didn't pause in his shuffling of the cards, and my eyes dropped to watch his movements carefully. "You win," he said, in a way that showed he didn't think I would do anything of the sort. "You win, and you can keep the blasted thing." His shuffling stopped, and he curved an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. "Interested?"

I reached for the deck, and he stilled, passing it to me without complaint. I started shuffling carefully, his eyes following my deft movements carefully. No way I could sleeve one with him looking at me. He shifted in his seat again, turning so that the bench was once more straddled between his legs. He placed a hand on each of his legs, watching me closely.

The imp swopped across the table, placing another drink with a thump beside the tiefling. He didn't even flinch, his eyes focused on my hands as I shuffled the deck.

I chewed my lip nervously.

"Rules?" I hummed, eyebrow raised.

Eyes never leaving my hands, he said. "You can ask me five 'yes' or 'no' questions about the card I draw. Then you have to guess what it is." I nodded, thankful I had remembered the game correctly. If my memory was correct; sometimes he would lie, sometimes he would tell the truth — all with seemingly no pattern.

"Kings are high," I let my voice drop, glancing briefly down at his lap. "Aces are low." The purr to my voice caused his eyes to snap up to my own, and I held it with a secretive smile. I took the opportunity to sleeve the seven of hearts I'd been holding in place, tense all over at the potential of being discovered.

I relaxed when he didn't seem to notice.

Unable to keep his attention for long, he looked back down at my hands. I slowed in my shuffling, wracking my brain for something to say that would hold his attention for a little bit longer.

Biting my lip with a smile that I hoped was convincing, I lifted the deck onto the table between us, lifting a leg up to straddle the bench and face him fully. I shifted closer as I cut the deck with my left hand and reached for his arm with the other. I placed the halves on top of each other and then lent towards his ear, shielding his view of the deck just enough that I hoped he wouldn't be suspicious.

"Honestly," I purred. "I've been getting bored of his tail," I jutted my head over his shoulder. "So this is a win win for me."

I tried to ignore the grimace on Deekin's scrunched up face, his hand on his forehead. Swift laughed, his whole body shaking, but I had his attention, his hand snaking out under the table and grabbing my thigh, point-tipped nails digging in. I did my best not to flinch.

As I pulled my hand away from the deck, I flicked the card from my sleeve onto the top. My smile was very much real when I pulled back.

His eyes were narrowed — in suspicion or contemplation, I couldn't be sure — but I raised my eyebrow in challenge anyway, motioning to the deck with an embellishment.

He raised his eyebrow right back at me, smile on his lips. "You've got a high opinion of yourself, skirt, if you think you're enough of an ante." He chuckled.

I frowned, reaching for my drink and taking a small sip. Remembering his own, he took a couple of mouthfuls.

"Getting scared?" I pressed. "Sounded like you thought this was a sure thing." Again I motioned to the deck. "Go on, pick your card."

Deekin was leaning forward on his elbows, eyeing the deck intently with wide eyes.

Thankfully, he picked from the top, too obnoxious, too drunk, too excited, to consider that I was the one swindling him. He glanced down at it briefly, and I watched him like a hawk, conscious that he had palmed a few when he'd been shuffling. Watching me over the card, he smiled, placing it on the bench between us. He rested his hand on top. Trying not to sigh in frustration, I reached out to place my hand atop his, conscious that he might try switching it as we went.

"Is it a black card?" I asked, knowing full well that it was not.

He smiled, "Yes."

I searched his face for any sign of a tell. His eyebrows lifted in challenge as I considered him, but otherwise there was no way to tell.

I hummed in consideration, tapping a finger from my free hand on my lip as I considered my next question.

"Higher than a five?" I pressed.

"Yes," his drawled with a roll of his eyes.

He lowered his eyebrows and sighed, seemingly bored with my questions. This time he was telling the truth.

I held his gaze as I contemplated my next question, and was just as surprised as he was when a hand grabbed him around his horn and pulled his head back. His eyes widened for an instant, before he was slammed face first into the table top.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

The next bit is in Jane's messy handwriting, a short description of the difference between devils and demons.

Devils

Alignment: Lawful evil

Home: The nine levels of hell

Characteristics: Always willing to make deals with mortals, whilst they're usually bound by their own twisted code of ethics, be cautious of their web of lies and deceit.

Demons

Alignment: Chaotic evil

Home: The infinite abyss

Characteristics: Where devils are willing to lie and barter, demons will let brute force and violence do the talking.

The Blood Wars Origin:

The gods created Asmodeus to fight the demons on their behalf, a conflict known as the Blood War. Eventually, Asmodeus and his followers — powerful beings created exclusively for the purpose of violence and battle — became more and more like the monsters they fought and more and more discontent with his position defending the kingdoms of heaven, with no real reward.

So, he scammed the gods into signing the Pact Primeval, granting him the right to extract divine energy from the souls of lawfully evil mortals, moving to Baator, devils taking over the nine levels of hell.

Devils still hate demons above all, as its what they were created to destroy, and because chaos is as much a negation of everything they represent — as good is.

As to what Asmodeus' ultimate goal is, who the hell knows.