D&D 5E [IC] Creamsteak's Princes of Elemental Evil

Damien accepted the gold badge, exchanging his silver medallion for it. "I will absolutely accept this promotion." The warlock pantomimed the laziest salute ever given, ever. "So that's it, the contract is complete? OK..." the warlock couldn't help but remember the reports that there were several more members of the Mirabaran caravan unaccounted for, including someone possibly deeper inside the bowels of the monastery.

Shrugging, he listened attentively to the new offer, and read the scroll over Carrodoc's shoulder. Eyeing the gold coins, he announced, "Well, I know I'm investing in a caravan guard company. They tend to go missing around here relatively frequently, don't they? Sounds like we need to backtrack the route from Red Larch to Beliard and see if we can find this, what was it, innocent and tender snowflake?" Damien couldn't help but chuckle. "Likely she's been charmed by this Greyspear's bone flute, if you catch my drift..."

It was hard to miss Damien's single entendre, but Carradoc said nothing. He was more concerned about Dent, who might take a fancy to the snowflake himself.

Still standing behind the counter, he reached out and took the golden medallion, and used replaced his current cloak-clasp, using it to affix his mantle. He dropped the silver in front of him.

"Any chance you could give us a few days before you post it publicly?" He asks with a smile. He knows the answer is no, regardless of what she tells him now.

Persuasion: [roll0].

But perhaps it's enough to buy a day's headstart, perhaps two. His crystal hard eyes stare at the elf standing beside him.

"It mentions ten times the amount on successful return; what's the basic rate, then?"

He looks around at his companions. He nods, affirming that he's ready to go immediately. "Maighan, does a quest like this interest you? Will you be joining us?"

"It doesn't sound very related to why I'm here," she replies dubiously, "but I suppose it will give us a chance to adjust to one another's styles, and develop a battle tactic. And Red Larch isn't far from where I need to go."

She looked at the elf behind the counter. "Do I need to join the club to take part in this?"

Dent addressed Maighan. "My guess is no, you don't need to join the guild to take part in recovering the motes." He shrugged. "I'm not a guild member. Not in Red Larch, at least." He finished by muttering mostly out of earshot, "not anywhere anymore, it seems." Dark eyes flicked to the elf behind the counter. Dent assessed the elf's response to his statement.

The elf lady seems a bit rude in her responses, "The standard rate is one thousand coins of standard weight to the price of the contract. That is to say, a copper quest typically is contracted out for a rate equivalent to ten gold pieces. Silver a hundred. Gold one-thousand. This... contract... has some odd wording. The guild was not contracted for that... larger... payment. I can't really hold the party accountable if they refused to pay... but perhaps they would."

"Further, you can join the guild, but your initial rank will be copper until we've seen previous successes. I'll take Damien and Thalliss words if you wish to join. I can handle the paper work. Guild contracts are mostly legal and accounting matters. We operate with a close association to various merchant societies from all along the sword coast. In exchange for membership dues or completed contracts, we offer guidance and protection for the financial and legal needs of sell swords and mercenaries that wish to operate freely in the region."

Maighan waves that away. "Rank is inconsequential," she says breezily. "I simply wish to avoid unnecessary conflicts. I am, however, becoming very interested in the contracting party here. Can you, by any chance, divulge the identity of whoever sent these people on this quest, and who specifically singled out that 'mote' as a condition of success?"

"And this Bastian...he lives in Waterdeep? Or Mirabar?" Maighan asks. "Did he send word of the mote by messenger? Or did he appear in person?"

"Forgive me for prying, but given the circumstances surrounding that thing, I'm very curious how he was even aware of its existence, let alone its potential value."

The elf ponders the line of inquiry. "I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of details. The order was passed to here from Triboar."

Dent's armor began to chafe. So did the guild hall. He fingered the pommel of his longsword, curling his fingers round the hasp affixed to the interior of his shield. Shoving off the wall of the door jamb against which he'd been leaning, Dent began unbuckling his armor straps. Each piece joined the other in a heap of metal at his feet.

Freed of the armor's encumbrance, Dent stretched, winking at Maighan. Without the bulk of his plate, Dent wasn't much. His half-elven heritage, all lean muscle and lithe limbs, laid hidden beneath a bulwark of leather and metal. "Keep it. It'll fetch a pretty penny. There's naught holding me down, and I feel the call of the open road."

Dent grunted, then turned and left.