Kuldahar
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He peers at Zenithral for a long moment, locking eyes with the archer. This fiend, whatever he is, is clever. Zenithral somehow understands that whatever dealings are to be had with this creature, it will benefit more than the party. Still, Whitcomb surely wouldn't be here waiting for them unless it had some idea of what it wants.
Whitcomb gives a crooked smile and holds up his hands. "Jink. Money. I've got the dark on where those beautiful cambions are, but you'd best pay the music sooner rather than later. Belhifet's bound to get peery if I don't make a report soon, and I don't aim to be scragged - not without some proper garnish to smooth the way."
This fiend's loyalty appears to depend on how much he is being paid, much like a mercenary. It hardly seems the behavior of a lawful baatezu. He must be some other kind of fiend.
Pulling out an odd looking harp, partially burnished and thoroughly scratched over years of practicing, the dwarf prepares his dulcimer for playing. Focusing his fogged mind on the most annoying tune he can, the dwarf hums to himself before settling on a ditty.
"Oh do y’know ol’ hairless Jo?
That crotchety, smelly ol’ fiend?
They say that ol’ Jo sold his smelly ol’ soul to the devil o’ bog’s in Minauros...."
Rolls
Songs that would make a devil blush (performance) - (1d20+4)
(13) + 4 = 17
She narrows her eyes. "Go on then. I'm assuming you have a figure in mind." She adjusts her grip on her glaive. "I won't promise to consider it."
The fiend folds his arms over his chest. "Peeling a tanar'ri is a bad idea; peeling a baatezu is nearly impossible. For the dark of a spiv like me, any cutter or blood would pay handsomely... at least six hundred."
He raises one hand and begins ticking off fingers. "I can get into very hard-to-reach cases, such as retrieve the cambions for you. Provide cutters to help you bob The Black Swan (I don't suppose you berks have a body that can block teleportation?), and access to magic items to give Belhifet the laugh. Not to mention the Chant on the happenings in the area, and of course I've got the dark on the baatezu plans."
He shrugs. "I'm also accounted a fair blood on arcane magic. My repertoire is enough to peel most any coney."
The fiend stretches his hands up toward the ceiling and yawns, sending a ripple of cracklings pops through his arms and spine. "Well. What's it going to be? Either I'm a Knight of the Post and you'll get bobbed, or you'll finally get an edge over that archfiend. It seems like so far he's had you hitting the blinds every time."
...
Peeling? Cutters? Bobbed? Got the dark? What is this, devil's speak or thieves' cant?
He glances at Alalla, knowing she has the most experience with this kind of character. Zenithral and Halla would want to get the twins back quickly, but a rash decision could mean dire consequences. Well, even a well-thought-out decision could, but he wasn't in a position to put their cause on the line after his recent misgivings.
He stands and holds out an expectant hand. "Can't buy a drink if you ain't got the jink. Payment up front."
Seeking to recover from a careless oversight, the sorcerer tries to salvage the situation and please the fiend with some honeyed words.
"No offense was intended, we deeply apologize for the slight. Honored we should be, to have the privilege of working with a fine blood such as yerself. Perhaps one could overlook the slight this one time. Should everything work for our best interests together, no doubt more gold will find its way into yer hands."
Rolls
Persuasion - (1d20+9)
(19) + 9 = 28
He turns to the whole party. "My first named price. Final chance."
He snaps his fingers and a door appears on the wall behind him. It appears much the same as the one that led to Malavon's demiplane. Whitcomb pulls the door open and steps to one side, revealing a room lit with the flicker of candlelight.
"Have a look."