Creating Thread
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The rich patron who hired you stalks across the room, pacing swiftly, in lengthy, brisk steps, clearly agitated.
"She says she wants a dragon. Why, I don't know, but I don't get paid to ask questions. You say you're familiar with the Bytopian plane? Great. Get here, get out, and find me a dragon. You'll be rewarded, and, as you can see, rewards here are certainly great."
He gestures to the building around you. It's nothing to sneeze at; old, dirty, built straight up. A giant window stands to your left; in fact, as you look closer, it's the entire side of the wall, from which you can look out and see hundreds, if not thousands, of other buildings. To your right, nothing but the door and a barren silver wall; but in front, minus the spitting daemon ruining the scene, if a fancy kitchen, fancier than normal; though it is kept completely immaculate. Honestly, it's hard to believe somebody lives here, though from what you've gathered, it's true.
"I don't normally deal with the likes of you, but you did respond to the ad, so I guess we'll take you."
You think back, to a time, about a month ago, when you encountered an unusual advertisement; no clue as to what it entailed, but the reward was great; a building in the Guildhall Ward, set up to contractors specifications. That doesn't happen often, in Union- in fact, advancing to live here, amongst all the cosmos, is a desired, if not often achieved, dream.
The daemon thrusts a contract in front of you. "Just sign this, and get out. The sooner you get back with that dragon, the sooner I can breath. again." The odd creature adjusts it's necktie again, keeping the suit it is wearing pristine.
The paper is lengthy; you skim through it, and it details over 100 pages of the terms and conditions of the capture or killing; pages should you die, or fail to keep your end of the bargain, as well as a small suit for future endeavors, if one performs well.
The creature produces a quill, and a bottle of ink, and looks at you expectantly.