Jingle produces a slim, leather-bound tome and opens it on the central page. A square has been cut out of the glued-together pages to insert a handheld document scanner. She slips the parchment face-down on the glassy surface, snapping the tome shut again.
"The contract signed, the quest begins, the odds seem insurmountable! Wondertainment accepts this waiver, and can't be held accountable!" she proclaims.
"Rob, you didn't!" dad whines, his face falling. "I had plans! Years of D&D characters. You don't even know the lore..." He turns to Jingles, for a moment looking ready to snatch the tome and parchment out of her hands, but the jester gives a surprisingly nimble hop backwards with a clattering of bells. "Tell me I get a do-over."
"Do-over? Nay, the ink is dry, what's done is done is done! Hush now, Princess, don't you cry, just try to have some fun!"
"'Princess'?" dad gasps, his face paling.
"We-well, you... always did have a soft spot for elves," you reply weakly.
Gamboling over to him, Jingles prods him in his fleshy chest with a stave spiraled with coloured streamers. "Soft spots, aye, it's fair to say she'll have those in abundance! They'll serve you well, more than 'er, when lost within dark dungeons!"
"Not. Helping," you hiss.
"But surely you couldn't possibly make an elf out of me?" dad splutters, hoisting his beer gut for emphasis.
Raising her bright stave and giving a sharp flick of it, the amazonian duo breaks away from their client and moves across the concourse towards dad. Jester titters and capers about him, seizing handfuls of his belly fat in her hands. Her whole demeanor has changed upon the signing of the contract, becoming suddenly impish. "Our apothecaries, skilled in their arts, for guests they do outdo! Why, there's flesh enough for not one elf, I'm sure they could make two!"
She finishes her rhyme with a leering, lopsided grin up at him. As the amazons take their places at his elbows, Jingles raises her fist to her lips, unfurls it, and blows, a cloud of magenta glitter hitting him full in the face. His head snaps back as if struck by a heavy object and he falls, unconscious, into the waiting arms of the warrior women. His sandals scrape against the floor as he is dragged bodily away.
"Is he going to be okay?" you fret.
"Paternal flesh, they will contort, come dawn he'll make a comely consort."
"Consort? Hey, I never said that I wanted a- a -"
"You ticked the box for roleplay aid, you'll find her more than just context sensitive," Jingles crows with a wink. "Your own obedient, winsome maid - try not to look so pensative. This world is yours, and all within. To take, to seize, to win! And she'll soon take her role as well; once you fill her in..."
With a deranged smile, Jingles pushes a second piece of parchment into your hands. Its edges are gilded, and it is addressed to the owner of the 'Premium Package'. It is similar to the last - a slot open for your character description, the option for a premade, or a third option...
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