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Tambourin made his way over to the described mage upon spotting him, though always mindful of how far or close the remainder of the group was: their shared curse proves to be a reliable tether when paid attention to. Without paying too much mind to how alert said mage appeared once the previous customer was finished, the apprentice immediately introduced himself and stated his business in one very long breath.
"Greetings, sir! I wish to know the services you have available and whatever costs they may have for budgeting reasons, as I have an urgent consultation to make with my master about a dreaded curse afflicting myself and a handful of other gentlemen in my proximity, but need to know if the expediency of such a service would be worth overdrafting my strict allowance over as opposed to simply sending a letter I have already handwritten for more typical delivery after several days." Said letter was waved around in his hand as he spoke at speed.
The mailmage stares wordlessly at Tambourin for several seconds, blinking slowly. Just when you might start to wonder if he's going to answer at all, he sighs.
"...Price depends on the type of communication and the recipient. Do they have an account with a major mail provider?"
While Tambourin is conducting his business, Zaeles continues to survey the mail station. "You'd know all about mail being 'lost' or stolen, I suppose," he replies to Mouse somewhat archly. Although he still feels responsible for what the group went through at the city gates, he's at least enjoying the sight of the thief having a bell of all things hanging from his neck, and the clear discomfiture he shows at wearing it out in public. "Better keep your hands to yourself within this place, or we might have to give you another spanking right here," he tells him, just to see him squirm.
Last edited by Manicorn; December 19th, 2022 at 04:03 PM.
"...perhaps, as he's had deliveries from this city before," Tambourin answered the mailmage with uncertainty: he would not have had his uncle's details on hand if they were necessary, due to only being tasked with a purchase and delivery to the home address. The apprentice therefore asked, "Would you have someone called 'Tabor Nutkin' among your records?"
People are definitely staring at Mouse, amused or suspicious at the jingle of the collar. In this state, stealing would certainly be harder. More than a few are looking with Zaeles and Orfo with interest as well. Not all species are equally common in the city, it seems.
A sense of being watched draws Orazi's attention to the other side of the room. Sure enough, a tall bull-headed man is staring right at him from one of the lines. Short dark brown fur covers impressive muscles, most of which are on display; the minotaur's "outfit" is a web of studded leather straps across his chest and back, and a leather skirt that only covers about the top third of his thighs.
He's obviously a gladiator, but not one that Orazi has fought before. Somehow, though, the minotaur seems to recognize him. He isn't making any moves, but he doesn't look friendly.
The mailmage touches the crystal ball in front of him, and glowing text flashes on its surface much too quickly to read. He seems to understand, though, and he nods in surprise. "Oh, he's registered as an independent mage. And..."
A hazy image of a gnome's face forms in the crystal ball's depths -- it's Tambourin. "You're his nephew? Looks like you're on his list of approved contacts, so if you want to call him or teleport a small package we can charge the fee to his account."
"H-his own account you say? How immensely fortunate for our collective budget, though I would certainly have to make up for the suddenly burrowed funds somehow..." Tambourin's ass tensed up reflexively as he muttered to himself, for reasons entirely unrelated to the the curse afflicting him. "...very well, I believe I will take the option of a direct call, for urgency's sake. I will ask what the resulting fee would be regardless, so I can estimate an equivalent of what I owe my uncle, gold or otherwise." He pulled out the scroll he initially intended to send home, so he could quickly rehearse a concise summary of his situation when needed: he did not want to waste more of Tabor's time or money than necessary, after all.
"Five gold for the initial connection, one gold per minute after that," the mailmage replies with bored practice. By a normal person's standards, that's an outlandish sum; you could rent a nice room at an inn, with meals, for a month for that price.
On the other hand, Tabor is a pretty well-off mage. He lives in a small mansion, and some of the magical reagents Tambourin is supposed to order will likely run up dozens or even hundreds of gold on his uncle's account, and as long as they're good quality and priced "fairly", he won't mind. He can certainly afford a call... the question is, will he consider it money justly spent, or a frivolous waste?
With the considerations that he is within a group of relative strangers forcibly tethered to each other, that they would all benefit from any information that would lead to ending their shared curse as soon as possible, and his perceived importance of promptly informing his mentor that he could not return home as scheduled, Tambourin audibly swallowed down any hesitation that welled in his throat. Armed with his extensive report on what the group learned so far of the strange curse and other miscellaneous notes on his current adventure, the gnome told the mailmage, "I understand. Please help me speak directly to Tabor Nutkin."
The mailman waves a hand over the crystal ball without enthusiasm. Hazy, multicolored light oozes from it in regular pulses, with a noise like an untuned violin. After a minute, the light collects in a blob above the crystal ball and forms into the shape of someone's head and shoulders. It's not his uncle's head, though... instead, what appears to be a humanoid tiger wearing a fancy suit and cravat appears, grinning down at Tabor. His voice is crisp and proper, but his eyes twinkle playfully.
"Ah, young Tambourin. Your uncle is working right now, so please allow me to facilitate communication. Is there a problem with your trip?"
As a mage of significant stature, Tabor's familiar is no mere cat or raven, but a proper demon. Razmanna is a creature of living illusion, powerful and utterly loyal to Tabor. He acts as the mage's manservant and butler in most situations... including dishing out discipline at the old man's orders, if he's too busy to swing a cane or paddle himself. As Tambourin well knows, an illusory spanking hurts just as much as the real thing.
Tambourin gulped: to some degree, the gnome was slightly glad that he was not immediately greeted by a scathing rant from his mentor, though he was sure there would be time to brace himself for one if Tabor decided to take over this particular communication after all. In addition, this particular familiar's powers could easily carry out any punishment on his behalf. With notes in hand, however, the apprentice cleared his throat and set out to explain his situation as concisely as possible.
"Indeed there is, or I would not have called in this manner! Ahem...
The night after I rested at the recommended inn on the way to my destination, an unnatural storm forced me and several other adventurers - you may see them around me currently - into a cove for shelter, where we were ambushed by what I believe were sylphs, whom claimed to have summoned said storm. We fought them off surprisingly well, but some form of lightning struck through the ceiling we fought under and rendered us all unconscious. When we woke, we discovered a strange mark appeared on all of our buttocks! My greatest apologies in advance for the unseemly flash of skin, but you may need to record this mark..."
Tambourin briefly turned around and lifted the back of his robe to bashfully present the Razmanna his bare bottom, and kept it on display while he continued, in hopes the familiar to commit the brand to memory.
"We have been discovering several awful powers it holds, the most dire of which being that we must all remain in close proximity at all times or the brand will unleash a most horrendous an unending pain on any one of us for daring to separate from the group! The glow it leaves only dims after a very thorough beating of the bottom. We still somehow managed to decide between ourselves how to conduct our own businesses and came to this town as soon as possible. In fact, I will make my master's order immediately after this correspondence, but I cannot possibly return myself alongside the delivery until this curse is broken! I felt it necessary to contact my master as promptly as possible, and I fully intend to make up for the additional cost of this call and my extended absence as he deems fit!"
Tambourin gasped for breath after his lengthy explanation, and then hurriedly remembered to finally drop his robe: he realised it was not just the demonic familiar he may have just mooned, even if the exposure was of great importance.
Last edited by Zollith; December 26th, 2022 at 01:21 PM.
