It’s time for a Covid 19 edition of Tallavanor’s Tales! I’ve got several more episodes planned out, just in time for the next (digital) meetup this weekend. Last time, Tallavanor and his companions arrived in Mulhüssen, finding themselves thrust into the mystery and political intrigue only a massive trading city can provide. With Gregario providing both a contact and a sense of fashion awareness, I suppose it’s Tallavanor’s time to take it away.
Our shopping spree was fun. I’ll start with that. I ended up picking out a new outfit that mimicked one of the landschneckt companies that the city was famous for – the White Dragon Landschneckt Company. The white and blue tunic with trousers made for a fashionable get up, even if the mercenary companies were as vicious as they were well-paid.
What did everyone else get?
Uh… Hats? Yes. Fur hats. To be honest I can’t remember. Gregario got a silk hat. That I remember. I think Claudia got some nice clothing as well. In fact, I know everyone got a nice outfit because it was a requirement for our evening meeting. After spending our hard earned money, we
As we waited for nightfall to head over to the Barking Satyr, we relaxed in the Leaping Eel common room. Several people were talking about “the election” to which I naturally asked “What election?” The barkeep spent half the conversation looking down his nose at us, obviously amazed at our lack of knowledge. I ignored it, and kept asking questions. The Lord Treasurer of the city had been murdered and an election was being held to replace him. The main candidate for the position? Prince Ramfk. The same prince whose name graced our pitiful evidence of involvement in this conspiracy. I immediately jumped to the Zhentarim. I knew they’d have their greedy little hands all over this.
“For him to apply for this job, it’s essentially a demotion. No one wants to leave the Council of Lords – they’re elected for life after all!” The barkeep knew little else, except the name of Ramfk’s unheralded challenger, an Alderman Gerhardt, but I was beginning to compile a list of what I wanted to ask Gregario’s contact.
Hours later, we took the long walk through the city to our dinner appointment at the Barking Satyr. Fancy, over the top, pretentious. All these words come to mind, or if you took a marble quarry and dumped gold paint all over it.
You get the point.
Gregario used his father’s connections to get us into the restaurant. The food you ask? Okay, it was good. More than good. Practically delicious, if insanely expensive. Fear not, Accounts Receivable, the Duke’s son picked up the tab. We even called over the sommelier, AKA our contact. Gregario made some benign comments, but something about them seemed fishy to me. Or perhaps, thief-y to me. (Gregario’s comment: It was Thieves Cant. Duh.)
The gist of it was simple: Not here. Elsewhere. After a few moments of back and forth, he returned with two bottles of wine, which he placed on the table. Tapping one, he said.
“I think you’ll find this vintage particularity enlightening, sirs & madam.”
He poured the other, waited a moment, and left.
Inside the remaining bottle was a note (and no wine, obviously). With a quick glance left and right, Gregario checked to make sure no one was watching him. Claudia, Alastair, and I all leaned in as he managed to extricate the note from the bottle. Quietly, he read the message aloud.
Midnight at the Gilded Spirit
Seems like our evening would go later than expected.
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