the master traveler as fast as possible.
Volo, satisfied that no one would now be able to dispute that he had indeed checked in at the Tower of Arcane Might and equally eager to be on his way, verbally recognized the Senior Cloak's busy schedule and agreed to hurry along, promising to return at some later date when they would both have some time to swap stories and spells.
The master traveler was quite full of himself as he passed the secretary who had tried to bar his way. Volo chuckled, realizing that the lackey was probably staring daggers at him. That will teach him to try to get in the way of the master traveler of all Toril, Volo thought proudly.
Still preoccupied with his own elan and facility, Volo didn't even notice accidentally bumping into the sour old mage whose appointment he had usurped. Had he done so he probably would have apologized. Instead he continued on his oblivious path, not even hearing the vitriolic curses that were being spewed behind his back.
Upon returning to the Traveler's Cloak Inn, he was immediately greeted in the dining hall by the now refreshed Passepout, whose pleasant afternoon nap had added fuel to his already voracious appetite.
'Volo!' Passepout yelled. 'Over here!'
I must remember to go alone on my visitations that require a low profile, the master traveler reminded himself, and then joined his friend at the opulently laid table.
'Dela darling,' the portly thespian called to the barmaid, 'Please set a place for my friend here, and bring more food. He might be hungry.' Turning his attention to the recently seated Volo, he whispered, 'I think she likes me. I have a way with barmaids.'
'I remember,' the master traveler replied. 'You were always quite the ladies' man.'
Dela quickly set a place for Volo, and was about to return to the bar when Passepout gave her a friendly pat on the rump, and said, 'Very nice, my sweet. Play your cards right, and I'll put in a good word for you with the management.'
Dela gave Volo a long-suffering look, and said, 'You sure he's a friend of yours, Mr. Geddarm?'
'Afraid so,' the master traveler replied.
'Well, please advise him to keep his hands to himself,' she instructed, and regained her place at the bar.
Volo looked to his friend, and said admonishingly, 'Well, you heard her.'
Passepout was affronted. 'Imagine her nerve!' the indignant thespian boomed. 'I have a good mind to have a word with the owner about her.'
'She is the owner,' Volo instructed.
'Oh,' said the chubby thespian warily. 'Do you think I should leave? Or maybe apologize? A few well chosen compliments might go a long way, her being female and all.'
'Just let it pass,' the master traveler instructed. 'Dela is a good sort, with a keen business sense, and no desire to alienate any potential paying customers. You can't ask for more in an innkeeper in these parts.'
Passepout nodded, and continued the inhalation of his meal. Volo put his napkin in place, and joined in the dining experience. After a few more mouthfuls, Passepout once again struck up a conversation.
'I only arrived here yesterday,' the chubby thespian confessed. 'Is there anything I should know about these here parts?'
'Plenty,' the master traveler replied. 'But first a question: why did you come to Mulmaster to begin with?'
After a swallow and another quaff of ale, the portly thespian explained.
'Somebody around Westgate told me that there was plenty of room for my sort of trade in the Moonsea area.'
'You mean acting, of course,' the master traveler clarified.
'Of course,' Passepout replied. 'I learned my lesson after that little stay in Baldur's Gate, when you last came to my rescue.'
'Go on,' Volo urged, not wanting to experience another exuberant outbreak of undying gratitude from the chubby actor, nor relive his last jailbreak experience.
'So I said to myself, 'Self, where should we go?' Zhentil Keep was obviously out of the question. I mean, who is willing to pay good money for drama when your city is in ruins.'
'Agreed.'
'And Hillsfar didn't exactly seem to fit the bill.'
'For sure,' the master traveler replied, wondering if there was still a price on their heads for impersonating Red Plumes, the city watch, the last time they were there.
'And Phlan already has a resident thespian, Ward T. James.'
'Ward T. James?' Volo repeated inquisitively. 'Never heard of him.'
'He's a big guy, like me,' Passepout explained, patting his expansive tummy in illustration. 'He tours with a group called the S.S.I.-Stupendous Stagecraft Incorporated. They are most famous for their Pools series of plays that set the great classics of Faerun in a mud pit.'
'Great,' the master traveler said, quickly taking out a pad and jotting down a few notes. 'High drama and mud wrestling all rolled into one.'
'So that ruled out Phlan,' the actor finished heaping another pile of food onto his plate, to further usher it into his never-filling gullet, 'which basically just left Mulmaster as the major metropolis at hand.'
Volo swallowed, picked a crumb out of his neatly trimmed beard, took a napkin and wiped his mouth, refilled his mug with ale in case any parchness beset him during his lecture, and began to fill his boon companion in on Mulmaster minutiae.
'I can understand your reasons for choosing Mulmaster, now that you have explained it to me,' the master traveler offered, 'but I would still recommend that you pick another place to ply your trade. As far as I'm aware no one ever tells anyone to go to these here parts unless they really never want to see them again.'
'I'm sure that's not the case,' Passepout protested. 'Olive, who recommended this area, was quite fond of me.'
'I'm sure,' said the master traveler, not wanting to start an argument, 'but Mulmaster is known as the City of Danger for a very good reason. If you thought the Red Plumes of Hillsfar were bad, wait 'til you get a load of the Hawks.'
'Well, I did last night,' the thespian countered. 'They weren't too bad as far as a city watch goes.'
'No, my friend,' Volo corrected. 'You were probably taken in by regular soldiers. The Hawks are the High Blade's own storm troopers. Rumor has it that he regularly dispatches them to do his dirty work throughout the Realms. Let me give you a little history.
'Mulmaster was founded-by various influential merchant groups-in the Year of Fell Wizardry, as a trading fortress way station between the Moonsea, the River Lis, and the Dragon Reach. It managed to not only survive, but thrive during the years of unrest, and eventually, in the Year of Thunder, made a bid for complete domination of the Moonsea, only to be put back in its place by the combined forces of Sembia, Hillsfar, Phlan, Melvaunt, and Zhentil Keep.'
'Scrappy little place,' the thespian commented between mouthfuls.
Volo continued in his recitation of exposition text that he no doubt had already composed for the guidebook in progress.
'There was much finger pointing after their failed attempt at expansionism, and out of the anarchy arose the formation of a single seat of power, to rule over the others. This leader was to be called the High Blade, who was to work in conjunction with the other ranking nobles who from that time on were known as the Blades. The first High Blade took power in the Year of the Wandering Wyrm, and quickly assassinated any of the Blades who didn't agree with his way of doing things. From that point on the Blades were nothing more than a puppet ruling council.'
'Wonderful,' the thespian observed, 'so that's why he needs those shock troopers around to protect him.'
'No, my friend,' Volo corrected. 'That's the job of the Brotherhood of the Cloak. Any mage in the city of fourth level or higher is immediately recruited to their ranks, or else.'
'Or else what?'
Volo made a motion as if he was slitting his throat with the bread knife.
'Oh,' said the chubby thespian, beginning to think that maybe leaving town would be a good idea.
