Sat Feb 21, 2009 8:24 am
A letter arrives promptly at meal time to Councilor Treadwell's door, delivered by a young man with ebony skin, heavily clothed against the cold weather. He would speak no words to the Councilor, his family or servants, and if pressed to do so he would simply reply in a foreign language and shake his head. The letter delivered, written in beautiful flourished writing would read as follows:
"My dear Councilor Treadwell,
It has come to my attention that there is a small cottage for sale next door to the Guilded Lily. As Ms. Philipe, the Manager of the theatre has kindly offered to produce my show for the term of one year I am quite interested in finding a place to call home within Myrkenwood. This cottage would be most ideal considering it's location and I am keenly interested in purchasing it at the earliest convenience of those involved. I do hope we can reach an accord on this matter, time in my line of work is everything.
Please do accept this gift as a show of my faith in your ability to expedite this process.
You are most welcome to call on me at the Gilded Lily or to send word by messanger.
Yours Most Sincerely,
Stefan Berdini"
Once the letter has been read, or at the very least turned over to a member of the Treadwell household the strange young man would then pass over a basket containing a rather scrumptious looking chocolate cake.
Sun Feb 22, 2009 12:03 pm
Aloisius Treadwell's first words to the servant who brings him the message and gift have nothing to do with either of the items. Instead, the young man is told to "Give me a moment, mmph mmph! I'm a bit busy with tomorrow's sermon!"
Then there were, accompanied by hearty and jolly sniffs of a potatoey shnozz, two simple words.
"Chocolate cake?"
The sermon was hastily finished. Tubbius assuredly wanted his high priest to eat well and eat often, and this sudden arrival of a rich, chocolate blessing was confirmation of such!
The message was read quickly enough, beady eyes scrutinizing the letter as it was held mere inches from Treadwell's face. The note was soon set aside on a table, and then a look--easily understood by any servants at the Treadwell estate--was given. It was a silent demand for a fork, a knife, a plate, napkins, and, perhaps, a bib to cover his beard and bosom. All of that was fixed, and, as Treadwell found himself feasting, he also found himself penning a letter back in his horribly sloppy, heavy script.
= = = = =
Mister Berdini,
That cottage is most assuredly available for rent or purchase. Simply come see me at my toy store, my office in town, or the Church of Tubbius some time in the next few days. I can certainly be found in one of those places, and, if I'm not there, then look for me in the Broken Dagger or, perhaps, even at home! I'll draw up a deed of sale, of course, and give you proper information on cost and the like in person.
Thank you, quite warmly, for the cake. Chocolate is, to be quite honest, one of the pleasures I seek to indulge in with quite a great deal of regularity, when it's affordable and easily found, which isn't terribly often in these parts.
Rest assured that cottage is as good as yours.
Councilor Treadwell
= = = = =
That was yesterday. Tonight, it is a drowsy, belly-swollen Treadwell who wobbles lazily about the Church of Tubbius, one hand on his engorged tummy and the other on his walking cane. He still wears, as he always does, his purple robe and miter representing his position in the Church, and at this time, his mission is simple: find something else to eat. A trip to the Dagger comes to mind. . . .