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Melvaunt is a large trading city that specializes
in the manufacture of arms and armor. It is
the strongest city on the North Coast.
Population. Melvaunt boasts a population of
50,000, which swells to 75,000 in the warm months.
Inns. The city has a large number of inns, but one
of the finest is the Breakwater. It costs 6 gp for bed,
bath, food, and drink. The Breakwater specializes in
seafood and decent local wines.
Taverns. There are numerous taverns, especially
around the docks. The most popular is Umberlee’s
Bosom, a rough, rowdy place near the docks.
Supplies. In addition to a central marketplace,
there are many businesses in Melvaunt. Hermuk’s
Allgoods is one of the best.
Watch. Melvaunt’s standing army of 5,000 men
also act as city watch. They patrol in groups of five.
Temples. The three largest temples are the Purple
Portals (Gond), the Hall of Laughter (Lliira), and the
Resting Place of the Whip (Loviatar). There are also
shrines to Tempus, Tymora, and Sharess.

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After the fresh scent of Elventree and the bracing
smell of the sea, my arrival in Melvaunt was
quite a shock to the nose, among other things.
The first glimpse I had of this depressing town was
the gray-brown cloud that hangs heavily above it.
From sea, it looked like some sinister entity cradling
the town in its filthy arms.
It stinks here, friends, and it’s grimy. Even in the
coldest winter (and believe you me, winters here get
quite cold), the stench of smelting ores, refineries,
tanners, and too many folks in one place hangs in the
air. The unrelenting clanging of anvils and booming
of the refineries fill the ears at all times.
The city is known for its weaponry and armor,
which is a relief. After all, if the place is going to stink
so much, it better well be for a good reason.
Its overpowering stench aside, Melvaunt is a
bustling place of commerce. A common saying is “If
it’s not in Melvaunt, you don’t need it.”
When our ship sailed into Melvaunt’s harbor, we
were immediately intercepted by a Melvauntian
Raven class ship. A customs party came on board, collected
the usual taxes, and informed us of the local
laws and regulations.
Captain Orgil told me that ships that do not pay
the dock tax are put on “sick wait,” which is another
term for “quarantine.” These people are not fools;
they’ve certainly learned how to get money out of visitors
and travelers.
Melvaunt is best known for its slave trade, which is
to me an abomination of the highest order. These
people sell slaves for shipment to the southern lands
such as the Pirate Islands and the Old Empires. Personally,
I have no faith in paladins or priests of Tyr,
but I found myself wishing for a large contingent of
both to wipe these slavers from the face of Toril. So
much for me being a dispassionate observer.
I’m not a very religious man, though I have been
known to whisper a prayer to Tymora when I’m about
to toss the dice or murmur a few quick words to
Hanali Celanil to win a maiden’s heart. But the religious
scene in Melvaunt was rather interesting.
The Purple Portals, the temple of Gond the Wonderbringer,
is a very popular establishment. This is,
however, no surprise in a city that manufactures
things. I even saw groups of gnomes making pilgrimages
to the temple, which I found delightful. No one
can throw a party or make a joke like a gnome can,
and this gray, depressing city needs a good laugh.
Others must feel as I do, since the next largest temple
is the Halls of Laughter, devoted to Lliira, goddess
of happiness. In fact, this temple is the first establishment
of Lliira worship in the North Coast.
The strangest temple in this town is the Resting
Place of the Whip, devoted to Loviatar, Mistress of
Pain. I have heard this temple is allying itself with
either Cyric’s priests or the die-hard Banites, but I am
not sure which. Whichever it is, it doesn’t sound
good. And it is most puzzling—since life seems tough
enough in Melvaunt, why worship a goddess of pain as
well?
Rumor says there are Harper agents in Melvaunt,
but I saw none while I was there. It would not surprise
me if there were, and it would be most gratifying if
they were there to put an end to the slave trade. Personally,
I have no interest in joining the Harpers, but
I would gladly back them if they were to clean this
city of its scourge.
It is said that in the winter months, the citizens of
Waterdeep pass the time and amuse themselves by
gossiping and making secret little plans and plots.
Well, I can say that the Waterdhavians have nothing
on the citizens of Melvaunt.
There are three powerful families in the city.
The Leiyraghons, the Nanthers, and the Bruils.
Each tries to control the Council of Lords, which
governs Melvaunt. The three families are united
only in their hatred of Zhentil Keep. Now that the
Keep has been destroyed, will the families fall upon
each other?
These clans constantly plot against each other for
control, and many who aspire to become major forces
in the city seek to ally themselves with one of the
three large families. Like puppies rooting around the
legs of the fat lord who sits at his table and eats, the
would-be powermongers hope to catch some scraps
from whichever of the three feuding families they are
allied to.
The thing that must be remembered here, however,
is that the rivalries are all maintained with
great subtlety. Each snub, careless reference, or
offhanded joke carries enormous weight. Many
times a single word has several layers of meaning.
Ah, these Melvauntians are wordsmiths as well as
weaponsmiths!
The watchword is intrigue. No one wants open
confrontation, for the lessons of Yûlash are fresh in
their minds. Instead, wars are waged at private dinners,
fancy balls, and temple services. All very fascinating,
I tell you.
With Zhentil Keep now gone, it will be interesting
to see what happens in Melvaunt. Some say that Thar
is looming as another threat, and that adventuring
parties are being hired to scout out the north areas.
Apparently, there is more than one way to make
money in Melvaunt.