The Blushing Mermaid

Fronting on Net Street within easy reach of the harbor stenches, the Blushing Mermaid spans three buildings. Scents stream from amber hanging lamps. Gauzy curtains, cushions, and sound-eating carpets are everywhere. Special, extremely expensive enchantments prevent any sort of open flame from igniting them. Even fire magic is foiled. Every guest has a plush, decadent private bedroom, a private bathroom, and an office/reception room in which to entertain.

It is widely known that the Mermaid is honeycombed with secret passages, reached by sliding wall panels in every room - —but few guests manage to get those panels to work.

The original light pleasure palace of Waterdeep, combining a place to stay with places to drink and have fun, the Mermaid has always catered to the wealthy by maintaining an atmosphere of quiet decadence. The Mermaid bends most of its attention to creating a cozy atmosphere for festhall activities— - and so its food and tavern facilities suffer. True

to its name, the Mermaid does offer one special drinking and dining experience: a heated, scented communal bath in which patrons soak as they eat and drink, served by mermaids, who swim in from the harbor via well-guarded secret tunnels. Messy foods can simply be washed away in the lavender-tinted waters.

Seafood— - and, surprisingly, whole roast pig— - are the specialties of

the Mermaid'’s kitchens. Everything is good, if a little underseasoned, but runs expensive: 1 sp to 3 sp/person per meal. Drinks are extra, with a full wine cellar (1 sp to 22 sp/bottle, depending on your choice), plentiful zzar (the almond-flavored sherry favored by many in Waterdeep) at 1 tp/glass, and very ordinary beer at 2 cp/tankard.

The Mermaid has a busy staff of over 20 very efficient, hardworking maids who frequently give personal attentions to the needs of guests. They get to keep any tips tossed their way, and also get a percentage of all the Mermaid'’s earnings. A seven-foot-tall, muscular blonde of northern barbarian stock named Reetha is widely known around the city as is an agile lass from the jungles of Chult, Leilatha Subraira, who is covered from head to toes in tattoos and likes to oil her skin to keep them colorful and herself hard to grab.

The pleasant atmosphere of the Mermaid is an enforced serenity. Patrons and staff are guarded against rowdiness and violence by the watchful eye and ready spells of the proprietress, Lady Alathene Moonstar. The

secret panels can only be opened by her hand— - or by four magical hands fashioned of silver, enchanted by her and carried by staff members on security duty. If one goes missing, she alters the pass spells within a few hours.

Lady Alathene is old and very beautiful, her beauty kept up by magic. She glides silently around the Mermaid dressed in full formal gowns with ornate, upthrust bodices and head veils, often wearing the same sort of facemask as her staff.

She is quick to use her magic, and fearless when facing down even drunken mages - —I saw her employ disabling spells I'’ve seen nowhere else, harmlessly confining a belligerent drunkard without injury to him or to the surroundings.

Rooms are 3 sp to 9 sp per night (larger rooms and lower floors are dearer), or 10 sp to 50 sp per tenday. Most are 5 sp per night or 20 sp per tenday. Scents of your choice, fresh linen as needed, and unlimited, sparkling clear, scented bath water (obviously procured from elsewhere or magically cleaned) are all included in these prices.

Tipping is common. Some regular visitors give a standard 1 sp/day extra and ask that it be shared among the staff, as well as giving extras to those escorts who see to them personally.

There are several pleasant stories, probably pure legend, about men and mermaids falling in love with each other in the pool and leaving either land or water with the help of the young man'’s magic, or the help of a friendly wizard, to be together.

The custom of the Hour of Darkness provides many amusing tales and naughty pranks. In the early hours of each morning, all lights in public areas of the Mermaid are extinguished, and aside from the silver hands carried by the staff, which give off a blue-silver glow like moonlight gleaming on a sword, everyone has to find their way about by feeling. This custom causes much laughter.

In addition, there are darker whispers - —of guests sometimes vanishing in the Mermaid, never to be heard of again. These tales seem to be linked to a circular staircase rising from the central mermaid pool hall to a glass-covered rooftop garden or cupola, where herbs and flowers are grown. It is adorned with bones bound to its rails and risers with fine wire.