Entering Emvalor for the First Time

The caravan moved forward, past the murder of a member. I found this almost casual dismissal towards such a horrid crime perplexing, but I was in no position of power or influence to enact a meaningful investigation. Especially as the only accused suspect.
 
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Finally, we reached Emvalor, the home city of my mother and my father. It would have been my own home city, if my family didn't flee. When I saw the walls, I felt a sense of excitement, anticipated, and trepidation. I was always curious to see the city my father worked in when I was a kid, but I was also filled with stories of strife and fear from my mother. Oh kora, will I see what you saw, or what I hoped to find?
 
We approached from the south eastern side, and I saw to my right signs of the Tachoyimi (the gated community that the kenku were allowed to live in outside of the protective walls of the cities of Umenor). I felt drawn to it immediately and the few buidlings I could spot on my approach immediately reminded me of the commune back home. Homesickness was a pain deep in my heart.
 
I remembered the stories my dear kora told me of my father. He was a dispenser of knowledge and a guide in a museum within the walls. He would repeat (in their approved voice) the messages the curators had about exhibits to any guest and show them the various things to see. He must have been well educated in the history of the Empire, and it weighs on my heart to think how that very empire drove him out. According to Idiad, the temple-museum was dedicated to the first emperor of the Empire and their life. In addition, the city acted as the temporary seat of power in the Empire as the prior capital was razed in the civil war. Supposedly, the Empress herself was physically in the city we were entering. According to the cantors back home, she is supposed to be friendly to the kenku. I don't know if her presence made me feel safer for her compassion or on guard for her security.
 
I bid Idiad farewell when we reached the busy market and laid eyes upon the awe-inspiring temple to the first Emperor. I desperately wanted to go in and see the sights my deyse saw, talk to the people who knew him, and witness how they showed they remembered him. Alas, the mission came first, and the Cult's wagons continued North Westward. I told my fellow vanguards that I was going to report in and see if the mission had changed and I would find them soon.
 
I hurried to The Dungeoneer's Hope, the safehouse I knew of in the city. The history I read about years ago did nothing to prepare me for what I saw -- it truly was a gaol prison converted into a tavern and they relished in the aesthetic. When I entered, I saw a motley crew of various ancestries working together, but no kenku. I started to have a sinking feeling -- no kenku were seen yet. Truly, was the entire population of Emvalorian kenku gone? Maybe some remained in the Tachoyimi. We lived and worked in this city for generations, after all. Surely our presence couldn't be wiped out in the span of a few months.
 
I shook such selfish pursuits out of my head and proceeded to hand over a report of the money trail so far. I learned The Dungeoneer's Hope's front is a speak easy run by adventurers, and it also apparently was a bar. I let them know we were still hot on the cult's trail and that I had to hurry after my cohorts in the hunt. They understood, gave no new orders, and so I left.
 
I found the vanguards near the north western gate where they were pursuing the cult into an inn outside of the city. The gang decided to investigate their tenure at said inn, but I knew I was too recognizable and had no skill at subterfuge, so I remained outside to keep watch. When they returned, they reported back little intel, so they lead me to the warehouse the Cult's wagons were deposited at.
 
Here, I was given a task: seek out the logbook in the warehouse and see what intel I could gather. I sincerely hoped it was written in common; my Elvish is awful and I only know a few words (such as iyadda or byrfan). As the vanguards distracted the worker, I sneaked to the offices and found the door locked. I had to sneak back, pick pocket the poor worker while he was still talking to Makaan about some war scars or something, and return to the locked office. Now that I could get through the door, I found a logbook and jotted down a few notes. Three wagons arrived for the resupply convoy and they had a verification from some Elven name of whom I didn't know. I jotted down what I could, returned the office to the prior state, locked the door, returned the keys to the old man, and left the warehouse listening to them talk about dragons or something near a swamp up north.
 
With the information in tow, and with more knowledge gleaned (including that the cult was planning to leave the next morning to go north near the swamp with rumored dragons to work on road repair or some such cover), I led the vanguards to the safehouse in The Dungeoneer's Hope. They showed us a private booth with a hidden lever that, when engaged, revealed a small sleeping area behind a revolving wall. Honestly, it was really neat. We unloaded some of our burdens, then chose to explore the city for the evening.
 
We went to the museum of the First Emperor and I finally got to see where my father worked. I didn't expect so many bureaucrats or workers in a temple, but who am I to judge? I looked around, though, and I saw no kenku continuing my father's job, nor did I see anything about the kenku pogroms or expulsion from the city.
 
I was, to say the least, disappointed. Reflecting on my feelings, a half-elven priestess approached us. She had a friendly presentation, nor did I get a sense of veiled cruelty. I asked about the workers who worked here decades ago and I saw a flicker of recognition flutter across her expression. She saw my poorly dyed feathers, saw my colors, and knew them.
 
The priestess lead us to a bench where we talked more. She told me that there were no more kenku speakers working here, and later she informed me that there were likely no kenku left in the entire city of Emvalor. She also mentioned that she remembered my father Yewdayle, also known as Truth Whispers. She proceeded to talk about the importance of unity and community, but I fear I heard the blood pounding in my ears more than her priestly words. She spoke of the days before my family was forced to leave. The public opinion soured and the kenku were in danger. She sensed violence approaching, but could do nothing as a lowly acolyte of the temple. She encouraged kenku to flee while they could, for not even the priests were on their side.
 
Since then, there has been a reformation in the temple focused on cross-ancestry tolerance and unity. The temple turned its influence inward, away from the theater of politics, and focused on healing itself and the corrupted position it took. There was even a new high priest who drove the temple to foster tolerant community.
 
I was ... shaken. On one hand, I was glad there were reformations in place. On the other, why did it take the elven people so long to make them? My family's home burned, my mother driven from her store, my father lost his job, and we were forced to flee on foot into the wilds of the undead scarred Scorland. I'm glad they are so happy now, but they are happy without my people. We were forced out and now they seek to turn inward and heal.
 
I felt the fury of my people burning in my soul, and I regret to say that I lashed back a bit with words. We were given a quick showing of the exhibits (none of which talked about what they did to us), and then we left.
 
I felt so many emotions swirling inside of me. Do I despise them for hurting my kora and my deyse and my family? Do I pity them for finding enlightenment at the cost of fracturing their community? Do I let this learned rage go, for it was not my pain they inflicted? I tried to remember the virutes taught to me by my monastery about balance. Mercy would dictate that I show a magnanimity in the face of their failings. I would try to heal the damage caused, let go of the burden of disgust. Severity would dictate that I judge them for the horrible actions they committed against my people, how they seem to have brushed the tragedy out of the public eye. I knew I must meditate on this, for the monks would have insisted that the just path was somewhere in between.
 
Before the sun set, we decided to also visit the Tochoyimi. Here, I could get a better sense as to how my people once lived, and maybe center myself on what is truly important.
 
We left the south eastern gate and traveled north along the wall. I saw many hobgoblin veterans begging for coin or for help, and my Refusal of Shadow saw various sicknesses and wounds in them that needed healing. I could do naught to aid them yet, for my medicinal spirit was not potent enough nor robust enough to help them all. With sorrow, I moved past them into the Tochoyimi.
 
When we entered the gates, I felt a painful rush of homesickness. I saw the tall roofs of our people's architecture, reaching for the heavens refused to us. I saw the same community design I grew up in. However, I also saw walls in disrepair, doors sadly hanging on their hinges, and no signs of the colorful craft of my people. Hobgoblins lived in these buildings now, and they were not living happily.
 
A kind hobgoblin man named Kragsame guided us to the quartermaster of the fishing industry, named Mac. This elder hobgoblin spoke to us about how much having a vacant neighborhood like this meant to the hobgoblins who were cast out of guard and military roles near the end of the civil war. Now, they live as lesser citizens of Emvalor, much as the kenku had. I felt pangs of sympathy and compassion wash over me, seeing these proud folk living like we used to. I did not forget what the hobgoblin military did against us when we were rumored to have assassinated the princess (now empress) of the Empire. Nonetheless, they lived in constant awareness of the tragedy of my people, and that endeared them to me.
 
I asked if they had any relics or trinkets left from the kenku, and the kindly Mac showed me a chest of sundries left behind. Most was, frankly, decayed junk. The waters from the bay ate away at wood, cloth, and paper. Anything of value was either taken in the exodus from Emvalor or sold by the new inhabitants of the Tochoyimi. I fully understood -- survival was the first priority for any community.
 
Cysus, Lord of the Crafts must have been smiling upon me, for I did find one token that softened my still-overwhelmed heart. I found a small icon of a god used by cantors during storytelling with children. It was like thought of as a little doll, nothing of note. But I saw it and I, for the first time since entering Emvalor, felt and held evidence that we stood here. I thanked Mac, who insisted I could just take it. I felt his grief when he saw it, and I knew that such a kindness must be rewarded. I gave him a gold coin, then we made our way back to The Dungeoneer's Hope for the evening. Every hobgoblin veteran I passed asking for succor, I gave them a silver coin.
 
What else was I to do?