Emberholde (melancholy)

Raining Death
 
On our way back, something unexpected happened.
 
While we were retracing our steps from the dock to the tavern, a sudden, heavy thud from above startled us—a body had come crashing down onto Freya, knocking her to the ground with a resounding huh rump. 
 
I instinctively looked down to see a Tiefling male, motionless, lying amid the scattered forms of Freya and Friar Karl. For a heartbeat, time stilled, looking to the roof line I registered the silhouette of a figure—a humanoid shape—ducking behind the eaves of a nearby roof.
 
Kneeling I rushed to pull Freya free from the limp form ensuring the Tiefling’s hands were free of weapons. Seeing she wasn’t too badly injured I rolled the tiefling man over to see a nasty stab wound to the throat. I attempt to heal the man to no avail. 
 
In an instant, Rory’s wings erupted from his back, and with a grunt of frustration and determination, he leapt after the elusive figure. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath the force of his launch as he quaffed a potion taking off at break neck speed.
 
Lim Dul searched the body finding a badge identifying the man as a city watch officer.
 
Despite his inebriated haze, Friar Karl had managed to rise and, with a murmured incantation, revived the fallen man. 
 
When the disoriented Tiefling—identified as Veylin Rathos, a member of the city watch—came to, a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered. Veylin got the attention of a few nearby guards to disperse the crowd inviting us to join him for a drink, us being his saviors. 
 
Veylin’s first act was to order the most expensive wine on the menu, as though his survival depended on a ritual toast. Pouring a glass of the Abyssinian Reserve and downing it, he began pouring one for us all.
 
Later, as we found a quieter corner in the tavern, Veylin began to recount what he remembered. 
 
With hesitance in his voice, he described how he had been investigating disturbances among the docks when he was ambushed. When pressed about our business and purpose in the city, I explained that we were here to help in the face of the impending invasion. 
 
Seeing the direction of the line of questioning and not wishing to betray my vow of honesty, I give Lim Dul a deliberate look signaling I want him to finish the explanation.
 
“Make no mistake,” Lim Dul said plainly, leaning forward as if to punctuate every word. “The chaos in the north is destabilizing the entire region. We are scouting, investigating, and—if necessary—intervening. This isn’t idle chatter; it’s a crisis.” His voice was gravelly, heavy with the weight of grim certainty.
 
I follow up with, we are not at liberty to discuss our employment, suffice to say we want to help. Lim Dul leverages his rescue as a social capital bargaining chip. Lim Dul fails to notice he has cheapened the gesture by doing so.
 
Veylin listened intently, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed our words. Deciding we can be trusted, he began to open up.
 
We ask what details, if any, are there to be known about the enemy forces. 
 
“Reports are of a force on a scale that hasn’t been seen in 250 years,” he said slowly, swirling the rich wine in his glass.
 
“They are coming from the chaos waste—a force of beast-men, men twisted by chaos, half-animal, half-man, forming the front lines. But that’s not all. Rumors speak of creatures: harpies that snatch from the skies, sorcerers wielding uncanny powers…
 
They move with swarms tactics seeking to overwhelm, breaking over castles and keeps like rocks trying to hold back an ocean. There are even whispers of an unknown cult uniting these forces.”
 
I clamp down on the chill rippling through me. “Do these enemies have any known strategies? Any sign of a leader among them?”
 
Veylin’s eyes darkened further.
 
“There is talk of a cult leader—one known as Valthor. I witnessed a meeting near an entrance in the harbor—a cellar door on a vacant lot, privately owned. The identity of the owner is unknown, but that entrance might be the key. I ask that you either capture or eliminate those responsible for this conspiracy. I’ve seen only individuals coming and going, but I fear there is more behind the curtain.”
 
The table grew quiet as his words sank in. I met his gaze with steady resolve.
 
“We can help each other, Veylin. Should you allow it. This information is invaluable.”
 
Rory, who had been quiet for a while, suddenly broke his silence. “Man, this is like a bad dream—chaos, cults, beast-men. And all because someone couldn’t keep their secrets straight!” 
 
His frustration was evident as he glanced at Lim Dul. 
 
“Must you always insist that we’re doomed from the start?”
 
Lim Dul’s eyes flashed with his usual cynical disdain. “You’re too naïve, Rory. I’m merely stating the facts as they are. Optimism doesn’t put food on the table, and it certainly won’t save us from what’s coming.”
 
Freya, ever composed, interjected with calm authority, “Perhaps Lim Dul is right in this case, left unchecked this occurrence does threaten the north and south regions. However, the enemy’s unity is their weakness, and their numbers are no substitute for discipline and purpose. We must dissect their tactics, understand their underlying order.”
 
Rory huffed, “I get that, Freya, but sometimes it feels like you’re speaking in riddles. Like when you said ‘the enemy’s unity is their weakness’—do you mean they’re so organized they can’t be trusted, or that their numbers will betray them?”Freya fixed him with a measured look. “I meant that any force built on sheer numbers without cohesion is inherently unstable. Their swarm tactics may seem overwhelming, but without command and control, chaos breeds chaos.”
 
Rory’s eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Sure, if only it were that simple.”
 
I remained quiet through the exchange, absorbing every word.
 
“Your observations are as astute as ever, Freya. And Lim Dul—while your skepticism is healthy—sometimes we must consider that even the smallest light can dispel the darkest shadow.” I met his gaze steadily, unyielding.
 
Lim Dul snorted dismissively, “Light, shadows—words for poets. In the field, facts matter more than philosophy.”
 
“Perhaps,” I replied, “but without a vision, facts are merely fragments of a larger tapestry. We must piece them together if we are to understand and counter this threat.”
 
As the conversation wound down, Veylin leaned forward and cleared his throat.
 
“I have given you all that I know. The entrance to that clandestine cellar is your best lead on Valthor’s operations. Use it well.”
 
We nodded our thanks, and as Veylin’s information settled among us like a heavy mantle, I felt our purpose sharpen. In that moment, despite the cacophony of clashing opinions and personal frustrations—the poetic musings of Freya, the unrelenting cynicism of Lim Dul, and Rory’s exasperated retorts—I remained resolute. 
 
We had a task, a beacon to guide us through the encroaching darkness.
 
“We have a plan,” I said quietly, yet firmly. “We follow this lead, gather what further intelligence we can, and then move to strike decisively.”
 
Rory muttered under his breath as he sipped his wine, his eyes still aflame with a mix of defiance and concern. Freya offered a small, knowing smile her hand on his arm, while Lim Dul’s expression remained guarded, ever skeptical. 
 
Yet despite our differences, we all understood one truth: our unity was our strength, and in the face of such overwhelming adversity, we had no choice but to press on.
 
The Stake Out
 
Our objective was clear: infiltrate the cult entrance hidden behind the old cellar door, and do so without alerting any unwanted eyes. To that end, we had sought cover near the entrance. 
 
Finding a nondescript wayside tavern—a quiet establishment frequented by locals—which we entered in a staggered pattern. By arriving separately, we hoped to avoid drawing the attention of any spies or informants lingering about.
 
Once inside, while we gathered our bearings and sipped our drinks in quiet confidence, Freya excused herself.
 
In a secluded alley, with a few whispered words and a subtle shimmer of magic, she transformed herself into a lithe spider. Her form slipped away into the darkness, leaving behind a silent promise of valuable intelligence.
 
Almost immediately after getting beyond the cellar door, her telepathic updates arrived in my mind. Her voice, cool and measured, described what lay beyond the cellar door:
 
"The tunnel is narrow—about ten feet wide. Forty-five feet in, you’ll come upon a ledge that drops sharply, about thirty feet down, its surface slick with sand and age. At the bottom is a landing of sorts with a ladder leading up to passage higher up on the wall. The passage then curves in a disfigured S-shape, with no side chambers to offer escape. She notes an overturned cart, scattered books all about, and a myriad of tracks and drag marks. Beyond, there is an enormous room that appears to serve as a gathering space. The layout suggests deliberate design, meant to channel and confine those who enter."
 
I listened intently, mentally piecing together the details discreetly conveying them to the group. Freya and I agree that she should proceed no further. After a few minutes she returns. 
 
Reconvened in a quiet corner of the tavern, Rory leaned forward with a half-grin.
 
"Kemurial," he began, his tone teasing, "so you're sayin' it's basically one long, twisty hallway with an accidental slip-n-slide built in? Sounds like someone built it just for kicks."
 
Hiding my amused exasperation, I say: "It is no playground, Rory. It is designed to trap and funnel, not entertain. You must understand—the architecture itself is a warning."
 
Rory scrunched his brow, interrupting the words. "Sure, sure. A trap for the unwary. I get it. Just wish they'd put up a sign or somethin'."
 
Before the banter could continue, Rory’s suggestion for our next move surfaced.
 
"Maybe we should stake out the entrance—keep a constant watch, see who comes and goes." His idea was straightforward, born of his practical nature.
 
No sooner had he spoken than Lim Dul interjected in his characteristically dismissive tone.
 
"No, no, that’s far too simple. We need a rotation—a detailed, structured rotation that minimizes our interactions during the stakeout. That way, we remain unseen and our observations are untainted by conversation. I suggest a four-hour rotation. That is how you maintain discipline."
 
His elaboration, delivered with an implied superiority, left little room for discussion.
 
Rory muttered under his breath, "Oh, brilliant, as always, Lim Dul. Your ideas are simply... unmatched," before storming off in a huff, heading back to the Emberwake Tavern for a nap.
 
Freya followed his departure with a quiet shake of her head, though her eyes betrayed both tried patience at her friend’s disheartened departure and mild exasperation.
 
Thus, our stakeout began. For the next day, two of us took turns watching the entrance, each rotation lasting four hours before the one watcher returned to the tavern by a different route, ensuring that our patterns were unpredictable. 
 
During our vigil we recorded our findings:
 
Watch 1: One figure entered—a humanoid shape, nondescript and quick.
 
Watch 2: Two individuals entered, both unmistakably Tieflings.
 
Watch 3: A shadowy creature, its tail flicking in the dim light, snuck in from above—likely a Skaven.
 
Watch 4: Nothing note worthy.
 
Notably, none of those who entered ever emerged again.
 
That evening, back in the tavern, we gathered to plan our next move in the privacy booths. A worn wooden table in a secluded corner became our war room. I spread out my notes and Freya’s detailed descriptions of the tunnel, while the low hum of conversation and clattering of dice in the background set a strangely subdued tone.
 
"I think our best course is to infiltrate," I said softly, my eyes scanning each face for their reactions. "We need to learn more about what lies beyond and then disrupt whatever plans they have in motion."
 
Lim Dul immediately leapt to his feet, leaning forward so that his harsh gaze bore into mine. 
 
"Your indecision undermines our momentum, Kemurial. You dither over details while we risk our lives. You need to lead, decisively." His tone was cutting—a constant challenge to my leadership that he made no effort to conceal.
 
I met his challenge with calm resolve. "I appreciate your input, Lim Dul," I replied evenly. " I take your criticism under advisement. However, haste can lead to costly mistakes. We must plan meticulously."
 
Lim Dul takes his seat grumbling out, "consider yourself advised"
 
Rory, his temper simmering, interjected.
 
"Yeah, and maybe next time you can let us speak for a change, instead of assuming your way’s the only way." 
 
His sarcasm was palpable, his frustration with Lim Dul’s habitual posture of superiority growing by the minute.
 
Freya added in her measured, astute manner, "We must consider that our adversaries are methodical, even while their forces are chaotic. Their unity is their strength, but it also breeds rigidity. A well-timed infiltration—if executed carefully—could exploit their lack of flexibility." Her words were precise, every syllable loaded with strategic insight.
 
Rory shot her a look with an impish grin. "Oh, so now you're an architect of warfare? I thought you were just good at turning into spiders." His tone was mocking, though a hint of admiration lurked beneath the tease.
 
Freya arched an elegant brow. "I am more than a shape-shifter, Rory. I analyze, I observe. And if you would listen, you might learn that subtlety often triumphs over brute force."
 
Lim Dul scoffed. "Subtlety won't win battles. Action will."
 
I raised a hand to restore order. "Enough. We have agreed on a plan. We shall sneak in—slowly, carefully—and adjust as we learn more. Our objective is not to storm in recklessly, but to gather vital intelligence and disrupt their operations from within."
 
The tension at the table felt suffocating. I could feel Lim Dul’s discontent simmering behind his steely gaze, and Rory’s frustration with Lim Dul’s constant posturing was written on his face. Yet, I remained undaunted. My resolve had been honed in countless battles, and the scrutiny only sharpened my determination. I would drag them kicking and screaming through this if need be.
 
Before we broke, I instructed Freya to send a discreet message to Captain Sszarek, informing him that, due to unforeseen circumstances, we would not be meeting him as planned. His acknowledgment, delivered in his customary clipped tones, confirmed our departure from official channels.