Emberholde (ground work)

The morning spoke for itself. Investigation of the ship spanned most of the day, with the crew working tirelessly to assess the damage and salvage whatever supplies they could.
 
"We aren't ghosts moving unnoticed," I think to myself as I look over the lake, pacing the deck, my gaze shifting from the water to the rigging. "Our enemies are probing for weaknesses, and every encounter is a test. The Skaven's sabotage wasn’t just about supplies—it was about forcing the ship back to port. And when that failed? Killing the captain became the next best option."
 
Captain Sszarek, for all his reptilian stoicism, I could tell, had not dismissed the notion when Lim Dul brought it up. He merely flicked his tongue, considering whether he could be the target or if we were.
 
Day 8
 
The clouds on the horizon from the day before arrived by morning, smothering the sky in a blanket of dull gray. Wind rattled the rigging, and the scent of an impending storm carried across the deck. I climbed to the top deck to check in with the captain, but before I could speak, Lim Dul interjected, his tone edged with calculated pragmatism.
 
"Tell your men to fish."
 
Sszarek flicked his tail, unbothered by the bluntness. "You think fresh provisions will make up for our losses?"
 
"I think making some effort to mitigate yesterday’s disaster is preferable to brooding over it," Lim Dul countered. 
 
"Unless you prefer to slink back into port without even pretending you put up a fight."
 
Sszarek considered him a long moment before hissing a command to his crew. Soon, lines and nets were cast into the water, and the sailors worked to bring in whatever the dark sea would yield.
 
Meanwhile, Rory had taken to following the ship’s navigator like a persistent shadow, absorbing more than anyone had expected. He’d started asking more questions, grasping the fundamentals of navigation with surprising speed. 
 
As the wind picked up, I moved between the sailors, tending to minor injuries, swapping stories, and keeping an eye on the sea. The storm never fully broke, but the sky darkened, a cold wind sweeping over us as the distant glow of a city’s lights flickered through the mist. Emberhold.
 
Arrival at Emberhold
 
As we pulled into the harbor, something felt wrong.
 
The cityscape loomed ahead—architecture sculpted in the sharp, elegant angles reminiscent of the Nine Hells. Not jagged and foreboding, but smooth and sweeping, like knives made to cut the wind itself. 
 
Towering spires and grand archways dominate the skyline, each edifice exuding an air of both regality and lethal beauty. Black obsidian and blood-red stone are the primary materials, polished to a mirror finish that gleams ominously under the twilight sky. Intricate carvings and ornate embellishments decorate the buildings, depicting scenes of infernal mythology and legendary Tiefling heroes.
 
The streets of Emberhold are paved with smooth, dark stone, leading to grand plazas and market squares. Elegant bridges span the rivers, their designs as fluid and lethal as the blades they resemble. Lanterns of enchanted fire cast a warm, reddish hue over the city, adding to the ethereal ambiance.
 
The docks, however, were unsettlingly empty. Few ships remained moored along the harbor, and the usual clamor of sailors, merchants, and dockworkers was eerily muted.
 
Rory squinted at the empty wharfs. "So, uh… where is everyone?"
 
When questioned, Captain Sszarek exhaled sharply tail tapping the deck. 
 
"This is normal now. Fewer ships coming in. Mostly outbound. Ours may be one of the last friendly ships left to move freely." He glanced toward the towering spires beyond the dock. "I expect to assist in evacuations soon. Refugees need passage across the lake."
 
The majority of the population, at least at first glance, appeared to be Tieflings—though the city functioned like any other, with the usual bustle of commerce and daily survival.
 
As we disembarked, Sszarek offered a final warning. "Stay vigilant. Something is off. And if you value your lives, be careful who you trust."
 
A City Under Siege—But From What?
 
As we moved deeper into Emberhold, Lim Dul’s eyes flicked between the passing citizens, searching for something—some sign, some mark among the denizens. He didn’t say what. If he found what he was looking for, he kept it to himself.
 
We soon came across the adventure board, plastered with an array of postings:
 
Calls to arms!!!
Requests for services
Supply stockpile reports
Propaganda posters warning of treason
 
One particular notice stood out:
 
"THE ENEMY IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK."
 
Issued by Captain Roderic Vayne of the City Guard, the message urged the people to be wary of outsiders, reinforcing an increasingly protectionist posture.
 
"All this talk of outsiders being dangerous," Freya muttered, arms crossed. "Yet no one even questioned us when we arrived."
 
"Yeah, what’s that about?" Rory added, rubbing his chin. "If they’re paranoid about newcomers, shouldn’t we have been grilled at the gates or somethin’?"
 
"Either the security is failing, or the scrutiny is selective," Freya mused.
 
Rory frowned, clearly thinking hard. Then he brightened. "Wait! I get it—it’s ‘cause we don’t look like spies!"
 
Freya blinked. "What?"
 
"See, if they’re worried ‘bout outsiders, they’re lookin’ for the sneaky types. But we showed up all normal-like, so they thought, ‘Nah, not these guys!’"
 
Freya exhaled slowly. "Rory. That is… not how counterintelligence works."
 
"Sure it is!" Rory grinned. "If I were a spy, I’d be all shadowy and suspicious. You know, skulking in alleys, wearin’ a big ol’ cloak, speaking all serious-like." He lowered his voice to a gravelly tone. "‘The night is full of whispers. We move at dawn.’"
 
Freya pinched the bridge of her nose.
 
"If anything," Lim Dul drawled, "we were let in because whoever is watching wants to see what we do next."
 
"Bah," Rory muttered, clearly frustrated. "I’m sick of yer doom-n’-gloom routine, Lim. Every time you open yer mouth, it’s just bad news."
 
Lim Dul smirked. "And yet, here we are—not dead. A coincidence, I’m sure."
 
Rory growled under his breath but let it drop.
 
Splitting Up
 
Given the situation, we decided to use the same method we had in Meliora—splitting up to gather information from different parts of the city, with plans to regroup at the Emberwake Tavern near the harbor by evening.
 
I made my way toward the Cathedral District, searching for a temple or chivalric order dedicated to Mystra. If there were any forces in Emberhold actively preparing for war, the clergy and knights would likely have insight into threats facing the city. Numbers. Leaders. Strategies.
 
Meanwhile, Freya took charge of intelligence gathering in the mercantile district, where whispers of trade, supply shortages, and black-market dealings would reveal much about the city’s true state.
 
Rory, despite his earlier grumbling, went to the dockside bars, leveraging his natural charm and straightforward nature to pry information from sailors and refugees alike.
 
Lim Dul? He simply vanished into the shadows. He would return when he deemed it necessary—likely with answers we hadn’t thought to ask.
 
As I walked through the streets of Emberhold, I considered everything we had seen so far. An empty harbor. A city on edge. A captain of the guard spreading paranoia. And yet, no resistance when we arrived.
 
Something was happening here—something beneath the surface.
 
And we were about to find out what.