Emberholde (web of uncertainty)

The Streets of Emberhold
 
The city’s architecture loomed sharp and dark against the dim light of the overcast sky. Emberhold was a city of stark contrasts—smooth, sweeping curves reminiscent of infernal grandeur, yet softened by the warm glow of lanterns and the murmurs of life persisting against the weight of looming war. As Kemurial strode through the streets, he noted the unusual lack of ships in the harbor, the empty wharfs speaking volumes. The tension in the air was almost tangible.
 
His path led him toward the cathedral district, seeking an enclave of Mystra’s faithful. If Emberhold was truly on the brink, its people—especially those tied to divine and arcane circles—would have seen the signs before most.
 
Yet before he could reach his destination, a cry for help rang through the narrow alleyway to his right. Without hesitation, he turned toward the source of distress.
 
An Act of Mercy
 
A small Tiefling child lay curled against the rough brick wall, clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers. His family huddled close, eyes darting between the wound and the imposing figure of Kemurial as he approached.
 
"Easy now," Kemurial said, voice steady and assured as he knelt beside the boy. His sharp eyes took in the jagged shard of obsidian, a cruel reminder of the city's infernal origin, that had cut deep into the child's flesh. 
 
The wound was not fatal, but left untreated, it could fester.
 
Summoning his divine magic, he pressed his palm lightly over the injury. A soft golden radiance emanated from his hand, the warmth of celestial power flowing into the wound. The gash knit itself closed, leaving only the faintest of scars. The boy’s pained expression shifted to one of wonder.
 
The mother clasped her hands, eyes wide. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you."
 
Kemurial offered a small nod, rising smoothly to his feet. "You are most welcome Madem. Be more careful next time," he said gently to the boy before continuing his journey.
 
The Luminous Archive – Chapel of Mystra
 
The temple stood as a breathtaking contradiction to the starkness of Emberhold’s streets. 
 
Its exterior was smooth midnight blue marble, polished to an impossible sheen, reflecting the sky above. Yet as Kemurial stepped inside, the true wonder of the temple unfolded before him.
 
The interior was a vast archive of magical knowledge, its walls enchanted to resemble the shifting constellations of the night sky. 
Celestial patterns shimmered across the vaulted ceiling, while floating motes of arcane light drifted lazily through the air, illuminating towering bookshelves filled with tomes of arcane wisdom. 
 
Columns of lapis and moonstone stretched to the heavens, carved with intricate runes that pulsed softly with latent magic. The very air here hummed with knowledge. At the center of the chamber stood a woman whose presence seemed almost as otherworldly as the temple itself.
 
Vaesha Starborn
 
Vaesha Starborn was statuesque, her form both elegant and commanding. She was a Tiefling of rare beauty, her skin a smooth, seemingly luminous white, marked faintly with silver sigils that glowed when she moved. 
 
Twin horns curled back from her brow, polished obsidian in contrast to the platinum strands of her hair. Her eyes—deep pools, filled with a keen intelligence—narrowed slightly as she noticed him.
 
"You carry yourself like a man who is already certain of the answers he seeks," she remarked, a slow smile gracing her lips, her eyes on his feet slowly tracing his body until she met his eyes." And yet, here you are."
 
Kemurial inclined his head slightly. "A wise man knows that confirmation is just as valuable as discovery."
 
She tilted her head, intrigued. "Indeed?"
 
There was something playful in her tone, but also distracted. Her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary. He had seen it before—the look of someone momentarily caught off guard by attraction. It was not something he sought, nor something he dismissed. He simply noted it.
 
"I have questions," he continued, his voice steady. "On matters that concern the city’s fate."
 
Vaesha’s fingers trailed idly along the spine of a tome, but her attention remained fixed on him. 
 
"Then ask, and I will tell you what I know… for a price."
 
He arched an eyebrow. She smirked. "A conversation. Nothing more."
 
A Web of Uncertainty
 
"What details have you of the invading forces?"
 
Vaesha’s expression sobered. "Oh, I dread to think of it. We've heard stories—barbarous men, worse beastmen of chaos… High Magister Orthrael insists that there should be no demons, yet. The winds of magic do not blow strongly enough for them to manifest here, or so he claims."
 
Kemurial absorbed the words, already dissecting them. No demons yet. But something about Emberhold’s silence—its lack of an immediate siege—felt wrong.
 
"Is there a resistance here against the incoming forces?"
 
Vaesha sighed, running a finger along her lower lip in thought. "That’s just it. We have our garrison, but no mustering of armies. It’s like… like something is holding them back. Political turmoil, I suppose, but the reason eludes even me."
 
A controlled chaos. A deliberate stall. His thoughts moved ahead of the conversation, piecing together the puzzle.
 
"Is any force in the city working with those from Wyldreach?"
 
She shook her head. "I don’t know much about those from Wyldreach, but I can only hope they will join the cause…"
 
Her vagueness was noted. Either she did not know or did not wish to say.
 
Further Inquiries
 
Kemurial leaned in slightly, his presence commanding yet never overbearing. "If you were looking for reliable information about this conflict, who would you speak to? An information broker, perhaps?"
 
Vaesha’s eyes dilated with pleasure, lips curled in amusement.
 
"Oh, sir, a servant of Mystra wouldn’t deal in such things. My goals are the study of magic."
 
He gave her a knowing look, but let the evasion slide.
 
"The political turmoil—does it stall a response, or is the city being abandoned?"
 
She hesitated, the first real crack in her composure.
 
"To be honest, many of us aren’t sure why we are not already under siege…"
 
His mind raced. That was the question, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t Emberhold already under attack? No, this is an attack, a very subtle sophisticated attack. Mystra’s light I sound like Lim.
 
"Is there a part of town where Lionin citizens are known to live?"
 
She shook her head. "Not that I know of."Kemurial studied her for a long moment before giving a slow nod. "You have given me much to consider, Vaesha Starborn."
 
Her smile returned, softer now. "And you have given me an evening of pleasant distraction."
 
He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him."You will return, won’t you?"
 
He glanced back, offering the faintest smirk. “Perhaps one day.”, he thought. Then he was gone, weaving through the streets of Emberhold, his mind whirling, attempting to unraveling the tangled web of mystery that surrounded the city’s fate.
 
Return to Emberwake Tavern
 
Entering the Emberwake Tavern the scent of spiced ale and charred meat filled the air. The others would arrive soon. There was much to share. And more yet to uncover.
 
The Emberwake Tavern exudes an ambiance that seamlessly blends infernal elegance with the warmth of indulgence.
 
Stepping inside, the dimly lit interior immediately envelops you in an atmosphere of exclusivity and sophistication. Ember stones, glowing softly in sconces, cast a mesmerizing crimson light that dances along the smooth, obsidian walls, creating an enchanting interplay of shadows and light.
 
The tavern’s furnishings are crafted with the same infernal grace as the city's architecture.
 
Plush, velvet-upholstered chairs and dark wooden tables are arranged in intimate clusters, perfect for discreet conversations. Intricate carvings and elegant tapestries adorn the walls, depicting scenes of infernal mythology and legendary Tiefling heroes.
 
The bar, a masterpiece of polished obsidian and blood-red stone, is stocked with rare and exotic beverages from across the realms.
 
The patrons of The Emberwake Tavern are silhouetted against the soft, glowing light, their forms reminiscent of figures in a chaotic pit of Hell. Cloaked in shadows, they engage in hushed discussions and secretive transactions, their eyes gleaming with cunning and ambition. 
 
The atmosphere is one of controlled chaos, where power and influence are traded as easily as coins. 
 
Adding to the tavern’s allure are the curious and fascinating details that captivate the eye. 
 
A grand chandelier crafted from enchanted flame hovers above the main hall, its flickering light casting a warm, reddish hue over the room. 
 
At the far end, a roaring hearth, sculpted to resemble a dragon's maw, provides both warmth and a striking focal point. The Emberwake Tavern is more than just a place to unwind; it is a haven for Emberhold’s most influential, where deals are made, secrets are shared, and where infernal elegance is felt in every corner.
 
In one shadowed covered balcony, Freya and Friar Karl—whose jovial reminiscences of his once-prolific dice-rolling days managed to draw laughter—were deep in a their cups and games. Rory, ever the affable chatterbox, was leaning in close to absorb Karl’s animated stories when I arrived, my mind still on the day’s unsettling discoveries.
 
It wasn’t long before Lim Dul appeared, his presence as grim and uncompromising as ever. We soon circled around a scarred table, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the clack of dice and clinking of tankards beyond the balcony we claimed. 
 
“Listen,” Lim Dul began, his voice slicing through the tavern’s conviviality with its usual cynical edge. “I’ve gathered reports of rampant sabotage, kidnappings, and disappearances—military personnel among them. It’s all being kept under wraps to avoid panic.” 
 
Rory’s curiosity getting the better of him, he asks Lim Dul how he came by that information.
 
His eyes were dark with conviction as he continued, “I have my ways. A few drinks and people loosen up; then, they spill every secret like cheap wine.”
 
Rory, sitting across from him, shook his head. “Man, you always expect the worst. Sometimes a good drink is just a good drink, not a license to start pryin’ open folks’ souls.”
 
Freya arched an eyebrow at his comment. “Rory, it isn’t the alcohol that loosens tongues; it’s the shared vulnerability in the presence of truth. If you truly listened, you’d understand that even the smallest crack can reveal the whole structure.”
 
Rory frowned, misinterpreting her measured tone as poetic rambling.
 
“So, you’re sayin’ we should just let everyone jabber on like they’re at a family dinner? I’d rather not listen to nonsense about ‘cracks in the structure’ when I know what’s comin’.”
 
I interjected calmly, “Freya’s point is that hidden fears and truths come out when people feel safe—if only for a moment—and that information can be our best weapon. Lim Dul’s method may be crude, but it works.”
 
Lim Dul grunted dismissively, “Don’t expect me to hold your hand while you wax poetic about vulnerabilities.”
 
Before further debate could flare, I recalled an earlier errand. “The captain mentioned to Rory that he hoped to build rapport with the guard and we may need to secure passage on to Wyldreach. “Perhaps we can help Sszarek and do both”, I suggest. 
 
Returning to the docks, we tried to reach Captain Sszarek—but he was indisposed.” My tone was even and measured by resolve. “Please tell the captain we’d like to speak with him. We’ll return in the morning.”