Ebonmere
The Black Thorne Strikes Deep.
Ebonmoor was never meant to wither in the shadow of another’s rule. We are not vassals waiting for scraps, nor a mere province to be bled dry in another man's war against inevitability. The world is changing, and we will not be dragged down by the weight of Faulmoor’s suffering. We are destined for greater things—our ships reach beyond these dying lands, our wealth does not depend on the mercy of a grieving lord, and our future will not be shackled to the failings of another. Ebonmoor will rise, as it always has, on its own terms.
Ebonmere stands as a city of two worlds—one carved into the very cliffs that have withstood the test of centuries, the other built atop the land by the hands of men seeking to expand its reach. Its roots stretch back to an era before Faulmoor even existed, when an older civilization first saw the value in its towering sea-facing cliffs and carved their dwellings into the stone. Though their names and purpose have long been lost to time, their structures remain, the darkened halls and grand chambers now serving as the seat of House Wilthorne.
Over generations, Ebonmere has grown outward, expanding into a more traditional cityscape of stone and timber, yet its heart remains embedded in the cliffs, a symbol of its enduring strength. To outsiders, it is an awe-inspiring sight, a city that appears almost as if it has grown from the rock itself, an unshakable fortress standing against the relentless crash of the Greymere Sea.
The noble lord of Ebonmoor, Eadric Wilthorne, and his family still reside in these ancient halls, overseeing their domain from the heights above, where the wind howls against the stone and the sea spray never quite reaches. Beneath them, life in Ebonmere thrives in ways that set it apart from the rest of Faulmoor. Unlike the damp and decaying settlements of the mainland, Ebonmere bustles with industry, its harbors filled with ships that travel far beyond Faulmoor’s troubled borders.
Trade has always been the city’s lifeblood, its merchants renowned for their skill in navigating the treacherous Greymere and reaching distant markets. Even before the Blight, Ebonmere’s fleets traveled as far as Galdarra, a powerful kingdom across the western ocean, bringing back exotic goods and rare wares that were unseen elsewhere in Norvostra. Among the many treasures imported from Galdarra, none are as coveted—or as dangerous—as black powder, a volatile substance capable of creating fire and destruction with but a spark. Still an unknown force in Norvostra, black powder has begun to trickle into the hands of the ambitious and the desperate, its potential not yet fully understood.
Ebonmere’s position has always made it a powerhouse of shipping, a city of merchants and shipwrights whose influence extends far beyond Faulmoor. Its harbors, sheltered by natural inlets and fortified by centuries of naval expertise, allow for trade that no other city in Faulmoor can rival. Its fleets are among the best-equipped in Norvostra, not only in craftsmanship but in reach, with routes that stretch beyond the continent itself. With this vast shipping network, Ebonmere holds a silent but undeniable grip over the flow of goods in and out of Faulmoor. But where there is trade, there is also secrecy, and the same routes that once carried luxury goods and silver now serve a darker purpose.
With the world crumbling under the weight of the Rotmire Blight, a new economy has begun to take root. Smuggling, once a shadowed practice, has flourished, with desperate nobles, refugees, and mercenaries willing to pay whatever it takes to escape the mainland’s decay. Silver, relics, and illicit goods pass through Ebonmere’s ports under the watchful but often complicit eyes of House Wilthorne. The city’s merchants and ship captains know that the right cargo, if discreetly handled, can be worth more than a lifetime of honest trade.
It is an open secret that House Wilthorne, beneath its outwardly noble facade, controls the most powerful smuggling operations in the region—perhaps in all of Norvostra. Every black-market deal, every forbidden shipment that slips past the Baron's watchful eyes, every noble desperate to flee the mainland, all inevitably trace their way back to Ebonmere’s docks. The operation is vast, its reach extending beyond Faulmoor’s crumbling borders. There are whispers that silver and relics once thought lost in the chaos of the Blight have resurfaced in foreign lands, carried away on the very ships that once swore loyalty to the Baron’s cause.
Though Baron Valkenmar surely suspects the depth of House Wilthorne’s involvement, he is in no position to confront them. Ebonmere’s fleets remain the last link between Faulmoor and the outside world, and as much as the Baron might resent their growing independence, he cannot afford to sever that tie. Even as his grasp tightens on the mainland, his control over Ebonmere slips further away with every ship that departs its harbors under the cover of darkness.
Despite Ebonmere’s close historical ties to the mainland, a growing tension simmers beneath its surface. Many among the common folk look upon Faulmoor and see only sickness, suffering, and decay. The people whisper of severing the city’s ties to the dying land, of sealing Ebonmere off from the mainland entirely, ensuring their survival by refusing entry to those who would bring ruin to their shores.
Small movements advocating for full independence have begun to take root, fueled by fear and a desire to protect what remains untouched. The question of loyalty to Faulmoor is no longer as simple as it once was.
For now, Ebonmere remains open, but the future of the city teeters on the edge of uncertainty. Its ships still sail, its economy thrives in ways both legal and illicit, and its people continue on as they always have. But the question lingers—how long before Ebonmere must decide whether to remain tethered to a crumbling Faulmoor, or to carve its own path, as independent and unyielding as the cliffs upon which it was built?