At a perfumed arcade known as the Emporium, Mayor Neff rubs shoulders with common laborers awaiting an appointment in the Veiled Corridor. In an adjoining antechamber, snakes and exotic dancers gyrate to a sonorous wave of cymbals and seductive pipes. A floor below a gaggle of grasping miners presses against the windowed door of a darkened cell, impatient for a glimpse of a two-headed calf named Esmerelda.

Out in the street, a gang of rowdies screams obscenities at a crumbled halfling, kicking it as if scrambling for a ball. Their drunken laughter echoes off shuttered windows and bolted doors.

In a tower-flanked church across the shadowy square, filthy men with nothing to lose shout hymns to the Silver Flame, clutching to their idealism and principles like cornered animals. Their wild-eyed minister smiles as he draws a cat-o-nine-tails across his back, awash in their adulation.

But it’s just another night in Moonwatch.

A muddy smudge at the tip of the western hilt of the Dagger River, Moonwatch grew in popularity as a fishing village feeding the growing metropolis of Sharn. That is until fifty years back when a House Tharashk prospector discovered rich veins of iron and silver beneath the surrounding Cairn Hills. Now three times each week barges stop at the lower docks, picking up shipments of ore to fuel the foundries of the City of Towers.

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