The Slums

Children played in the muddy streets, their voices hushed but cheerful. A woman hung laundry in a window, and a young man selling coarse bread hawked and held his basket high. The buildings here were run down, but that was the fault of the landlords, not the tenants. They eked out what life they could for themselves. Not the worst neighborhood in the city, by any means, this is where hard workers making survivable wages lived. She would find who he was looking for in the next ward, thieves, disreputable sellswords, and price-women. A slaver could hide in that mess.