The North Slums
Where the Forgotten Struggle to Survive
Beyond the northern edge of the City League’s imposing walls lies the North Slums, a tangled sprawl of shacks, hovels, and makeshift homes cobbled together from scrap wood, broken stone, and whatever else can be salvaged. The roads here are little more than mud tracks, choked with refuse, and pitted with standing water after every rain. Smoke drifts from countless cookfires, mixing with the sharp tang of unwashed bodies and the bitter stench of neglect. This is where the city’s poorest live—those left behind by progress, clutching at life in the shadows of wealth and power.
Despite the hardship, the North Slums are far from silent. Children dart between crumbling walls, vendors shout their wares—mostly scrap or stolen goods—and street preachers call for salvation, or vengeance, depending on the day. Small gangs hold sway in certain alleys, offering protection for a price, while healers, both real and false, tend to the wounded with old herbs, rusty tools, and grim determination. Violence is never far, but neither is loyalty—neighbours watch out for one another, and word of a stranger spreads quickly.
There is a strange kind of economy here, where favours matter more than coin, and trust is as valuable as food. Informal markets spring up where anything from firewood to faded trinkets are traded, and stories are as much a currency as any good. Hope flickers, sometimes in the form of a kind word, sometimes in defiance, as the people of the slums fight for each day with a stubbornness that no law can extinguish.
To those who venture here, the North Slums offer both danger and opportunity. It's a place where one might find secrets, alliances, or trouble—often all at once. But tread carefully, for the eyes of the desperate see much, and the wrath of the forgotten can be fierce.
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