The Ravens
The Ravens is a densely packed area of the City League, where the narrow, crooked streets seem to twist and turn without reason. The buildings lean precariously against one another, their sagging roofs and cracked walls telling tales of years without proper care. Shuttered windows and patched-up doors are common sights, with faded paint peeling from wooden frames and crumbling stone facades.
The air is thick with a medley of smells—stale water from clogged gutters, the acrid tang of uncollected waste, and the faint, persistent scent of smoke from overworked hearths. The cobblestone streets are uneven and littered with refuse, and puddles of dubious origin collect in the numerous potholes. Laundry lines crisscross above, laden with garments in various states of repair, adding a patchwork of muted colors to the otherwise gray and brown palette of the district.
Life here moves at a slower, heavier pace, as residents struggle to scrape by. Small children play barefoot in the alleys, their laughter a rare bright spot amidst the gloom. Makeshift stalls dot the streets, selling a sparse selection of goods—wilted vegetables, second-hand clothes, and simple trinkets. Many adults linger on corners or sit outside their cramped homes, their faces marked by weariness and the harshness of their lives.
The Ravens stands in stark contrast to the affluent neighborhoods of the Hill and Punctilio districts. Where those areas boast sprawling estates, clean streets, and vibrant markets, The Ravens feels hemmed in, its residents living on top of one another. Yet, for all its hardships, there is a sense of endurance here—a quiet resilience that speaks to the strength of those who call The Ravens home.
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