Cassim

Cassim, a well-known (and suitably ill-reputed) hovel of a city. The polluted, rusty light lit the inky darkness around it, illuminating in oranges and reds and ill-fated browns the sprawling, haphazardly-stacked metal sidings of the shambling boroughs. Wires were slung, drooping, from one tarnished tenement to another, the clothes hung between them arguably dirtier in the wasteland wind than they had been before submersion in reddish water. No small wonder that ale was the primary liquid of consumption around, as the large number of pubs would testify in raucous permanence.

It is a city of thieves, the downtrodden and the slum-kings alike, but it stood long outside the authority of the Architect. The dirt beneath his feet, below his notice, and not at all opposed to that. The people walked with a kind of stubborn swagger in their steps, from the serving-girls at the taverns to the enriched crime lords in shady back rooms. Ravein and humans mixed freely, without much regard for who was what. It all looked kind of the same under a layer of oxidized dust.