Greyvale City was a place of many contrasts, and most people only caught sight of one version.
As Pax wandered through the cracked stone streets, he left behind the parts of the city that pretended to be elegant.
Venturing further away from the main thoroughfares, those polished daily by ambitious merchants, Greyvale slowly unveiled its harsher reality.
In this area, the buildings leaned inwards as though sharing whispered secrets, their sagging upper stories and patched walls told stories of neglect.
Laundry dangled from iron rods like weary banners, dripping water onto the uneven ground below. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of damp earth, sweat, inexpensive ale, and discarded food,an unmistakable scent that clung to everything.
This wasn't the Greyvale celebrated by bards or praised in the ledgers of traders; this was the everyday Greyvale, the one that toiled and struggled.
