Saltus prided itself as a city-state of trade and riches, but this wealth was not obtained without cost. Saltus as a city had sold its soul for its vast treasures, turning to slaves to work the salt mines and privateers to eliminate competitors. The nobles and merchants were not satisfied with their more "conventional" riches however, and turned to more underhanded and perhaps "perverse" means of extracting more from those living under their influence. Living behind the walls of the noble district, the rich and powerful could enjoy the benefits of criminality without feeling or seeing the misery it brings to the unprotected souls left to rot in the lower regions of the city. Poverty and gangs tightened the noose of deprivation on the have-nots; the working class exhausting themselves to satisfy the terrible greed of the affluent.

Through the heartless machinations of a rich family I find myself on the street, wandering without a home or family. Burned in the fire meant for a rival brewery, my family had been unable to exit their small house squeezed among the other filthy abodes. Such houses were not made for safety, but rather for the conservation of space and so they burned easily as the flames rose from the ruined old brewery. The reek of burned flesh mixes with the smell of gunpower and oil as the smoke rises into the cool night air, mingling with the unceasing furnaces of the factories. The people groan under the unceasing, grasping extravagance of the rich and powerful, but the gods seem to turn a deaf ear.

As I came back late from my long, tiring job at ${14PJob}, I was shocked to tears to find this scene before me. I had watched in horror as a man was tossed back into the fire by members of the mafia, his assailants wishing to keep witnesses to a minimum to keep things "clean". I knew that my family had met with the same fate as another brewery had caught fire last month, with its workers perishing in the flames alongside the expensive loads of alcohol. For here in city of Saltus workers as well as goods are targeted in these villainous acts of sabotage.

The sadness I feel aches in my chest as I run the dirty road, afraid of the Salt Mafia's goons finding me and disposing of another witness to their atrocities. As I ran, the gang members dispersed into the darkness and curious onlookers began to gather as if drawn to a magnet, the fire and smoke drawing them like moths to a flame.

I turn the corner sharply into a fetid alleyway, my feet slipping on the greasy cobblestones as fear grips my body. The alley is narrow and dark, with only a few dim, flickering gas lanterns illuminating the way for those who dare to venture down its murky depths. Should I venture into the alleyway further to hide from those potentially searching for witnesses? Or should I take my chances on the dark roads of Saltus? I decide to