The Butcher's Bill

The Meat Market district of the Sunless Throne was a place that assaulted the senses long before it came into view. The air here was thick and metallic, heavy with the scent of raw copper, old blood, and the sharp, stinging tang of salt used to preserve the carcasses. Beneath the Perpetual Twilight, the district looked like an open wound on the edge of the lower wards.

Silas stood at the head of the main thoroughfare, the freezing rain sliding off his heavy black cloak. The silver clasp of the Black Sun rested at his throat, a silent, undeniable declaration of his new authority.