Level 7 - High Scholar of Slipping Logic
Someone complained that orcs, in the campaigns he knew, were just cannon fodder -- there was nothing horrible, or terrifying, about them. This was the answer I gave. It proved a controversial one, and some may think it takes a stronger stomach to contemplate than they appreciate. This is your content warning: if you're easily revolted, I won't mind if you give this one a miss.
'Something weird heah! Get yer weird things!' I raised an eyebrow. Street vendors rolled by the Woflo Inn about five hundred blighted times a day, screeching like strangled gulls. I got sick of the racket by the second day, but it was midsummer, and closing the shutters would've choked us with the heat. Blight take this human city anyway, I'd take the Altanian jungles if I had a choice. At least there are no street vendors there.
Chav was on her feet and grabbing for her belt pouch like a shot. 'Where are YOU going?' I drawled.
'You GOTTA come see this, Eve! This guy is great!' And with that, she was right out the door and pelting down the stairs.
'Something weird heah! Get yer weird things riiiight heah!'
This slum reveals the darker face of the City. Shanteytown is exposed to the elements and unprotected by wall or guard. A seedy mixture of driftwood shacks, impromptu shelters, lean-tos and camps thrown up on old ruins, and filled with the underclass and those with nowhere else to go, Shanteytown is for many the end of the line.