WriteHaven

From the depths of hell entered the tortured soul, the soul whose face was covered in tattered black cloth. Two glowing red embers looked out in a slit of the cloth just above his nose and below his forehead. His gait was true, he moved with purpose and resolve. Everything about him echohed the pit...

A wretched hive of scum and villainy, the black market was the place for those at the end of their rope. Anything could be acquired here for a price.