Under the twin moons, the Distillery District of Goldspire was a desolate wasteland. Crumbling buildings, their windows boarded up or shattered, loomed like skeletal giants against the backdrop of the night. The air, thick with the stench of rotting fruit, spilled liquor, and something vaguely… sewer-like, made breathing a chore. Even the protection array that shimmered around the edges of the invisible barrier that separated the district from the rest of Goldspire seemed… rippling. The Distillery District was a stark contrast to the elegant, opulent heart of Goldspire, a festering sore on the city's otherwise pristine facade.