Morning.
A man in his forties, cloaked in a black robe, traced the narrow alleys of a certain area within the capital city of the Dwarfen Kingdom. A dilapidated neighborhood where unfortunate people live in a state of poverty, the slums.
The man deliberately ignored all the impoverished people that he encountered at every turn, thinking it was their fault for putting themselves in such desolation. The population largely consists of orphans and people who failed to raise themselves in the city.
He passed some rugged structures, or, as they called them, "shelters," as he was going to his destination. He is definitely not living in the streets, but he somehow memorized this maze-like, confusing area since he uses it almost every day.
His job is to deliver the goods that were manufactured by the syndicate he's been working for—illegally produced addictive narcotics called blue quartz.
