Down a narrow alley, a merchant whispers to a client. "I hear news from the south… the human army's been crushed near trying to retake Plison City. Strange… no one seems to be talking about it yet."
His client laughs nervously, waving a hand dismissively. "Bah! Propaganda, probably."
From a high balcony, another noblewoman peers down at her slaves, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Ensure the cages are clean before the auctions," she orders. "I want them presentable for the buyers."
In the residential district, servants hurry along cobbled paths carrying trays, filling fountains with fresh water, lighting torches. Children of the wealthy chase each other through gardens, oblivious to the suffering around them.
