The Duskward Old City, so named due to its orientation on the other side of the City from the Pale Sun, is an expanse of winding, labyrinthine concrete alleys as much as it is a forest of ancient cloudscrapers. Old brick and concrete buildings are crammed together and stacked like crates. Each one contains shops, homes, storage, or anything else that can make use of the meager spaces. It is nigh impossible to tell where one building ends and another begins— if one were to foolishly apply the concept of neat compartmentalization to the fluid spill of architecture. Dense tangles of cables snake from wall to wall above the narrow, winding walkways like an infestation of black vines. Nearly every rough, gray wall is covered in graffiti, posters, bulletins, and signage. Generally, multiple overlap on the same wall, vying to be the face of whatever building wears them, competing to get their message across. The walkways formed by these austere shelters are crowded and sporadic, as if one were walking through a web of hyphae. Stairways and slopes lead up or down into other capillaries so frequently that one is never certain if they’re on solid ground or above some discreet residence or, potentially, some covered corridor lined with residences and businesses. The neighborhoods seem as if they had crumpled in on themselves; the cityscape maximizing its surface area. Countless winding streets are flooded by harsh lights in every conceivable range of colors, as if an electromagnetic painter had thrown their medium about in a manic fit. The nauseating palette illuminates throngs of moving creatures, most of which are recognizably human. Many other passages, however, are largely empty, navigated only by those who are entirely self-assured or desperate.

Certain alleys throughout the urban sprawl— generally those which are dark and isolated— are widely recognized as treacherous by locals. Whether they’re inhabited by criminals, hard addicts, factional bases, or simply a solitary, particularly nasty individual; few walk such corridors without a good reason. It’s best to follow the crowds, even when a potential shortcut might appear alluring. Some regions are worse than others, however. Security is dependent on the ruling factions and their locals, among other things. Toxic smog, for example, is far more ubiquitous in more industrial regions. Clouds of smog or invisible airborne toxins will concentrate in specific alleys if certain conditions allow for it. Walking through these toxic clouds is a good way to end up dead, whether it be years later or before the wanderer can even reach the exit.

Near The Wall, the greater ambient magic concentrations may encourage less natural threats as well. Those who live in the shadow of the wall bear the brunt of its magical aura in more ways than one. Birth defects, physiological aberrations, psychological alterations, and preternatural ailments inevitably befall large portions of the destitute populace, as has always been the case. As if this weren’t enough; magic, as fickle and adventitious as it is, frequently births anomalies which confound and assail the locals. Intoxicating mists wind through the streets at remarkable speeds. Spontaneous alterations in architecture may imprison occupants as doors vanish. Structures, fixtures, objects, and people manifest, disappear, fuse, become misshapen, or experience any number of other inconveniencing phenomena. Strange phantoms and visions haunt citizens. Sourceless sounds echo throughout the neighborhoods. It has been theorized that the vicinity surrounding the Wall is a Yonderlands in its own right, albeit more diluted and amenable to human habitation. Living near the Wall is generally forced upon those considered lesser or otherwise undesirable by the population at large. Such a life is difficult and unrewarding but life persists in all conditions.