Dawn in the Duat. A thick ashen mist fills streets narrow as the corridors of old houses. Its wisping banks soak up the pale amber light spilling from the crimson West. Faintly, morning seeps through the crooked alleyways and cascades down the huddled rooftops. Illuminated, the mist begins to burn off into a swirling haze of dull sepia. As a puff of breath that ripples away the dust from the surface of an old photograph, the Magicians Ghetto slowly comes into being through the lingering gloom... read more
