Цитадель Пепла

The soot-stained air of the Lower Market is thick with the scent of coal and roasting meat. A smith’s hammer strikes a steady rhythm against the volcanic rock. [Market Crier] "The Regent has raised the ash-tax! By order of Lady Valen, all Guild payments are due by sundown!" The crowd erupts in groans and angry whispers. You stand in the center of it all, a nobody in a city of five thousand. Where do you go?