Altam

Altam isn't a pretty place. If you can find any building with three or more stories and get up on the roof, you can see the slums spread around you for miles. It could be endless, for all I know, everything eventually just fades into the fog. The people flit in and out of buildings, in and out of that smog. They're downtrodden, down on their luck, and just trying to make it back to their homes in one piece, with a bit more gold or food than the day before. Rats and sewage run under the feet of the denizens of the slums, and pickpockets and gangs hide in the alleys between houses of plywood and rusting scrap metal. Sometimes, on clearer days you can see the outline of the Jewel District, where the nobility all live in their manors and palaces, strutting about like peacocks in their wealth, never worrying about the coins in their coffers or the food on their table or the clothes on their backs.

— Jett Thakur