You have entered Morbus; thick, foul-smelling brown smog clings to the towering black brick buildings that make up a bulk of the city, the billowing smoke gathering to dim the orange glow of the sun. The dirty streets house a unique crowd - a collection of the Wizarding World’s trash, from cloaked men with shifty eyes entering brothels, to lumbering trolls and half-giants lugging carts of stolen or secondhand goods from one broken-windowed shop to another, to soft-voiced young men and women beckoning passersby into dark alleys for a few Galleons. Swinging neon signs draped over the dusty sidewalk advertise various businesses, from bars offering early morning specials - and, from the looks of the dingy interiors, a guaranteed drunken altercation - to apothecaries boasting the best collection of unicorn parts available.
Morbus was originally founded as a safe haven for vampires, werewolves, and other shunned members of Europe’s magical society. Companies later erected factories - producing everything from dragon-skin for commercial use, to racing brooms and questionable cauldrons - in the area, paying desperate locals only a fraction of what Ministry regulations dictated to manufacture their goods. Wizards down on their luck moved to the city, rooting in massive apartment buildings that seemed to raise overnight; as the population swelled, as did the crime rate, dramatically transforming the safe haven into the cesspool of violence and sin it is today.
