Even though Rusthaven existed in the shadows, relegated to the status of slums, it was far from a homogeneous expanse of poverty. In this seemingly forgotten enclave, various factions or gangs, as they were colloquially known, asserted their presence. Despite the intricate web of territorial claims and allegiances, I endeavored to navigate the intricacies of Rusthaven without affiliating myself with any particular group. This choice was not only a matter of survival but a testament to the rarity of individuals like myself who sought autonomy amidst the backdrop of organized chaos.
The factions in Rusthaven were a force to be reckoned with—each group staking a claim to their own territory, fiercely guarding it as a bastion of protection in this unforgiving urban wilderness. Unlike the commonly held perception of Rusthaven as a realm of destitution and despair, the reality was more nuanced. While the visible line dividing the impoverished and the gainfully employed was apparent, the people of Rusthaven were not entirely bereft of financial means.
Situated on the outskirts of the advancing city of New Arcadia, Rusthaven played a crucial role as the primary hub for labor workers whose efforts contributed to the progress of its affluent neighbor. The laborers, though residing in the outskirts, were far from destitute. Their work fueled the economic engine of New Arcadia, and despite the visible disparities in wealth, the currency of Rusthaven flowed in the form of hard-earned wages.
In the tapestry of Rusthaven's existence, there existed a delicate balance between the visible lines of poverty and the covert prosperity that sustained the labor-driven community. Navigating this intricate socio-economic dance required a delicate finesse—one that I embraced in my quest for independence within the complex framework of factions and territorial boundaries. In Rusthaven, where shadows held both danger and opportunity, my ability to remain unaffiliated and self-sufficient became a testament to the resilience and adaptability inherent in the forgotten corners of the city.
My means of acquiring coin in Rusthaven diverged significantly from the typical laborers contributing to the advancement of New Arcadia. Rather than toiling away for the affluent city, I adopted a different approach—I scavenged the streets, sifting through the discarded and lost items of the advancing metropolis. My livelihood was intricately woven into the fabric of Rusthaven's forgotten corners, where remnants of the prosperous city above became my source of income.
Despite being barred from entering the city as an unregistered citizen, there was a peculiar exception that became my loophole to the realm of New Arcadia—the city dump. While not officially granted permission, the lack of stringent security measures allowed me to infiltrate the dump with relative ease, turning it into my clandestine haven for scavenging.
The city dump, a sprawling expanse of discarded dreams and abandoned possessions, became my primary source for findings. Its expansive territory served as a graveyard for the remnants of New Arcadia's excesses. While others were prohibited from the city, my unregistered status paradoxically granted me access to this trove of discarded wealth.
Stolen story; please report.
In this unorthodox pursuit, I managed to carve a niche for myself within the intricate socio-economic dance of the factions. My ability to uncover value in the remnants of another's negligence allowed me to navigate Rusthaven's complex landscape without tethering myself to a specific faction. While laborers contributed their efforts to New Arcadia's advancement, I forged my own path, finding currency in the discarded echoes of progress and selling them to the highest bidder in the shadowy recesses of Rusthaven's faction auctions.
As night cloaked the city in shadows, I gathered my bag laden with scavenged treasures accumulated over the week. My destination was the Basilisk faction auction—an event shrouded in intrigue and held within the shadowy recesses of Rusthaven. The journey to the auction was a precarious dance through dimly lit alleys, avoiding the watchful eyes of rival factions and the enigmatic figures that frequented such clandestine gatherings.
The Basilisk faction, known for their astute business acumen and ruthless negotiation tactics, held sway over this particular auction. As I approached their territory, the air grew thick with an undercurrent of tension and anticipation. The narrow alley, dimly lit by flickering lanterns, led me to the discreet entrance of the auction venue.
As I entered the Basilisk faction auction, the atmosphere crackled with tension—an amalgamation of hushed conversations, exchanged glances, and the occasional glint of concealed weapons. The Basilisk emblem, an ominous sigil, adorned the walls, casting a foreboding presence over the clandestine proceedings. Navigating through the sea of shadowy figures, I made my way to the auction treasury, where Ludel, the man responsible for overseeing the financial transactions, awaited.
His name, Ludel, was a recent addition to my knowledge, a testament to the transient nature of alliances and acquaintances in Rusthaven. As I approached, he greeted me with a nod, his expression inscrutable beneath the dim light.
"As usual, for all items sold in this auction, 30% of each item's revenue goes to the Basilisk clan," Ludel reiterated, a refrain I had heard countless times before.
I nodded in acknowledgment, having become accustomed to the terms that dictated these transactions. The Basilisk clan, with their sharp business acumen, had established a firm grip on the economic pulse of Rusthaven, skimming a portion of every transaction within their territory.
With a practiced nonchalance, I handed over my findings to Ludel, who meticulously recorded each item and its corresponding value. The auctioneer, still shrouded in shadows, took center stage, signaling the commencement of the bidding.
The satisfaction that welled within me as I sat in the auction room was undeniable. An intricate dance of emotions unfolded as each of my meticulously scavenged items found new owners.
Some days, I allowed myself to indulge in the auction experience as more than just a seller. It was here that I became both observer and participant, immersing myself in the unpredictable currents of bidding. The very furniture that adorned my humble shack often had its origins in these auctions.
As I watched intently, my eyes tracing the items announced one by one, a sudden stillness settled over me. Amidst the eclectic array of artifacts, one object stood out—a pendant. Its delicate features eerily mirrored the one my parents had left me, a sentimental trinket that hung around my neck.
The uncanny resemblance sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, time seemed to suspend in the dimly lit auction room. The pendant, with its intricate design and ethereal glow, held a haunting familiarity.