When entering the market you pass over a skull, a symbol of the black market, with the implication and knowledge that any trouble within it’s walls will end in your swift execution. A statue stands by it’s entrance, a bowl outstretched.
The market is coated in warm light from the slowly burning braziers affixed to the stone walls, the smoke drifting up through chimneys carved into the ceilings.
Crates and barrels line the walls and colorful fabrics hang above the stalls trying to gain the attention of passersby. Just off the central market sits a small shady tavern where scoundrels meet and a storage room that leads deeper underground.