Against all the rumors of shav attacks, refugee arrivals, crusades, and potential impending invasion of the Mourning Isles, goings on in the Lower Boroughs can seem entirely too mundane, quite literally below the notice of the upper city and the well-to-do commoners and nobles that live there. And yet, some whispers trickle out regardless. It's said some small group of dedicated people has been reaching out to those most desperately in need, offering small amounts of assistance, a helping hand, even an ear for those who just need to talk. It's said that a desperate family living in a burned out house woke up to find a bag of silver stuffed into their father's left boot, just enough to find another place to live and pay for food for at least a little while. It's said an old cobbler woman has had strange visitors lately, visitors that brought blankets, firewood, and food in the middle of the night, and who stayed around to listen to her stories. She claims they've come back several times.
Not all the stories are of the gentle variety, of course. This is, after all, the Lowers. For instance, a member of the Iron Guard working a patrol near a shelter by the riverbank suffered an 'accident' in which he somehow managed to break several ribs, both arms, and give himself a black eye. He's alive, but he probably won't be working as a guard again. He insists he 'tripped and fell'.