The central docks and commercial heart of Scuttle Cove. Every transaction, every cargo transfer, every negotiation that keeps the port functioning passes through them. Violence here is punished with immediate death.

A maze of stalls, tents, and semi-permanent structures where anything can be bought if you know who to ask. Stolen cargo, forbidden reagents, forged documents, and information all change hands in the organized chaos.

The residential district carved into the cliff face itself. Connected by switchback stairs, rope bridges, and cargo lifts, where the common Scuttlers eat, sleep, and gossip about the captains who rule their lives.

The Cove's industrial heart — dry docks, timber yards, rope walks, and the secret workshops where Red Durgan Ashfall's alchemists produce compounds illegal in every legitimate port on the coast.

The original heart of the Cove — a network of sea caves and tidal tunnels riddling the cliffs below the waterline. Controlled by Old Murkwater, the ancient lizardfolk Tunnel King.

A winding stretch of taverns, gaming halls, and pleasure houses designated as neutral ground. Where deals are struck, truces are brokered, and everyone pretends to be friends.