At length, we reached the village of Caplan—a modest hamlet nestled amidst rolling hills, its populace scarcely numbering a thousand souls. “What ill could possibly befall us here?” I mused, a naïve thought soon to be drowned in bloodshed and shackled by the iron grip of injustice. For what awaited us was not the impartial hand of law, but the festering rot of corruption and greed.
Our troubles began with seeming innocence. Seeking respite, we entered The Grasshopper, a humble tavern whose hearth glowed warmly and whose flagons brimmed with wine. Within its smoky confines, revelers gathered in restless throngs, clutching their cups as though life itself might slip away with the last drop.
“I place my trust in this haven—for now,” I murmured, my voice edged with unease. Bitter experience
