The town of Greyrock sat at the edge of the lawless territories, about a day's ride from Duskfall.
It was a small place, where the buildings leaned against each other like tired drunks, their wooden frames rotting from the perpetual mist that rolled off the nearby marshes.
The area around Duskfall had been a thorn in the Empire's side for generations. It was too close to the border and too far from any garrison, and it was full of people who knew how to disappear when trouble came looking for them.
The Empire had tried to clean it up more times than anyone could count. Soldiers had marched in. Laws had been declared. Criminals had been arrested.
...And nothing ever changed.
Because the people here did not care about laws. They cared about silver and survival. They cared about keeping their mouths shut when strangers asked too many questions. And they cared about information.
Information was currency in places like this.
