Karpia

Things change. That's - obviously - a given. Yet nobody ever said things had to become better, nor do they have to get worse. Sometimes, the times just become different. This is one of those times.   Many, many years ago a group of people founded the little hamlet known as Karpia. That, most agree, was the first mistake in the cities long history. Karpia sits on the Karpan River, which divides the eastern and western halves with a visible barrier. For the western half, that's a good thing. It keeps the worst of the city away from them. The businessmen in their newly laid buildings sip the finest wines, giving toasts to better days and making shady deals in the back rooms of one of the many high class bars.   On the other side of that damned river, men work like slaves to sustain the fading industry the west owns. Back when the railroads were active all day, and cars went rumbling away filled to the brim, the money here flowed like water. That was a long time ago now, although most remember how good their fathers had it. Crime runs rampant in this part of the city, because illegal smuggling makes up for what the city lacks in honest, legal work.   A good deal of immigrants from the east are moving in as well, arising ire from both halves. Much of the rising crime rate is blamed on them, and there is some truth in those claims. All the police know for certain is that the crime rate is rising, and some notice their pockets are getting heavier.   Much of that money seems to come out of the Den of Thieves, a place without location. If you know the right words, or the right people, you might find yourself there. The noblest of police hunt ruthlessly for it, although their lives tend to be shorter than most. As well, the mysterious Mist-Man waits here. Few have seen him, and fewer yet know his intentions, but if there is something you need to ask he will have the answer. For a price, of course.