Southern Europe.
This small country was long ago obliterated, annexed by several larger nations working in unison. With repatriated populations and a period of recuperation, it has regained some of its former vitality.
At night, it rains, scattering upon the mottled cobblestone road. The streetlights glow dimly, and few passersby are out, making this ancient town, with its millennium of history, seem almost as if it had returned to the medieval era.
"Clip-clop, clip-clop!"
"Clip-clop, clip-clop!"
The crisp and rhythmic sound of horse hooves cuts through the rain curtain, as a black lacquered carriage seems to materialize on the street like a ghost. Raindrops are kept away ten centimeters from it, and the puppet horse, eyes glinting golden, halts in front of a venerable two-story building.
The carriage door swings open, and two cloaked figures in black with hooded capes descend. Once they enter, the puppet horse snorts loudly then vanishes like a specter.