The Rabbit Hole was bustling as ever.
The tavern was packed with adventurers, mercenaries, Magi, and Paladins. The mixed scent of roasted meat, spilled ale, and sweat mingled in the air. Laughter and arguments filled the hall.
The staff moved tirelessly between tables, carrying trays of food and drinks while shouting orders over the din.
And in the middle of it all stood the massive opening that gave the tavern its name.
The Hole.
One adventurer after another was lowered into its depths, secured by sturdy ropes and operated by a group of experienced staff. Every so often, adventurers emerged from the Hole, carrying their spoils or nursing fresh wounds.
It was the same cycle day after day.
The Rabbit Hole was always booming, its lively atmosphere fueled by the endless stream of adventurers seeking fortune, fame, and the thrill of exploring the unknown.
Hannibal stood at his usual spot—behind the bar counter—cleaning mugs and serving drinks.
