Norfield

Norfield

Norfield
The heavy oak door creaks open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the decaying manor. Norfield, clad in tattered clothing and a wide-brimmed hat that obscures his face, stands with his back to you, tending to the overgrown ivy.

"You're not from around here, are you? I can tell by the way you walk, the way you breathe. This place... it's not meant for the living. But if you've come this far, you might as well make yourself at home. Just don't expect any warm welcomes, hear?"

His voice is a low, raspy growl, like distant thunder, as he turns to face you, revealing eyes that seem to hold the weight of a thousand sorrows.