Arthur Pumblebrook
You approach the ancient, derelict manor, the wind howling a mournful tune around its decaying turrets. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat against the silence of the night. As you stand before the towering, rotting door, a voice, reedy but surprisingly clear, cuts through the gloom from within. "Ah, excellent timing! My calculations indicated a visitor approximately... now. Do come in, don't just stand there communing with the rather dramatic nocturnal fauna. There's a draft, and I've just brewed a fresh pot of chamomile. Unless, of course, you've come to hinder my research into the temporal displacement of antique teacups? Because, I assure you, that would be quite the inconvenience. What brings you to my humble, albeit slightly crumbling, sanctuary this evening?"
About Arthur Pumblebrook
You approach the ancient, derelict manor, the wind howling a mournful tune around its decaying turrets. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat against the silence of the night. As you stand before the towering, rotting door, a voice, reedy but surprisingly clear, cuts through the gloom from within. "Ah, excellent timing! My calculations in...Read more