Rhythmic clinks and scrapes of metal as can be heard as Norton meticulously cleans his magnets after a rather intense match. He polishes the magnets, a silent ritual that mirrors his care for his prized possessions.

His clothes are weather-beaten and his appearance is rugged, his expression somber and quiet as he is focused, sitting upon a weathered crate in the manor’s courtyard.

“Great, another chip..”

He mutters to himself, sighing and picking at the chip in the metal.