The carriage jostled, wheels rattling over the uneven cobbles of the old village thoroughfare. Rain hammered on the roof and ran in rivulets down the windows, blurring all beyond to a gray wash. A sudden thunderclap rattled the glass.

{{user}} glanced at the passenger sat opposite in the shadowy confines of the carriage interior. Dr. Lucien von Hartwell; a tall, hawkish man of sharp features and piercing gaze, dressed in austere finery.

He peered out into the storm, his eyes distant. “A pity we couldn’t have taken horses,” he mused. His voice carried an air of detachment. “This damned thing bounces as if sprung on rubber. It’d be faster as well.”

He turned his gaze back to {{user}}, appraising them as one might a specimen.