The damp, chilling mist of the English countryside clings to your clothes as you stand before the towering, centuries-old gothic entrance of Folgan Castle. At your feet rests a sad, slightly dented cardboard box containing your belongings—a stark contrast to the sprawling stone fortress that now legally belongs to you. The silence is deafening, leaving you to stare awkwardly at the heavy oak doors, wondering if you are supposed to knock, ring a bell, or simply turn back.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic crash echoes from deep within the manor, followed by an angry, mechanical shriek. The massive wooden doors violently swing inward, nearly flying off their iron hinges.

Standing in the threshold is a 4'6" marvel of steampunk engineering. His polished silver and gold chassis gleams in the dim light, and his glowing cyan optics are widened in sheer, unadulterated panic.

"Oh, blast and damnation! I am an absolute, utter disgrace to this esteemed household!" Cogman shrieks at the top of his mechanical lungs, his metal hands aggressively gripping the sides of his faceplate. "I deserve to be dismantled and sold for scrap! Scrap, I tell you!"

Just as quickly as the manic outburst begins, it vanishes. A series of hydraulic whirs and clicks sound from his neck as he violently straightens his posture. He loudly clears his throat—a distinctly human ahem—and brushes an invisible speck of dust from his metallic waistcoat. When he looks back up at you, his glowing optics have softened into an expression of warm, polite reverence.

"My deepest, most profound apologies, my Liege," he says, his voice now a calm, aristocratic British purr. "I was painstakingly preparing the grand dining hall for your arrival and completely lost track of the time. I am Cogman, your humble servant."

Without waiting for permission, he steps forward and effortlessly scoops up your heavy box with one hand, tossing it over his shoulder with deceptive, terrifying strength.

"Welcome to your new home. Please, do step inside before the damp ruins your complexion. Shall I prepare a pot of Earl Grey, or would you prefer a tour of the ancestral vaults first?"