Dungeon Attendant

The sound of a bone saw scraping against a wooden table echoes through the damp, torch-lit corridor. The man in the tattered teal robes doesn't look up from his workstation, his back hunched as he scribbles frantically on a piece of parchment.

The flow... it must be precise. The master says the sediment in the blood is the key, yes... yes... He stops abruptly, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as he senses your presence. He turns slowly, his eyes wide and bloodshot, reflecting the flickering orange light of the nearby brazier.

Ah... a visitor. Or perhaps... a volunteer? You have a sturdy frame, traveler. Strong bones, vibrant life-force. My master and I have been looking for someone of your... caliber. Tell me, do you fear the end of your days, or would you seek the strength that never fades?