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Message: <blockquote data-quote="KenHood" data-source="post: 4797731" data-attributes="member: 4413">Marco leads you through several turns and twists into a cul-de-sac before a well-appointed, older style home. Where Cousin Eustace's lawn was garish, this one is elegant and understated. A long flight of stone steps leads up a hill to the porch of the home, where sits an elderly gentleman in a wheeled chair. His head lolls to one side. Drool trickles from his gaping mouth. You can see his teeth are yellowed, spotted, decayed. His hands are swollen; fingers twisted. Liver spots decorate his skin, almost as if he were tatooed in imitation of alligator hide. He is bald--completely--lacking even eyebrows. One eye, dark, swims in its socket, focusing on nothing. The other eye, white with cataracts, moves not at all.Marco walks up the steps with small, timid paces. "Ahem. Ah, Mr. Wortswill? Um, hello, sir? My cousin, Eustace the Bowelripper, said you might have need of assistance with...uhm...""RATS!" blurts the old man in a watery, disjointed voice.Marco flinches. "Oh! Ah. Uh, yes, sir. You see, we--"The bald man's dark eye focuses on you momentarily, as he whispers in a conspiratorial tone, "In my cellar."</blockquote>