This is the third part. [spoiler]Grey skies dawned under a dim light in the morning, as the rain continued, albeit slower than the night. The small cottage of sorts, he quickly discovered, was very well built despite its appearance outside in the night. It was warm. Welcoming. And not a spot of cold water to be found here. A simple space really, a bed, a desk, and all around him, books. Stacks of paper. With only a little room left behind for his own things, he found spots to nestle his trunks into and use them as chests of sorts. He mused on the cramped space, all the books here, and wondered why they were left behind. And on closer inspection, he soon understood. The books, and stacks of paper were records. Some were records of the dead brought here. And others, were records and documents of the instructional kind. Upon skimming through pages and pages, he’d found them all signed by Cromwell. It made sense, perhaps. One needed time to occupy themselves out here. And so Cromwell had prepared things for others. And, as if on cue, like it were planned, he opened up the drawer on the desk by the window, to find another envelope. Signed to, “The New Owner.” He looked outside the old window to dull grey beyond outside. Gravestones, hills of them as far as he could see. Crypts. And the borderline remains of the forest that surrounded this place, standing tall in the form of very ancient trees among the graves. Thick iron bars taller than the house he was in surrounded the perimeter of the cemetery, held together by immense stone pillars and cobble walls, vanishing from his view behind the hills. He could wait a while. There was no real rush involved with the dead after all. [/spoiler]