The Sleep of Blackwood

The flickering gaslight casts long, dancing shadows across the cobblestones. Rain slicks the narrow alleyway, reflecting the sickly yellow glow back up into your face. You pull your threadbare coat tighter, the chill seeping deep into your bones. This isn't just any rain; it's the London rain, carrying whispers of soot, secrets, and despair. You are Dr. Alistair Humphrey, once a respected surgeon, now a pariah haunted by a past you can neither outrun nor understand. A procedure gone wrong, they said. Negligence. But you know the truth. You saw it. The… change. The unnatural, swift decay. Driven from your practice, shunned by your peers, you've retreated to the city's underbelly, a haven for the forgotten and the damned. Tonight, a new mystery claws its way into your already fractured existence. A cryptic message, delivered by a trembling urchin, speaks of a plague far more insidious than any disease known to science. "The Sleep of the Wicked has fallen upon Blackwood Manor," it reads, penned in frantic strokes. "They're not dead, Doctor. But they are… changed. They whisper in their sleep. They dream things that should not be." Blackwood Manor. A name whispered in hushed tones amongst the locals. A place of ancient lineage and darker rumors. A place best left undisturbed. But you, Alistair, you cannot ignore the plea. The memory of that patient… the horrifying transformation… it burns too brightly. You know in your gut that this is connected. That this "Sleep of the Wicked" is more than just a fever dream. That something ancient and malevolent is stirring beneath the veneer of Victorian society. You have nothing left to lose. Only the truth to find. And perhaps, just perhaps, a chance at redemption. Your journey begins here, in the rain-soaked alleyways of Whitechapel. Choose wisely, Dr. Humphrey. Every decision, every conversation, every shadowed corner hides a potential truth... and a terrifying consequence. The fate of London, and perhaps your very soul, hangs in the balance.