The old house, once a seat of nobility, has long been in ruins. The stone walls still stand, laid up with expert design and lasting strength, but the wooden beams supporting the roof and floors have mostly given way, fallen in and rotting in a jumble on the ground floor. The windows are open holes, the front door hangs off its frame (the others soft and swollen, sealing their portals). Laid open to the elements, stone shell is alive with wet, organic scents, the corners filled with dirt and fungus.
The place has an evil reputation, beginning with the untimely demise of the nobles that once lived there and continuing in the form of unsettling events, up to and including the present day. Bergen would not venture near, particularly in the night, but (as he walked home from the way house) he believes that he heard cries from the vicinity, and he now noses around the perimeter, looking for a sign of someone in distress.