The Cellar

[Laraqua]

There's a long corridor that runs forward into a seething darkness that settles thickly around the edges of your light. Doors line the passage on either side, nicked and scratched, and inset with strange symbols. The whole space feels somewhat humid, like the air is hard to breathe, yet cold in a way that numbs you. You can hear a whispering echoing all around you. Perhaps if you concentrated, you could make out its sound.

[Mr. Handy]

Kate raises a finger to her lips and concentrates on listening.

[Laraqua]

He frowns at her, shivering slightly. Then he winces, doubling over. "The whispers ... in my head." His voice sounds pained.

She can feel a pressure, too, but it's not painful for her, not yet. The whispers sound almost like trapped thoughts. "Where can we go?" "They'll bomb us in our homes!" "Is that unexploded bomb okay?" "I can't see where I'm going." "That feral dog keeps following me." "Will my husband come home?" "I don't want to die tonight." "Let me make it home to see my family." "Britain will endure ... or it won't be Britain anymore." Each thought is nameless, each in a different voice, mostly with British accents, a few foreign.

[Mr. Handy]

"These must be the voices of people who have come through here before," says Kate. "I don't feel pain yet, but maybe if we keep talking, we won't hear the voices any more. Well, like Winston Churchill says, when you're going through hell, keep going. Are you able to proceed, or do you need to wait for me in the kitchen?"

[Laraqua]

"I've never been down here before," he mutters, struggling to stand upright. "I've never heard any of these voices before.... There's so many of them. I can feel their ... their fear ... their loss." He shakes his head to clear it. "I won't leave you alone down here. I've left too many people to go their own way and none of them have made it out. Or if they have, they've never sent word back. We can ... we can manage it. I'm just going to be ... a little unsteady ... on my feet."

[Mr. Handy]

"Thank you," says Kate. "In that case, take my hand, and let's go onward."

[Laraqua]

"Thank you," he says, clutching at her hand.

There's a long corridor that runs forward into a seething darkness that settles thickly around the edges of your light. Doors line the passage on either side, nicked and scratched, and inset with strange symbols. The whole space feels somewhat humid, like the air is hard to breathe, yet cold in a way that numbs you. There are seven doors to your left and seven to your right, and a painted on door up ahead.

[Mr. Handy]

"You're welcome," says Kate. "I don't know which of these doors to try first. They all look the same, except for the one at the end, but that's not a real door at all. It's just painted on. But in this place, maybe there's more to it than that. Let's take a closer look at it."

OOC, Can I use Art?

[Laraqua]

OOC: Yes, you may. Results below.

She moves closer to examine the artistic rendition. It is a highly detailed work of art and within the wood grain pattern seem to be thousands of tiny screaming faces. The paint feels warm and wet to the touch, but when you check your hand there's no paint staining it. Knowing the way this place typically works, perhaps the painted door might become real, but it isn't there yet.

[Mr. Handy]

Kate tries to open the painted door by pulling on the doorknob, though she doesn't expect it to work. "I guess we'll have to try one of the real doors," she says. "They all look the same to me, so maybe we should just pick one at random."

[Laraqua]

There are a dozen doors, seven on one side, five on the other. He approaches the nearest one on the right and shivers. "Handle's cold and wet...." Then he turns it and pushes it open to reveal a wood-pannelled room etched in phrases, pleas, fears of bomb and incendiary, but it's what's within the room that is frightening. At least a dozen burnt bodies lie in a twisted pile on the floor, bent double on themselves, faces contorted in silent agony. There's no sign of ash or soot on the floor beneath them, nor char on the wood, which suggests they didn't burn here.

There's a plaque built into the floor: May Fear of Flame Gather Here.

Sanity Check: 1/1d6.

[Mr. Handy]

This is a Trail of Cthulhu game. Should I do a Stability roll instead?

[Laraqua]

OOC:   OOC, yes that was silly of me! Losing that much sanity would be a problem! It would also be a lower stability amount - 2 - as it's fairly grisly.

[Mr. Handy]

Kate shudders. "Not my worst fear," she says, "but it's still disturbing."

Stability roll (no points spent for seeing the burned bodies:
1d6
Hmm. It's not showing my roll, though I enabled dice rolling. I rolled on Orokos and failed.

[Laraqua]

"This seems to have been here awhile," he said, shuddering. "I don't think it's freshly made. It smells ... awful."

[Mr. Handy]

"Right, looks like we're going to have to try another door - and hope it isn't as bad as this," says Kate. "Let's try one on the other side of the hall."

[Laraqua]

They open the door to reveal three bodies wired into sitting positions around a table, their skin covered in lesions that look like photos she's seen of mustard gas. They stink of rot and death but thankfully there's no gas-like smell to the air. (Stability test - you lose 1).

The stranger manages to hold his composure and merely shivers. "Has mustard gas been used in this war?"

You're not aware of any being used as both sides seem terrified to reopening those old wounds, though people do carry gas masks because they fear it's going to happen. The entire nation is meant to carry their gas masks, just in case.

[Mr. Handy]

"Not as far as I know," says Kate. "Everyone's too afraid of it to dare use it, lest the other side respond in kind. We've all been issued gas masks and told to carry them at all times, just in case. I've got mine with me, but not everyone carries it around. It seems like all these doors have various fears behind them. Being burned, being gassed...those aren't my worst fears. I'm...I'm terrified of being buried alive. Every time I go into a shelter, I'm afraid not that the bombs will kill me, but that they'll collapse the entrance and trap me in there alive."

[Laraqua]

"Fears, yes, but not just ordinary fears," says the stranger, frowning. "Why though? What is this place *for*? It was clearly constructed for some purpose...."

[Mr. Handy]

"The first one said 'May Fear of Flame Gather Here,'" says Kate. "Maybe we have to find the rooms that correspond to our own fears. Do you want to try another one?"

Stability test for the gas room:
1d6
I forgot to roll the test before. I rolled it now, but I can't see the result.