"Yes, sleep would be nice, but what with the Preacher's preaching and the Councillor's crying, it's too noisy to sleep."
A cold breeze rattles through the grove. The sky darkens.
Some of you remain resolute and steadfast, convinced that you are doing the right thing. Others, like Des, are perhaps a little less certain.
Regardless of your own feelings, for a loudly sobbing Lewis, time is up...
“Time to go dearies; time to go.”
Mrs. Evans' features fade until only the outline of her figure is visible. Through this outline you can see another space: dark, red, and flickering with flame. This doorway grows, swallowing up the entire grove. You do not cross into the realm, it grows to envelop you.
You suddenly find yourselves in a hellish, fire-damaged facsimile of Cwmllyn as it was in the 1900’s. Grove Street is narrow and cobbled;
all modern buildings have been replaced with grubby Victorian hovels while school is a corrugated iron hall.
The chapel, however, is largely unchanged. You can see no living townsfolk, but dotted around the scorched scrub around chapel, corpses hang from blackened gibbets. The sky is black with soot, interspersed with pinpricks of burning ash. The air is unbearably hot, making it difficult to breathe.
From the direction of the chapel, carried across on the howling wind, snatches of hoarse and cracked preaching can be heard over Lewis' exclaimations of terror:
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… Confess your sins! In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins… Confess!”
Interspersed throughout this is another voice, wailing pitifully.
“Leave me alone! Please!”
You are in a literal hellscape! Please make a CON roll to see if you can bear up against the scorching, ashen atmosphere. If you fail, you become Impaired (and thus fumble of a 90+ rather than 100).  |
