Play@YSDC

'BRRRRRRRRRING!'

You march along the rain-slicked pavement to the ringing of the school bell. You see pupils piling out of their classrooms, happy that their lessons are finished for the day. Some are picked up in cars, while those walking home wait patiently at the school crossing.

Standing among the children is a plump, jolly looking woman in her late 60’s. She wears a high-viz coat and hat, and carries a lollipop-shaped stop sign. As she leads the children across the road she turns to look at you, head tilted. Around you, time seems to slow down and you feel an incredibly strong glamour emanating from her.

Weirdly, no-one else on this busy road seems to notice anything strange. Perhaps they lack your magical training and experience; perhaps they have grown accustomed to Mrs. Evans’ power; perhaps she has lifted the veil just for you.

Perhaps wickedness and guilt is not their cross to bear.

“Have you been looking for me, my dears?” asks Mrs. Evans, smiling pleasantly. “Are you crossing over or passing through?”

Skipper grunted, amused despite all. "Gordon Bennett. So much for covert obs, I think we're cream crackered."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Evans. Ah, are you an immortal vampire who sends people to Hell with your lollipop sign?"

"Just passing through, ma'am," says Jordan.

Des gritted her teeth, trying to fight back against the glamour. ”Way to go to get ‘er onside,” she sniped at Skipper, trying to keep it as normal possible, trying to fight the urge just to run away…

Even under the powerful spell, Leo reflexively reaches for his warrant card as he draws inexorably closer. Old habits die hard. It slowly comes out as his brain melts with the effort to regain control.

"DC Leo Dansby...of the Met...and more recently, of The Folly. Yes, we have. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Ms. Evans."

"I hate to name drop...no, I don't hate to name drop. Not this time. You know who trained us, and if Varvara or Nightingale hear that you were anything but polite to us and extended us every courtesy while we are on your turf, I can't imagine the fallout for you."

"Also, every single one of us have Peter Grant on speed dial," Leo added. "You know who he's married to." He quickly corrects himself. "Err, to whom he's married. Imagine if Bev gets her Mom involved."

"So, if you would be so kind as to release us from the spell, we would appreciate your assistance in our enquiries."

While parents and children walk around you, unheeding and in slow-motion, Mrs. Evans studies each one of you in turn.

"Ah, Raymond... no, you prefer Skipper don't you? No dear," she chuckles, "I'm not a vampire who sends people to Hell - merely a conduit for those who think themselves deserving of judgement. And Hell? Well, Preacher Jones might think so I suppose."

"You're passing through, are you Jordan? Passing through to where though? Do you even know?"

"And you, young Des - passing through too? Or running away again, just as Councillor Short ran?"

The town, traffic, and schoolchildren fade away, replaced by a lush green grove. The sound of birdsong and the tinkle of running water can be heard. Mrs. Evans is no longer wearing her lollipop lady uniform, but has long wavy hair that seems to merge into her flowing white robes. Instead of a stop sign, she carries a skull-topped staff.

"I'm sorry you feel the need to threaten me Leo - there's no need to be afraid. I'm casting no spell - I cannot help what I do, or what I am - it's always been this way since your ancestors first picked up a stone to break open a nut - or a skull..."

She turns to Izzy.

"I've been asleep for so long. The Romans and all that came after them - they all had their own beliefs and I wasn't needed any more. But then the preaching and the hymns and the anger and the fighting - it woke me up. Since then, I've been doing what I've always done."

Looking past you, she focusses her attention on Mr. Lewis.

"Sending the guilty to where they deserve to go..."

Lewis holds out his handcuffed hands and falls cowering to his knees.

"I'm a thief and a burglar. I like hurting people; I've beaten up people for money and for fun!" He wails in between sobs of terror.

Mrs. Evans nods.

“So the guilty judge themselves,” she announces. “I am both guardian of the Gate and the Gate itself."

The scene begins to shift again - the grove darkening as the air grows hotter and more stifling.

"This man is judged, but the rest of you - what do you want?"

Des had to bite down on her first instinct which was to tell the woman exactly where to go! ”Time’s moved on. We got police an’ judges an’ dat. We don’ need someone makin’ crim’s disappear. It’s time f’r u to retire…”” she said.

"Maybe I don't know where I'm going," says Jordan, "but I've always enjoyed exploring the unknown, and the journey can be more important than the destination. As for Mr. Lewis, he is in police custody. You would have to follow the extradition procedures if you want custody transferred to you."

Skipper looked unreasonably cheered by this.

"OK, the nice lady is not a vampire. Doesn't look much like one neither. Relax a notch, ladies and gents."

"I must say, Mrs, the old dears, ah, ladies I had afternoon tea with today spoke very highly of you. Said you was well respectable. 'Touch of class' one said."

Looking around Eli comments, "I was right, the crossing is where the grove once was. What is your name? How did you re-awaken? Who awoke you? We've read about various disappearances throughout the years, but they are quite sporadic. If you had been handing out justice all this time they should be more...shouldn't they?" He asks looking in awe at Mrs Evans.

As the sky darkens, Mrs. Evans frowns quizzically at Des.

"Retire? From what? I am what I am dear. I don't judge anybody - I just provide the gateway. Back in the day, people would come to my
grove be judged. Through my power they weighed their own worthiness. Good folk were rejuvenated, wicked folk were never seen again."

To Jordan, she shakes her head.

"Have you not been listening dear? I don't judge - I'm just a conduit. Mr. Lewis here has judged himself. I've no wish to take him into my custody - where he's going... well, he's brought that upon himself."

At Skipper's comment, she blushes.

"Ah, they all love me around here. It's a nice town - there's always someone willing to offer cake or biscuits. I suppose they know what side their bara brith is buttered on."

To Eli, she tuts, her Welsh lilt hardening somewhat.

"Another one who hasn't been listening. I've already told you: I went to sleep, then the preacher woke me up. When he died during the riot, he went away like all the other wicked folk. Like I said - everyone's nice around here so there's not much crime, but occasionally you get a bad apple: Councillor Short, and now this fellow..."

At this, Lewis whimpers.

"...whose time has come I think. Preacher Jones is calling for him - I can still feel his presence you know. I can hear him ranting his prayers, even over Councillor Short's cries."

Are you really as guilty or innocent as you think? Another POW roll please.

Izzy listens to Mrs Evans, but she remains unimpressed. Just because one had come from so long ago as before the Romans, doesn't mean they had the right to act as judge and jury, and indeed executioner, in the present. Des was right. The police and the courts are there for that now.

"Times have changed, Mrs Evans... or whatever your true name is, because I doubt people were calling you that during the Roman conquest... but either way. What worked once won't always be the case. We didn't have the laws, the police, the court system then, but now we do. We have a better way now. A more enlightened way."

She pays Lewis no attention as he wails on the ground, but Izzy stands ready still to grab him if he tries to make a run for the gate. At least, she hopes she does. Even as she can feel the power of the gate and Mrs Evans herself pulling them all in...

"If you really have no wish to take him into your custody, then fine. Leave him in ours. Whether he's in a prison cell or whatever hellish dimension lies beyond that gate, he'll be away from people who he can hurt. And we got him first. Like Jordan said, he's under arrest and in our care, so if he wants to go through the gate himself, he has to pay bail first."

Suddenly, Izzy's voice becomes as hard and determined as steel. "Those are the laws of this country, now. And if you want to breach those laws, then that makes you guilty too. Another one to be judged."

She hopes the words get through... but even as she speaks, Izzy can feel the hardening of the compulsion, the glamour surrounding her, as she fights to keep control...

POW: 60%

1d100

Social (to try and convince Mrs Evans): 60%

1d100

Oh well, I suppose resisting the gate is likely more important than persuading her anyway, she can't have that much Luck left to spend surely?

1d%p55%

Success.

"Perhaps it's the bara brith speaking, but I do have a bit of sympathy for this old school Welsh approach to justice. Cheer up Lewis, they've probably got WiFi down there by now."

Despite his doubts, Skipper stood ready to grab any of the Folly crew who looked like taking a header into Hades. Lewis could fend for himself.

"Oh, I wasn't making threats," Leo murmurs. "Those were just little reminders."

Leo summons his best professional smile and chimes in. "You said that the preacher woke you up. What would help you get back to sleep? You must be exhausted after of all of this..." he gestures around at the children. "Wouldn't a nice kip for another few hundred years be just the ticket? Wouldn't you like to go back to sleep?"

"We will happily provide any aid you need."

POW (80/40): 1d100

Jordan is suddenly struck with guilt. While he had previously thought there was nothing wrong with punching a Nazi, especially considering said Nazi had hit him first, he had still taken an oath to do no harm, and he had violated that oath. The fact that he had then given the Nazi excellent medical treatment didn't reverse the oath-breaking.

POW roll (30% stat) at the crossing:
d%
Can I spend 20 Luck to make that a success?

Then Jordan recalls his faith in Jesus Christ, that He went to the cross and died in Jordan's place for all his sins, and that He rose again from the dead, as a guarantee of his own eventual resurrection. Jordan's experiences with the supernatural only reinforced his faith, for how else could all these things exist? While he knew he deserved to go to hell, or whatever place this lady would conduct him, he also accepted that he was no longer under condemnation. The penalty had already been paid in full.

Spending 20 Luck.

POW 70 1d100

Fuq!

Des doesn’t believe in guilt (well, not for her, anyway!) What’s she to feel guilty about? She just did what she needed to do to survive when she was living on the streets, a bit of shoplifting, dine & dashing…

Hmmm…..

Mrs. Evans stifles a yawn, clearly growing bored of your questions and entreaties.

"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).

Izzy can't bear it... she expected something awful, but not this. She couldn't have anticipated this. Still, even as Mrs. Evans ignores all call of reason and logic, Izzy steels herself as best she can against the hellscape they find themselves in. It seems she didn't need to worry about grabbing Lewis, since they have all been dragged to the inferno together anyway...

CON roll: 40%

1d100

OOC:   Right, I think something went screwy there, the 4 is what I rolled just now but the other one seems to date from four days ago when I accidentally put a second roll that I didn't need for a previous post - I don't think I can delete the second one so I guess just ignore it being there?

1d%55%

Pass.

"Gordon. Bennett. Everyone awright? Well, this day has not gone the way I thought it would when I woke up. I would even go so far as to say it's gone a bit pear shaped. This happen to you before, Team Voodoo? "

Skipper looked at the corpses. "Umm, I can't imaging that was happening even in Wales anytime in the last century or two."

He reached for his backpack.

Does Skipper still have his backpack and contents thereof? If so, he'll pull out his old F3 camera.

Jordan is barely able to withstand the intense heat. "I'm okay," he says. "It is a bit warm here, though. Well, it seems obvious what we have to do: stop the preacher and the Councillor from being so bloody loud, so Mrs. Evans can go back to sleep. Let's start with the preacher. He's in the chapel. Besides, it'll probably be cooler indoors."

CON roll (70% stat) in the hellscape:
d%

"Still got my F3! Excellent."

Camera dangling around his neck, Skipper paused to pull out and light a cigar, pointlessly careful not to blow smoke in anyone's face. Then he started taking photos.

"Voodoo 5-0, I do believe this is a fireball day after all."

CON (70) 1d100

Des’ self-belief eroded in a heartbeat and she sank to her knees, staring in shock at the hellish townscape in from of her.

”Fuuuuuuuuqqqqq… …” was all she could say.

Leo blinks as his eyes water. The heat is unbearable. He looks around at the flames and charred landscape and back at the woman.

POW (80/40): 1d100

"Roger, roger. Copy that. Looks like everything here is already burned anyway." After the debacle of the last time he cast the fireball in public, Leo spent time in the magic library researching supernatural entities. Which ones were solid and which ones weren't. Which ones could be both. He felt clueless in that regard with this one. She looked solid for the moment.

He shook his head as he moved to an angle that would at least miss the church. This creature probably wouldn't even feel it, but he had to try.

He'd also spent dozens of hours in the basement on the makeshift firing range Peter rigged up firing over and over again. Once he was happy with the angle, he started the motion. The familiar TARDIS grind of Leo's magic started up. Leo released a fireball at the creature.

"Special delivery, courtesy of The Folly..."

Magic (70/35): 1d100

Lewis' CON roll

[85] = 85
CON 70 1d100: [ 85 ] = 85

Bent double, Lewis hacks and coughs - spitting out gobbets of phlegm.

Perhaps it is the stifling air, the heat haze over the cracked ground, or maybe it is the soot that swirls through blackened buildings, but it is difficult at first to make out the lanky figure that stumbles it's way towards you.

Short's roll to avoid fireball

[39] = 39
DEX 50 1d100: [ 39 ] = 39

Damage to short using Leo's DEX

[60] = 60
DEX 40 1d100: [ 60 ] = 60

Fail, so 1 damage dealt. Short is Hurt.

Leo launches his fireball at the 'creature', who yelps in terror; tripping over a loose cobblestone as the spell hits him.

"Argh! Help!" he wails, frantically slapping out the flames on his already tattered suit. "What's going on? Why is everyone trying to kill me?"

Your hearts sink as you realise that the person you have just attacked is the very person you have been ordered to retrieve - a singed and bloodied Councillor Short.

"We're sorry, Mr. Short," says Jordan, going over to him and looking over his injuries. "My friend didn't know who you were. Let me help you, I'm a doctor."

Eli surveys the hellscape he is in. Watching the events unfold before him , Leo casting fireball towards the damned creature, the now transformed Councillor Short,(Now as lookinh as twisted and corrupted on the outside as he is on the inside Eli thinks to himself).He hears talk of getting to the church and talking to the preacher who seemingly unwittingly kick started it all.
Blinking his eyes against the heat Eli shouts, " I concur, we NEED to get shelter from this heat! To the church and bring the councillor! Kill two.birds with one stone as it were."

Skipper had been photographing gibbetted corpses, cigar clenched between his teeth but carefully kept out of the way of the camera. He was hoping his black and white film would cope in the low light. But with the arrival of Short, he turned and got a couple of close-up of the burnt councillor on the ground.

"Good news, Short, we're the rescue team. So what do you know about this place? What's most dangerous? And don't give us any grief or you get another fireball, this time right up the Khyber."

Gods dammit, not another one... Izzy has zero chance to warn Leo not to throw a Fireball, before he does so, and ends up hitting (however inadvertently) their target of rescue.

"Damn it Leo, can you get a handle on that thing? Not every problem needs to be blasted with fire!"

She steps across to Councilor Short, though not exactly a fan of the man given what she's heard of him, she can't see him or anyone (with a few exceptions usually covered in news media) as being deserving of this place.

"Look, sorry about my trigger happy colleague... we're here to help you, okay? We're going to try and get you out of this place. I mean, it'll be into the dock for the whole corruption thing, but hey, got to be better there than here, right?"

Whatever the others seem to be seeing, Izzy has no clue, but all she sees is the singed and scared middle-aged man in a tattered suit and marked with blood. She glares briefly at Leo, and then Skipper, before they continue on. She wonders, not for the first time, how she - the dysfunctional, excitable, guilt-ridden, geeky lesbian, second-youngest of them all, whose flat looked like a bomb site before Alice moved in and who enjoys black comedy a little bit too much - keeps somehow being the mother of the group.

"No more fireballs. Got it?"

OOC:   Not sure if I missed something somewhere? Looking back through the Keeper posts I can't see anything about Short looking like a 'creature' or anything other than human, not sure if that's something Leo's just misread somewhere and made up in his head or if it's a thing that I've missed in a previous post?

Skipper returned glare-fire at Izzy, cigar gritted aggressively between his teeth. "Hey, don't look at me, I didn't napalm the muppet."

"Meantime, you and Johnny Storm might like to put your sorting hats on and figure a way out for us."

Short's mouth opens and closes like a fish as he processes what's going on.

"Y-you're real? Actual people? Oh my God you're real! Thank Christ!"

Suddenly the ground shakes and a flash of lightning stabs the dark sky.

"DO NOT BLASPHEME!" thunders a loud voice, echoing around the ruined town.

The chapel doors fly open, causing Short to yelp.

"H-he's coming! G-get me out of here! You've got to get me out of here!"

He flings himself at Jordan, grabbing at the medical man's shirt.

"Help me!"

Meanwhile, Lewis straightens up, wiping his mouth as best he can whilst handcuffed.

"Yeah, but how?" he asks. "We can't exactly get on the bypass can we?"

"I'll protect you, sir," says Jordan, "but I think we can reason with the preacher. We're going to have to, in order to get him to be quiet. You both have to be quiet. That's the only way we can get you out of here."

On her knees and her mind still reeling, Des’ wasn’t in a position to do anything to stare at the church as the doors flew open…

Eli's head snapped towards the open church doors." This should be interesting, trying to keep a fire and brimstone preacher quiet...quite literally in hell...in a sense."

"Come on, no point hanging about, let's have a butchers. We're already in the Underworld. Although I guess those poor sods hanging off the lamp posts no doubt would say it can get worse." Skipper waved his cigar in the direction of a gibbetted corpse by way of reference.

Camera in one hand, cigar back between his teeth, Skipper stalked quietly towards the chapel.

Just going to look through the doors from a few metres back at this stage.

Councillor Short whimpers as you move towards the chapel.

"Y-you'll protect me, won't you?" he pleads to Jordan, gripping him tightly.

So tightly in fact, that any physical rolls Jordan makes will have a penalty die.

Skipper, easing around the chapel door, carefully peers into the dark recesses within...

"SINNERS! BLASPHEMERS!"

Booms the voice.

"YOU SHALL SUFFER IN ETERNITY FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS!"

Two pinpricks of sickly white light waver in the dark, floating toward you.

"YEA, YOU SHALL BURN IN HELL!"

The glowing eyes reveal a gaunt, snarling face as, shuffling out of the blackness, the figure of Preacher Jones emerges from the shadows.


"SINNERS!"

He declares, the sleeve of his scorched frock-coat drooping as he points a bony finger at you.

"GUILTY!"

The stifling air rattles once again with thunder.

Jordan stands between Short and the preacher. While he doesn't like being restrained, he isn't planning on doing anything physical, but relying on his silver tongue. "I am guilty," he says calmly. "I am a sinner. All of us are, or we wouldn't be here. That includes you. You are guilty. You are a sinner. There is none that doeth good, no, not one. All of us deserve to burn in hell for all eternity. But there is hope for us. That hope is Jesus Christ, as you should certainly know. He took all of our sins upon Him when He went to the cross in our place, to take the punishment we so justly deserved. He descended into hell, but then He rose again on the third day. So we know that He will not leave us in this place, but will raise us up."

Social roll (70% skill) to calm the preacher:
d%

Skipper gave Jordan a brief side-eye, slightly impressed by this act of bravery.

Possibly evangelical, possibly suicidal, but still...

He quickly raised and adjusted his venerable F3, taking a photo of Preacher Jones. Then he readied himself to knock Jordan out of the way of any lightning bolts, if there was time.

It was Des’ worst nightmare, an elderly, white holy-roller come to shrive her soul…

Looking towards the priest Eli shouts "So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground John 8:7-11, tell me Reverand, are you such a pious man that you have lived without sin? Yet here you are!".

The preacher getting out-preached... Izzy still isn't convinced this is hell, not the real thing, being the staunch atheist that she is - river goddesses aside, of course. There's a clear difference between genius loci and your all powerful Jehovahs, your Shivas and Vishnus, and that sort of thing. A difference that Izzy has so far happily debated multiple times over many glasses of wine and spicy Sierra Leonean food with Bev, Fleet and an exasperated Tyburn.

But there's no denying that they really are in some strange hell-like place, her eyes and ears not deceiving her. Whether it could be a realm of the Fae, twisted and distorted as a place of punishment, or a pocket dimension created by the power of whatever Mrs. Evans is, or was - Izzy cannot tell. She simply watches and listens, as Eli and Jordan spout their own rhetoric to combat that of Preacher Jones. The man looking more like Pazuzu than Fathers Merrin or Karras...

Jordan's reasoning, backed up by Eli's knowledge of the scriptures, causes Preacher Jones to falter.

"I-I am also guilty," her stammers, the fire dimming in his eyes slightly. "The fighting, the rioting, the bloodshed... all because of me."

A peel of thunder rattles around the hellscape.

"I am wicked and it is my punishment to punish those as wicked as I."

If he notices Skipper taking photographs, he does not show it

"I sense you have entered my realm willingly. You are not sinners - I will return you to whence you came..."

He pauses pointing in turn to Councillor Short, Lewis and Des.

"Except for you. You must stay and face punishment for your sins..."

Des heard her name and looked up.

”Why me?!” she shouted, finding her voice. ”I’m no more guilty than anyone else!”

It worked. By Offler's great crocodile jaws, somehow it worked. Izzy blinks a couple of times in amazement as she realises Preacher Jones is backing down, cowed by the efforts of Jordan and Eli, and she's truly impressed by the pair and their knowledge on just what to say.

Except...

"No," Izzy says firmly. "We all leave here together as we came in, or none of us do. The councillor comes with us. Lewis here comes with us, and he faces the inside of a cell. And Des most definitely comes with us."

Sure, the wannabe roadgirl might get on Izzy's nerves plenty enough, but they're a team. And they don't leave teammates behind. Izzy steps forward, as if to block Des from the preacher, in a sort of big sisterly way.

"Unless you want to face the full combined force of His Majesty's Metropolitan Police, and the Folly..."

Damn it, she really wishes she had a demi-monde granted nickname, like how the boss is 'The Nightingale', and Peter is 'The Starling'...

"Who told you your punishment was to punish the wicked?" asks Jordan. "Or did you take it upon yourself? We are all leaving this place. You can leave with us, if you like. We know the way."

Skipper looked up at the peels of thunder with concern. Discreetly, he dropped his cigar to the gutter and crushed it out under foot.

He tried a more conciliatory approach, looking serious. "Ah, Preacher Jones, could we have a look inside your chapel? I'm sure it would be a benefit to us. And perhaps being inside the chapel would provide us some much needed guidance?"

”Fanks,” Des muttered from behind Izzy, then looking past her to the preacher, she said, ”Anyway, who’s t’ blame?! No work, no benefits! Get sanctioned f’r turnin’ up two minutes late! Pick on dem heartless bastids, not me!”

Leo is profoundly upset when he sees who his fireball hit. It takes him a moment to recover. He considers giving up, turning around, going back, but he somehow finds the strength to continue. He catches up and enters the church behind the others.

Eli's eyes locked on the priest, feeling anger b7bbl8ng up in him. "Again, I ask, who are you to judge other people? To condemn them to your version of hell? You who in your own words have soo much blood on your hands, yet you sit here not facing the punishment yourself , hiding behind your collar like a coward! Des is an amazing young lady, who despite the hand she's been dealt, does a hell of alot of good with her life. She does not belong here!"

Eli stands staring at Preacher Jones.

HELL yeah 18!

As you step into the shadowy chapel, Preacher Jones backs away, as if forced by the power of your reasoning.

"I... I..."

He retreats up the aisle, flanked by rotting pews, upon which sit dark, skeletal shapes; mercifully hidden in the gloom.

"I..."

His cadaverous face a mask of torment, he stops at the ragged altar and stares in wonderment at each of you in turn.

"I offer you your freedom and yet you remain to protect even those whose guilt is without question..."

"The punishment I give is the punishment I must bear for my own sins, yet you offer to take me with you..."

"You ask for guidance despite the wrath I threaten you with..."

"You stand defiant and brave regardless of the hell around you..."

"Your errors give you cause to falter, yet you step into the darkness nonetheless..."

"You speak the truth..."

As he sinks to his bony knees, a rush of fresh air howls through the chapel, bringing with it the light of summer.

"Can it be? Am I finally forgiven?"

The dark, hellish scene fades - bleaching like an old photograph in the sun. There is a whisper of leaves, the tinkling of a stream...

...and the contented sigh of unbound souls dissipating into - well, who knows where?

"Come on you lot, get to the other side!"

Shouting over the bustle of engines, Mrs. Evans shoos a knot of tardy, giggling children over the crossing before turning to you.

"And you too my dears. Doesn't do to linger on a crossing for too long."

You find yourselves, back in the real world, being ushered gently accross Grove Street and on to the pavement opposite the school. Alongside you are a still-handcuffed Lewis and a tattered, whimpering Councillor Short.

"You all came back then? I suppose it must've gone well eh?" says the lollipop lady. "The preacher has gone and it's nice and quiet now - I'm very glad."

"Thank you, ma'am," says Jordan, crossing to the safety of the pavement. "It certainly did. I'm very glad too. I'd like to buy you a cake."

Eli nods at Mrs Evans as he crosses over the road. " I hope you get to enjoy the peace for a good while to come."

I get why Des is being picked on. It doesn’t mean she thinks it’s fair though!

”Is that it?” asked Des, pushing herself to feet. ”What about… you know?” She subtly nodded in the direction of Mrs Evans.

Having done a quick head count, Skipper paused to grin. "Nice one, Jordan and Eli, proper job of talking on your feet."

"See, Voodoo 5-0, it doesn't always have to be a Hogwarts wand shoot-out with added fireballs. Your counter goes back to zero, Leo."

"Could murder another cigar, better not outside a school though."

"Thanks, Skipper," says Jordan. "We make a good team." To Des he adds. "She'll be able to sleep now without Preacher Jones and Councillor Short keeping her constantly awake and dragging people back there. I think things will be quiet here from now on."

Nodding at Jordans words Eli adds, "You maybe right, but i think it may be prudent to keep an eye on this village. Preacher Jones may have been keeping our lollipop busy, but he mustve been shouting for decades yet only a handful of disappearances sporadically through time have occurred. I nay be overthinking this, maybe just the higher profile of Councillor Short but someone
else may have found or might find a way to utilise Mrs Evans gifts."

"Rest and cake. Heh, what else can you ask for?"

Mrs. Evans chuckles, looking out across the street as if seeing it for the first time and only half-listening to your conversation.

"Perhaps enough have been judged... Yes, maybe so..."

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Epilogue

DS Singh is, in her own way, extremely grateful for the return of Councillor Short, although even she is surprised at how willingly he confesses to his crimes.

With him (and to a lesser extent Lewis), helping the police with their enquiries, the Dyfed–Powys Economic Crime Team are able to expose large-scale corruption within certain sectors of the building industry and certain sectors of local government. However, by the time the investigation is concluded and the whole thing makes the national headlines, you are all back in the civilised embrace of Russell Square.

"Hmm, a most satisfying conclusion," DI Nightingale mutters as he straightens his newspaper. "Alas your part in apprehending the miscreant receives no mention, but rest assured the right people are extremely impressed with how you comported yours- Ha!"

His laugh echoes around the atrium of the Folly, causing Molly to look up quizzically from her tea-pouring.

"Perhaps I'd better take a drive to Wales and establish diplomatic relations," he continues.

Rather than elaborate, The Nightingale chuckles, holding up the newspaper article for you all to read:

-are looking at a long prison sentence. Several planning applications in the town of Cwmllyn have been cancelled or reduced in scope. In addition any building projects that are still going ahead must now include an element of civic improvement, beginning with the building of a new, purpose-built library and museum. Further projects will be decided by public consultation in conjunction with the local council, under the aegis of the new town councillor, retired lollipop lady Maud Evans.

"Lor' bless 'er, she's an unstoppable force."

Skipper was idly opening a just-collected envelope of developed photos. "Gordon Bennett, I'm glad these are developed by a machine, not a person, might give some poor school kid working part time PTSD."

He set out some black and white photographs of a Welsh hell-scape, occupied gibbets, and Preacher Jones...

"Could blow that one of Jones up to portrait size, frame it and hang it downstairs. Watcha think?"

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"Yes, that's some impressive photography," says Jordan. "Still, I think the subject matter wouldn't be appropriate for the National Gallery."

"I'm not pretending to be an artist. I take photos to record events.
People, places, activity, fanatical Welsh hell preachers, weird Falcon critters..."

"As long as the moment is captured, I'm happy as a clam."

Skipper fished out his phone. "Better put a few days in with the RNVR."

"Wonder how busy the Vicar is...?"

Leo nodded grimly. "Both times I cast fireball in the field, there was a legitimate fucking monster standing right in front of me at the time. The first time, I deprived a village of its primary source of entertainment, and the second time, I nearly killed an innocent man."

He looked at the Nightingale, "Is this sort of thing... just another day at the Folly, sir?"