Igordragonian's Alone Against the Flames IC

[zingbobco000]

For reference this is taken from Alone Against the Flames written by Mike Mason, Paul Fricker, and Gavin Inglis, thank you!

Do You Hear the Call of Cthulhu?
“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”
—H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu

Welcome to Call of Cthulhu, a Horror/Investigative roleplaying game of mystery wherein you, an ordinary person, shall encounter and confront the terrifying alien forces of the Cthulhu mythos. Now, to begin is quite simple, and this first introduction shall operate similar to a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story (this is done in order to help with an easy transition between the investigation-heavy Call of Cthulhu, and most other RPGs). Nevertheless, it is time to begin... welcome, to Alone Against the Flames.

----
Unknown New England Town, 2:44 PM, September 1st, 1921.

The sun is high in the sky, a merciless ball of heat. You feel scorched by the time you reach the bus halt in front of Osborn’s Drug Store. It’s a relief to put down your heavy cases and take off your hat for a moment. You fan your face. It has been a long summer here, in your hometown, and yet a curiously empty one.
You look across the street at the grubby butcher’s shop, the grocers with its faded awning, and the shabby tobacconist. Mistrustful faces glare at you as they pass, eyeing your clothes and luggage. It was your parents’ choice to live here, not yours. You were happy down south as a child, among Providence’s white-walled houses and leafy churchyards. Perhaps this new job in Arkham will supply the change you need.
Yet everybody you know in the world lives here. You know nobody in Arkham, not one soul. You ask yourself one last
time if you are doing the right thing.
The answer is here. None of your supposed friends have come to see you off. You are alone. Whatever challenges lie in Arkham, it will be a new life, and a brave one.
A small gray motor coach approaches and rattles to a stop. You put your hat back on and pick up your cases.

Two young men with sullen expressions alight from the coach. One looks you up and down before heading away. The driver also steps down, glancing at you before crossing the road to visit the tobacconist. When he returns, he is rolling a cigarette between his yellowed fingers. He gives it a final twist and examines you as he reaches for his matchbox. He is a thin man in his fifties, dressed in a stained shirt with the bus company emblem. Yet his eyes are sharp in their dark sockets.
“Where to?”
https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89720009/-l_RF8TtW8k7pd41U8F_Tg/max.png?1566314863
You show him your ticket for Ossipee. From there you will connect to Rochester and Portsmouth, before the coastal line to Newburyport and, finally, Arkham. You should be able to afford a rail ticket for at least some of the way; otherwise this will be the first of many long bus trips.
“Mmm-hm.” The driver scratches the match and lights his cigarette. The end flares as he takes a draw. Then he exhales and gestures to the back of the coach. “Luggage rack’s up there.”

----
In Call of Cthulhu (somewhat like most other RPGs) there are eight characteristics Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Appearance, Size, Power, Education, and Intelligence

Strength: This is a measure of the physical prowess of your investigator
Dexterity: This is a measure of the agility and speed of your investigator
Constitution: This is a measure of the physical toughness and stamina of your investigator
Appearance: This is a measure of the physical appeal of your investigator
Size: This is a combined measure of your investigator's height and weight, also used in determining their force behind their attacks and health
Power: This is a measure of your investigator's mental stability, force of will, or spirit
Intelligence: This is a measure of the logic and cunning of your investigator
Education: This is a measure of your investigator's tutelage, be it from formal education or the "school of hard knocks"

For the very early image you have of your character, please rank these characteristics in whatever order you choose. No need for anything other than this right now. Also, yes, I understand that this is not really your standard introduction to an In-Character Thread, but let's roll with it!

[igordragonian]

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e8/Cahan-Abraham-bust.jpg/250px-Cahan-Abraham-bust.jpg
I have looked again at my photo. It was a quirk of mine. As a child I believed to be an ugly swine, amd never dared to look in the mirror. My mother was enchanted by the idea of immortalizing our family on small square thing, but I was disgusted and ruined every photo they tried to include me in, with shameful histeric periods, that would women rather then a growing boy.

Two years ago, a lovely gal forced me to take this photo and looked at it. The man in the small card thing was handsome.
'Who is this man?' I have asked rather dumbly.
"This is you, you goof!' The lovely gal giggled like jolly bells of holiday.

I still imagine myself as someone else, and now when I come to a new place, I feel urge to remind myself how I look like.
The bus driver glare at me, as I am standing there like a drolling fool and wasting everyone's time.
'Right. My sincere apologies.' I apologize, cursing myself for the inaproriate time to indulge into my quirks, and hurried to put my luggage in place. I tried to take the far corner of the bus, and not ruin anyone's day with my disgusting oozing fat face.


-------

1- Intelgence
2- apearance
3-size
4- education
5-Constitution
6-strentgh
7-dexterity
8- power

[zingbobco000]

The driver smokes and watches as you drag your cases to the back of the motor coach. The rack is set inconveniently high on the vehicle. You get a grip on the heavier case.

The driver continues to enjoy his cigarette, watching with keen interest as you struggle with the cases. You grit your teeth and heave the second one into place. Perhaps the residents of Arkham will have better manners.

The driver flicks his cigarette into the gutter and steps into the motor coach. Its engine coughs into life. You board, grateful that you will be the only passenger for the initial part of your trip at least. With mixed emotions, you watch from the window as the tired avenues of your old home slip behind you, receding into the distance. For a few minutes, you can still see the church spire over the brow of a low hill. Then the road dips and it, too, is gone.
Arkham is your new home. You will travel there, and make a new start.
----

Note that your sanity is equivalent to your Power, and your magic points are also based on your Power as well.
----

The coach putters through the countryside. At first, the interior is stifling and your stomach lurches with every bend in the road. However, the driver opens his window, and by switching seats you find a spot where the breeze hits your face. You soon relax into the journey, observing the quaint little hamlets that the coach serves. A heavy-set woman boards at one settlement and gives you a polite nod. She gets off at the next one.
----

Also note that your beginning Hit Points are dependent on your Size and your Constitution. You also have something called a Luck score, which is well... how lucky you are. Please roll 3d6 to help me determine it.

[igordragonian]

I worked on relaxing. I WANTED to meet people. People who would see me, without biases of my behavior in the past.
Yes. New life. New hope.



Sanity-
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Sanity-
[roll0]

This is actually for Luck not Sanity but that's all good :smallbiggrin:
----

The road rises a little, passing cornfields and orchards. The leaves are turning and the trees are alive with glorious reds and golds. You have just begun to doze when the driver takes a tight bend at speed.
----

Please now give me a Dexterity roll. What this means is that you'll be rolling a d100 and comparing it to your Dexterity. For now, I hold your stats (mwahahahah), but eventually, I'll hand the character over to you once I feel like you've got a good handle on the mechanics (presumably at the end of the adventure)! So, just give me the d100 roll.

[igordragonian]

",Excu-excuse Sir, can you please slow do-"



-----

Dexeterity
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

You rolled above your dexterity, which means that you have failed your roll.
----

A desperate yell shakes you out of your reverie of the beautiful view. You feel yourself slide from the seat as the driver spins the wheel and the motor-coach plunges off the road. You scream out you warning, but it's too late. You reach for the seat in front, but it's to no avail. You fall into the aisle and your ribs crash against the edge of the seat opposite. Breath rushes out of you. The coach stops with a thump.
Your driver leaps from his seat into the road. As you sprawl, dizzy, in the aisle, you hear a string of incendiary curses.
The driver climbs back into the cab and sees you on the floor. He looks concerned and assists you back into your seat. You see what has happened now. A Fordson tractor has stopped in the road and he had to swerve to avoid this steel obstacle.
“Sorry,” he says. “All them fields and he has to pick the road to park. You all right?”
You don’t think anything’s broken. But you’ll have a colorful bruise for the next few days. The throbbing pain itself should hopefully end with a good night's rest. The driver then backs the coach up a little and threads it around the tractor, glaring at the farmer.
----

You have sadly lost 1 hit point in this accident. Eventually you will heal back up to your maximum, but note that if you sustain a massive amount of hit-point loss, or if you fall to 0 hit points, you will fall unconscious or even die.
----

You resume your journey. The driver takes the curves with more caution than before. He glances over his shoulder at you a couple of times.
“Sorry about before,” he says. “That fella was dumber than a hog. I’m Silas. What’s your name?”

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89720335/8XsBuZsHXsIItvnU1QLyaw/med.png?1566315175

The accident was at least as much Silas’s fault as the farmer’s. But it doesn’t seem shrewd to antagonize the man while he is driving you through the middle of nowhere.
----

Make up a name for your character I'll record it! You may add your age; for the purposes of this adventure your character should probably be aged between 23 and 36.

[igordragonian]

Physicaly I am fine. But in my mind I am anxiouse.
My cruel imagination torture me with images id "what if', and I see my corpse fat bloated and disgusting, and the driver kick it, saying:"It's uglier then a hog!"

"Wha-what? My name? Ah...' Silas has terrified me, but it must be just mu anxiety.
"Isaac. Isaac Warshawer.' I present myself. Sometimes I am considering rename myself. It has been at least a generation, but mark myself as eat europian... might be unwise.

[zingbobco000]

Also what's Isaac's age?

Silas gives a short chuckle, but does not respond further. The coach turns onto a narrower road, which weaves uphill through woodland. Silas becomes chatty.
“Going to Arkham, eh? Can’t say I ever heard of the place. Went to Boston once. Didn’t like it. Too much hustle and bustle. You got family there? A special someone waiting?”
The afternoon is wearing on. You see no harm in confiding in Silas about your new life.
“A job, eh? What’s your line?”
----

Now it's time for your character to choose an occupation. In Call of Cthulhu an occupation provides you with several occupation skills. It's comparable to a class, but the main distinction is that it's not representative of all your characters abilities, and it does not really affect advancement.
Some common occupations for investigators include:

Antiquarian
Doctor of Medicine
Journalist
Private Investigator
Professor
Something Else... (we can discuss)?

[igordragonian]

Ooc: hmm... 29?

Ic:
"N-no. Actually, I have no one there. And I have looked for a place,there is no chance anyone will recongnize me." He admitted.
"My father has escaped his homeland... so it's something like that, on a smaller scale. You could say, escaping home, is a family tradtion.C he chuckled nervously.
"Well, I hope.. I'll find job at.. my expertise. A.. history proffesor.'

[zingbobco000]

You explain you are joining the faculty at the renowned Miskatonic University. It’s only a junior position, with teaching and tutoring duties, but the institution is well regarded. Who knows where the appointment might lead? A symposium, a visiting lectureship, even one of its world-spanning expeditions.
“Hmm.” Silas wrinkles his nose. “I had enough of book learning when I was a young ‘un. Still, I suppose it’s well enough for those who likes it.”
----

So, you're a professor of history, what kind? We'll have to see (in the next post)! To begin with though, you gain the following occupational skills: Library Use, Own Language, and Psychology. In addition, please choose a Language which you happened to study earlier on in your life. It can be anything, from German to Latin to Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs (it might be your family's language in this case)!

[igordragonian]

"It's all we-well and fine. I re-respect labour and all ski-skills. M-my father was a shoe maker.' I tell, trying to get on the good side of this man.

-----
Hmmm. I think he know russian?
His father came from the Russian Empire.
(Also my laungauge in irl. Wink*)

[zingbobco000]

Sounds good! Now for your actual academic area of expertise or personal specialties. You may choose four skills from the following list that you would perceive to be related to your Isaac's professorship. I'll also provide a short sentence description or so for each.

Accounting - understanding of accountacy procedures; reveals the financial functioning of a business or a person.
Antropology - identify and understand an individual's or culture's way of life throuh observation
Appraise - estimate the value of a particular item, including the quality, material used, and workmanship.
Archeology - allows dating and idetifying artifacts from past cultures as well as detecting fakes
Arts/Crafts - allows the creation, making, or repair of an item which could be artistic (painting, singing, etc...) or craft-related (woodworking, cookery, etc...). Each one requires its own choice.
Charm - physical attraction, seduction, flattery, or simply warmth of personality.
Climb - climb trees, walls, and other vertical surfaces with or without ropes or climbing gear.
Disguise - used whenever you wish to appear to be someone other than whom you are.
Dodge - allows one to instinctively evade blows, thrown missiles, and so forth.
Drive Auto - drive a car or light truck, make ordinary maneuvers, and cope with ordinary vehicle problems.
Electrical Repair - repair or reconfigure electrical equipment, such as auto ignitions, electric motors, fuse boxes, and burglar alarms.
Fast Talk - specifically limited to verbal trickery, deception, and misdirection, such as bamboozling a bouncer to let you inside a club, getting someone to sign a form they haven't read, making a policeman look the other way, and so on.
Fighting - one's skill in melee combat. There are also different specializations such as Sword, Axe, Spear, or Whip, which each require their own choice.
Firearms - covers all manner of firearms, as well as bows and crossbows. There are different specializations including Handguns, Rifles/Shotguns, Bows, and Crossbows
First Aid - emergency medical care, not for diseases (see Medicine).
History - recall a historical detail or event, the significance of a country, city, region, or person, as pertinent.
Intimidate - browbeating or making verbal threats to get your way.
Other Language (you one of these) - Knowledge (ability to understand, speak, read, and write) of a language that's not your own. Each language is its own choice.
Own Language (you have this) - Knowledge of your own language (presumably English)
Law - represents the chance of knowing pertinent law, precedent, legal maneuvers, or court procedure.
Library Use (you have this) - Find a piece of information, such as a certain book, newspaper, reference in a library, or a collection of documents (assuming there's information to be found).
Listen - interpret and understand sound, including overheard conversations, mutters behind a closed door, and whispered words in a cafe.
Locksmith - open car doors, hotwire autos, jimmy libtary windows, figure out Chinese puzzle boxes, and penetrate ordinary alarm systems.
Mechanical Repair - repair a broken machine or create a new one.
Medicine - diagnose and treat accidents, injuries, diseases, poisonings, etc...
Natural World - represents the traditional (unscientific) knowledge and personal observation of farmers, fishermen, inspired amateurs, and hobbyists.
Navigate - take the correct path to a destination, whether in a strange city or the wilderness.
Occult - recognize occult paraphernalia, words and concepts, as well as folk traditions; can also identify grimoires of magic and occult codes.
Operate Heavy Machinery - required to drive and operate a train, steam engine, bulldozer, or other large-scale land machine. Persuade - convince a person of a particular idea, concept, or belief through reasoned argument, debate, and discussion (although this does not necessarily have to employ the truth).
Pilot - allows the safe operation of a boat, aircraft, or dirigible. Each one is its own skill.
Psychoanalysis - refers to the range of emotional therapies.
Psychology (you have this) - perception, common to all humans, to form an idea of another person's motives and character, and detect if a person is lying.
Ride - applies to saddle horses, donkeys, and mules, granting knowledge of basic care of the riding anaimal, riding gear, and how to handle the steed at a gallop or on difficult terrain.
Science - practical and theoretical ability with a science specialty gained from some degree of formalized education and training, although a well-read amateur scientist may also be a possibility. These specializations include: Astronomy, Biology, Botany, Chemistry, Cryptography, Geology, Pharmacy, Physics, Zoology, etc... Each one is its own skill.
Sleight of Hand - allows the visual covering-up, secreting, or masking of an object or objects, perhaps with debris, cloth, or other illusion-promoting materials.
Spot Hidden - find a secret door or compartment, notice a hidden intruder, see an inconspicuous clude, recognize a repainted automobile, become aware of ambushers, etc. - an important skill in the armory of an investigator.
Stealth - when attempting to avoid detection, moving quietly, and hiding without alerting those who might hear or see.
Survival - expertise required to survive in extreme conditions, such as in desert or arctic conditions, as well as on the sea or in wilderness terrain. Each environment is its own skill.
Swim - ability to float and to move through water or other liquid in times of crisis or danger.
Throw - hit a target with an object.
Track - follow a person, vehicle, or animal over earth, and through plants.


Oh boy, that was long. I listed all of them for later reference, as well as to let you know that as long as it makes sense, any of these can be involved in your occupation. So, with all that out of the way, choose four!

[igordragonian]

Hmm.

Anthropolgy
Archeology
History
Another launguage(Aztec heiroglyphs)

[zingbobco000]

You realize Silas hasn’t made a stop since the incident with the tractor. The motor coach winds its way uphill. However, your thoughts are interrupted as the road crests a ridge and you are treated to a magnificent view of the vista below.
A creek snakes through the valley, breaking the rich autumn palette of the tree line. In the distance the White Mountains rise into hazy cloud. There is no settlement, not even a cabin, as far as the eye can see. Birds drift through the treetops, and you can just make out what might be two white-tailed deer lingering by the water.
Perhaps you are making a mistake by moving to the city. Could you survive on your own in this lush wilderness?
----

You have a base ability in most skills, which allows for you to attempt a roll even if you haven't chosen it as one of your occupational skills or personal interest. Speaking of personal interest skills, choose four skills which are not any of the ones you chose for your occupation which are your personal interest skills.

[igordragonian]

"Ex..excuse me sir. A.are you sure we are on the right... pa..path?"


-----------

it isn't there, but
another launguage-spanish
library use
occult
throw

[zingbobco000]

library use


I believe that you already have Library Use as one of your professional skills, so please pick something else. Also, what isn't there? Did I miss something?

[igordragonian]

Sorry.
Then I guess listen. Sometimes he curiose

[zingbobco000]

The motor coach rattles on through the hills and Silas lapses into silence. The sky darkens behind you, pinks tinting the clouds as the sun descends.
----

Now from those eight skills (Library Use, Other Language (Russian), Psychology, Own Language (English), Anthropology, Archeology, History and Other Language (Aztec Heiroglyphs) could you rank them in the order of your character's expertise?

[igordragonian]

Library use
English
Anthropology
Russian
History
Aztec heiroglyphs
Archeology

[zingbobco000]

Library use
English
Anthropology
Russian
History
Aztec heiroglyphs
Archeology

Oh, I think you missed Psychology, where would that be in the ranking?

[igordragonian]

The lowest

[zingbobco000]

The motor coach rattles on through the hills and Silas lapses into silence. The sky darkens behind you, pinks tinting the clouds as the sun descends. Finally a welcome sight comes into view: a settlement on the crest of a hill. This doesn’t look like the pictures you’ve seen of Ossipee. But perhaps you can persuade Silas to stop while you stretch your legs.
Minutes later, a harsh stuttering from the engine interrupts your reverie. Silas frowns and rattles the gear stick. The motor coach falters in its ascent. Silas utters a curse you don’t recognize and grinds his teeth, struggling at the wheel. You seem to inch up the hill until you reach the first buildings, low dwellings constructed from a rough red stone. Silas wrestles the coach into a small bay off the road. He scrambles from his seat and makes for the engine compartment.
----

Now it is time to make our first skill check! However, I'm going to offer you the choice between two, but you could arguably think of doing something else and I'll rule what it would be for now. Do you think your character would go out and check on the car, if so, please give me a Drive Auto roll (a d100 which I will compare to your drive auto skill [you consider yourself an amateur in this field]), or would you like to guage Silas's reactions, if so, please give me a hard Psychology roll (a d100 which I will compare to half your Psychology skill [you consider yourself an amateur in this field]). Either way, roll a d100 and tell me which one you'd rather compare it to.

[igordragonian]

I'll check the car.


[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Silas opens the engine compartment open and sticks his head inside. The hot metal pops and sizzles. He pokes at various components, then withdraws and wipes his brow, smearing it with dark grease.
“I ain’t sure what’s wrong. Might be the oil pressure. Might be something knocked off kilter when we took that spill. Can’t do much until the engine cools neither. And with the light failing… I reckon we’ll be here through the night.” He wipes his hands on a rag.
The shadows from your surroundings are already long, and the air is chilly. You feel stiff from the journey and a night in the rickety coach sounds unappealing. Silas sees your dismay.
“This here’s Emberhead. Miles from anyplace. I only come through twice a week. But the folks here are good people. May Ledbetter keeps a spare room. She’ll look after you. Up that alley, turn right, first house on the left.”
He scratches his cheek, looks again into the engine compartment, and spits on the ground.
“Meet me back here at eight in the morning and we’ll see how’s we stand.”
----

Now we're entering the more freeform part of the adventure. Nevertheless, given that this is still an introductory scenario. I'll be providing little prompts at the bottom of example things your character could attempt so that you can formulate a post in-line with general Call of Cthulhu ideas. In this instance, I have three possibilities.
1. Head out and look for this May Ledbetter's house
2. Ask Silas where he's going to stay the night
3. Challenge Silas about the breakdown

[igordragonian]

I am conflicted. Comftrable bed, even if it I'll get as beggar, sounded tempting.
But it felt wrong. I am not a very useful man. And also disgustingly fat, but I still should act humane. Also, no need to disgust this said woman...
"I.. Ap..apreciate the off-offer good sir. But I won't sleep well, unless I kn-know that you have somewhere to lay your head, as well.'

[zingbobco000]

Silas gives the engine a sour glance before answering.
“I’ve got acquaintances here in the village. Reckon one of ‘em owes me a favor. Enough for bed and breakfast, in any case.” He stares at his grubby hands. “Probably won’t stretch to a hot bath.”
You don’t seem to have a lot of options. You fetch your cases from the back of the motor coach. The last thing you need is for all your worldly possessions to disappear into some stranger’s hovel overnight.

You drag your cases between the sullen buildings. You feel surprisingly weary, considering you have spent all day sitting down. Silas’ directions lead you to a modest dwelling with a slate roof. A nameplate reads LEDBETTER, and underneath, a sign in neat copperplate reads, LODGING ROOM. The lane around you is gloomy, but a lamp flickers in the window.
A breeze chills your face. You’re not about to begin your new life by sleeping in the street. You rap on the weatherbeaten door.

After a moment, you hear footsteps inside the house. A bolt is drawn back and the wooden door swings open. A figure with loose curls and a rough-looking housedress peers at you. Her gaze takes in your traveling suit and your cases. Her voice has a slight Irish lilt.
“Hello. Should I take it as you’re looking for a room for the night?”
You enquire as to her rates, suppressing a grimace. As far as you’ve seen, the village does not offer you many alternatives.
“Oh, you’ll find them very reasonable,” she says. “You look tired. I’m May. Come inside and we’ll talk over a cup of tea.”
The Ledbetter house feels cramped, with a low ceiling and simple fittings. But it is well kept and a cheerful fire crackles in the grate. The aroma of the tea is soothing and the cup warms your fingers.
“Have you come to Emberhead for the festival?” asks May.

----
Again, just simple prompting, you do not have to follow these ideas at all.
1. Do you want to explain what happened with Silas and his coach?
2. Would you rather ask about what this festival is?

[igordragonian]

"Tha-thank you.' I said, as I looked again at my photo, reminding myself how I looked like, against my mental image.
My anthropoligist self raised his head inside of me with excitment.
Anthropolgy can be researched in your homeland, not only at far away apmost fairy tale lands like Brazil or Mongolia.
This passion of mine, might have gave me a boost of confidence. "I am sorry, but I didn't planned to get here like this. What of this festival? It's soubd very curiouse.'

[zingbobco000]

Emberhead, 8:18 PM, September 1st, 1921

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89720477/3I0eOVivfrRrePhC6_G9kw/med.png?1566315260

“Well now, I suppose the Festival is about the only reason folks come to Emberhead. I thought you had maybe come to study it or take photographs. Well, it’s not tomorrow night but the night after. I suppose it looks very strange to a passerby.”
May tops up your tea. The spout chinks against your cup.
“We’ve got the Beacon, you see. One night every year there’s a torch-lit procession and we light the Beacon on the cliffs. You’ve never seen the like of it. They say it keeps the spirit of the village alive for another year. It’s a celebration. A celebration...”
She tails off for a moment, and blinks.
“But you didn’t come here to listen to me blather, and you must be hungry. I can rustle you up a bit of stew. How would that be?”
You ask again about her rates, ready to begin haggling, but May names a price so low you accept it without hesitation. The room is small but comfortable, and the stew dark and hearty. After dinner, you have a couple of hours before your usual bedtime.
----

So, what to do before bedtime? May certainly hasn't gone to sleep yet, so maybe interacting with her? Although it's dark you could maybe ask May for a lantern of some kind to maybe investigate small village where you're sleeping for the night? Or has it just been an exhausting day?

[igordragonian]

I thank May for the dinner and then ask. "Excuse me Ma'am. Your tales me curiouse for this village. Is there aby chance, you could borrow me a lantern, so I could look around?'

[zingbobco000]

May’s brow creases when you announce your intention to take a stroll, and goes over to grab a lantern. “Mind how you go,” she says. “Emberhead’s surrounded by cliffs and we don’t have your fancy street lamps here. Wathc the lantern and be careful of your step.”
Outside, you see what she means. The sky is overcast and only a few glimmers of moonlight peek from the clouds. Without the heavy lantern you would be walking in near-total darkness. Even with the lantern you cannot hope to get an overview of the village tonight, people are most certainly not gathering anywhere in town. In fact, you do not see any kind of restaurant whatsoever.
May’s street is a narrow passage hemmed in by squat, dark dwellings. At the end, however, it opens up. A wide thoroughfare leads off to your right. A crude sign names it Silbury Street. To the left, a few yards away, your light picks out the crooked posts of a simple fence, and beyond that, the ground drops away into darkness. You take a couple of steps closer, but you can see nothing. Air from below cools your face. Then some instinct makes you look around.

An ink-black figure stands in the road, about twenty yards behind you. It stares at you. You form the sudden impression that it will run at you and throw you over the cliff edge. This is... unsettling.
However, seeing it has been spotted, the figure instead slips down an alley.
----

Shall you pursue? Or are you going to head back to the safety of the Ledbetter house?

[igordragonian]

I am not a brave man. But.. I have a sin and curse of curiosity.
The mystery of this town has hooked me, like a fish which know it shouldn't, and still bite the bait.
I know.
I know. And yet, I follow the dark figure.

[zingbobco000]

As you approach, the figure takes a pace back, then another. It slips down an alley between two buildings.
----

Please give me a Track (you consider yourself a neophyte in this field) roll to follow this individual in the darkness.

[igordragonian]

"Pl-pl-please... wait. I just want to talk!' I beg, as I follow.

------


[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

The figure moves fast, with almost silent steps. You are hampered with a heavy lantern in an unfamiliar environment. You call goes out with no response. You emerge from the alley into a dusty courtyard, and can detect no sign of your quarry. You scratch around for a few minutes, but the figure has gone.
It seems unwise to continue your stroll through unknown, dark streets while this threatening presence is abroad. You head back to the Ledbetter house. May lets you in and settles back in her chair. Soon she begins to yawn. “I believe I’ll turn in. When would you like your breakfast?”

As May stands, you hear a clunk behind you. You look over your shoulder, but all you can see is a wooden door, securely closed.
May tuts. “The young lady of the house. She’ll have been listening to us. Ruth! Come and greet our guest.”
There is a short pause, then the door creaks open. Two wide eyes peer at you from the gap, between tousled hair and a rough nightgown.
“What do you say?”
The eyes blink. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Now get back to bed.”
The door closes again.
“My daughter Ruth. Ten years this summer. She’s a delight and a torment all in one. Don’t worry, she sleeps in with me. She’ll not disturb you. Good night now.”
You retire to your room. It is a little chilly, but you are too tired to worry about lighting the fire. The sheets are clean and the bed soon warms up. The silence outside is strange after living in a town for so long, but you soon drop off.

You dream of fire in the grate; coruscating colors shimmering through the dancing tongues of flame. At first they are tiny, almost microscopic, but they grow, and grow, until a kaleidoscopic inferno spills from the fireplace, spreading across the floor, up the sheets…
You wake with a start. Daylight glints through the curtains. You get up and examine the grate, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It is quite cold. If you have taken any damage, you may heal 1 hit point back for your night’s sleep.
----

Yes, that's right, Long Rests heal 1 hit point. Let's just say that taking damage is of much more consequence in this game than most.
----

May seems to have no running water, but has supplied some in a ceramic jug. You freshen up at the washstand and go in. She cooks a hearty breakfast and leaves you in peace to eat. At about seven-thirty, you are paid up, packed, and ready to go. You bid May goodbye and she wishes you the best for your new career in Arkham.

You are already tired of your heavy bags. Hopefully, Silas has repaired the motor coach and you can resume your long journey. A sourpuss he might be, but the old driver seemed to understand his vehicle well enough. You pause to check your watch—still twenty minutes early—and round the final corner.
The motor coach is gone.
You put your bags down and search the area, trekking up and down slopes and around corners. At the edge of the village, you trace the long road back as it winds across the hills. Eight o’clock comes and goes. There is no coach to be seen.
A passing villager notices your bags.
“Looking for the bus? I heard him take off at first light. He’s due back in three or four days. If you need a place to stay, May Ledbetter rents a room.” The man raises his hat to you and strolls on into the village.
You curse Silas under your breath. Perhaps he went for parts. But you wonder if the old goat has stranded you here on purpose.

May is doing laundry, and looks surprised to see you again. “Forgot something?” When you explain the situation, she offers to store your bags while you try to arrange alternative transport. You are grateful to relinquish the load.
“Nobody here has anything like a car.” She strokes her chin and narrows her eyes. “Maybe you could find somebody with a horse and a cart for your bags. I could ask around later. Try Mr. Winters at the village hall, he’ll know if anyone will. Or ask among the artisans. Their workshops are first left on Silbury Street.” She reaches over and squeezes your wrist. “Don’t worry, I won’t see you sleeping in the street, money or no money.”
You thank May, and turn to face the village.

You wander the streets of Emberhead without any particular destination in mind. The village is built on a relatively flat upland with splendid views. To the north, the hazy tips of the White Mountains reach for the heavens; to the south, the sparkling waters of Lake Winnipesaukee touch the horizon.
The village itself takes less than five minutes to cross from edge to edge. However, it is literally edge to edge, as with the exception of the two roads out of town, all that's there is a massive drop-off. You arrived on the winding road to the west. The only other road leaves to the south, following a lower ridge of land as it turns east. In the northernmost part of town, you see the courtyard mentioned by May home to several artisans. Next to that is the town's largest building (which isn't saying too much) - presumably the village hall. Meanwhile, in the southwest of the village, an open grassy space borders a ruined church, its graveyard cresting the cliffs. To the northeast, the three main thoroughfares, with a general store being one of the only real businesses open, meet at a raised black metal structure. It looms, stark against the blue sky.

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89719975/HaOSBF1K2QsfOompXQJAJw/med.png?1566314827
----

Oh boy, that was long, I hope you got all of that, but basically... where do you want to go? Some places of interest that I listed were: The lower ridge of land that heads eastward, the artisan's courtyard, the village hall, the church, the general store, or the raised black metal structure?

[igordragonian]

Faith. Religion. Every society is gathered around those concepts. The mighty pyramids of the aztecs, or the humblest church of nowhere.
I am an anthropologist. If I am here, I'll wish to test my methods.
I am in no particular hurry.
I'll go and see, what shape the local faith has.

[zingbobco000]

You cross the street towards the church. As you glance to your left, your gaze alights on the large metal structure. Something bothers you about its positioning. You back up and look again. Yes! Emberhead’s central thoroughfare points directly at the structure. This seems too precise to be a coincidence.
You press on and draw into the shadow of the church. The building is in a sorry state. The top of the steeple is missing, a ragged gash of splintered boards marking its absence, and the floors beneath it have collapsed. It appears to have torn through the roof of the main building as it fell. Only the back half is still intact. The white paint, which once covered the church, has yellowed and peeled.
It seems safe enough to explore the rear section. Old pews are stacked against the wall, choked with mildew. Most of the windows are broken. You guess this church has been disused for about twenty years. There is little more to interest you.
----

As you're looking around, please give me a Ride (you consider yourself a beginner in this field) roll. You also may use a bonus die, rolling an additional d10 and using that instead of the ten's place if it's lower.

[igordragonian]

I humm, curious. Have they lost faith? Did some tragedy hit this poor village?
I decide to explore the place more.


------

[roll0]
[roll1]

[zingbobco000]

Overall, there's really nothing here, and Isaac is unsure of exactly what this place signifies, other than the fact that nobody has been attending service here for quite some time.

Emberhead, 9:15 AM, September 2nd, 1921

You are beginning to get your bearings in Emberhead. Would you like to explore some more?
----

To repeat some places of interest that I listed were: The lower ridge of land that heads eastward, the artisan's courtyard, the village hall, the church, the general store, or the raised black metal structure?

[igordragonian]

I write some notes, and decide to explore the strange black structure.

[zingbobco000]

You walk up The Approach, the most central of the village’s major streets. It points directly at the odd metal structure. As you emerge from the shade of the nearby buildings, you are greeted by a magnificent panorama spread from the north to the southeast. The last colors of fall tint the hills in a sleepy gold.
The structure, by contrast, is made from uncompromising iron, singed black. It supports an immense curved platform at the level of your head. Further struts snake up to a central point. It looks like they may have been some kind of sculpture at one time, but are now twisted and melted beyond recognition.
An older gentleman passes, looking up at you with rheumy eyes. “Are you here for the Festival?” he asks. “That’s the Beacon. When they light it, night after next, you’ll be able to see it ten miles away.” He gives a little nod of satisfaction, then moves on, leaning on his walking stick.
Now you notice bundles of wood, tied and stacked against the buildings nearby. Perhaps this Festival would be an interesting diversion. But you really must head to Arkham as soon as possible.
----

Nevertheless as you search, please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) roll.

[igordragonian]

I thank the respected gentelman, surprised he isn't disgusted from my sight.
I check again my photo. 'Ah."
Arkham or not, this festival and structure enchant me.
I am looking more and more into this curiosity.




-----

[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Nothing is here either... what is going on in this village?

Emberhead, 10:02 AM, September 2nd, 1921

You are beginning to become comfortable with the main thoroughfares of Emberhead. Would you like to explore some more?
----

To repeat some places of interest that I listed were: The lower ridge of land that heads eastward, the artisan's courtyard, the village hall, the church, the general store, or the raised black metal structure?

[igordragonian]

Now I am intrested in the village hall

[zingbobco000]

The village hall backs against a cliff at the east end of Silbury Street. It’s the largest building you’ve seen so far in Emberhead. It is, however, locked and shuttered. You walk around it, peering through gaps in the shutters. There seems to be one large room, presumably for community meetings, and a smaller annex that serves as an office and archive. One of the windows is bricked up. Back at the main door, you can see no posted opening hours.
“Mr. Winters doesn’t open up mornings, this time of year,” says a gray-garbed woman passing by. “Best come back this afternoon.”
You ask whether the office has a telegraph, after all, you'll have to contact Miskatonic concerning this hiccup in your travels.
“Don’t know.” She shrugs. “Who would we call?” You will have to try again later.

Emberhead, 10:42 AM, September 2nd, 1921

The whole city of Emberhead is beginning to become cramped as you wander around its streets, and yet still more mysteries could lay inside. Would you like to continue to explore?
----

To repeat some places of interest that I listed were: The lower ridge of land that heads eastward, the artisan's courtyard, the village hall, the church, the general store, or the raised black metal structure?

[igordragonian]

Well, I try to push off, the possible soluation, so I go to the low ridge.

[zingbobco000]

The air is fresh and the walk down to the lower ridge invigorating. You notice cultivated fields stretching through the lowlands around Emberhead, and among the crops some livestock, but no horses. Are you going to have to make your onward journey on foot?
Further down, the road skirts the edge of the ridge and descends. There are a few scattered hovels here, with signs of habitation. They are set a substantial distance apart. As you examine them, a door opens, and an older man steps out. He wears a bedraggled suit, but carries a piece of cloth, which he tosses over his head like a hood. As he does this, he sees you and freezes.
----

Please give me a Luck roll.

[igordragonian]

I feel ashamed.
He must be disgusted at seeing someone like.
"G-good day sir! I.. I didn't meant to disturb you!' I call


----

Luck
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

The man looks up at the village, scanning the clifftops, but gives you audible response. You get a brief flash of his face. There is something unsettling about it. Then he turns to walk away from the road. But as he does, he raises a hand and slowly beckons to you.
----

Shall you follow?

[igordragonian]

All of primal instincts scream at me to pull back.
But enchanted by morbid curiosity I follow.

[zingbobco000]

You follow the man around the outcrop. He glances up, then steps between two rocks and vanishes!
Closer inspection reveals a narrow channel leading into the cliff. There is just enough light to see a small, natural chamber within. You will be uncomfortably close to this man if you go inside.
----

Shall you follow?

[igordragonian]

No matter how scared I am, the morbid curiosity is stonger.
I am following

[zingbobco000]

With wary steps, you squeeze between rocky outcrops and enter the concealed chamber, almost banging your head on the low ceiling. The man settles back against the wall and watches until you draw close. Then he slides back his hood.

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89719869/yYMyucVfoE3R_ZzjYJVQnQ/max.png?1566314721
----

Please give me a Sanity roll.

[igordragonian]

(I roll first, then I'l roleplay depend on success or failure)

[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

(I roll first, then I'l roleplay depend on success or failure)

[roll0]

You rolled Above your sanity, so that's a Failure.

[igordragonian]

I shriek in horror, falling back. He was more disgusting then me!
"For god sake, Sir! What happened to you?' I gasp, trying to get uo

[zingbobco000]

You have lost 1 sanity due to this shocking event.
----

Some of the man’s face remains: a strip from the side of his jaw to his right eye socket is healthy and pale, if aged. But the left side is consumed by angry scar tissue. One eye droops, hooded by melted flesh, and the nostril on that side is pulled open to leave a gaping hole. The disfigured man studies your reaction with his one good eye. However, he doesn't answer your question, almost treating it as if you had simply asked "What's your name?"
“Name’s Arbogast. Willard Arbogast. Let's see what brought this one to Emberhead.”
----

Are you going to say you're here for the festival? Or are you going to admit about Silas' most likely stranding you here?

[igordragonian]

I pant, looking again at my photo as my pillar of insurance of reality.
"My name is.. Is..Izaac Warshawer. I am an anthropologist. I'v heard of the unique festival here, so I could wrtie about it.'
For some reason, I didn't wanted this dreadful man, to know that I can't run away.

[zingbobco000]

That swollen mouth gives a little twist upwards. “Yeah? Where’d you hear about it?”
You say something vague about an article in the newspaper.
“Newspapers must have changed since last time I read one.”
There is something in his tone you don’t like much.

Arbogast fixes you with a lopsided yet intense stare. “You seek me out, eh?” He looks up at the cave ceiling. “Which one of them told you about me? Never mind, it don’t matter. Truth is, they fear what I know. They’d never come at me direct. Don’t want to end up like old Arbogast.” He giggles. The highpitched sound is all the more grotesque coming from those bloated lips. Then, abruptly, his gaze turns to iron.
“Emberhead DIED forty years ago. Shattered by flame, consumed by the stars themselves. The ancient hill was cleansed by inferno. And from the blackened ground came new life, as is the way of all things. The Abenaki knew.”
Arbogast wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Except none of that happened. The flames were turned away. The necessary death postponed a year, and a year again. And now those up there—” He stabs a scrawny finger at the ceiling. “—think themselves saviors of the village. Think they can defy the Great Old Ones! Iä! Cthugha!” He shakes his head. “With strange aeons their lives matter less than the blink of an eye.”
A fierce intelligence burns in his gaze. But you suspect Arbogast may be quite insane. Should his mood change, it would not be difficult for him to seize one of the loose rocks and crack your skull with it.
----

Would Isaac like to get the heck out of here while he still can? Or ask about something, the "Abenaki," the "Great Old Ones," or maybe the villagers themselves?

[igordragonian]

Again me, and my cursed morbid curiosity.
I didn't wanted to know.
I wanted to crawl into bed, and pretend, that the scariest thing in the world, are long forgotten rituals at forsaken pyramids.

He must be a mad man!
But...
My damned anthropoligst demanded answers. Even if he IS a mad man, his words can teach me a lot.
It's clear there are some factions here, and sort of a localized faith, and a strange disaster from few decades ago.

I can sort it all out, and make sense out of it.
I take deep breath, looking at my own photo.
"..I.. see." I croak.
"Are the.. ab..ab.. abananaki-" I misprounce nervously and ask. "The priests of this village? Some unique chrisitan sect?'

[zingbobco000]

“The Abenaki?” He frowns. “They knew this land and cherished it. They lived here in harmony for their allotted time. Air and earth, water and fire. They accepted every daybreak as a gift and they trod lightly on the land. Yet we came and we ended them. Their time is passed. Now ours, too, must end.”
Arbogast runs a hand through his hair. A wide strip is missing on the left side, displaced by scar tissue. He climbs to his feet.

Arbogast pauses in the shadows. “There’s something about you, something the previous ones never had. Perhaps you can make it through and bring an end to... everything. If you want to hear more, meet me again after dark. Nine o’clock. The graveyard on the other side.” He lifts a gnarled finger. “Don’t be followed, else I won’t be there. This ain’t the time of year for a showdown.”
Arbogast wipes his nose on his sleeve again. “Go now. Their eyes are on me. And stranger? Don’t try to run. You’ll never make it.”
You emerge into the sunlight blinking and more than a little shaken.

You turn back to the road and your core business: getting out of Emberhead and onwards to Ossipee. The ridge gives you a good viewpoint from which you can see the course of the road. It winds with the hills, disappearing into woodland for a while before emerging further on. You lose sight of it somewhere towards a second patch of woodland. By your best estimation, that is at least six or seven miles distant. You see no other settlements or traffic.
It may be worth taking a chance and walking. The weather is still mild. But you will need supplies before you attempt it.

Emberhead, 12:21 PM, September 2nd, 1921

Your morning exertions have left you hungry. You roam the streets of Emberhead looking for sustenance. There is nothing resembling the busy cafés of your hometown, or anything that might be called a restaurant.
It is beginning to look like you will have to get supplies from the general store when May Ledbetter comes down the street with a girl trailing in her wake. This must be Ruth. As she notices you, she races past her mother and approaches you with a smile. This is a different Ruth from the shy creature of last night.
As she reaches you, she stops and stretches her arms up in celebration. She looks up into your eyes. Abruptly the smile drops from her face and she looks several years older.
“Get out before the festival,” she hisses. “Get out!” She blinks hard, then scuttles back towards her mother. May approaches, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She smiles. “How are you getting on? Have you found transport?”
Startled, you explain the frustrations of the situation.
“I’d try Mr. Winters in the village hall. He’s always in of an afternoon. You’ll be hungry by now? Help yourself to any food in the house. The door’s not locked.”
You glance at Ruth where she has squirreled herself behind her mother’s leg. Her eyes implore you to silence.
----

Will you ask her about what she meant? Ask May what Ruth is talking about? Or just... say nothing?

[igordragonian]

It must be just a child's antics.
Quite often, children jealuse at even the slightest chunk of attention averted from them.

I also assume, that asking about it, will make her seems rude to her mother, and no need to embaress both of them. I just nod at Ruth, in a way, that could be understood in many possible ways.

Growing anxiety stormed inside of me, but the morbid curiosity grew into a beast consuming my healthy survivalist instincts.
"Thank you. Your generosity is apreciated." I say, and then dare and ask. "Do you happen to know what has happened to the church?"

[zingbobco000]

May looks off towards the church and simply muses lightheartedly. "Guess people just stopped goin'." She then shrugs and walks off, tugging Ruth along as she does so.

You take your leave of the Ledbetters and head towards their house. The door opens easily. In the low kitchen you make a meal from stodgy bread and leftover stew. A little window offers a view to the mountains.
If you learned one thing this morning, it was that Emberhead’s streets hold little to occupy the visitor from out of town. But there are still about five hours of daylight remaining. You could take some provisions and the bare essentials from your luggage, and set out in the hope of reaching another settlement before dark. Or you could ask advice from this Mr. Winters. What will it be?

[igordragonian]

I'l ask for Mr. Winter.
I now, I should leave, but my curiosity making me delaying further further the sane thing to do

[zingbobco000]

Emberhead, 1:14 PM, September 2nd, 1921

Luckily for Isaac, as he checks the village hall one more time, he sees that now the doors are actually open, allowing him to head inside. As you enter, you cannot help but feel conscious of the oppressive black metal structure framed at the end of the road. The shutters of the hall are open and some windows left ajar. There is no knocker, but a little bell over the entrance tinkles as you push the front door.
Inside, a sturdy door to your right is marked PRIVATE. To your left, an opening leads through to a bright room. You take a few steps inside. Benches line the walls and there are two noticeboards mounted between the windows.
----

Those noticeboards look interesting, of course, someone also might be in the room, or does it seem like nobody is really here and you'd like to prepare to walk out of town?

[igordragonian]

First, I'll look at the noteboard. So much can be learned from observing the issues and worries of the town.
It's actually quite a reliable historical note.

[zingbobco000]

The floorboards creak beneath you as you cross the room. You feel a slight spring in your step. Perhaps this room is used as a gymnasium for the village children.
One noticeboard appears to be for the adults of the community, and one for the children. The former looks neglected, featuring handwritten advertisements for household items and a yellowed note about telegraph pricing. There is nothing about the festival.
The children’s noticeboard has a schedule for weekly crèche services, and a number of paintings obviously done by the children themselves. Most are incoherent, though colorful. As best you can tell, they depict fireworks, or perhaps the tale of Joseph from the Book of Genesis. One has lost a pin and hangs upside down. It shows a giant bird attacking Emberhead. Or it might simply be that the artist has not yet mastered the subtleties of scale.
----

Please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) roll.

[igordragonian]

Spot

[roll0]
(I'll reply by the result)

[zingbobco000]

Sadly that's a failure.

[igordragonian]

I write everything I see down, and describe the drawing in details.
It PROBABLY nothing, but if it isn't, it might be helpful in retrospect.

Also, no requeats fod.volunteerz, or state date for the festival.
...
I wonder.
I decide to try a little prank.
I look right and left, to make sure I am alone, before.

----


Spot?
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Isaac does not notice anyone else around. Although there might be someone behind that other door.

[igordragonian]

I knock on the other door. "Hello?'

[zingbobco000]

You raise your hand to knock on the door, but it opens before you can complete the movement. The middle-aged gentleman behind it takes an involuntary step back, adjusting his spectacles. You hasten to apologize and introduce yourself. He steadies himself and peers at you.
“I see. I’m Clyde Winters. Just visiting, you say? And you’ve come to see me? Hmm! Care for some coffee? I usually take a cup around this time of the afternoon.”
His invitation seems genuine enough and a good opportunity to ask any questions that are on your mind.

You step through the door marked PRIVATE. The other side of the village hall is in marked contrast to the public space. The room is compact, lined with shelves of books and file alcoves (surprisingly some of the first books you've seen). One corner is reserved for a tiny pantry and what is presumably a water closet.
You study Mr. Winters as he fills the percolator. Although thin on top, his hair is oiled and neatly swept back. His suit is a sober affair, and well-tailored even if the cut is a little old-fashioned. A lesser man working alone might have loosened his bow tie for comfort.
On the desk against the opposite wall, you notice what looks like a telegraph set.
----

Would you like to make small talk first? Or would you like to immediately ask about the telegraph set?

[igordragonian]

"Your generouse hospitality is noted, and I thank you.' I say, as I take a seat, a bit nervously. Looking again at my photo, to remind myself, that I am not grotesquly ugly as in my self image.
"My name is Issac Warshawer.' I present myself.
"This place has a... mysteriouse charm to it. I would like to learn more of it.'

[zingbobco000]

The pot begins to gurgle as you exchange pleasantries with Winters.
“Yes, and living here is quite a trade-off, like so much in life.” He looks past you at a high shelf. “I could wish for access to a proper library, of course. But I know myself well enough. I’m strictly a dabbler. And the cities...” His face wrinkles in distaste. “Too many people. Everybody rushing and shouting. We have a special place here in Emberhead. And someone must accept responsibility for keeping it so. That was my father before me. And now the duty falls to me.” He lifts his chin and straightens up.
“This evening, as the sun sets, look out at the landscape around the village. We have peace up here, halfway to the stars. Are we not privileged? Is this not worth the hardships we must accept?”
He looks at you speculatively. This seems a good time to ask about the telegraph.

“The telegraph? Mmm. Much as we value our isolation, we do need the link sometimes… you were hoping to send a message? I must apologize. The line has been down for two weeks. I reported the fault, but of course, they’re not so speedy when the problem lies in a rural area. I’m expecting a repair the day after next. I do appreciate how frustrating this must be. The coach is due, in what, three days? But I think he’s going west. Perhaps you might engage a wagon? One of the farmers might...”
You explain that you have asked a few of the residents already, but to no avail.
“I tell you what.” Winters pours you a steaming cup of coffee. The dark liquid smells rich and strong. “When the repair crew arrive I’ll ask them to take you back with them. How would that be? They might want a dollar or two to grease the wheels...”
The day after tomorrow? It’s less than ideal. But it’s the first real opportunity you’ve had.
----

Would you like to thank Mr. Winters and go? Or ask about his library?

[igordragonian]

"Well, I guess the hardships of mobilizing is part of what make this place unique and mysteriouse." He sighed. "Thank you, is there any chance I could take a pick at the library?"

[zingbobco000]

Winters blushes with pleasure.
“Well, of course they’re not my personal collection. They belong to the village,” he says. “But I did select most of the recent items. This is the community’s library, you see. I put up the PRIVATE sign to stop people just wandering in from meetings in the other room. But this is really a public space.”
You scan the shelves. There is a sparse but respectable collection on mathematics and the sciences, passable sections on history and arts, and a shelf of literature. He has a few lowbrow novels tucked away in a corner, with tatty copies of Bizarre Tales magazine.
“Quality does not always equate to popularity, I’m afraid.” Winters gives you an apologetic smile.

Winters is happy for you to spend the rest of the afternoon in study and offers you an upright but comfortable chair. You have enough time to pursue one line of research in depth.
----

Would you like to read about the history of the area, the festival, something from the sciences, or some of the weird fiction?

[igordragonian]

(Heh. A good ref, I would have missed it, few years ago
And sorry, I have knew this was a simple matter of choice, I would replied long time ago)

IC:
The Wierd Tales do facinate me, but to understand the festival seems to me more urgent.

[zingbobco000]

It's all good, I understand sometimes it can be challenging to muster up the effort of posting. My only goal is to ensure that you're actually enjoying this game.
----

You are not surprised to find there is no published work on Emberhead’s Festival. Winters pokes around and finds a cased monograph, handwritten on yellowing paper by a Dr. Aniolowski. “An acquaintance of my father’s, I believe,” Winters says.
The manuscript is somewhat difficult to read and you make slow progress. Aniolowski speculates that the Festival has its origin in Pagan rites brought over by Celtic settlers, which celebrate the ancient festivals of Beltane, Samhuinn, Imbolc, and Lughnasadh. There is some discussion of the struggle between the seasons and a couple of oblique references to “the alignment” in Emberhead. Aniolowski suggests that the meaning of the Festival slowly changed around the turn of the century.
The monograph terminates mid-sentence at the end of page 28, just as it begins to discuss the modern practices. You ask Winters if he has the remaining pages.
“No. I’m afraid those have been misplaced,” he says. “Perhaps they are still in the library somewhere, but...” He shrugs. “I must make the time for a thorough stock take.”

The afternoon wears on. You have not quite finished your reading when Winters glances out of the window and stands up. He clears his throat.
----

Please give me a Credit Rating roll.

[igordragonian]

I am having fun!

[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

“I’m happy to leave you in charge for a half-hour or so.” He smiles. “Please don’t issue any books without a valid library card.”
You thank Winters for his trust and continue with your reading for a time. As the light dims, you find yourself yawning in the closeness of the room. Perhaps it is time for a change of material.
----

Please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) roll.

[igordragonian]

I am tired. Maybe I'll take my mind off with some fiction.


Spot
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

You're just getting into the climax in the fiction (stilt-men stride through a steaming swamp beneath the moon's surface, and the protagonist has just uncovered their lunar base) when the door opens and Winters re-enters the library. He wears a small, satisfied smile. His gaze shifts to you where you stand at the shelves. “Exhausted our stock already? Of course we accept donations.” He chuckles. “I’m afraid it’s closing time.”
You leave the building with Winters and wait as he locks up. You thank him for the coffee and the access to the library. He strolls away down Silbury Street.

Emberhead, 6:29 PM, September 2nd, 1921

As the light fades, you return to the Ledbetter house and eat a light supper. May is unusually taciturn. Ruth’s eyes flick to yours several times during the meal. There is an urgency there you cannot quite interpret. Afterwards, May ushers the girl into their room.
You have been in Emberhead for barely one whole day and you already feel confined by it, both geographically and socially. The evening seems to offer little.
----

Would you like to do some stargazing as Mr. Winters suggested? Attempt to speak to Ruth about what she said earlier? Or do you want to try and meet up with Arbogast?

[igordragonian]

Meeting Agrobast is the scariest, yet.. morbidly attracive choice.
This feels like a fairy tale.


Or a fiend tale.

[zingbobco000]

Arbogast is not at the appointed meeting place. You give him ten minutes, but he doesn’t show. You curse the old crank and head back towards May’s house.
“Psssst.”
A hand snakes from a doorway and grabs your arm. You jump at the sight of that half-face, glimpsed in starlight.
“One of them’s near,” he whispers. “Watching. Come with me.”

Arbogast leads you across the thoroughfares, slipping between houses. The metal structure looms at the end of the street. “Silent now,” he says. “But the Beacon will come alive tomorrow night.”
He ushers you into a little alcove behind the village school. Arbogast glances behind you, then sits down. Again you feel uncomfortable in proximity to that scarred visage. One melted eyelid lifts.
“You don’t have long. Understand this. I was the conduit, the interpreter. Before that fool Winters and his fancy words. The things which come to Emberhead care not for words. Those idiots think this is a ritual of sacrifice!” He spits on the grass. “It is a ritual of control. They know the words, but they do not comprehend the forces they call.” He sniffs and sits back. “No! You have no time for more questions. I will teach you how to end it, in the moment when all is lost. You can return this hill to the earth, to the death that came forty years ago. I have tried it myself. But...” his head sags, “I no longer have the concentration. The chant is simple; it I can teach you. But you must perform it with a clarity of mind that I have lacked for years.”
----

Shall you stay and learn this chant? Or have you had enough of the ramblings of this crazy, scarred, old man.

[igordragonian]

It must be a grave mistake.
But I can't stop now.
I weakly nod, and pant, taking a look again at my photo- will I remain the same person after all that?
Or be at all?

[zingbobco000]

Part of you imagines your photo, but changed, with half of your face horribly burned and utterly ruined. What would everyone think of then?

You feel very dislocated from reality, as you sit on a cliff top behind a school at night, learning a chant by rote from a madman. Arbogast is careful to teach you it in sections.
He glances into the sky. “Won’t work right now. Cloud covering the star.” But he still takes care not to pronounce the whole thing at once. It has a rhythmic beginning and various elaborations, but the core passage is repeated three times:
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthugha Fomalhaut n’gha-ghaa naf’l thagn! Iä! Cthugha!
In time, Arbogast listens to your recital and nods. “Remember every sound. But never speak it if you have plans left on this Earth.”
Arbogast leans back. “It will make you one with the Living—”

A black shape lunges from the dark. It wraps an arm around Arbogast’s throat and drags him backwards, out of the alcove. He grabs at the arm, kicking empty air. You see the gleam of a long blade in the moonlight.
----

Please give me a Dodge (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) roll.

[igordragonian]

I am hypnotized by this lesson in.. magic?
Only for a moment I consider myself mad, for entertaining this burnt man, but then I rationalize it as part of my anthropologist research.

I shriek with horror at the sudden violence.



Dodge

[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Something smashes you on the temple. You reel back. You hear Arbogast yell, and see the knife flash: one, two, three times, its shiny surface darkening with blood. Something strikes you again, and as you sink, flames leap from the ground, painting the night with infernal color. They pick out three dark figures…
----

You take 1 point of damage from the altercation.
----

You awake with a jolt, wrestling the blankets, ready for attack—
The Ledbetter guest room is quiet, painted with morning light. There is nobody here but you. You release the blankets and wait for your heart to stop hammering.

The Ledbetter kitchen is empty, although bread and eggs have been laid out for your breakfast. There is a note from May explaining that she has taken Ruth out for a few hours.

Concerned about what happened, you feel skittish as you approach the spot where you and Arbogast were attacked. Your memory of the encounter is shaky, but you remember one or two vivid images.
At first you think there is nothing to see: no discarded weapons or figures lying unconscious. But upon closer examination, you find sticky, congealed patches and blackened lines in the grass.
If the village had a police station you could go there. But something tells you events have gone beyond that.

You make a quiet circuit of the village, pausing in unobtrusive places to watch the villagers. It is rather busy for this time in the morning. Yawning locals stream back and forward along the roads, carrying bundles of split logs to the site of what you’ve heard referred to as the Beacon. You see two figures already up in its superstructure, arranging the wood. The Festival bonfire will be most impressive. But do you intend to stay to see it? You suspect by now that something is amiss here.
While the villagers are distracted, you may do some illicit investigation. Or you may simply leave town without looking back.
----

You may check out May Ledbetter's bedroom, go alone to the village hall, take a closer look at the artisan's courtyard, spy on activity at the beacon, or just get out of here and flee the village?

[igordragonian]

I still shaken in dreamlike state.
I decide to spy on the activity. This festival has to be more then "an old cletic ceremony."
I also write the spell in one of my littlest notebooks.
Just.. in case.

[zingbobco000]

Emberhead, 9:29 AM, September 3rd, 1921

The northern side of the village is bustling and you are unlikely to remain hidden there for long. You head in the direction of the church, and then move up the east side, behind the houses. A drop looms on your right. One particular section of ground is quite narrow and you have to hug the building for support.
----

Would you like to try and press on? Or simply give up this approach?

[igordragonian]

I am pressing on!

[zingbobco000]

Please give me a Size roll.

[igordragonian]

Size roll? This is an intresting.
What does it represent?
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

Size represents you height and weight. In this example it's seeing if you're tall enough to grab on to supports and whatnot.
----

The turf sinks beneath your feet and stones crumble from its edge. Alarmed, you grip the building and ease yourself forward. Finally you have a good spot to watch the Beacon.

You lie concealed in the grass and watch the activity around the Beacon. Villagers bring in yet more bundles of tinder and stack them in neat piles. Another shift passes the bundles up to a pair of men standing on the raised platform of the Beacon. They are constructing a triangular structure, resembling a gigantic campfire.
As you watch, you are struck by the manner of the laborers. This is their Festival. You would expect a cheerful atmosphere and some light-hearted conversation. Yet the faces of some show resignation and detachment; others, a naked dread. You watch for a good half hour before you slip away.

Emberhead, 11:02 AM, September 3rd, 1921

You feel a deepening unease about Emberhead and this day in particular.
----

You may check out May Ledbetter's bedroom, go alone to the village hall, take a closer look at the artisan's courtyard, spy on activity at the beacon, or just get out of here and flee the village?

[igordragonian]

May I check the place where we were attacked yesterday?

[zingbobco000]

Concerned about what happened, you feel skittish as you approach the spot where you and Arbogast were attacked. Your memory of the encounter is shaky, but you remember one or two vivid images.
At first you think there is nothing to see: no discarded weapons or figures lying unconscious. But upon closer examination, you find sticky, congealed patches and blackened lines in the grass.
If the village had a police station you could go there. But something tells you events have gone beyond that.

You already did.

[igordragonian]

Ah. Oops.
I'll check on the artistan hall, then

[zingbobco000]

You approach around the back of the buildings in Emberhead’s northwestern corner. By this time in the morning, you would expect activity in the artisans’ courtyard, but the benches and anvils sit deserted. Your footsteps echo off the surrounding walls.
One of the workshops is shut up and padlocked. You peek through the joints, but you can see nothing inside.
----

Would you like to try and break through the door, pick the lock (then again, you don't really know how to pick a lock), or just leave?

[igordragonian]

I know it sound crazy, but can I use one of the benches as ram?

[zingbobco000]

It would be a bit loud, but yes. On the other hand, most of the villagers are by the beacon.
----

You pick up a bench and try to run it through the door, you figure you've only got one shot it this, so better make it a good one.
----

Please give me a Strength roll. If you use the bench, you gain a Bonus Die.

[igordragonian]

So..
[roll0]
[roll1]

[zingbobco000]

You examine the workshop. It is well constructed, but the wood has been weakened by years of sun and rain. You may be able to break it open with one fierce charge. You had better make it good, though. You can’t afford to attract attention with repeated tries.

You step back from the door and regard it in frustration after battering it with the bench. A crunching noise distracts you, and a human shadow falls on a nearby wall. Someone is approaching. You melt away in the other direction.

Emberhead, 12:35 AM, September 3rd, 1921

Something is definitely wrong here in Emberhead...
----

You may check out May Ledbetter's bedroom, go alone to the village hall, take a closer look at the artisan's courtyard, spy on activity at the beacon, or just get out of here and flee the village?

[igordragonian]

I'll go check May's room.. I can't go without answers

[zingbobco000]

Despite her hospitality, you do not trust May Ledbetter. You return to her house quite openly. Where else would you go? Inside, the dwelling is still empty. You rap on the bedroom door and wait. Silence. You ease it open.
The Ledbetter bedroom is in marked contrast to your own, neat space. Dirty clothes are piled about the floor. On a rough quilt lie schoolbooks and cheap novels. You notice a raggedy old doll discarded down the side of the bed.
----

Please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) roll.

[igordragonian]

Spot hidden
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

You notice scrapes on the floorboards corresponding to the legs of the bed. With effort, you slide the bed away. There is a rug spread beneath it, and beneath the rug, a trapdoor. You ease it open. The dark space beneath is some kind of cellar.
----

Do you descend?

[igordragonian]

With a deep breath, I write again the spell in another page and decend

[zingbobco000]

The daylight barely offers enough illumination to see, but a hot lantern during daytime would be very suspicious. You squeeze beneath the floor and glance around.
Your first impression is that May keeps her junk here, for there are many boxes of different sizes piled in untidy heaps. It takes a few seconds before you realize they are all traveling trunks, or suitcases. There are about twenty of them.
The implication hits you hard. Yet you maintain enough control to check the luggage tags. You count eight or nine different names before you stop. Scrambling back up to the bedroom, you close the trapdoor with trembling fingers, returning the bed to its place.

Emberhead, 2:01 PM, September 3rd, 1921

You are contemplating your next move when you see one villager, a bald man with a damaged ear, watching you intently. Some instinct makes you walk in the other direction. Then you see the others, ahead, and to your sides: a wary teenager, an evil-eyed matron, and a man hefting a club. They are not staring as obviously as the first, but they keep you under watch. And they are closing in. You cannot hope to overcome four of them at once.
----

Would you like to try and make a run for it? Or lose them among the buildings?

[igordragonian]

I try to lose them betwee the buildings, cursing my stupidity for staying here


I guess athletic?
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

I try to lose them betwee the buildings, cursing my stupidity for staying here


I guess athletic?
[roll0]

Athletics isn't actually a skill. Also, that has nothing to do with climbing, jumping, or swimming...?
----

You dart down an alley, then turn and head in a completely different direction. Running feet sound behind you. For the first time you feel Emberhead’s cramped, chaotic streets work in your favor. You try to circle round towards the southern road.
----

Please make a Stealth roll.

[igordragonian]

Stealth


[roll0]


Ooc: Wow. Yeah, I have seen there are dozens over dozens of skills that many seems to overlap

[zingbobco000]

That is true, but each one does actually serve a fairly specific purpose.
----

You turn a corner and walk straight into the formidable woman with the malevolent stare. She grabs your shoulders and bears down on you. As you struggle, the man with the club runs up with the teenager. You are quickly overcome.

The fading light from a narrow window tells you afternoon is giving way to evening. Your hands are shackled behind your back so you cannot even lie down on the rough bed. A woman you have not seen before comes in. Her face is wrinkled and her eyes dull. They do not meet yours, but she puts a cup to your lips.
----

Do you accept the drink, or reject it?

[igordragonian]

I struggle and kicking.
"Why are you doing this?!' I yell in panic.


----

(It's a bit wierd to me, from how the system work to my understanding. Like, someone can give a strong punch but his kick will be useless?)

[zingbobco000]

(It's a bit wierd to me, from how the system work to my understanding. Like, someone can give a strong punch but his kick will be useless?)

What makes you think that? It just becomes that Unarmed attacks are a combination of kicks, headbutts, punches, etc... as opposed to making things rather complex with a wide variety of initial attacks.
----

The woman recoils in fright from your bound flailing body. You shout after her, but she gives no reaction.
You soon become thirsty.

As the light fades outside, your little prison becomes dark. You can hear much activity around the building. Occasionally an orange glow passes the window. The only comfortable position in the shackles seems to be to sit against the end of the bed with your arms hanging behind you.
You need to concentrate and come up with a plan. There is clearly no escape from your bonds. You do not know exactly what your captors want from you, but you cannot ignore the fact that they have spent the entire day constructing a massive bonfire.

The door scrapes, wrenching you back into the moment. Orange light spills into the house from blazing torches held at the threshold. Two large villagers step in and grab you. At least, you assume they are villagers. They wear heavy black cloaks, and their faces and hands are painted entirely black, save only for a red triangle centered on their left eye.
You try to drag your legs, but they reach under your arms and lift you bodily from the bed. Outside, it seems that the whole village has congregated to see you. Every single one has a blackened face with the red triangle motif. Torches sputter and spill fire.
You struggle, but you can see physical resistance is hopeless. You are marched to the central street and turned to face the Beacon.

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/89720049/L3DvTjcxLrld25ihsdRf4Q/max.png?1566314911

The procession down The Approach is slow and formal, save when you sense weakness and yank at your captors. A chill touches you when you see three human shapes carried ahead of you, draped in red cloth. The Beacon looms larger and larger, its dreadful silhouette a black triangle pointing to the stars. A low drone begins among the cloaked figures—unbidden, the word mourners comes to mind. Smoke from their torches makes you cough. You feel heat on your face.
As you reach the cleared area around the Beacon, three dancers break from the pack: young girls swinging balls of fire in spectacular arcs, drawing circles in the night air. One by one, they draw close to you and touch your forehead with sooty fingers. Each kisses you three times: on the left cheek, right cheek, then forehead. Then they whisper in your ear. The smell of kerosene fills your nostrils.
----

Please give me an Appearance roll.

[igordragonian]

(In the book, they apear as seperate skills)
(Also.. how clear are the sky?)

I am pale, shakingm and worst of all I can't reach my photo. My self image has worsrened. Not only that I view myself as quivering disgusting of mass fat, also half of me were burnt. Like half baked mutated pig. I wanted to puke from the thoughts, that those girls were forced to kiss such an atorcity.
"Why?' I cry.
'Why??'

---

Apearance
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

(In the book, they apear as seperate skills)
(Also.. how clear are the sky?)

Are you sure that you have the 7th-edition rules? What you're describing sounds like 6th ed.
----

With the exception of the smoke, the sky is intensely clear and the stars burn bright, almost like they're anticipating something.

“Through your sacrifice the village will be reborn,” says the first dancer.
“You pass from earth to air for all our sakes,” says the second.
“I’ve weakened one of the chains,” says the third. “Don’t try to escape until the flames are high enough to hide you.”
You stare at the third dancer. In that inky visage you clearly discern the frightened features of Ruth Ledbetter.
Their dance weaves off and disappears behind the buildings.

As you arrive beneath the beacon, ten villagers close in on you. Working with surprising coordination, they immobilize you and lift you up the blackened iron stairs to the raised platform. You cannot help but shiver at the sight of the central framework, twisted from past blazes, and what you can now clearly see to be fastening points for chain. None of the eyes meet yours as they lash you to the metal.
The village sings now, something rhythmic and ancient, carved from odd syllables. A second group ascends to the Beacon, carrying the three red-draped bodies. With reverence, they arrange their burdens in a triangle around your feet. Then they withdraw, leaving you alone with the dead, shin-deep in a sea of kindling.

It seems the entire village is gathered around the Beacon to watch you burn. Behind the face paint, you recognize May Ledbetter and—yes, that is Silas the coach driver standing at her side.
The audacity and scale of the deception staggers you. A man steps up on a dais and raises his hands with quiet authority. The frame of his spectacles obscures the red triangle on his face.
“So we draw here together again on this night, as we do each year, and we give thanks to the one who will preserve the village against the fire of the void. You will be taken by the Ones From Above in our stead. Your death will bring life to our streets and bounty to our fields. It will safeguard our children and our elders alike for another year. We salute you.” He bows his head.
All around the Beacon, bearers step forward and lift their torches to the edge of the raised platform. A ring of tiny flames flicker up around the perimeter. As they wink, the singing of the villagers drops into an unearthly rhythm. They stare at you, and you stare back, watching as you are held clearly in their vision.

You can't help but feel that these chains were made poorly.
----

Would you like to throw all of your remaining strength against the bonds right now or wait for a moment and see what happens?

[igordragonian]

If the flames aren't hiding me, I'l listen to the tip of Ruth, which for some reason I trust.
How ever, I look in the sky, and start to chant.
:"Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthugha Fomalhaut n’gha-ghaa naf’l thagn! Iä! Cthugha!' My voice become louder and louder

[zingbobco000]

The flames snake across the kindling, catching and rising. Smoke rises and it becomes difficult to see the villagers. The three bodies surrounding you catch fire, blazing with sooty red flames. You begin to cough as the smoke enters your lungs, and fight down the urge to panic.

Right as you're about to complete it, the words of Arbogast return to you: “Never speak it if you have plans left on this Earth.”
----

Would you like to finish the chant, or would you like to hold off and focus on escaping your bonds instead. You have a feeling that if you don't finish the chant now, the smoke will make it virtually impossible to say anything (and therefore finish the chant).

Also, again, what version are you using? Because 6th-edition (and some earlier ones) have those rules, but 7th, the one we're playing, does not.

[igordragonian]

(I have the 7th book, but to check skills I google "cthuluhu roleplay skills'


I focus on trying to escape, finally my instincts win over, my stupid curiosity.


---
[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

(I have the 7th book, but to check skills I google "cthuluhu roleplay skills')

Ah, yeah, that's probably the issue. You're most likely getting the skills from the previous versions.
----

Flames lick at your legs. Your eyes water. You are shrouded in smoke. It might be your imagination, but you think you can feel a slight give in the chains. You throw yourself against them, giving no thought to how they bite into your wrists.
----

You take 6 damage from the flames, you may now make a Strength roll (the 88), but because you waited, you gain a Bonus Die, so you can roll another d10 and if it's lower than an 8 you use it instead of the ten's place.

[igordragonian]

Strentgh checks


[roll0]
[roll1]

[zingbobco000]

You struggle, but you're unable to free yourself from the chains as they travel farther up your body... you can barely move your mouth at this point as smoke has utterly clogged your lungs, however you nevertheless struggle as much as you can.
----

You take 2 more damage from the flames, you may make another Strength roll with a Bonus Die.

[igordragonian]

(Oh boy! My first cthulhu death on the way!)
[roll0]
[roll1]

[zingbobco000]

There actually shouldn't have been a bonus die, my bad, but you succeeded anyway.
----

Desperation lends you strength and you yank at what you guess to be the weak point in the chain. It breaks! You throw the chain off, stumbling across one of the red-shrouded corpses, heading away from the watching villagers. You cough. Your hair and eyebrows smolder.
----

You take an additional 1 points of damage as you run through a literal bonfire
----

You leap from the conflagration on the far side of the Beacon. Your heart lurches momentarily at the sight of the sheer drop beneath you, but you land a few inches short of the edge. You roll to extinguish your burning clothes. Your lungs feel singed. Everything hurts. The chant of the villagers gathers in intensity. You peer around the Beacon. They don’t seem to have noticed your absence amidst the billowing smoke. Most of them are staring into the sky.
You crawl as rapidly as you can for the cover of the nearest building.

With the villagers assembled at the Beacon, the streets are empty and you are able to pad away from the blaze. You must get out of town before they finish.
The chanting seems to accelerate as you round the corner of the southern road. Here, parked against the side of the general store, you have your first piece of luck since reaching Emberhead. A bicycle! You learned to ride one of these in Providence.
You settle into the saddle. Your burned flesh protests at the contact.
----

Now one final query, shall you wait and observe the going ons at the beacon, just for... scientific purposes? Or are you absolutely positively done with this place?

[igordragonian]

I curse myself, but I can't look away. I must see.
I pant in pain.

[zingbobco000]

After a quick glance around to be sure you are unobserved, you look back along the avenue. The entire village is intent upon the Beacon. Their chanting reaches a new, fevered pitch. You cannot say exactly why, but you get the impression something is wrong. The chant begins to break and the villagers sway. Then—
FTOOM! Something incandescent thunders into the crowd in front of the Beacon, leaving a fiery trail in your vision. You feel the ground shudder beneath the bicycle. FTOOM! Another strikes nearby, scattering sparks. Now the chant falters and gives way to screams.
Fire skims the buildings facing the Beacon. Smoke rolls through the streets. A woman staggers towards you, wailing. Her arm is on fire. She beats it against a wall.
FTOOM! Another strike, out of your sight, towards the village hall. It’s time to go.

It takes a moment to recapture the skill of riding the bicycle, but after the first turn to the east, there is a long downhill out of Emberhead. You hear screams and crackles above you, but concentrate on balancing and working the pedals in your weakened state. You’ve had too many hopes dashed in this abomination of a village. You keep your head down and ride away. Twenty minutes later, with no signs of pursuit, you stop for a breather at the top of a hill. You can see Emberhead rise in the distance. The entire village appears to be ablaze. The dark column of smoke above it will be visible for many miles—but if the village is as isolated as it seems, help is unlikely to arrive in time.
You watch the place burn for five minutes. Then you mount the bicycle again and ride towards civilization, and dawn.

Congratulations! You have survived this adventure. You may keep your investigator sheet and you might be able to use it later on in another Call of Cthulhu scenario. If I have noted that you have succeeded in any skills, you will have a chance to improve them through experience (see OOC).
The End.