Hoplathemighty'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.

----
Plymouth New Hampshire, 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?”
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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 else 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!

[hoplathemightly]

I sigh, swatting smoke from my face. "This will be a long first leg of the trip," I think to myself. With some effort I heft the first of my bags onto the luggage rack, then the next and finally loop my sling bag around my head and shoulder.
Without waiting, I open the door to the gray coach and sit inside.
"Let's be off," I pause, "eh, what're your names then?"
I glance in the rear view mirror, checking my reflection. Vanity was never something I could overcome, I don't have many vices but I can't resist checking if something has changed.


Intelligence
Education
Power
Appearance
Size
Dexterity
Constitution
Strength

[zingbobco000]

Before you board...
----

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.
----

For reference, the other two passengers got off the motor coach
----

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.

The driver gives an unintelligible grumble as a response to your query. Nevertheless, your reflection appears mostly unchanged except for... no, that's just a bit of grime on the mirror.
----

For the record, your Sanity is determined by your Power.
----

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.
----
Your Hit Points are determined by your Size and your Constitution. Please give me 3d6 which will help in determining how Lucky you are.

[hoplathemightly]

As the coach rumbles along I dig out a book, Erstways From Here, and begin to read. Despite the jarring motion of the coach, reading is not difficult.

(roll)3d6(/roll)

[hoplathemightly]

[roll0]

Try this again.

[zingbobco000]

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 get truly engrossed in your book when the driver takes a tight bend at speed.
----

Please give me a Dexterity roll to see if you're able to react to this. So please roll 1d100.

[hoplathemightly]

Reacting on first instinct, I grip my book.

[roll0]

[zingbobco000]

You rolled below your Dexterity which means you have succeeded on your roll. Interestingly, in Call of Cthulhu, your stats are what actually determine the difficulty of your attempt as opposed to a set DC like in D&D.
----

You feel yourself slide from the seat as the driver spins the wheel and the motor-coach plunges off the road. You grab hold of your book in one hand and the seat in front with the other, just in time to prevent a painful fall. The coach stops with a thump.
Now you see what has happened. A Fordson tractor has stopped in the road and your driver has had to swerve to avoid this steel obstacle. He leaps from his seat into the road, unleashing a string of curses at the farmer.
You take a moment to catch your breath. Perhaps you should offer assistance? But the driver has already returned. He backs the coach up a little and threads it around the tractor, glaring at the farmer.

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?”

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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 and I'll mark it down. You may add your age; for the purposes of this scenario (aka adventure), your character should probably be aged between 23 and 36.

[hoplathemightly]

I fold the corner of my book before closing it. Looking up over the edge of the seat in front, I reply, "Doctor Brant. Though please, call me Henry. Not to worry, Silas, accidents are bound to happen. Are you all right?"

I look for Silas' gaze in the rear view mirror.

[zingbobco000]

The coach turns onto a narrower road, which weaves uphill through woodland. Silas becomes chatty.
“Don't you worry, I'm fine, bit annoyed and all, but fine... Going to Arkham, eh, Henry? 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? You said you were a... doctor?”
----

Well now it's time to choose your 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 character's abilities, and it does not really affect advancement.
Some common occupations for investigators include (technically all of these could... theoretically include a doctorate):

Antiquarian
Doctor of Medicine
Journalist
Private Investigator
Professor
Something Else... (we can discuss, if you're aiming for being a doctor, we can cover specific kinds of doctors)?


Also, what's Henry's age?

[hoplathemightly]

Doctor Henry Brant is nearly thirty years of age. Having completed a doctorate in anthropological application of literary institutions, a rather unorthodox pursuit. Of the options mentioned, Journalist would be the closest to this rather obscure field of study. Journalism serving as the most accessible literary institution besides libraries, it would do well as the basis for an eventual doctorate. In terms of recognizable intersections with more common doctorate studies, anthropology and literature would also serve to inform the nature of Doctor Henry Brant's PhD.

"Yes, though my field is rather underdeveloped. I fit into a small niche between anthropology and literary history. I always imagined I'd end up in politics or maybe an arts museum." I lift the book for Silas to glance in the rear view mirror, "a perfect example of the type of mind numbing literature I pursue."

[zingbobco000]

Reminder to also be subscribed to the OOC. I post there too.

[zingbobco000]

You recall the work you'll be doing as a researcher at Miskatonic University on the strength of a recommendation by your graduate school. The offer of researching at one of the top universities in the world was hardly one that you could pass up. You feel a tingle in your palms; you cannot wait to get started.
“Books, eh?” Silas takes the conversation no further. You get the feeling he is not much of a reader.
----

Given that you're currently a researcher you're probably not making too much so you're of an Average wealth. You also have the following occupational skills: History, Library Use, Spot Hidden, and then some choices. Firstly, which non-English language have you picked up researching ancient cultures and literature (literally anything from Egyptian Hieroglyphs to Spanish)?
Which conversational skill do you use most often in gathering grants or just communicating with others?
Charm - physical attraction, seduction, flattery, or simply warmth of personality.
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 (does not necessarily have to employ deception and could just be Persuade under a time limit).
Intimidate - browbeating or making verbal threats to get your way.
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).
.

[hoplathemightly]

I shift in my seat, open my book and absently ask Silas "So how long have you been driving this route?"

I think Persuade would be my choice, and I'm feeling a strong draw to Latin.
Shall I be making a sheet with these skills or taking a mental note?

[zingbobco000]

As you finsh your question there are a couple of moments of silence before a quick "Long time..." Seems his talkativeness has ended quite abruptly.
----

You also gain the choice of three fields of research as a, well, researcher. Some suggestions based on what you've described might be Anthropology and Art/Craft (Literature).

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 (you have this one) - 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 have this but you may take it again for another language) - 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 one) - 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 one) - 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 (you have this one) - 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 - 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 (you have this one) - 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 (although I'd hope you would provide reasoning for such a thing). So, with all that out of the way, choose three!

Also, I'm keeping track of all of this myself, don't you worry.

[hoplathemightly]

I slip into the escape of my book as the conversation dies, not bothered by this in the least.

I definitely agree with Anthropology and Art/Craft Literature. For the third I'm between Psychoanalysis and Occult. Psychoanalysis would serve well in understanding how certain pieces of literature affect the populace under certain situations. Occult would serve well for more obscure pieces of literature that has, in the past, affected, shaped and impacted culture. Considering the nature of the game, Occult feels a more pertinent choice.

[zingbobco000]

Sounds good to me!
----

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.
----

Note that even if you don't pick it as an Occupational Skill or a Personal Interest, you can still attempt any skill roll, having what's called a Base ability in it. There will more than likely be a slight, but nevertheless present, chance of you succeeding on anything you attempt. I believe you alluded to this earlier, and this is me just elaborating and confirming this.
----

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?
----

Speaking of Personal Interest Skills from before, please choose four skills that represent your Personal interests (so things unrelated to your occcupation, in fact they cannot be the same as your occupational skills).

[hoplathemightly]

Looking out into the wilds, I'm reminded of my landing in France. Though rather than verdant hills and a winding creek, I recall blackened craters and muddy trenches.

Getting to study at my young age came with a cost that most would hesitate to accept. My family was poor, no way to afford higher education. The military offered to pay for my education, so I joined.

I clench my right hand, remembering the jolts of force that accompany each shot fired. I know French, so I was among the first Americans to be sent as relief. I spent nearly a year, ranking officer for the majority of my stay, a benefit of my education for which I am most thankful. I believe it kept me from the worst.

Yes, this wilderness could be conquered, could the city?

For Personal Skills I am using a combination of military training and personal interest beforehand. Speak Language (French), Survival, Firearms, and Science (Cryptography)
I'm going for an E.E. Cummings vibe.

[zingbobco000]

Ok, but it's important to note that you must pick a couple things: Firstly what environment for Survival? Based on your description maybe grasslands/hills? In addition, what kind of firearms? I would think either Handguns or Rifles/Shotgun, Submachine Gun doesn't make much sense.

[hoplathemightly]

I believe the area of France that America supported was predominantly hills, so Grasslands/Hills will work. For Firearms, I originally thought Rifles but thinking about it, Handguns would likely be the most used Firearm for an Officer.
Is it within reason to claim those skills?

[zingbobco000]

The motor coach rattles on through the hills and Silas continues his 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.
----

Please do not comment on anything related to IC just yet. I need to know the order of your occupational skills. You currently have chosen: Art/Craft (Literature), History, Library Use, Persuade, Anthropology, Occult, Other Language (Latin), and Spot Hidden. Please rate these from highest to lowest.

[hoplathemightly]

Ok, let's see here.
Library Use, Art/Craft (Literature), Anthropology, Persuade, Spot Hidden, Other Language (Latin), Occult, History.

I think that's good.

[zingbobco000]

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.
----

Please give me either a Drive Auto (you consider yourself an amateur in this field) or a Hard Psychology roll (you consider yourself a neophyte in this field). A Hard roll means that I compare it to half of your skill level.

[zingbobco000]

That's sadly a failure.
----

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

[hoplathemightly]

Standing at the foot of the coach, I ask, " so, this where you're staying?," I bump the coach with the flat of my fist. " It doesn't seem like it'd be too accommodating."

[zingbobco000]

He gives the engine a sour glance before answering.
“Nah... 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.”

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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.
----

Would you like to explain what happened with Silas and the coach, or ask about this festival?

[hoplathemightly]

I take a sip, letting the hot tea warm my insides before asking, "festival?"

I glance around the room, looking for signs of other visitors. " Have many folks come for the festival?"

[zingbobco000]

“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, we get one or two visitors every couple of years for it. 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, and May names a price so low you accept it without hesitation. The room is small but comfortable, and the stew dark and hearty. The sign outside appears to be true to its name as there's only one LODGING ROOM, and thus, no other visitors. After dinner, you have a couple of hours before your usual bedtime.
----

Would you maybe like to talk to May some more? Walk around and get your bearings (then again, it is getting a bit late)? Or would you rather just turn in for an early night?

[hoplathemightly]

Feeling the itch to familiarize myself with these new surroundings I finish my stew and prepare myself for an evening stroll. Before I leave, I pry a bit, "May, you said, the torches keep the village spirit alive. You mean, the life of the town?"

[zingbobco000]

She looks confused, "You know, the spirit, everyone's happiness, you know, right?" However, May’s brow creases when you announce your intention to take a stroll. “Mind how you go,” she says. “Emberhead’s surrounded by cliffs and we don’t have your fancy street lamps here. Take the lantern and watch 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. You cannot hope to get an overview of the village tonight.
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.
Seeing it has been spotted, the figure slips down an alley.
----

Are you going to return to the safety of the Ledbetter house? Or are you going to confront this dark figure?

[hoplathemightly]

Fighting the sudden urge to pursue this figure, I turn to end my stroll early. Best not to wander after folk in unfamiliar territory. I follow the road back to May's lone boarding room.

Once inside, I wave to May and bid her a good night's rest. I find my room easily enough and return to my book for a quick read before sleep takes me.

[zingbobco000]

Some things happen before you simply go to bed, I'm afraid.
----

You head back down the narrow street, the lantern swinging in your grasp. You reach the door and pound it urgently. May is surprised to see you so soon.
“The air up here can tire you out if you’re not used to it,” she says.
You glance back once before you close the door. The dark figure is standing against the wall at the end of the street, still staring at you. Or is it? The murk may be deceiving your eyes. You slide the heavy bolt into place.
May has settled back into her chair, but now she blinks and yawns. “I believe I’ll turn in. When would you like your breakfast?”
Silas mentioned leaving at eight, so seven should do quite nicely.

As both you and May stand, 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 after a couple pages 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 have not), 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-fifteen or so, 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 head now to find transport out of here? 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?

[hoplathemightly]

The sense of calm pervading the village nags at me like a loose thread ready to unravel a sleeve, or worse. While the stark black building certainly draws attention to itself, the village hall seems the best course of action. I make my way there to inquire about transportation.

[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, you really must get in contact with the publishing company.
“Don’t know.” She shrugs. “Who would we call?”
You will have to try again later.

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

To repeat my list of exploratory options: 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?

[hoplathemightly]

The general store, an obvious choice, they must receive shipments to operate. Logically, they'd have some means of contacting the outside world. Maybe, if I'm lucky, some transport. All these thoughts run through my head as I approach the general store.

[zingbobco000]

The general store is on a corner beside the main road, just before it plunges to the south. The shopkeeper is a brisk, immense lady with a starched apron and strong shoulders. She looks hard at your unfamiliar face.
“Transport? There’s a motor coach comes through twice a week. Missed it? Hmm. Truck brings in my supplies every second Tuesday, but he’s not due until next week.” She shrugs.
It seems Emberhead is content to keep its distance from the outside world.
----

You have enough cash on you to buy a couple of inexpensive everyday items here. Remember the year is 1921! The shop stocks no weapons except a dusty hunting knife, which you may purchase if you want.

[hoplathemightly]

Sensing an opportunity to learn more of this odd town, I seek out any literature they have stocked.

As I browse the store, I ask the store keeper, "have you any literature from locals or about Emberhead? I study isolated locales such as this."

[zingbobco000]

She shakes her head. “None here, but Mr. Winters runs the library in the village hall.” She then strokes her chin. “He’ll probably be open in the afternoon. Anything else I can help you with?”

[hoplathemightly]

" Perhaps just some jerky to keep me fed while I wait for the Hall to open," I say, returning to the keeper.

[zingbobco000]

The shopkeeper nods and passes it to you. Meanwhile, you still have some morning remaining, as you're getting accustomed to the main thoroughfares of the town. Would you continue to explore?
----

Zing lists things: 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?

[hoplathemightly]

Stepping outside in the cool morning air, once again the black building casts a magnetism over me. I start toward the black metal 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.
----

Please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself a professional in this field) roll as you're looking around.

[zingbobco000]

As you walk away from the iron structure, you notice something strange about the construction of the village. All the wooden dwellings are concentrated in the west and southwest. To the east and northeast, closest to the Beacon, the buildings are formed from dark brick and clay. Does this mean the settlement began at the Beacon, and spread west?
----

You have succeeded in a skill roll! Nice! This means you might be able to advance it after the adventure!
----

You're beginning to feel cramped within the small village, having traveled its size several times over.
----

So, would you like to continue your exploration of the town, and if so, where to next? 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?

[hoplathemightly]

Looking out over Emberhead, I decide, perhaps there's more to this westward growth. Instead of heading back into town I turn to follow the eastward stretch of land leading out of town.

[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.
----

As he freezes, please give me a Luck roll.

[zingbobco000]

The strange man breaks into a run, fleeing from you along the ridge. His gait is lopsided, but his movements have a maniacal intensity.
----

Shall you give chase? Or do you honestly have better things to do than chase random villagers?

[hoplathemightly]

Though the act of fleeing from a mere passerby is bizarre, I don't see the need to give chase.

What is the current time of day, would the town hall be open? How far does this road continue along the ridge?

[zingbobco000]

I shall answer all of these questions and more!
----

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.

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.
----

Would you like to ask Ruth about what she said? Ask May about what Ruth said? Or just... stay silent and continue towards the household.

[hoplathemightly]

Not wanting to dig into my jerky just yet, I decide to return to May's home for lunch. The town hall must provide some means to leave, if not, Ruth's dire warning might need to be heeded on foot.

With a nod, I start onward, "I'll help myself, thank you very much."

[zingbobco000]

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 some 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.
----

So to confirm you're going to Mr. Winters first?

[hoplathemightly]

With belly full, I make the short trip back to the town hall to see Mr. Winters.

Yes indeed, let's speak with Mr. Winters first.

[zingbobco000]

The village hall overlooks the lower north ridge of the village. You walk along Silbury Street to find it, 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.
----

Would you like to examine said noticeboards? Or just get right down to business and knock on the door?

[hoplathemightly]

I pause in front of the noticeboards and read any postings that have been placed there.

[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.

[zingbobco000]

As the afternoon sun hits the floor you notice something curious. The boards under the windows are newer than the boards in the center of the floor. The frames also show signs of having been replaced in the recent past. Perhaps rain leaked in and rotted the wood.

The door scrapes behind you. A middle-aged, bespectacled gentleman appears in the doorway. “May I help you?”
You explain you are visiting on May Ledbetter’s recommendation.
“Ah. Well, I’m Clyde Winters. I’m not sure I can help you, but… would you care for some coffee? I’m partial to a cup in the afternoon.”
He gestures to the open door behind him. This seems like a worthwhile opportunity, and you are a little thirsty.

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. 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 about life in the village first, or immediately ask about the telegraph.

[hoplathemightly]

I anticipate that engaging in small talk will be helpful.

I step up to one of the book shelves and quickly browse the assorted collection. When I feel Clyde Winters' eyes on me I turn and ask, "this collection, is it solely your own? I must divulge that I am an avid reader and researcher of literary culture. Pardon my assertion, but I feel that Emberhead must hold a unique literary culture that provides untold insight into this secluded town."

[zingbobco000]

You notice a couple of decent entries on history and science as well as some fiction, but your attention is drawn back when Mr. Winters catches your attention by exchanging pleasantries with you. The pot begins to gurgle.
He looks past you at a high shelf and nods. “I could wish for access to a proper library, of course. It's the trade-off of living here, like so much in life. 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 steer the conversation towards the subject of 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 with the mail 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.
----

So to confirm you'd like to ask Mr. Winters further about his library?

[hoplathemightly]

Most certainly, my curiosity is growing. Perhaps a Library Use?

"A farmer? Do you have one in mind that might have the availability, I have not had the chance to speak with any. Tell me, would you allow me the chance to peruse your library?"

[zingbobco000]

This is such a small library that no roll would be needed.
----

He shrugs and rattles off a couple of names (Jim, Mary, Thomas, Lois, etc...). However at the discussion of the library he realizes something, having been wrapped up in his work. “I'm sorry, I thought you were referring to something else. These books are 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.
----

I'm presuming that you'd like to spend some time researching in the library, let me know if that's not the case.
----

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, try to gather some information on the festival, read something from the sciences, or read some of the weird fiction?

[hoplathemightly]

I'm thinking that researching the festival would be the best line of research, so let's do that.

[zingbobco000]

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 (you consider yourself of lower-middle-class) roll.

[zingbobco000]

“I’m afraid I have some errands to run before dark. So I must close the library for today. I do hope you will return tomorrow afternoon if you are so inclined?”
You leave the building with Winters, waiting as he locks up. You thank him for the coffee and the access to the library. He disappears off down an alley. You hope to be away from the village before tomorrow afternoon, but it’s good to know that there is a place you can occupy yourself.

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 maybe go stargazing? Or would you like to try and talk to Ruth?

[hoplathemightly]

Sensing Ruth's desire for conversation, I engage with her, "hey there. Got a secret you wanna share?"

[zingbobco000]

May's eyes immediately turn towards you whereas Ruth glances towards her mother and then back to you with a simple. "No." She does not respond any further.

In time, May returns to the kitchen and busies herself clearing up. To speak to Ruth, you will need to get May to leave for a short while. You help with the dishes and try to think of some ruse. In time, an idea comes and you ask about Silas and his friends in the village.
May narrows her eyes. “He knows Troy on the other side of town,” she says. “Not sure I’d call them friends. More like an old feuding couple. But he probably spent last night at Troy’s place.”
You ask May if she could visit Troy and ask if Silas mentioned any plans to return. May looks dubious. “Right now?” she asks.
----

Consider how you're going to convince her, are you going to try and appeal to her emotions? Are you going to use rationalism and explain how a further delay threatens your career; or are you trying to rush her into compliance? Consider that when you make your IC post and make a roll at the bottom of it.

[hoplathemightly]

" It may seem odd for a stranger to come by asking about Silas. Not to speak ill of any one, but I haven't had much luck today in finding help or information. I just feel like this whole setback has really cost me a lot and I fear jeopardizing any chance, no matter how slim, I may have at uncovering something more substantial. I hate asking after everything you've done for me."

[roll0]
I think I mostly used rational thought for this discourse with a bit of guilt thrown in for good measure.

[zingbobco000]

You did, making this a Persuade roll. But I'm afraid with that 73, the reasoning just didn't come across to her. Perhaps it was your tone, your intonation, or something else, but she just wasn't Persuaded.
----

May frowns and shakes her head, looking saddened by your statement, but tired all the same. “Don't you worry. I’ll be happy to go see him in the morning. I must see to Ruth for now. She’s been a terrible handful today.” Her bedroom door closes with a heavy clunk.

The familiar surroundings of your guest room are becoming constrictive. The neat bed, small wardrobe, and dressing mirror have the feel of a prison cell about them. What are you still doing here in Emberhead? Your new life is elsewhere.
You lie on the bed and stare at a small crack in the ceiling. You turn over the day’s events, thinking through the little details you spotted. You are certainly weary from the elevation and the fresh air. But do you still feel safe here?
----

Would you let yourself fall asleep? Or would you rather stay awake?

[hoplathemightly]

I lay in bed, allowing tiredness to take me to dreamland.

[zingbobco000]

Your eyelids are heavy and whatever your reservations, blackness soon takes you.
You dream again of fire in the grate, a small theater of lights twinkling a tiny drama. The flames seem to consume nothing, almost to hang in the air. A moment later, they are around your sleeping form, filling the room with flickering colors: blue, yellow, red, purple. They dance on and around you. The little tongues brush your flesh…

You drift awake in the morning light. The sun is already high but you do not feel well rested. You find yourself preoccupied with little details of the room: the wood grain of the doorjamb, or a chipped handle on the wardrobe.
As you swing out of bed, your stomach gives a lurch and you lean too far over, nearly tumbling to the floor. You blink for a moment. Perhaps you have an illness coming on. You get carefully to your feet. The air in the room is heavy and fragrant. You stare out of the window until you feel steady enough to leave.
----

At this point you have a Penalty Die on every roll except for Luck, Sanity, or any Damage rolls. A Penalty Die means that you must roll another d10 and take it if it is higher than the 10's place which you rolled.
----

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.

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.
----

Would you like to Search May's Bedroom? Go alone to the Village Hall? Take a closer look at the Artisan's Courtyard? Spy on activity at the Beacon? Or slip down the Eastern Road and flee for good?

[hoplathemightly]

Let's go to the Town Hall, maybe do some more research at the library.

[zingbobco000]

Keeping away from the streets, you skirt the northern cliffs and approach the village hall from the rear. It is close to the Beacon and you will not be able to use the door unobserved. You check the windows. The one on the east side, facing the Beacon, is bricked up.
A shutter is loose on the westernmost window and you are able to ease it open and slide inside, closing the shutter behind you. You drop into the village meeting room and pad through, passing through dim shafts of light and listening to the excited chatter of the locals from outside. The door opposite reads PRIVATE. Hearing nothing from the other side, you turn the handle.

The room is lined with books. In the corner is a small water closet and pantry. A quick survey of the rest of the room reveals little, so you turn to the bookcase. The dim light makes it difficult to read the spines. Is there anything useful here?
----

Please give me a Spot Hidden (you consider yourself a Professional in this field), however, recall that you have the Penalty Die, so roll me a d10 as well.

[zingbobco000]

Tucked between two books, you find a detailed map of the area around Emberhead. It shows woodland, contours, and the two roads, east and west. Although no other settlements are marked, this may prove useful if you do decide to leave today.

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.d20.io/images/91587959/Ff5920vAVQxEQEgT4y2B4g/max.png?1568213059

The clatter of activity around the Beacon seems to be building and you flinch at every conversation that gets too close to the building’s door. It feels the right time to retrace your steps, slipping away through the window.

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

Would you like to Search May's Bedroom? Go alone to the Village Hall? Take a closer look at the Artisan's Courtyard? Spy on activity at the Beacon? Or slip down the Eastern Road and flee for good?

[hoplathemightly]

Feeling uncertain about the eastward escape route, I find a curiosity striking me. I head toward the Artisan's Courtyard.

[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 to crack the padlock? Physically break into the locked workshop? Or head to another area?

[hoplathemightly]

Sensing that any attempts to break in might bring unwanted attention, I decide some reconnaissance would be a good idea. As the sun moves across the sky, I head to watch the goings-on at the Beacon.

[zingbobco000]

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 give up this approach or try and proceed?

[hoplathemightly]

Am I able to see any activity from near the beacon?

[zingbobco000]

Other than what I’ve described? No. Unless you’d like to take a closer look, hence my post.

[hoplathemightly]

I try to get closer to the beacon, keeping low and quiet.

[zingbobco000]

Luckily your Size is not greater than your Dexterity which means that you're able to progress without a roll.
----

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.

Something is most certainly wrong with Emberhead...
----

Would you like to Search May's Bedroom? Go alone to the Village Hall? Try and get into the locked workshop in the Artisan's Courtyard? Spy on activity at the Beacon? Or slip down the Eastern Road and flee for good?

[hoplathemightly]

Feeling an impending dread, I return to May's Housing to gather my most valuables and anything I need to take with me. I must travel light. I swipe any food I can, bread, dried goods, and such, as well as a knife. Then quietly and quickly I leave via the eastward road.

[zingbobco000]

You find the knife to have been severely dulled, strange...
----

As you approach the southern road that descends to the lower ridge (one of the only ways out), you see four villagers blocking the route, with farm tools and clubs. You veer off and head towards the west road (the other only way out). Your heart sinks as you see exactly the same scene at the other exit from the village. You are trapped.
----

Would you like to try and talk your way past one of the guard groups? Or maybe slip past in a disguise?

[hoplathemightly]

Rational conversation may be beyond those that block my path but I shall try anyway. I approach the eastward road once again, "I must be on my way, I can not stay here longer with no means of transport. My only hope is to meet up with a more used road and flag down a new vehicle. This road will take me to a main thoroughfare, correct?"

[zingbobco000]

They stare at you. "Nah. You come with us," says the first one. His ape-like brow bends into a frown.
----

Please give me an Extreme Persuade (you consider yourself a professional in this field) roll to convince this man that you really need to head out (plus you still have the Penalty Die).

[hoplathemightly]

"Why would I do that?" I ask, feeling a certain amount of panic creep in on the edges. "I've to be in Arkham for a job, I've lost too many days as it is, delaying any further would not be well."

I stand my ground, unmoving, I free my hands just in case one of these folk decide to get grabby.

Just in case, I would like to ready myself for an attack or grapple should one of them try to grab me.

[zingbobco000]

These locals are not as stupid as you think to be persuaded by your words. They grab you and march you back into the center of the village. You struggle all the while.
----

Note that you would try and grab one, but in all honesty you're going up against four massive people. If you really want to run this out, we can... but I'm afraid there's almost no way you can take on all four of them.
----

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.
----

Would you like to drink? Or would you reject this offer?

[hoplathemightly]

Can I smell the liquid first?

[zingbobco000]

Based on the brief whiff you get it smells... normal? You think?

[hoplathemightly]

I take the drink, uncertain of whether it'll help or hurt.

[zingbobco000]

You drink from the cup. It holds cool, refreshing water, which you gulp down. When it is empty, she turns to leave. You speak to her, but she steps outside and closes the door.
Later, you try yelling. Your voice must be audible outside, but it has no effect. It seems the entire village is involved.

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.

[zingbobco000]

“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 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.
----

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

[hoplathemightly]

Taking Ruth's words as truth, I steel myself against what will undoubtedly be a great heat. Waiting for the moment that I am obscured to attempt to break free.

[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.

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 4 damage as you're currently burning up. Please give me a Strength roll with a Bonus Die because you waited, but with a Penalty Die due to your weakness. These two cancel out so just give me a normal roll, please.

[zingbobco000]

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 4 more damage as you run across literal fire (for reference you now have 2 left, jeez... it's a good thing you didn't fail that roll).
----

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. Silas' motor coach is nowhere to be seen, but 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.
----

Do you wish to wait for just a bit to observe the goings-on at the beacon? Or would you rather simply get the heck out of dodge?

[hoplathemightly]

Knowing that burned flesh needs immediate care, cold air can help, but real medical attention is better, I start to peddle. Thanking whatever it was that saw me through that impossible situation, and thanking Ruth for her help.

[zingbobco000]

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. Every now and then you rest and glance back, seeing nothing but flames.
Twenty minutes later, with no signs of pursuit, you stop for a breather having walked your bike to 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 use it in another Call of Cthulhu scenario. You will have a chance to improve some skills through experience as I'll describe in the OOC.
The End.