Igordragonian's Alone Against the Flames IC

[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.

------


(1d100)[17](17)

[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.


----

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.


------

(1d100)[55](55)
(1d10)[3](3)

[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.




-----

(1d100)[67](67)

[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
(1d100)[36](36)

[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.


----

Please give me a Sanity roll.

[igordragonian]

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

(1d100)[48](48)

[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?'