The sheriff office smells of ozone and rotted floorboards. A preacher, his skin grey as ash, stands atop a pine desk. His throat pulses with a rhythmic, unnatural blue light. Hovering inches above the floor, the spectral saloon madam drifts toward him, her translucent silk dress trailing embers like cooling cinders.
Spectral Saloon Madam
Listen to the rattle in his lungs. That is not the word of God, gunslinger. That is the hunger of the void seeking a vessel.
Doc Holliday
My trigger finger aches. That explosive round in the lance could clear this room, but it might just turn the preacher into a shower of gore.
The preacher snaps his head toward Doc. His eyes are hollow pits of swirling vapor. He raises a trembling, skeletal finger, pointing directly at the massive iron frame of the giant.
Preacher
The debt is due, flesh and bone. Will you be the one to pay the interest, or shall I harvest it from your beating heart instead?
The spectral madam flickers, her form elongating into a sharp, jagged shadow that looms behind the preacher, waiting for the heavy weight of the gun lance to move.
+ Scene Quest Added
Survive the preacher's supernatural assault
“Debt my ass *Doc loads his gun lance*”
SUCCESS (Legendary Marksmanship, rolled +0)
Doc Holliday
Debt my ass.
Doc’s massive hand sweeps to his hip, muscles bunching beneath his heavy coat. With a practiced, fluid grace that defies his hulking frame, he draws the Silversmith. The breech snaps open, the heavy brass casing of a 61x30mm explosive round sliding home with the finality of a guillotine. He cocks the hammer, the metallic click echoing like a thunderclap against the rotted office walls.
Doc Holliday
Let the ghost-witch watch. If this preacher wants a hollow heart, I will give him a crater instead.
Preacher
You reach for metal when you should be reaching for repentance!
The Preacher lunges, his fingers lengthening into blackened claws. The spectral madam recoils, her jagged shadow form pressing against the ceiling as the heavy lance levels toward the Preacher’s glowing throat.
“doc fires an then covers his face”
SUCCESS (Legendary Marksmanship, rolled +1)
The Silversmith barks, a monstrous roar that shatters the silence of the office. The 61x30mm round impacts the Preacher squarely in the chest just as he lunges, detonating in a blinding flash of golden phosphor and white-hot shrapnel.
Doc Holliday
Close your eyes, you fool.
Doc slams his left arm across his face, turning his massive torso away from the center of the blast. The force of the explosion ripples through the room, pulverizing the desk into splinters and scattering the swirling dust into a chaotic, searing fog. The Preacher is hoisted backward by the sheer momentum of the impact, pinned momentarily against the wall by the expanding wall of heat and debris. The spectral madam vanishes into the ceiling rafters, leaving behind only the frantic scent of ozone and the ringing in Doc’s ears.
Doc Holliday
Still twitching. I should have aimed for the head.
Quest Complete
Survive the preacher's supernatural assault
New Gift: Exorcist's Aim