[center][h1][b]John[/b][/h1][/center] [i](In reply to [@Whoami])[/i] The more John sifted through the ashes and rubble, the more he seemed to lost track of his surrounding. After all, it did not take an expert hunter to guess what had happened. Trails of people getting dragged against their will, and marks of dried blood, has painted picture enough to put any depiction of Hell in the national museum to shame. [i]"These people.. They are dragged towards the Church. Perhaps for a ritual? But what kind of witch ritual were to be carried inside a holy ground? Unless.. Well, no point to dawdle. Let's take a look at the Church,"[/i] he thought as he cautiously approach the now blackened and ruined building. Pushing the double door open, foul wind, filled with the odor of burnt flesh and fat gushed towards him, as if telling him to turn back; to avert his eyes from what he was about to see. Bones. Piles and piles of bones, both big and small, some still covered by sticky black substance that was once living flesh, stacked upon each other; lined the path towards the altar. And decorating the once sacred place, was a burnt and broken cross, with dried, burnt blood painting a very gory image upon it. [h3][b]Gong.[/b][/h3] The church bell tolled, snapping John out of his trance. And with that, he crumbled to the ground. His lung did not seem to retain their ability to take in air. And as a splitting headache assaulted him, John spilled the content of his guts to the floor. ----------------- Having collected his breath and put his mind back on track, John approached the now desecrated altar. Horrors be damned, there might be some clues among the remains of the poor souls. "[i]To kill children and clergymen alike.. Even for a witch's standard, isn't this just too much?[/i]" And as if to answer his question, the bell toll once again. Only this time, it did not come alone. "You there!" a man called out from the entrance of the Church. "Are you the one behind this treachery? Speak before I put an arrow between your eyes!" he continued. [i]Oh for f*ck's sake..[/i] "Hold it!" John replied with an equally loud shout. "Don't move a muscle." John raised both of his arms and turned slowly towards the source of the voice, as not to agitate the other party. Then, with the most serious of tone he could muster, John continued. "On the floor, three to five inches from where you are standing," he said as he used his left index finger to point towards the object of interest. ".. Is a puddle of my puke. You don't want to step on it, do you?"