GM Information : Newhaven Survivors : Pastor George met a Newhaven survivor and heard his confession. The survivor was a bad person and was given 3 Hail Marys and strangled as punishment. His body now lies in the graveyard mausoleum.
The remains of Newhaven Chapel sit at the edge of town, its steeple cracked, its stained‑glass windows shattered into mosaics of colour on the floor. The doors hang open, swaying gently in the wind. Inside, the pews are arranged with unsettling precision, as if waiting for a congregation that will never return.
Candles burn low on the altar — dozens of them, melted into strange shapes. A Bible lies open, its pages warped by moisture and stained with fingerprints. The air smells of wax, dust, and something metallic beneath it.
From deeper within the chapel, a voice murmurs scripture in a low, rhythmic cadence.
Pastor George emerges from behind the pulpit, gaunt and shambling, his clerical collar stained with old blood. His eyes glow faintly, casting a sickly light across his decaying features. His suit, once formal and dignified, now hangs in tatters.
He clasps his hands together as if in prayer — though one hand still grips a length of broken pew wood, held like a shepherd’s staff.
“Welcome, children,” he says softly. “You’ve come seeking guidance.”
His tone is warm.
His gaze is not.
He studies the survivors with the calm focus of a man assessing the state of their souls.
“You look burdened,” he murmurs. “Lost. But the Lord provides.”
Pastor George moves with unsettling precision, each step deliberate, each gesture measured. He circles the survivors slowly, muttering scripture under his breath.
“No one may enter the Kingdom unprepared,” he says. “The flesh must be cleansed. The spirit must be freed.”
He gestures toward the altar, where several objects lie arranged with ritual care:
A cracked chalice filled with dark, dried residue
A rope coiled neatly beside a hymnal
A row of candles, each burned to the same height
A basin of water that smells faintly of iron
He smiles faintly, as if proud of his preparations.
“I have been tending the flock,” he explains. “Sending them on. One soul at a time.”
He says it with the serene confidence of a man performing a sacred duty.
Pastor George steps behind the altar and retrieves a long, thin blade — not a weapon, but a ceremonial letter opener, polished to a mirror shine. He holds it reverently, like a relic.
“Come forward,” he says gently. “Kneel. Let me ease your suffering.”
If the survivors hesitate, he tilts his head, confused.
“There is no need for fear,” he assures them. “This is mercy. This is preparation.”
He approaches with slow, deliberate steps, hands still clasped around the blade as if in prayer.
If they back away, he follows — not quickly, not angrily, but with the steady persistence of a pastor guiding a reluctant parishioner.
“Do not resist,” he whispers. “The unready must be ushered home.”
His movements remain precise, almost ceremonial. He never rushes. He never rages.
He simply continues the ritual.
The chapel reveals Pastor George’s fractured ministry long before he speaks:
Pews rearranged into a narrow aisle leading to the altar, as if for a funeral
A baptismal font filled with murky water and wilted flowers
A hymn board displaying numbers that correspond to verses about judgment and deliverance
A collection plate containing personal trinkets — rings, watches, scraps of clothing
A handwritten sermon on the pulpit titled “The Final Shepherding”
A row of shoes neatly lined up near the altar, all different sizes
Nothing is chaotic. Everything is ritual.
Pastor George speaks with calm authority, his tone gentle but unwavering. Scripture and doctrine bleed into every sentence.
Sample lines:
“All souls must be made ready.”
“Do not fear the passage. Fear only being unprepared.”
“The Lord has shown me the way. I merely follow.”
“Kneel, child. Let the burden fall from you.”
“I have tended many before you. You will not be the last.”
“The Veil is but a doorway. I am its humble servant.”
His voice should feel like a sermon delivered in an empty church.
Players can notice the ritualistic preparations — the altar, the shoes, the sermon notes.
Talking buys time. Pastor George enjoys explaining his sacred duty.
Kneeling or approaching the altar delays escalation but increases danger.
Possible, but the chapel’s narrow aisles and heavy doors complicate movement.
The Pastor will try to get the players to have confession. Refusing to do so, will make him angry as they are obviously hiding their sins. If they do take confession, most minor sins will need the evil beating out of the confessor, more major sins are outside the jurisdiction of the Pastor to make a decision on, and he will attack the person in order to send them to a higher authority to judge.