Everyone in Briarstone.
Except Winter Klaczka and four amnesiac former employees of Count Hasterton Lowls IV.
The Tatterman dropped half the party, stable but dreaming fevered dreams and surely dying soon. The remaining PCs couldn't beat his regeneration. Aided by Winter, they rolled their unconscious companions from the open second-story wall, whence late the oneirogens had spewed their yellow fog. The fall was rough, but not enough to kill the unconscious characters.
The bhole stirred again, its nightmares flaring as Hastur's dream-creature stepped into the waking world. As the Tatterman ripped the flesh from what remained of the Apostles in Orpiment, the earth heaved. The fragile remaining walls of Briarstone toppled. Unseen by the handful of survivors, the ceiling of the chapel dropped, smashing the shrine of Desna.
The Dimension of Dreams forced its way into Golarion. Screams and gibbers and mad visions filled the sky. Briarstone Asylum collapsed on itself. The force of the blast hurled the amnesiacs and Winter to the ground. When their eyes cleared of dust and fog, the century-old complex was gone.
In its place, an arid waste of yellow sand. Fragments of alien architecture thrust up through the drifting dunes. The perpetual rain and chill of Ustalav refused to touch the eldritch blight at the island's heart.
Five survivors made their way to a rowboat, to carry the mad tale to Thrushmoor...
Berti Blackfoot wrote:
There are some things Man Was Not Meant To Know... someday we will learn why people are incredulous when confronted with other people's subjective preferences for leisure time activity... and we will go mad, and flee to the safety of a new dark age...
Between you and me, I can't wait.
John Kretzer wrote:
I thought it was what you said. But then, I'm chaotic, so maybe it wasn't what I thought you said. WILL SOMEONE GIVE ME SOME CHEESE?!