I blast the front door of a nearby home to splinters and find more undead waiting. My Occultist character returns the greeting with magically fortified rounds fired from a pepperbox revolver and arcane spells that bind, blast, and fry. It greets me with clutching hands and gaping mouth, and in a blink, it is everywhere. But something lurks beneath the ruddy earth of this ghost town - something hungry. Ripped from the pages of Stephen King's The Dark Tower novels, the Victorian-era town of Burrwitch is a wasteland of deserted dirt roads and derelict clapboard homes.
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