Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)

[Tricia]

The adrenaline's completely gone. Your whole body is one big ache. You sit down and simply breathe for some time, great shuddering gulps that sting your throat on the way in and out.

"'s not fair," you mumble one more time. You rear back to punch the ground, but think better of it. Men of God don't throw tantrums when they don't get their way.

Eileen gingerly places a hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your funk. You look up to see that she's got her mask off once again, every line on her kindly face stretched in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you say, working your way slowly back to your feet. "I'm alright. Was just hopin' there'd be someone left for me ta punish."

"It wouldn't have made you feel any better."

"Maybe for a little while, at least," you offer with a weak grin.

You stand there together, alone in the silence.

"I'm gonna bury 'em," you say. "They didn't deserve any o' this."

She nods. "I'll scout ahead. Would you like some help digging?"

"Nah; need some time ta clear my head anyway."

She turns on her heel and replaces her mask, strolling towards the doorway in the rear. You leap back into the Orphanage and survey the damage. The bodies are quickly losing their luster as oil and blood pools beneath them. The stems that once held the bulbs wither and brown before your eyes.

As you behold the dimming of the Orphanage's twisted beauty, you bring your hands together and pray. The simplest prayer, one that you've led so many children through in the past.

"Our Father who art in Heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil. Amen."

You crack your neck and breathe one more "fuck" for the road before getting to work.

The dirt is soft, yielding easily to your fingers and your massive blade, serving as a makeshift trowel. You could, of course, have simply made some craters with your club and explosive bayonets, but some things are worth taking time for. You carefully drag the nearest body into its final resting place and reverently cover it in a layer of earth. Head bowed, you pray for them.

"LORD, please guard this soul, that was so cruelly used for unholy works. Let them be shepherded inta safety and love, that they may never know anymore pain."

You'll come back someday with real headstones. A bayonet will have to do for now. You move to the next one, carve out a berth, and bow your head. "LORD, please guard this soul..."

You fight the part of your mind that wants to slip away and let the routine take over. They all deserve your attention. Time slips away instead, and after however long, you wipe your forehead with grime-encrusted gloves. Haphazard furrows capped by bayonets line the room wall-to-wall beneath drying ichor. You're not terribly good at this, you admit to yourself for the hundredth time.

You've buried children before. It never gets easier.

You turn to see Eileen standing in the windowsill. You don't know how long she's been standing there.

"There's an elevator through that doorway. It's down there," she says without a trace of impatience. "I got out before it saw me, but it's down there."

You walk over to her on numb legs. Before she can speak again, you scoop her up and hug her as tightly as you can without breaking her. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold fast to the moment.

She rests her head on your shoulder and gently holds the back of your head until your breathing stabilizes again.

"Are you alright?" she whispers.

"Aye, I think so."

You let go and she takes a step back before putting on a rueful smile.

"What is it with you holy men trying to crush me tonight?"

"Can't exactly use Djura, can we? The man'd snap like a twig."

The two of you turn to face your destination. There's nothing left between you and Ebrietas but a short trip down.

Nowhere to go but forward.

[] Attack right away. There's no point in talking anymore.

[] Announce yourself. If it's going to die, it should know why.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

The Cathedral reeks still, the stench of bloating bodies and remnants of the big bastard's poison lingering in the silent air. To your ears, your footfalls sound apt to shatter the earth, but Amelia gives no sign that she notices. You wonder what would happen if you just left her there, whether she'd starve or remain as a living monument to everything you're about to destroy.

The two of you reach the elevator in short order; you're so focused on the task at hand that you don't even flip off the lever.

The chamber at the bottom opens up into a massive cavern, stretching to the edges of your vision and absolutely choked with refuse. Half-shattered statues hail you from the "walls" and brittle tiles crumble beneath your feet. A handful of "failures" litter the floor, dead without a mark on them.

You see a huge and eldritch shape in the center of a vast, fetid pool, shining in the moonlight as its myriad unknowable appendages wave idly. If it knows you're here, it doesn't appear to care.

You motion for Eileen to wait, fill your hands with steel, and prepare to make it. You don't care if you have to nail this thing's feet or pseudopods or whatever to the floor, it's going to sit down and listen.

"Ebrietas, Daughter o' the Cosmos!" you bellow. It seems to stir slightly, but offers no other acknowledgement. You grumble, ignore your mounting headache, and turn up the volume. "Yer followers have poisoned this land, corrupted its children, and destroyed countless innocent lives. By yer blood this began, and with yer blood it shall end. I, Alexander Anderson of Iscariot, have come ta pass judgment on ye, and I find ye wanting."

You grit your teeth, struggling now to deal with the absolute pounding in your head. "Face me, ye golden calf. Face me that ye may know the power and righteousness of the one true God."

It faces you. For a second, you see piercing green eyes amid a nightmarish countenance before your world dissolves into static and blood.

There are words in your head. Not words, but the notion of words, implemented poorly. It's as though a drunk person is attempting to construct words with only an untranslated IKEA instruction booklet for guidance. And, judging by the blood dripping from your ears, throwing a tantrum when he argherhgharehglarb.

Your eyes snap open again, brain desperately rebooting after what you'd guess was a stroke. Eileen's standing above you, wavering, apparently trying to decide whether to keep tending you or rush the thing. You wave her back and struggle to your feet.

You can make out the round, mangled, tubule-covered head regarding you with curiosity(?). Two spindly arms and four massive tentacles emerge from a humanoid torso that trails off into a pair of thicker tentacle "legs" while tremendous fleshy wings scatter the intruding moonlight. The idea of quoting Predator goes through your mind before more interference chases it away.

ustndmdyunstdyundsmeddyundsmedoyundsme

You go down to one knee, once again experiencing the unpleasant situation of your brain performing damage control and blood coming out of somewhere unpleasant. It's not as severe as before, however, and the hypothetical drunken flailings seem to be getting less and less violent. Ebrietas herself has yet to approach, instead continuing to regard you from a distance. Eileen's visibly on a hair trigger and her heavy breathing's nearly, but not quite, enough to drown out the ongoing signal.

doyouundesmedoyou undes Doyou undestndme Do you understand me?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

You take deep breaths, working to regain your footing and motioning for Eileen to stay back. Your headache continues to diminish, although so far it's only gone from "your brain stuck in the middle of the trash compactor from Star Wars" to "entire Dropkick Murphys concert funneled directly into your eardrums."

"Anderson, what's that thing doing to you?" Eileen hisses. You raise a finger and let your head throb for a few moments before turning to address Ebrietas.

"I can hear 'n' understand ye. If ye want ta utter any last words, would ye mind speakin' 'em with sounds, not proddin' the inside o' me skull?"

"It's talking to you?" says Eileen. You barely hear her, as you're distracted by the massive, eldritch monstrosity from beyond time and space giving out a high-pitched sort of squawk and making a brief hop you're pretty much positive its spindly wings are physically incapable of supporting.

You can understand me! Someone can finally understand me! I've been trying so hard and Allison tried so hard but I can finally-

"Sounds, please!"

I'm sorry, I don't actually have the organs to make those kinds of sounds. But I can communicate now!

She slightly shifts her great head, facing Eileen. At least you think so; it's not easy to tell when her eyes are like two meters apart and wobbling independently of one another.

Hello!

Eileen starts, well-honed reflexes just managing to keep her blades in her hands. Her mask's beak is a blur as she looks from you to Ebrietas in rapid succession.

"Anderson, please tell me you heard that."

You nod. Ebrietas is slithering merrily back and forth, granting you a glimpse of the stout, flower-infested mound behind her. A misshapen, spidery form is draped across the top, its stonelike hide dotted with eyes and legs in bizarre arrangements.

Another addition to the metric fuckton of questions, you suppose. You cough awkwardly, distracting Ebrietas from her cheerful warbling. She tilts her head and eyes you.

"You...ye did hear the first part, right? About the corruption and the judgment?"

A little bit, but I was...

She seems to droop slightly and turns to face the heap, lurching .

Allison had been trying to teach me how to communicate without a mental link or the phantasms. She taught me how to write a little bit in your language; I wasn't very good at it, but she kept trying. She had the idea that if she couldn't communicate with me as she was, then maybe I could change her into something that could.

Wow, this is killing the shit out of the mood.

"That's all fine and dandy, but, ah, we're still here ta kill ye."

What?!

With a speed that belies her bulk, she wraps herself around the mound protectively. Why do you want to kill me?

"I just toldja! Had a right good speech 'n everythin'!"

I wasn't listening!

Fucking hell.

"Yer followers kidnapped children, experimented on 'em, an' tricked the citizens inta drinkin' yer blood an' turnin' inta werewolves."

There's the righteous fury again. You twirl your bayonets in preparation, only to slow down when Ebrietas shies away and squeezes the heap harder.

But I only gave them my blood so they could study it. They said that was all they were going to do with it.

"They lied."

Why?

"Because they were arseholes. They wanted ta 'ascend' with ye."

But...but they promised!

"Didn't ye wonder about the emissaries?"

They said they were volunteers! Wow, that's fucked up.

"Couldn't ye just read their minds or somethin'?"

I tried that once and people got hurt!

You wouldn't have thought it was possible for a tonne of cephalopodic flesh to look small, but here you are. You and Eileen look at one another, neither of you prepared at all for this kind of situation. The next time the Daughter of the Cosmos "speaks," it's soft, almost on the level of the intrusive thoughts that tell you to trip old ladies when you're crossing the street.

I gave them my blood so they could help people. I thought they could do that and then one day I could talk to them and they could introduce me to people and I wouldn't be lonely anymore. I wanted to help.

She uncoils, stares at the motionless stone spider, and slouches her way towards the nearby wall before turning once more to face you.

What happened to the Choir?

"Dead," you say. "Some by their own hands, some by mine."

And the children?

"I put 'em out of their misery."

What about the city?

"Fallin' apart. Infested with beasts."

Because of me.

You say nothing. Slowly, she prostrates herself, arms and tentacles pressed against the watery ground and head within easy striking distance.

If you still want to kill me, you can.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Well, this is an unexpected development. You'd envisioned several scenarios, including a bloody fistfight that ended with her flying out the window and vowing to get you next time and one where she summoned physical representations of your many, many inner demons and you both destroyed her and grew as a person.

Her letting you kill her was not on the list.

You procrastinate for a few seconds, twirling your bayonets, before sighing and putting them back up your sleeves. "Well," you say, "shit. It'd be like killin' a puppy now, and not the toothy kind what eat yer socks." You shake a metaphorical fist at the memory of Mr. Winston, who devoured many an unattended piece of laundry and piddled in countless inconvenient spots.

Ebrietas raises her head ever-so-slightly to face you.

If your brain wasn't weird, you would have died when I tried to talk to you. I was willing to let that happen.

"Why, exactly? Can't rightly judge ye for that without knowin' why."

I was sad and angry because I killed Allison. I wanted to talk to someone so much I didn't care what it would take anymore.

You shrug. "So ye got angry and ye lashed out. I do that, too."

"He does," confirms Eileen. "It's quite a sight."

Ebrietas tilts her head slightly. You could have died, though.

"But I didn't, did I? Look, if ye really think ye deserve ta die, stand up and fight me, 'cus this ain't sportin.' If ye just feel bad, then let's talk."

The poor thing looks so confused. You're actually somewhat amazed at the efficiency with which she utilizes her limited facial features to convey emotion. Really?

"If losin' yer head and gettin' violent was enough by itself ta make me kill ye, I'd be a very lonely man." You think back to some of Heinkel's tantrums. Maybe giving her pistols at the age of five was a wee bit premature.

Ebrietas straightens up somewhat and slithers over to you, her massive head blotting out a good portion of the incoming moonlight. What do you want to talk about?

"I think we got off on the wrong foot. Tentacle. Anyway, let's start from the beginning; I'm Alexander Anderson of the Catholic Church, and she is Eileen, Hunter of Hunters."

I'm Ebrietas.

"Is that yer real name?"

I don't think you could pronounce my real name.

"You sure?"

How many of those red flappy vocal organs do you have? I estimate that you'd need at least four.

"Point taken. Let me find somewhere more comfortable."

You look around for a dry spot and prompt Eileen to do the same. You find a decent-sized statue on its side, its upper portion almost entirely out of the water, and seat yourselves.

"Are we really doing this?" Eileen whispers.

"Everyone deserves a chance."

Ebrietas' anatomy being nonconducive to sitting, she simply relaxes somewhat, resting a portion of her bulk on her lower tentacles.

"Now," you say, "how's about ye tell us yer story? If ye still want ta die when ye're done, then at least we'll all be nice and rested for the fight."

Are you sure? I've been alive a really long time. I could try to transfer the information directly into your minds.

"How confident are ye that it won't make our brains dribble out our noses?"

...A little?

"Let's just talk, then. Some things are worth takin' time for."

And so, in the middle of a monster-ridden hellscape, not far from the scene of several massive battles between you and the forces of evil, sitting next to an elderly woman who is the human equivalent of a butcher shop in a category-five tornado, you talk with Ebrietas.

I was with the others when they made contact with the people of Pthumeria.

"How do ye even spell that?"

I'm still not very good with letters, but I think there's a 'P' in front. Your language is stupid.

"I know, right?"

She really has been alive for a really long time. Swishing her tentacles idly through the waters, she explains the fall of Pthumeria, the other Great Ones leaving her behind, creating the phantasms in a desperate bid for companionship, and many more marvels of her centuries-long life.

You notice that the moonlight doesn't change throughout her story.

When the Byrgenwerth scholars found me, I was so excited I accidentally killed three of them trying to tell them how happy I was. The others kept their distance after that, except for Master Willem. Master Willem tried really hard to learn how to communicate with me. Then I remembered Pthumeria, and I decided to give them my blood. They were all excited and for a while they were all nice to me. Then Master Willem started arguing with Laurence.

I don't know what they were arguing about, but one day Laurence decided to leave and he asked me to go with him. Master Willem got mad but he said I should do it.

"So how did ye get here, exactly?"

I flew.

"You can fly with those things?"

I can! she chirps, and hovers momentarily to demonstrate.

"How does that work?"

The fundamental physical forces of this dimension are actually incongruous with those of my home dimension, allowing for my kind to perform feats that are impossible for local residents.

"Ah."

She explains how the Grand Cathedral was essentially built around her, keeping her close to the people of Yharnam she thought her blood was helping.

They told me they were just going to study my blood, and they said they'd found a way to heal people with what they learned. I wanted to ask them more about it but they got angry if I asked too many questions and I didn't want them to leave me. Allison was the only one who would spend time with me, but even she wouldn't tell me everything that was going on.

Ebrietas' tentacles still for a moment, then hang loosely from her sides.

Allison said she wanted to be able to talk with me. I could understand the language and give yes/no answers at this point, but she wanted to communicate for real. She wanted me to make her into something that I could speak with. I tried.

You don't know how much time has passed. You're not sore from sitting on the rough stone, but she's given you quite a bit of information to sift through. When nothing further is forthcoming, you get to your feet.

"So how do ye feel now? Still want me ta kill ye?"

I don't know.

"What do ye want?"

I don't know.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

As a member of Iscariot, your training encompassed a wide variety of possible situations. You have memorized how to deal with born-again yetis, what to do if Bigfoot turns out to be Mormon, and even came up with the procedures necessary to baptize the Loch Ness Monster. Though depressed aliens that regurgitate acid in the face of conventional physics weren't specifically covered, you're prepared to deal with this.

"Tell ye what," you say, fishing in the recesses of your sleeves, "I've got a story for ye, if ye're willin' ta listen." Recognizing the tone of the situation, you dampen your usual flourish as you pull out a copy of the Word.

How did you do that? Ebrietas tilts her head at a rather impressive angle.

"Do what?"

That book was not present in this dimension before you-

"Look, I'll explain it in the mornin', alright? It's not important right now. This is." You open up the copy, enjoying the crisp sound of the spine bending for the first time. Eileen scoots over towards you while Ebrietas leans down as close as she can without squashing you. You look up at her, trying not to think too hard about the purplish, eye-speckled flesh between her facial...flaps? "Can ye read?"

Not very well. Allison said I was making progress, but I think she was just being nice. She theorized that my extended lifespan may also lead to slower development of new complex skills.

"Well, how about this, then: I'll read it ta ye, at least until ye can do it yerself or copy it from my brain without meltin' it."

What is it about?

"It's about the LORD and savior, Jesus Christ, whom I have dedicated my life ta followin'."

I haven't heard of that before.

"See, I'm a bit like you; I'm not from this dimension. I'm from another world, one that never encountered yer kind."

Her eyes light up at this, both figuratively and literally via some form of bioluminescence.

You're like me? Did you get left behind? Were you alone?

"Honestly, I'm still not sure how I'm here, but I was never alone, even before I met Eileen and the other fine folks joinin' me on this Crusade. The LORD is always with me."

He's omnipresent? Like Oedon? What other capabilities does he possess?

"The LORD is omnipotent. Our creator, the Alpha and the Omega, all-powerful and all-lovin'. He guided man through the darkness and, some two thousand years ago, walked among us as the king of kings. It's all written in here."

He hasn't appeared in two thousand years? How do you know what's written is true?

"Trust me, there's some..." your hand moves unconsciously to your chest. You smell burning and, for an instant, feel the thorns growing out of you and into you and devouring everything human about you. "...evidence. But more importantly, I know it's true. In my heart."

I thought hearts were simply pumps. Are human hearts actually capable of cognition?

"Figure o' speech."

Oh. I'm not good at those.

If you had to hazard a guess, you'd say Ebrietas still looks a bit skeptical, but remains intrigued.

What's he like?

"The LORD loves His children, and we are all His children. He asks only that we be good to others and praise His name, and if we do, we shall walk with Him in eternal paradise."

He loves all of us?

"Yep."

Even me?

"Of course. Ye've got goodness in ye, after all."

Her whole form relaxes a bit, causing her head to dip dangerously low and nearly conk you on the bonce. You can hear the metaphorical gears turning as she apparently mulls things over.

"Ye said ye didn't know what ye want, so here's my offer. Come with us. Help us fix some o' the shit these assholes put everyone in. I'll read this for ye and help ye learn ta read it yerself; got a couple other little 'uns ta teach anyway. And if this doesn't work out for ye, ye've still got a shitload of life ta find somethin' else. How about it?"

Ebrietas' wings flutter slightly and she slithers to and fro, casting glances between the you and the stone spider. Eileen, she of little faith, has her fingers crossed.

"There's some good stuff in here," you add. "There's one bit where a man kills a thousand enemies usin' only a donkey's jawbone. It's great."

The Daughter of the Cosmos' massive form rounds on you in all its terrible glory.

Okay. I'll go with you.

You smile and get to your feet, spiriting the Bible up your sleeve once again. There's still a long road ahead of her, just like any other would-be believer, but you've opened the door.

You feel a pang of homesickness, partially because you can't show Francis what you pulled off and partly because you can't rub it in the faces of the hoity-toity cockbags iin the Vatican who always gave you shit. Who's an "obsolete, sociopathic relic of an unenlightened age" now?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Also, here's the omake I promised.

Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the man who in two short months would become the 266th man to ascend to the papacy, sipped his tea appreciatively, nodding to the waiter. The latter bowed and, after Bergoglio's host expressed his own satisfaction, walked stiffly from the room with his Swiss Guard escort.

Said host, Pope Benedict XVI, groaned slightly as he stretched to place his cup back in its saucer. Bergoglio, fresh off of his own 77th birthday, frowned at seeing His Holiness' discomfort. Benedict had been planning his abdication for months now and was simply waiting for the appropriate time to do so; while the customary theatrics of "choosing his successor" would occur upon his exit, he and the rest of the Church leadership had chosen Bergoglio almost immediately.

Pope Francis, the Argentinian thought as he took another sip. It had a lovely ring to it.

"I do not wish to waste any more of your time," said Benedict, sinking deeper into his seat.

"You do not impose at all, Your Holiness."

"Be that as it may, let us get to the heart of the matter." His Holiness looked around warily, though the gesture was quite unnecessary. The halls to their secret chamber featured enough twists and turns to make a radar-guided missile stop and ask for directions and the room itself featured the best counterintelligence equipment known to man. If a fly broke wind in the room without permission, the Guard would hear it and politely escort it from the premises.

"I wish to discuss Iscariot."

Bergoglio straightened up and put down his tea, recognizing the severity of the discussion. "I have been briefed, Your Holiness, on the organization and its functions. I look quite forward to meeting this Enrico Maxwell."

"It is not Maxwell you should be concerned with. It is Alexander Anderson."

Though Bergoglio remained somewhat in the dark about Iscariot's true depths, he knew much of Anderson. It was impossible not to; his legend was larger-than-life in the Church. The one-man army, slayer of beasts, unstoppable instrument of God's will.

"And what about Father Anderson should I be concerned with?"

"Father Anderson," said Benedict, moving his hands to and fro as if to snatch an appropriate description from the air, "is...he is...dedicated. Very dedicated."

"Is that not a good thing, in his line of work?"

"Let me show you," said Benedict. He rummaged through his pockets for a while, eventually producing the top-of-the-line smartphone he used to remain in contact with the rest of the leadership and occasionally play Candy Crush on long flights. Though the room killed the living Hell out of his reception, that proved moot as he instead brought up his messages.

"Anderson spends much of his time on missions around the world. He enjoys keeping me updated on his work."

He handed the phone to Bergoglio, who slipped on a pair of cheater glasses and brought the screen up to his face. The picture, ostensibly a "selfie," showed a gigantic, fair-haired man in glasses and a young Japanese woman holding what looked like a very short, very fat snake up to the camera. The snake, judging by the blur, was wriggling in annoyance.

"I admit, Your Holiness, I still fail to see the issue."

"Swipe to your left."

Bergoglio did. Then he did again. He couldn't look away.

There was the giant man, whom he presumed to be Anderson, in a boxing ring, standing triumphantly over an unconscious demonic figure while the picture-taker, a fair-haired German of indeterminate gender, flashed the victory sign. In another, a blood-drenched Anderson appeared to be using the severed head of some hairless, large-mouthed carnivore as a hand puppet, surrounded by the dried-up husks of...were those goats?

"And he does this," said Bergoglio as he continued to browse Anderson's history of violence, "regularly?"

"Sometimes he uses Snapchat."

"That is, well, certainly distracting, but-"

"Sometimes he brings them here," Benedict sighed. "He is like a cat. A big, angry, foul-mouthed cat. He brings these things back to show them off. When I took the seat following John Paul's death, he gave me a tentacle the size of an eighteen-wheeler. He said it was from a kraken and that they, and I quote, 'couldn't find a boat big enough ta haul the rest o' his fat arse here.'"

The older man shuddered at the memories.

"When you succeed me," he said, leaning forward to grasp Bergoglio's hands, "it is very likely he will do something similar, so you must not be-"

"YER HOLINESS!" came a booming voice from out of sight. Bergoglio turned to face it, while Benedict simply buried his face in his hands. "I CAUGHT KRAMPUS!"

Overwhelmed by curiosity, Bergoglio rose to his feet and cracked the door slightly. Though the source was still well away, he could hear him clearly.

"I knew he couldn't resist some o' the little shits we-" A sudden crash startled Bergoglio, while the Swiss Guard held admirable poker faces. "Oh-ho! He's still a wee bit lively! C'mere, ye bastard!"

A symphony of expensive and irreplaceable things being destroyed slithered into the room, just about drowning out the holiest man on Earth's quiet sobs.

 

[Tricia]

You breathe out and you feel like you're never going to stop. You very nearly collapse into the shallow waters behind you, saving yourself at the last minute thanks to your mighty abs.

Are you okay? Ebrietas asks, tilting forward to observe you closely.

"I'm fine," you say, waving her off. "Just didn't expect things ta work out this well."

Why not?

"My last encounter with one o' yer kind was a little less pleasant."

Who did you meet?

"Think his name was 'Lesser Amygdala.' Ye know him? Lotsa arms, big head, god complex?"

Ebrietas shudders, sending out sizable waves that threaten to knock you and Eileen from your perch.

Amygdala and his kin are egomaniacal cretins with no concerns save their own aggrandizement, she huffs. And they're mean.

"Well, if it makes ye feel any better, one of 'em's been dealt with." You pull out your club and show it to her. "We had a bit of a theological debate."

You slew one of my kind? In hand-to-hand combat? she says. You nod, and you think you see her slide a little further from you. That's...very impressive, Father Anderson.

"All in a day's work for a servant o' the LORD." You get to your feet and stretch for a moment, Eileen following suit shortly. "Say, exactly how far can ye fly with those wings o' yers? Because it'd be a helluvalot faster than walkin' back. I'm not sure ye'd fit in the elevator, anyway."

I am very big, she agrees. I can fly as far as my stamina allows, and I have a lot of stamina.

You nod, then point towards your home-away-from-home. "We've set up camp in a chapel not far from here." An idea strikes you, and you glance back towards the elevator. "Actually, would ye mind stoppin' outside the Cathedral first? We've got some preparations ta make, and I've got a favor ta ask of ye."

Okay.

"We can meet ye there or ye can carry us out, yer choice." Eileen visibly flinches at this, and you yourself feel a pang of regret. So many possible Falcor references to make and not a single person in this dimension who would understand them.

I think I'll meet you, she says, possibly glancing at Eileen. See you in a moment. With that, she spreads her great wings and, with surprising grace, flutters through her moonroof high above.

"Kinda majestic," you muse as her silhouetted form peels away towards the plaza. No return quip seems forthcoming, so you turn back towards the elevator, listening to the splashes as Eileen falls in behind you. "Ye've been a bit quiet. Somethin' on yer mind?"

"I didn't feel like I had anything to contribute," she says. "I'm a killer, Anderson. That's all I've been since I can remember. Teaching, preaching, forgiveness; all that is your sphere."

"Aw, c'mon," you say, slowing down to clap her on the shoulder. "I'm sure ye'd make a fine matron." There's the faintest sound, and when you bring your hand back, your fingers don't come with it. "Rude."

"I may joke about my age," she says with the faintest hint of mirth, "but that doesn't mean I'm ready to settle down, young man."

There's a little more spring in her step by the time you reach the lift. Once at the top, the two of you hop over the studded railing to the modern art piece your adventures turned the ground floor into. Amelia offers nothing to suggest she noticed your landing, and you walk around her towards the busted doors, where Ebrietas is waiting patiently. You motion for her to come in and she approaches, turning her head to and fro to take in the carnage.

Thanks to her eyes, this does not require very much motion.

What happened here? she asks. What happened out there?

Something about her tone tells you that this isn't the time to gloat.

"We fought the Church. They fought back. Beasts got involved."

You killed all of these people?

"Some. My friends killed others and the beasts killed the rest."

Did they deserve it? you hear after a pause. She's not coming any closer.

"Wouldn't've killed them if they didn't. The beasts had already lost their minds, and we spared everyone we could. These people were responsible for all o' this city's horrors. We did what we had ta."

She continues to hesitate, and when she finally continues her advance she does so slowly. You sigh.

"It's been a hard night, lass. We have ta stay strong. It won't last forever."

You can't tell if that actually comforted her, but she does slither over with a bit more speed. She moves her head to-and-fro, appraising Amelia's silent form.

"Don't get too close," you say.

Is this the favor?

"Aye. Yer blood did this ta her; I was wonderin' if ye could fix her. Or at least talk ta her."

I'll try to speak to her, but I won't manipulate her body, she says, shaking her head. Not after what happened to Allison.

"I understand."

Ebrietas inches slightly closer to Amelia and seems to attempt eye contact, an effort hampered both by the latter's blindfold and the disparity in eye width.

Hello?

Amelia seems to growl for a moment, but otherwise remains silent.

Nothing.

You frown, sensing that Eileen is doing the same.

Maybe I can try to get better at biological transmutation and try again someday? Ebrietas offers.

"Whatever ye're comfortable with," you say, looking around. "For now, let's work on those preparations. My friends over at the Chapel are a wee bit trigger-happy, so we've got ta figure out how ta introduce ye without them takin' a swing."

"I could tie Djura and Steffon up," says Eileen. "The old man's lost a step and Steffon's still a bit green."

That doesn't sound like it would endear me to them.

"True enough," she admits.

The three of you spend a few moments pondering your dilemma.

What if I folded my wings and tentacles around me so I just looked like a really tall human?

"I, ah, think they might see through that," you say.

Aw.

"That said, ye've given me an idea." You turn towards Eileen. "Remember all the curtains and drapes from Upper Cathedral Ward?"

"Yes?"

"I'll be right back."

A quick teleport, some fiddling around with nails, and a bit of careful draping later, you step back to admire your handiwork. Ebrietas now resembles a very large, very lumpy ghost.

I look silly.

"Nah, it'll work out fine."

Eileen tries to slam her head into the wall, but the beak is in the way.

[] Bring Ebrietas to the chapel door, try to explain from there
-[] How?

[] Leave Ebrietas a bit back, bring the people to her
-[] How?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Alright, how's about this," you say before Eileen has a chance to damage too much of the masonry. "Why don't ye go back ta the chapel and fill Djura in on what went on. After that, ye can bring Vicar Rosemary over so's we can see how well Ebrietas can speak ta normal folks. We'll work from there"

Who's Vicar Rosemary?

"One o' the folks what abused yer trust."

"Am I correct in assuming that you also wish to rub her face in the fact that you managed to befriend her god?" says Eileen, making for the doors.

"Little bit."

You swear you can see her smirk through the back of her head. She steps into the heavy evening air and vanishes, leaving you alone with your latest and greatest acolyte. You take a seat on the comfiest-looking piece of debris you can find and enjoy the cool breeze wafting in through the exploded entryway. The smell of putrefaction is hardly noticeable at this point.

"If ye have any questions about the faith," you tell Ebrietas, "I'd be happy ta answer while we wait."

I really want to learn more, but right now I also want to know about you. As in Upper Cathedral Ward, she sort of slumps down to rest her weight on her lower body. Some minor squirming ensues as she attempts to get more comfortable in her makeshift habit. You're strong and interesting and scary.

"Alright, then. What do ye want ta know?"

Everything?

"I suppose I can do that."

Eileen, being a model of speed and efficiency, retrieves her quarry right about the time you finish explaining the concept of the papacy to Ebrietas, who manages to wrap her sizable head around the Catholic Church's logistical structure but has some questions about His Holiness.

If God has a mortal representative, why doesn't He grant him any supernatural abilities to better spread the Word?

"I'd like ta see the old man chuck fireballs, too, but the Pope needs ta be mortal ta have the proper perspective."

And God can't make the Pope more persuasive because people have to join the faith of their own free will, right?

"That's right!"

Eileen clears her throat and the two of you turn to face her. Before her kneels a figure, whom you assume to be Rosemary, with a burlap sack on her head. She smells of well-aimed vegetables, though she's apparently left her "I Am A Massive Knobhead" sign behind.

"I figured you'd want to make a suitably dramatic reveal," Eileen explains.

"Ah, ye're a woman after me own heart." You walk over to Rosemary and crouch down to eye-level. "How've ye been, Rosemary?"

"I hate you in ways I did not previously think possible."

"I'm glad I could broaden yer horizons." You stand back up and look at Eileen. "How'd Djura take the news?"

"He said he saw her enter the cathedral, but elected to hold his fire until he had more information or she made an aggressive move. I told him I needed Rosemary to address some safety concerns, but didn't tell him exactly what those were."

You nod. "That'll work. Now, Rosemary, Eileen and I had ourselves an adventure in Upper Cathedral Ward. D'ye know what we found?"

She doesn't answer, so you just continue. "We found that yer mates were experimentin' on children."

She stiffens, and you can just about make out a mumbled "didn't know" from beneath the sack.

"That was bad enough, but then they had ta go and shove slugs in their brains so's I couldn't even get proper revenge."

They put the phantasms in their HEADS?!

You raise a finger and mouth "one second" at Ebrietas before resuming your diatribe.

"But we made it through all of that, and we brought somethin' back. Remember how ye justified yerself ta me?" She nods, and you rip the sack from her head. "Justify yerself ta her."

Rosemary's mouth and eyes compete to see which can grow the largest. Her look of shock, fear, and incredulity is spoiled only slightly by the meticulously-drawn moustache gracing her upper lip.

Hello, says Ebrietas, and you can tell Rosemary heard it. She's nearly in shock, coughing violently as her hyperventilation proves a poor mix with the omnipresent miasma. There are tears in her eyes when she finally gets her breath back.

You hurt people.

Rosemary opens and shuts her mouth, visibly grasping for the same sort of conviction she had when you interrogated her. Nothing comes out; no explanation, no rationalization. Without a word, she pitches forward, all but smashing her face into the blood-soaked stone.

"I'm sorry," she breathes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She repeats this over and over, growing increasingly incoherent. Ebrietas slithers closer, and you know that from Rosemary's position she must seem larger than the sky.

What should I do? she says, and some facet of the message tells you it was for your ears only.

"That's yer decision."

She lowers her head to think for a moment, scrutinizing the wailing Vicar, and then faces you once more.

What would Jesus do?

Despite the situation, you can't help but smile. She's learning so fast.

"He'd forgive her, if she were truly repentant."

She nods, and her next statement is on the general channel. Look at me.

Rosemary does, though you can see every muscle in her body straining to prostrate itself once more.

Are you sorry because Father Anderson caught you, or are you really sorry?

"I am truly sorry," she manages to choke out. "Truly. I swear it. Please."

Then I forgive you.

The fallen Vicar slams her face back down, hard enough that you hear a crack. Your charge, after a moment's hesitation, reaches forward and awkwardly pats Rosemary's head with her massive hand. You'll have to teach her some of the finer details of benediction when you have the time, but you're sure she'll get the hang of it.

And now you're curious whether her tentacles can technically "lay on hands."

[] Take Ebrietas to meet the gang

[] Take the gang to meet Ebrietas

[] Take a portion of the gang to do one of the above

[] Write in..

 

[Tricia]

Having been privy to many violent religious epiphanies in your line of work, you recognize you should probably intervene. Rosemary would probably just lie there eating dirt until she died of black lung or something otherwise.

"Right, leave some o' the glory for the rest," you say, hauling her back up to her feet. She's wobbly when she gets there, either overcome by the moment or suffering the effects of head trauma. You turn towards Eileen. "Well, now we know nobody's gonna go all Scanners by talkin' ta Ebrietas. Wanna grab some o' the smarter ones from the chapel this time?"

"Go all what?"

"Nevermind."

"Actually, would you mind picking them up? I think I'd like to speak to our new friend for a moment."

Ebrietas' tubules wiggle happily at the word "friend."

"Alrighty then. Be back in a jiffy."

You hoist Rosemary over your shoulder and take off for the chapel at a brisk jog. She offers some perfunctory thrashing, but seems too content with the overall situation to care.

The churchmen, who are split between awkwardly milling about and napping in preposterously-uncomfortable-looking positions, rise and wave at your approach. You prop Rosemary up on a gravestone, taking a moment to ensure her head isn't lolling one way or the other.

"Sorry ta borrow 'er on short notice like that."

"Nah," says the stout lady you spoke to before your latest adventure, "it's for the best. We were running out of ideas after the moustache. Needed a break for some fresh thinking."

You nod, appreciating the way the 'stache accentuates the Vicar's dopey smile, then take a look about the rabble.

"Alright, among these guys, who're the ones least likely ta lose their shit in a stressful situation?"

"How stressful are we talking?"

"Restructuring of their theological outlook on a fundamental level."

She "hmmm's" for a moment before pointing out a decent number of her compatriots, Todd and Johnathan among them.

"If ye'd' be so kind as ta gather 'em up for me while I get my own posse ready, I'd appreciate it."

"Will do, Father Anderson."

With that, you head inside, where Iosefka, the girls, and the Powder Kegs are waiting. Arianna's with them as well, though the odd man they'd brought in has apparently made a small fort out of assorted debris and is giving you a well-practiced stink eye.

There's also a very tall, hooded gentleman hogtied in the corner.

"Gotta piss," the figure grunts.

"Too bad," says Djura.

After hugging the little ones, you face the old man. "And what's his story?"

"He was skulking around with a big old sack in his hand. Found him when he burned himself on your ward and screamed like a child."

You just barely hear the man grumble "did not."

"Not as interesting as what you picked up, I hear."

"Aye, she's somethin'. Will ye behave yerself if I take ye ta meet 'er?"

"I'll handle him if he doesn't," Steffon offers from his position by the prisoner. Djura gives him a baleful glare.

"Who are we going to meet?" Fiddle asks you.

"A friend. She looks a bit odd, but she's a sweetheart, so be nice, alright?"

She nods, as does her sister. Iosefka and Arianna look skeptical.

You arrange for the remaining Churchmen, a handful of them Hunters, to stay behind and watch over Agatha and the prisoner. The Kegs assure you that it would take eight men with knives a full hour to get through their knots, but there's no harm in being safe.

Those of your troop who weren't present during your raid on the Grand Cathedral recoil at the meat grinder you turned the plaza into, though the girls stay strong. Thankfully, they manage to file into the Cathedral in an orderly fashion, some of them bitching about the work they'll have to do to fix the doors. Ebrietas herself is at the far end with Eileen beside her, facing the wall such that she simply looks like a modern art piece waiting to be unveiled.

You make your way over to them, reaching the birdier of the two first.

"Things alright between you two?"

"I think so. Better," Eileen answers. "Better to talk than let anything fester."

You nod, then sidle alongside Ebrietas.

"You ready?"

I think so.

"Ye'll do great," you say, giving her an encouraging pat on the tentacle. You face the crowd and clear your throat.

"I'm gonna want some quiet here. I can and will enforce this with very sharp objects."

Their frantic nodding creates a mesmerizing ripple effect in their ranks.

"Take it away, lass."

She turns, slowly at first, and rises up before the audience. You hear a handful of gasps and whispers, which you swiftly shut down by flashing the big sword. Djura goes for his gun, but stops before Steffon has a chance to do it for him. Probably just a reflex action.

Hello, she says, and a moment of confusion follows. The Daughter of the Cosmos patiently waits until they finish scratching their heads and unclogging their ears to continue. My name is Ebrietas. I lived below this cathedral for a very long time. The Church used my blood for healing, and it caused the plague. I didn't know, and I'm sorry.

Father Anderson asked me to help you all fix everything. I want to help as much as I can, so please let me join you. She bows her head forward, drawing a handful of flinches from the front rows. I hope I can make up for the damage I've caused.

She straightens back up, then turns to you. You flash a thumbs-up.

Soon after, a hand flies up from the mob.

"Yes, Todd?"

"Can we speak now?"

"Sure, go ahead."

With the floodgates open, the organization goes to shit in a hurry as everyone scrambles to ask their own questions. Fiddle manages to slip through and attempts to hug Ebrietas, who is just a little too wide for her to do so. Ebrietas herself turns towards you with abject pleading in her eyes.

"Petitioners," you grin. "Gotta learn ta deal with 'em sometime."

[] Go to the Hunter's Dream

[] Interrogate the prisoner

[] Talk to
-[] Who?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

While Ebrietas struggles to deal with her massive influx of new acquaintances, you take stock of yourself. You've got a few kilos of other people's blood weighing you down and your mouth still tastes like a car battery fucked a lemon orchard after your earlier face-munching. Might be time to freshen up before you start anything else.

"Ye mind holdin' the fort while I nip off ta the Dream for a spell?" you ask Eileen. She nods and barks orders at the mob, telling them to form an orderly queue for their doses of wriggly wisdom. Once you're sure she's got things under control, you teleport back to the chapel and kneel at the lamp, making sure to wave hello to the remaining Church Hunters and offer the prisoner several rude gestures before fading away.

You rise to your feet and take a deep breath of the possibly-hypothetical-but-no-less-refreshing air of the Dream, a welcome change from Yharnam's uniquely-unpleasant aroma. Hope is seated at her usual spot, a familiar tome open on her lap and a gaggle of Messengers listening attentively. When she sees you, she smiles and the little ones wave, although they seem a bit perturbed at having their storytime interrupted.

Either you're getting better at reading their facial expressions or you're projecting.

"Hunter Anderson," she says, "you seem in good spirits. Did you defeat another great beast?"

"Better," you reply. "Made friends with one. Got 'er interested in the Faith, too."

Her eyebrows travel a fair distance upwards, and even the Messengers' tiny minds appear thoroughly boggled.

"Truly?"

"Aye. She's a sweetheart, once ye get ta know 'er."

"What manner of beast is she?"

"A Great One."

You thoroughly enjoy her shocked expression before settling in for a story, which the little ones seem to consider an acceptable substitute for Biblical tales. You're not sure Hope appreciates your graphic descriptions of violence, but though she hides it well, you can see her perk up as you recount your conversations with Ebrietas.

The sheer quantity of things you accomplished since your last visit to the Dream vaguely nags at you. How long have you been at this?

"I do wish to meet Ebrietas," she says once you're finished pantomiming everyone's reactions to the former's introductions.

"Could happen," you say. "Wouldn't surprise me if she had some freaky power that'd make it possible. And I'm sure she'd be happy ta meet ye, too."

"You are kind to say so." She beams, then frowns as she turns to face the Workshop. "What happened between you and Gehrman before you last left? He has not come outside since."

"I mentioned Ebrietas. He wouldn't say anything afterwards. Think I hit a nerve."

"He has been through so much, Hunter Anderson. Please do not think ill of him."

"I understand," you say, getting to your feet. "I'll go talk with him, see where things stand between us."

The man in question is in his usual spot, idly tinkering with the joints of some convoluted weapon. Upon hearing you enter, he sets the thing down with care and spins to face you, features inscrutable. When no pithy one-liner is forthcoming, you seize the initiative.

"Gehrman, mate, ye'll not believe what I just did."

"Oh?" he replies, relaxing somewhat and putting on something of a smile. "It's been quite some time since I've heard something I couldn't believe. What's your attempt, Father?"

"Nothin' much, just introduced Ebrietas ta the Holy Word. She's down at the Grand Cathedral, chattin' with the rest o' the flock."

Man, and you thought Rosemary could blanch.

The old man begins to tremble and one arm, seemingly of its own volition, reaches back to grab a curved black blade, gripping it with skull-splitting pressure.

"You communicated with Ebrietas?"

"Aye." You tap the side of your head. "Took 'er a few tries, but she figured it out eventually."

Gehrman makes several aborted attempts to speak, eyes flicking towards a point on the ceiling, before finally managing to put his words together.

"What did she say?"

"That she'd only been tryin' ta help, and that the Church lied ta her."

He seems to notice his arm for the first time and slowly releases his grip. You give him some time to compose himself.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything."

"Can ye tell me why ye couldn't tell me anything?"

He again spares a glance towards that same point, and you realize that he's looking towards the moon beyond.

"No."

Well, at least he's being direct about it this time.

"Did she say anything about Laurence or Willem?" he says.

"She said Willem was a good man, and that he'd argued with Laurence and told her ta go with him when he left."

"Thank you."

He leans back and scratches his head before fixing another wan smile on his face.

"I don't suppose there's something else we could discuss?"

[] Write in...