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

[Tricia]

"Gehrman, lad," you say, "ye've done a good bit for me. Puttin' aside mysterious secrets hedged on equally-mysterious origins and backgrounds we both know will come out at a dramatically-appropriate time, there anythin' ye want me ta take care of?"

He snorts. "And here I accused you of having no appreciation for good storytelling." He returns the black blade to a shelf alongside a trio of small ornamental bells. "At the moment, I couldn't reasonably ask more of you than what you're doing. Meaning no offense, you still have quite a bit to take care of before the night's end. Perhaps I'll think of something else in the morn..."

He glances, one eyebrow raised, at something by your feet, and you turn around just as the tugging begins. A handful of Messengers have congregated about you, rising from the ground as smoothly as if it were water. While the ones doing the tugging shy away awkwardly at your notice, the one in the center offers you a strip of leather with a pearl at the center, which you take in exchange for a pat on the head.

Hang on. Pearls don't have irises.

For whatever reason, the little ones have just handed you somebody's disembodied eyeball, complete with the skin around it.

"Thanks?" you say. The Messenger sinks back into the earth, thumb held high.

"Mind if I take a look?" says Gehrman, who's wheeled himself over. You pass it to him and he immediately shifts back into craftsman mode, turning it over and over in an impressive mix of speed and delicacy. Within a few seconds, he's holding it up to your face.

"See this?" he says, tapping on the clouded, disfigured pupil.

"Yeah. Looks kinda like someone crushed a goat's eye."

"Not exactly. Pupil occlusion is an early symptom of blood overdose in Hunters. Whoever this eye belonged to, they weren't human for very long after they lost it."

"Huh. That why Gascoigne wore a blindfold, ye think?"

"Could have been." He returns the eye to you and, you notice, takes a very close look when you stick it up your sleeves. You smirk at his annoyed grimace.

"Keep tryin'. Ye'll figure it out eventually."

"Don't you go mocking your elders, young man." He returns his chair to its usual spot, then seems to ponder for a moment. "You could try showing the eye to Ebrietas. She might have better insight as to why the Messengers gave it to you."

"Maybe they just thought it was cool?"

"I've found that their gifts are never arbitrary. Do be sure to let me know once you figure it out."

"Will do."

With that, you wave goodbye, noting with some satisfaction that Gehrman has begun muttering to himself while fiddling with his own sleeve.

Karma is sweet.

[] Talk to Hope again before you leave
-[] About?

[] Return to the waking world
-[] Interrogate the prisoner
-[] Ask Ebrietas about the eye

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

An idea strikes you as you reach the doorway and you spin deftly on your heel. Gehrman looks up from his investigations with a "hm?"

"'fore I head off," you say, "is there anythin' ye'd like me ta pass along ta Ebrietas?"

There's no hesitation or glances this time, just a heavy sigh.

"Let her know that Laurence and Willem and everyone else truly did care for her."

"She'll be glad ta hear that."

"I hope so."

With that, you take your leave. Hope has cracked the Bible open once more; rather than interrupt the little ones again, you simply wait for her to see you and give a short bow. She nods in return and, as you leave the Dream, you can hear the enthusiasm in her voice. She's good at this.

You teleport up to the roof on your return to the chapel and take a quick look at the cathedral. A handful of figures are seated outside the doors, likely the lucky ones who got to the front of the line. You've got some time to kill before they come back, and just the thing with which to do so.

Your new guests's disposition doesn't appear to have improved during his alone time, and you can tell he's straining the hell out of his neck to give you this death glare. You spend a few moments circling him to see just how far he can twist before finally crouching down next to him.

"How's yer evenin' been?"

"Piss off."

"That what passes for manners these days? I try ta be nice, make some polite small talk, and ye get all hostile on me. Is that really how a guest should behave?"

"Not fond of sarcasm," he grumbles. "Or the rope."

"I can get rid of one or the other. Take yer pick."

Silence.

"Alright, fine, let's just get ta business. Who're you, where're ye from, why're ye here?"

"Ain't sayin' a thing. Let me go or kill me. No need to waste our time."

"Look here," you say, fishing in your sleeves. After a moment, you pull out a massively thick manuscript that you can, and have, beaten someone to death with. When it hits the ground, it leaves a perfectly rectangular indentation in solid stone. "This is the book on interrogation. Signed first edition, too. It would literally take me weeks ta try everythin' here on ye."

You flip open to one of your favorite sections: the official Inquisition Hall of Fame, complete with portraits and diagrams of their favorite techniques. You've never really figured out why that one chap on Page 340 wore an aviator cap, but to each their own, you suppose.

You show him one of the nastier step-by-step walkthroughs and enjoy the time between his brain trying to figure out the logistics of the situation and realizing the implications.

"I'll talk. Don't do nothin' to me todger."

With a smile, you clap the book shut, making sure to lean back to avoid shockwaves. Once it's back up your sleeves, you take a seat next to him.

"Isn't it nice when we all just get along? I might even letcha take a leak if ye keep up the good behavior."

"Mighty kind."

"Right, then, same questions as before: who, where, why."

"Liam. From the School of Mensis, through the abandoned chapel. Dean told me to come by, see if I couldn't grab a hostage."

"Why'd ye need a hostage?"

"You killed a bloody Lesser Amygdala. Dean said you were a 'person of interest.'"

"Which means?"

"You'd fuck everything right up, that's what."

"I am good at that."

Nothing like a brisk interrogation. The nitty-gritty ones start out fun but they get old real quick.

"And what, pray tell, would I be fuckin' right up?"

"Dunno. They gimme shelter, I don't ask questions."

You're about to press him for more answers when you hear the tromp of footsteps outside. The gang's back, it seems.

"We'll finish this in a sec." You wave over a couple of the Church Hunters and instruct them to allow the man a piss break. Before you step outside to see everyone, you flash him a bayonet and make aggressive chopping motions to convey what'll happen if he tries to run.

The Churchmen scatter back to their usual milling spots once they reach the ward, while Eileen and the Powder Kegs bring up the rear. You hear a faint whoosh as Ebrietas touches down, then scoots further from the ward.

"One thing I miss about the Dream," Eileen tells you as she walks past, "is the cleaning. It'll take me ages to wash all these feathers."

"We won't disturb yer preenin'," you say, and she gives you a friendly thwack on the forehead.

Once she, Iosefka, and the girls are safely inside, you head over to Ebrietas, whom you notice is drooping somewhat.

Communion is hard.

"Ye'll get used to it," you say, giving her a heartening clap on the tentacle.

If you say so. What do we do now?

"Couple things. First, a man by the name o' Gehrman asked me ta pass along a message. He said Laurence and Willem and everyone else truly did care for ye."

Gehrman?

"Old chap with gray hair 'n one foot. Ring a bell?"

She ponders for a moment, then shakes her head.

I don't remember him, but I'm glad they cared. I cared for them a lot.

This seems to invigorate her somewhat, and her posture improves. You'd compliment her for this and tell her to keep it up but you're still not entirely certain whether she has a spine.

What's the other thing?

"This." You pull out the eye, and before you can even hold it up to her, she's leaned forward to bring her eye inches from it.

This looks like the lantern you have over there in the chapel. It's a connecting point between this world and another one. Not the same one as the lantern, though. Where did you get it?

"From some friends in the world the lantern leads ta."

I think I could strengthen the connection if you want. It's self-contained, but it needs an arcane source. If I gave it some power, you could travel from this world to the other one.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Not quite yet," you tell her. "Got a little more interrogatin' ta do first. Feel like I'm developin' a proper rapport with the chap."

Okay, then. I'll wait out here until you're ready.

"Ye wouldn't rather wait inside?"

I've been inside since this city was young. It's nice to be under the stars.

"Ye were in that dump the whole time?"

I asked the Choir to let me come out once, but they wouldn't let me and I didn't want them to get angry with me.

"Makes sense. By the way," you say, reaching into your sleeves, "take one o' these so ye don't have ta worry about my ward."

She takes the proffered cross and, after some twiddling, slips it around the tip of one of her tentacles.

Thank you.

"I'll see if I can't whip up an industrial-sized one for ye once this is all over. Be back in a bit."

You re-enter the chapel at approximately the same time Liam's escorts return with their much more comfortable-looking charge. They appear to have redone his knots after struggling with the logistics of pissing while hogtied, and he's now got his hands and feet bound together with a longer length of rope to allow for rudimentary shuffling. The Powder Kegs keep their weapons trained on him as he makes his way towards his original spot, but return to maintenance once they see you.

"Feelin' better?" you ask as the big man takes an awkward seat.

"Fuckin' heavenly, that was."

You give him a solid backhand. "Not in front o' the kids."

"Fair enough," he says, idly massaging his bright-red cheek with a shoulder. "What else you want to know?"

"This School o' Mensis, for one. Ye said ye don't know their big plans, but a general overview'd be nice."

"Offshoot of Byrgenwerth. Had some philosophical differences with them and the Choir, I'm told. Somethin' to do with what kind of blood's the key to unlockin' the secrets of the universe."

"That doesn't tell me much."

"I'm the muscle. They give me food and a place to sleep, I go and deal with people who would snap those arrogant little pricks in half. You look like you're in the same boat."

"You have no idea." You nod towards his burlap sack, which he's mashed up into a sad little seat cushion. "So who all do ye put in there? Any kids?"

"Nah, not kids. Older folks mostly, ones who live alone and won't be missed. More subtle that way."

You raise an eyebrow. "Where'd ye say yer base was again?"

"Through an abandoned chapel downslope of the Grand Cathedral," he says, pointing in its general direction. "Maybe a minute's walk from there."

"So ye go ta all this trouble ta be sneaky with yer kidnappin' but put the front door twenty fuckin' feet from the most important buildin' in the city."

"Not my department."

You pause to look around the room. Eileen's in the corner wringing blood from her feathers while Arianna offers tips, Iosefka's teaching the kids how to change an IV, and Agatha is trying to coax the paranoid guy from his little debris in much the same fashion as one would a raccoon.

It's like you never left Iscariot.

"From one professional to another," you say, hunkering down for another round, "why a sack?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that thing's gotta be murder on your shoulder, and the people in there could give you a right whack on the kidneys. Why not a big wicker backpack of some kind? Distribute the weight a little better, have a little more rigidity ta discourage thrashin'."

"Never thought of that. Probably why I'm just the muscle."

[] Continue interrogation
-[] Topic?

[] Deal with Liam
-[] How?

[] Talk to
-[] Who?

[] Have Ebrietas improve the connection

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Now that you think about it, you haven't really had to torture anyone tonight. You'll have to toughen your posse up once this shit gets resolved. Six weeks and you'll have them laughing off thumbscrews.

"So, on the one hand, ye're an amoral kidnapper workin' for an evil cult," you say.

"That's about right, yes."

"On the other, ye've been a great sport, so instead o' killin' ye right away, I'm puttin' ye on probation."

Liam raises a ludicrously-bushy eyebrow. "And how's that going to work?"

"Well, I can't be babysittin' ye all night; still got plenty o' crusadin' ta do. Ye'll be workin' for one o' my friends until she decides ye've paid off yer debt ta society."

The other eyebrow, perhaps feeling left out, joins its compatriot. "With all due respect, do you really think these people can handle me? I mean, look at that one." You follow his pointing figure to see Todd nursing a serious paper cut and being carried through the ordeal by Johnathan's gentle reassurances.

"I see yer point, but I've got faith that she can do the job. Up and at 'em."

Very slowly, the two of you step out the door and make your way over to where Ebrietas is "sitting." You both stop and stare, Liam at the hulking affront to conventional biology and you at the familiar black lumps roosting on her head.

They're really friendly.

"Squirk."

"Anyway," you say, reaching up to clap a hand on your dumbstruck associate's shoulder, "Ebrietas, this here is Liam. He tried ta kidnap one of our friends for the arseholes he works for, so I'm remandin' him ta yer care."

What does "remanding" mean?

"Means he works for you, now. Ye can have him get ye food, read for ye, wax yer tentacles, whatever. And if he misbehaves, ye can take him really high up and drop him or somethin'. Yer pick."

I won't do that unless you're really mean, she assures Liam. He does not look very assured.

I forgive you, she continues, stretching up to loom a bit, but you did try to do something awful. I expect you to work hard towards redemption. The crows nod authoritatively.

"Still think my friends can't handle ye?" you whisper to Liam with a grin.

"I apologize for questioning your judgment and promise to make the most of this generous opportunity."

"Good lad."

[] Talk to
-[] Who?

[] Have Ebrietas improve the connection
-[] Preparations?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"And with that," you say, cracking your fingers, "I'm gonna go muster the troops. You two get acquainted while I'm gone."

You note on your way back that some of the churchmen have taken to balancing the unmoving Rosemary on increasingly-implausible surfaces. You can feel the tension in the air as three of them attempt to stand her up on her head atop one one the more intact gravestones. Judging by the smile on her face, she's still too nestled on Cloud Nine to really care.

Conveniently, Djura and Steffon are waiting by the door when you come back inside.

"Ye remember the Messengers from the Hunter's Dream? The little vagina-men? Well, they gave me this fucked-up-lookin' eye and Ebrietas says it's a link ta another world. Now, I don't know about you, but this smells like an opportunity for a grand adventure with triumph and heartbreak and emotional growth, and since Eileen came with me on the last one, I figure it's you guys' turn."

They look at you, at each other, and then back at you.

"You really think they look like vaginas?" says Steffon.

"Kinda?"

"Can't say I ever thought they looked like that" says Djura.

"Well, when's the last time ye even saw a vagina? Ye've been half a kilometer underground since forever."

"I'll have you know-"

"We're getting off track," Steffon interrupts. "I think I speak for both of us when I say we'd be happy to accompany you. Point defense is fun, but it can get old when you've done it as long as we have."

"The ward and the gun ought to be plenty, anyway," says Djura.

"Are you going somewhere again?" Johnathan chimes in from nearby. "Because if so, is there anything we can do to help? Some of the lads have been feeling a bit useless lately."

"I'll take them to go scout this 'School of Mensis,'" says Eileen, upgrading your friendly chat into a full-blown huddle. She turns to Johnathan, who stands at attention. "Gather them up in the Cathedral plaza in ten minutes. Small team, no more than four others besides us. The rest can either stay here with the noncombatants or start looking for a route to Byrgenwerth."

"I thought this was a private conversation," you mutter.

"The volume got away from you once talks of vaginas started."

"Okay then gotta go explore a brave new world bye Eileen bye Iosefka bye girls see ye later."

You and the Powder Kegs scurry through the doorway towards Ebrietas, who appears to still be in the process of getting to know her new underling. Both she and Liam turn to look as you approach, the latter a bit startled.

Hello, Father Anderson, Djura, Steffon. Are you ready for me to open the connection?

"Aye, whenever ye're ready."

As she rummages around for the eye, which she somehow managed to protect from the crows, Liam makes eye contact with the Powder Kegs.

"No hard feelings?"

They just stare at him.

Alright, says Ebrietas, handing you the eye, all three of you need to touch it before I begin. Once you're on the other side, I don't believe I'll be able to contact you, but I can bring you all back if you hold it together. Good luck, and please come back safe.

The Kegs each put a finger on the eye, making the most of the limited surface area, and then the ground falls away. There's an unpleasant lurching quality to the transition, a far cry from your peaceful sojourns to and from the Dream. You can only imagine the kind of unspeakable horrors that await you at the end of this transdimensional tunnel.

Oh, it's just the chapel.

You sit up and look around the familiar walls and roof of home base; it's devoid of life, the air's got a bigger hint of fire to it, and there's a fresh lantern, but otherwise nothing appears to have changed.

"Well that was fuckin' underwhelmin'," you say as you light said lantern.

"Do you always tempt fate like this?" Djura grumbles.

"More or less, yeah."

Some scouring by all three parties determines that this is, save for a couple of details, the chapel. In your eyes, the strangest thing is the lack of Agatha, whom you'd imagined came pre-packaged with the building.

"Were we sent back in time?" says Djura.

"Could be. Could just be another world identical to ours, but some years behind," Steffon offers.

While they debate the chronological implications of your fantastic voyage, you take a peek out the open doorway.

"Er, guys? Did Yharnam ever look like this?"

The Kegs stop their discussion and join you, taking in the sights of the new city which you have assigned the placeholder name of "Vatican 2.0: Andersonia." You can see that it was at the very least based off of the Yharnam you know and loathe, but it looks as though something alien is growing from that base like monolithic coral. The stairs that ostensibly lead to the Grand Cathedral run under an arch of ridged stone, which rises irregularly from the street and seems to swallow everything around it. You can hear the sounds of vicious combat nearby, harmonizing poorly with beastly screeching and ragged bellows.

Plus, the sun appears to have been replaced by a gigantic version of the eye you've recently crammed back into your sleeves.

"We are not the best sources for Yharnam's history of architectural trends, but I am fairly confident the answer is 'no,'" confirms Steffon.

[] Smash everything

[] Attempt to communicate with anyone you find

[] See if you can go to and from the Dream

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Your many, many violent instincts demand that you immediately take this opportunity to cut loose after your recent brushes with moral ambiguity, but you tamp them back down. There will be time for wanton destruction once you've got a better grasp on your current surroundings.

"I'm gonna go see if I can still reach the Dream from here. You guys mind waitin' a moment?"

In an impressive display of synchronicity, the Kegs look into the distance, look back at the chapel, and then look at you.

"Do you see a lantern?" says Djura.

"What d'ye mean? It's right there. Ye can't see it?"

They shake their heads, continuing to do so even as you walk over and give the thing a few kicks to confirm its solidity.

"Must be something to do with renouncing the contract," Steffon muses.

"Aye, that'd make sense. Hang on, I've got an idea." You place one foot on top of the lantern, which holds steady despite its reedy appearance, and balance atop it. "Does it look like I'm levitatin'?"

"Yes."

"Kickass."

"Might do a bit of scouting while you're gone, depending on how long it takes," says Djura. "See you in a moment."

Thankfully, your trip to the dream has none of the unpleasant jankiness of your last voyage, and you wake on the cobbled path without incident. Hope is splayed out awkwardly on her ledge, open Bible and passed-out Messengers on her chest. "One more chapter" is a killer, it seems.

A few nearby little ones, apparently made of sterner stuff than their comrades, point towards the workshop, where another small group are waving and beckoning you to approach. You tiptoe over to them and, with great delicacy, they hand you a cracked, bloodstained bell. Making sure to hold the clapper, you scrutinize it closely before putting it with your myriad other knickknacks.

"Don't suppose this one comes with instructions?" you whisper

After a brief huddle, three Messengers take their positions, two facing each other and a third waiting a distance away. The former begin a pantomimed scuffle, swatting at each other until one is knocked away and the other "roars" in triumph. The fallen warrior then rings a "bell," at which point the third one enters the fray and, together, they overcome the foul beast.

"So I ring this and someone helps me fight?"

They nod excitedly, and two of them high-five each other in recognition of a job well done.

"Who exactly shows up?"

This seems to stump them. They collectively ponder for a moment, after which one of them raises a finger. It stoops forward and pulls itself along as though with a walking stick, then turns to you to see if you understand.

"Old people?"

The little one turns its hand back and forth in the traditional "sort of" sign. Emboldened, it disappears into the earth before reappearing with a small hat and one of the weapons they offered you when you first arrived, trying desperately not to drop it as it repeats the stoop-walk.

"Old...Hunters?"

The Messengers raise their tiny fists in triumph, then sink back into the stone. One arm reappears for a moment to point at the grave at which you once found Hope praying. You can see a gaggle of them in front of it, wobbling aimlessly.

Guess that's your ticket home.

[] Talk to Gehrman
-[] About?

[] Talk to Hope
-[] About?

[] Return to the Powder Kegs

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Talking with Gehrman'd be nice, but you're a bit eager to get back to the action. Judging by the ruckus when you first got there, there remain heads in need of smashing. With care, you make your way over to the lonely grave, where the local Messengers greet you with enthusiastic waving and head-waggling. You kneel and, this time, the infinite blackness is lit by the massive, distended eye from before.

You give it the ol' Iberian slap before returning to Andersonia.

Djura is waiting at the door when you return, and you flash him an unnecessary thumbs-up. The old man waves you over.

"Steffon's still out scouting. He should be back shortly."

The man in question is, in fact, back shortly. He gives you a nod by way of greeting.

"Lots of beasts, lots of Hunters. Their clothing and weapons are ancient," he reports.

"How ancient?" says his partner.

"Some of them are still using Saifs."

"Hm. Anything else?"

"Couple things. It seems like there's a never-ending supply of beasts; I saw one get split in half and come back two minutes later to get split in half again. Plus, I could have sworn that a handful of them were using Boom Hammers."

This draws a frown from Djura. "They'd fazed out the Saifs years before we even came up with the Boom Hammer. Even Elwood had stopped using them at that point."

"Wasn't that because his last one got eaten and we refused to help him make a new one?"

"Point stands."

"So what does that make this?" you interject. "We've got Hunters from multiple generations runnin' around a fucked-up version o' Yharnam with infinite beasts. This yer version o' Hell?"

"Something close," the old man answers. "I'd heard talk of a 'Hunter's Nightmare,' where those who grow drunk on blood are condemned to Hunt forevermore. Thought it was a myth."

"'Nightmare?' There's just no pleasin' some people." You pull out your blades with a flourish. "What say we give 'em a wake-up call?"

"You are far too enthusiastic about this."

"Eh, keep a positive outlook and ye'll never work a day in yer life."

The three of you unanimously agree that you should take point and devise a complex system of hand signals for easier squad communication. Once that's settled, you step into the uncanny valley of the shadow of death.

The air sits heavy on your shoulders, still and crammed with Yharnam's familiar odors. You advance slowly through it in a triangle formation towards the stairs, where a lanky figure waits. As you watch him, his heavy serrated cleaver splits into a number of sections, held together by wire running through them, and he whirls it about with a bone-rattling thrum.

"Ahoy there! The name's Alexander Anderson, and these are-"

You'd criticize him for trying to use a shotgun at that range, but he did manage to take one of your favorite fingers. While he patiently reloads, you turn to your companions.

"I don't suppose that's some old-timey greeting, is it?"

"Afraid not."

"Gotcha. Don't wanna be culturally insensitive."

You flick a bayonet into his chest and Djura puts a bullet between his eyes as he staggers. HE collapses to one knee, then vanishes before he hits the ground.

"Beast Cutter," says Djura with an appreciative nod. "Old school."

"Wait, they seriously called that thing a 'Beast Cutter?' That's the most generic thing I've ever heard. Why not, I don't know, 'Iron Whip?'" you reply.

"There's something to be said for simplicity."

"More ta the point, why'd he disappear like that?"

"I've seen it happen with Hunters attuned to the Dream. They'd reappear at the nearest lantern when killed."

As one, the three of you hurry back to home base, confirming that this is not the present case. Curiosity sated, you make your way back up the stairs until you reach a heavy gate. You can feel the presence of a lever nearby, taunting you.

"What's the plan," you ask, "smash it or look for another way?" You extract and tap the club against your hand, hoping for the former.

"I say keep looking," says Steffon. "We can access the plaza by going across that arch." Djura nods in agreement.

Outvoted two-to-one, you lead the way up the nearby, where you soon encounter a pair of beasts, similar to those you found in Old Yharnam, hauling ass towards you. You wind up for a proper dinger until you realize that they're actually running away from another hunter, who bisects their heads with a single swing of his Cutter. Steffon catches a stray brainstem to the face.

"Greetin's!" you call.

"MORE BLOOD," he bellows in response. You again turn to the Kegs.

"Now, was that an old-"

"No."

"Shame."

He's partway through an overhead swing by the time you turn back round, but the sheer distance the blade segments have to travel gives you plenty of time to react. You sidestep and catch them with an upward strike of your own, after which Steffon runs him through with his spear.

Judging by the teeth he's got on that thing, the guy did Steffon a favor by vanishing. He'd have had to pull the blade all the way through just to get it out.

"Are you sure you sharpened it enough?" Djura calls out.

"Djura, if I'd sharpened it any more, it would be cutting our sentences in half when I swung it."

Djura gives him the untrusting squint of a born schoolmaster. Before they can get into it, you wave them forward. It's not long before you're overlooking the Grand Cathedral plaza, or something like it, where several Hunters are beating the absolute shit out of a cluster of beasts. Just whaling on the poor things. As soon as one gets thoroughly pulped, another identical one enters the fray, cowering before the Hunters but advancing towards them as though by some compulsion.

You'd ponder this more were it not for the man swinging a giant, flaming hammer about.

"That the Boom Hammer?"

"That, it is," Djura confirms.

"Seems like overkill."

"I think of it more as security."

"That wasn't a criticism."

He gives the faintest hint of a smile before frowning, squinting, and bringing one of his scopes up to his eye. "Hang on, is that Ulrich?"

Steffon takes a look as well, then nods in confirmation. "Definitely him. Still has the limp."

Djura stands up, wincing as he does, before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Ulrich! It's Djura. Are you alright?"

Every Hunter in the plaza turns to look at you and your posse, idly hacking away at the nearby beasts while doing so. Ulrich simply roars and pounds his chest with his off-hand.

"Shit," the old man grumbles. "He's gone."

"I'll give it a shot," you say, and you hop down before he or his younger counterpart can stop you. You raise a finger in well-honed priestly admonishment.

"Look at yerselves; aren't ye ashamed? 'Do not get drunk with...blood; this is simply dissipation. Be filled with the spirit.'"

Or they could just rush you while screaming their lungs out. That works, too.

You rake the laser across them as they charge, reducing their numbers to just Ulrich and two others with the presence of mind to not run directly at the giant scary man with the club. Djura and Steffon hop into the fray and, in standard dramatic fashion, you separate into a series of one-on-ones.

Ulrich storms after you, alternating between jabs with the torch in his off-hand and massive hammer blows that you swear knock the nearby graves slightly out of the ground when they connect. He ducks a wide swing and slams home a rib-crushing strike that leaves you stumbling back.

Unfortunately for him, he makes the mistake of trying to press the advantage. As he rears back for a finisher, you post on the club and, to the protests of virtually every muscle in your body, reverse your momentum into a tremendous overhead smash.

The blood he left on your club doesn't disappear with him, and neither does the Ulrich-shaped dent you left in the cobbles.

Steffon rejoins you, nursing a cut thigh, at about the same time Djura's Stake Driver announces the end of his own fight. The younger Keg pulls out a blood vial while his elder produces a rank rag from somewhere and scrubs some of the blood from his blade.

"Y'know it's just gonna keep gettin' bloodier, right?" you say.

"Can't hurt."

You take a look around the plaza as your bones de-bungle themselves. What beasts remain are shuffling awkwardly away from the plaza. "Ulrich a friend o' yers?"

"He was part of the Kegs when I first joined. Left about the time we recruited Steffon."

"Just wandered off one day," Steffon adds. "Left a few empty cocktail bottles and nothing else behind."

"Always wondered where he went," says Djura. "Turned out to be one of those situations where I'd rather not have been right."

[] Keep talking to the Powder Kegs
-[] About?

[] Keep moving

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"If Ulrich was here, can ye think of anyone else who might be?" you ask as the three of you stroll over to the stairway.

"Hard to say," says Djura. "Most Hunters don't last long enough to become drunk on the blood; something's usually eaten them by that point. On the other hand, the Church kept quiet about the effects of the blood, so I'd imagine there are quite a few here that we haven't heard about. Dogs."

He's shooting before you get a chance to ask for clarification, and you hear the thump of bodies as a pack of heavily-muscled dogs bear towards you. The Kegs' efforts take out the flankers, allowing you to clear out the remainder with a bayonet barrage.

It's never fun to kill dogs, but imagining them as Mr. Winston at least makes it tolerable.

"What about other Powder Kegs?" you continue.

"Kurt could be here; he and Ulrich used to spend a lot of evenings drinking together. Brilliant man. He actually managed to design a portable version of my gatling gun."

You pause for a sec, looking over the old man's hulking frame with a raised eyebrow.

"Portable by whose standards?"

"To be fair," Steffon chimes in, "Kurt may have been nearly two-and-a-half meters tall, but he'd almost gotten it small enough for me to use before Old Yharnam happened. Hang on, take a right here."

You follow him down a set of side stairs to find, as you'd suspected, the vile and loathsome lever. As the gate creaks upwards, you search the surrounding area for any sign of a hidden passage.

"The gate doesn't even lead ta anywhere. Ye can literally just go up those stairs. Why even make this?"

"Job creation?" Steffon offers.

Back on the main stairway, you see a handful of beasts waiting for you above. Unlike the ones in the plaza, these show no signs of being intimidated, gnashing their teeth and pounding their hands together. Rather than rush, however, they seem content to wait, presumably so as not to bottleneck themselves.

"Who wants 'em?" you ask your companions.

"All yours," says Djura.

You take a couple of steps forward, only for the sound of fire and screaming to draw your attention higher. Two lanky men stand atop the stairs, just behind the gigantic flaming boulder they just rolled in your direction. You could probably just jump the thing if you wanted to, but you have a better idea.

As the thing rumbles forward and the bests scramble over themselves to get out of the way, you take a side-on stance and rest the club on your shoulder, idly shifting your weight back and forth. The moment it's close enough to start igniting stray stubble, you swing the bat.

The boulder hurtles through the air, decisively returned to sender, and smashes into the Cathedral's wall partway up. The two assholes manage to avoid the falling detritus with only a singed pant leg between them and bolt for the doors. The great bells toll as they do, triggered either by your knock or by a nearby operator with a flair for the dramatic.

Said doors creak open at the first ring, then the massive figure within smashes the pricks right as the second strikes. Surprisingly-good timing for a four-meter mound of muscle and facial tentacles with at least three ploughshares' worth of axe.

The creature lumbers forward and slams the base of his weapon into the stones, burying it deep. You hear the shunt of Djura cocking the Stake Driver and feel the tension as both sides prepare for a tremendous battle.

Which winds up not happening because the giant dumbass stands right underneath the boulder when it finally falls out of the wall. The three of you look at one another, shrug, and then shove the gently-smoking sphere back down the stairs.

The Nightmare version of the Grand Cathedral is effectively identical to the normal one, but where yours has Vicar Amelia's silent form, this one has a smouldering goatwolfgorilla lounging on the altar. Judging by the slow rise and fall of its chest, it's apparently both on fire and asleep. You can see a pendant of some sort dangling in its left hand, well within reach for the enterprising and/or suicidal.

[] Try to grab the pendant

[] Leave it, search for another path

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

The three of you spend some time just staring at the thing, each implicitly asking the other to go first, before you decide to just be explicit about it.

"Ye guys're good with beasts. Why don't ye go say hi?"

"You're the one whose pieces grow back," Djura counters.

"Don't try ta weasel yer way out o' this with a perfectly valid excuse like that."

"Let's just have a proper huddle before you two get caught up bantering until that thing wakes up on its own," grumbles Steffon.

"Aw, c'mon, that wasn't gonna happen." That was totally going to happen.

You join the scrum regardless and, by the power vested in you by being the biggest, start the discussion.

"Just so everythin's on the table: I want that pendant."

"Why?" says Steffon.

"It looks way too important ta leave behind. Call it a hunch. Besides, I don't think the big guy can even fit it around 'is neck, so what good's it doin' 'im?"

"So you're willing to risk fighting a giant, fiery beast on a hunch?" says Djura.

"To be fair," says Steffon, "it did manage to sleep through that." He points at the massive, still-crumbling dent in the wall from your little baseball misadventure.

Or would that be cricket? The boulder was still rolling, after all, and the Powder Kegs were kinda like wickets and you're getting off-track again.

"Look, if ye're worried, I'll deal with it myself, alright? You two can wait outside. I've beaten one o' these things before, anyway."

"Was that one on fire?" says Steffon.

"Well, no, but the principle should still be the same. Can't be that much tougher."

With that, Djura takes you up on your offer and strolls back downstairs, pulling a whetstone from somewhere as he steps outside. You hear rhythmic scraping before turning to Steffon.

"Why ye stayin' behind?"

"Couple of reasons. One, it'd feel rude to leave you here, and two, I'm morbidly curious about what will happen when you take the pendant out of its hand."

"Alright, then, but I'll expect ye ta cover me if shit goes south."

"Will do."

Thinking sneaky thoughts, you begin your stalk, willing yourself with all your might not to hum either the Mission: Impossible or Pink Panther themes. You notice flakes of ash hovering lazily in the air and feel the temperature rise dramatically as you close in on the slumbering beast. Is it your imagination, or are its ears twitching in time with your footfalls?

Oh, nope; it's your imagination.

With glasses fogging and sweat glands on overdrive, you pluck the pendant from its grasp. The great hand twitches once, but its great breaths' tempo remains unchanged. You scurry back towards the entrance, where Steffon has his cannon trained on the beast.

"Ye look a wee bit disappointed."

"Just a bit," he says with a frown. "I was kind of hoping to see you fight that thing in a battle for the ages."

"Eh, we'll have other opportunities. Plus, who knows? Fight could've wound up bein' a frustratin' slog instead of anythin' memorable."

"True."

You find Djura seated atop the stairs beside the thoroughly squashed giant, occasionally prodding it with his Stake Driver before returning to sharpening.

"Nothing exploded, so may I assume it's mission accomplished?"

"Yep," you reply, holding up your prize. The metal pendant features a series of raised concentric circles on its surface, surrounding an incredibly realistic eye. You're sensing a pattern.

"Interesting," says the old man as you put it away. He points a finger towards the Cathedral's stage left. "I believe that tunnel leads further into the city."

Following his finger, you see the aforementioned tunnel, apparently composed entirely of that odd stone. Djura gets to his feet with a series of unpleasant crackles and Steffon falls into position beside him.

[] Go deeper into the city

[] Retrace your steps
-[] To where?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

The slightly-inclined tunnel leads into what has to be this place's version of Central Yharnam, complete with illogically-placed abandoned carriage. One major difference besides the freaky coral rock is that they ran out of either graveyard space or fucks to give, as the street is riddled with graves in various states of disrepair.

Some, you notice, appear to have flesh within them, much like one of the awakening headstones in the Dream.

"So," you say as you casually put a bayonet between the eyes of a nearby wussy hiding behind turrets, "what other kinds o' toys are we likely ta find?"

"Hm," Djura frowns. "We've seen the Boom Hammer and the Beast Cutter and we've mentioned the Saif." As he speaks, he lists the items off on his fingers. "There's probably quite a few Church Hunters in here, so there's a good chance we find a Church Pick or a Church Cannon."

He pauses to dodge a carefully-concealed turret on a tripwire, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement. While he's dealing with that, you examine an oddly-shaped structure for a moment before realizing that it's a fossilized Amygdala. You tap it a few times with your foot, then shatter the latticed skull with some well-placed stomps out of spite.

"Go on."

"If the Oto Workshop, our predecessors, are here, then we could encounter some of their firearms. Great range, not much stopping power."

After Steffon casually spears another lanky bastard, who appears to have a sack on his head, three of you round the corner and head down a slope, where several more are waiting. One of them, showing surprisingly good reaction time, lobs a Molotov Cocktail directly at your feet.

Rather than shatter, however, it merely bounces onto your boots and ticks malevolently. You rear back and send it screaming back at his face with a solid kick. You're not sure if the impact or resulting explosion is what kills him, but either way, you're left with two dead sack men and a Boom Hammer-wielder with a terrible case of Rapid-Onset On-Fucking-Fire Syndrome.

"Oh, delayed Molotovs," says Djura as he puts a bullet through the flailing man's forehead. "Not the Otos' finest achievement."

"As it turns out," Steffon continues by way of explanation, "It's quite a bit easier to just throw something at a beast than to try and figure out where it will be five seconds from now."

A third sack man, apparently packing some brass ones, rushes you while you're talking. For variety's sake, you pick him up and throw him over the railing as hard as you can. He lands a few seconds later with an oddly-wet crash.

Curious, you go down another level and look over the railing. Where Central Yharnam Classic has its thoroughly-bungled main road, Central Yharnum Redux has...

"That is a literal fuckin' river o' blood."

The Powder Kegs join you as you survey said river of blood. Upturned carriages line it at irregular intervals, while bloated creatures that look like the love children of Seth Brundle and that girl from Ringu merrily lap up the seemingly-inexhaustible

"I'd say it's more like a creek of blood, honestly," says Djura.

"Stream at best," Steffon agrees. "Look, it doesn't even cover the entire width."

"Fine, but it's still a worryin' amount o' blood."

"Oh, no argument there," says the younger Keg.

"Where would they even-" As you speak, another ticking bottle hits you in the shoulder. Rather than kick this one, you simply pick it up and throw a heater at its presumed point of origin, earning a satisfying clank before the inevitable fwoosh of ignition. "Did nobody teach these idiots the concept of 'cookin' off'?"

"They aren't Hunters," Djura observes. "Perhaps the Nightmare isn't as exclusive as reported."

"Can't go wrong with diversity, I suppose. What was I sayin'?"

"You were talking about the creek of blood."

"Ah, right. Where would they even get that much blood? Is this what happens ta the whales they use ta make the candles?"

"What?"

"Nothin'; let's keep goin'."

The current pattern suggests that the tilted building with a wide-open door is this place's version of the house below the Great Bridge, an assumption that the pair of unfortunate swordsmen within lends credence to. Once they're thoroughly pasted, you head downstairs.

"Wait, you forgot to mention the Whirligig Saw," says Steffon to Djura. The old man grumbles, but does not respond.

"And what's that?" you ask.

"Long mace with a pair of attachable sawblades. The blades used a basic gunpowder engine to spin at high speeds. Djura was quite proud of himself for coming up with it."

"That sounds awesome. What's the problem?"

"As it turns out, if you have a spinning object on the end of a long handle and said object bites into something it can't cut through, the handle will spin out of your grip and break your jaw."

"Hey," says Djura, raising an accusing finger, "it did not break Edmund's jaw. It only knocked out four teeth." He storms downstairs and crushes a waiting swordsman's head with his Stake Driver. "I won't have my good name sullied."

"Was he bein' sarcastic?" you whisper to Steffon.

"Honestly, I have no idea."

The downstairs area completes the retro theme with a guy in a wheelchair, only instead of spinning to face you with a blunderbuss, he just kind of sits there. You toss a bayonet through his head to test his response, which turns out to be just kind of sitting there with a bayonet through his skull. An untouched Boom Hammer rests in front of him, connected to his belt by a barely-visible string.

"Hang on a sec," you tell your companions before sneaking forward. You deftly cut the string and haul ass back towards Djura and Steffon, but no explosion ensues. You pocket the hammer and lead them outside.

Another brief slope leads down to the creek itself. A nearby handful of Brundlefucks give no indication that they notice your presence. To your left, you see a short bridge lined with lanky men who likewise fail to recognize your intrusion, while the creek trails away back towards where you came to your right. You're not sure the bridge leads anywhere, but you can go perpendicular to it and go further into Neo-Yharnam.

[] Go left, through the bridge and deeper into the city

[] Go right, see if you missed anything along the creek while you were on the upper levels

[] Write in...