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

[Tricia]

"Slightly changin' topics," you say, "ye know anyone by the name o' Maria? One o' the patients outside seemed keen on 'er."

"Brador mentioned the name as well. I've only ever encountered two Marias of note: one a founding vicar, the other a Byrgenwerth student. I think we can discount the first one, considering she had both the shape and constitution of a raw egg. Fainted at the sight of blood."

"Bit of a handicap in her line o' work."

"We kept her on the public relations side of the operation. The other Maria was a Byrgenwerth student descended from Cainhurst royalty. I never saw her personally and neither did any of my sources, so she most likely stayed with Willem during the schism. Either that or she, well, 'mysteriously disappeared' before my time."

You raise an eyebrow. "Cainhurst, huh? She ever bite someone's neck and drink their blood?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"But she could have."

"I suppose."

She might not have been a vampire; unless the rules here are really, really different, two vampires fucking doesn't make more vampires. Your job would be both much more difficult and much more entertaining were that the case. Still, it's worth keeping in mind.

You twirl your newly-acquired key in your fingers as you step towards the heavy doors. The lock's distinctive enough that you quickly find it despite the considerable real estate and, with a grunt, force them open. A short flight of stairs opens into a wide, barren room, sunlight filtering in through a gargantuan set of clockwork at the far end that reminds you of the time you sneaked into Big Ben and made it an hour slow.

Because fuck the English. You don't even care that you're playing into nationalistic stereotypes.

The wooden floor is in an extensive state of disrepair, strewn with loose boards and sagging dangerously. Rows of candles line the side walls, still lit in standard Yharnam fashion, and massive black bells hang from the ceiling in the sort of ponderous fashion that tempts you to cut one loose and see how many floors it breaks through on the way down.

The corpse on a chair is a slightly more pressing concern, however. Especially since the blood trail at its feet is still wet.

"That," you say with an imperious point, "is a trap. I know a jump scare when I see one. Ye mind coverin' me while I go poke it with a stick?"

"I can do that," Simon replies. "Lethal or nonlethal?"

"Nonlethal if whatever pops out looks like it can answer questions."

"We do still have a lot of those."

You take a handful of cautious steps towards the lolling body, taking note of its well-tailored garb. A hat not unlike Djura's rests atop its white hair, a high collar covers its neck, and an honest-to-goodness cape sits bunched against the back of the chair. Something nags at you as you lean down to better examine its terribly pale face. Her terribly pale face.

Her eyes lock onto yours.

Heedless of her clearly-slit throat, she grabs onto your shoulder. There's a hiss from behind you and a blur of motion in your peripheral vision; you break eye contact just long enough to see that she's caught Simon's shot with her free hand. Without a word, she closes her fist and cracks the shaft into pieces, the wooden sound just audible over Simon's whisper of "no fucking way."

"A corpse," she breathes, "should be left well alone."

You numbly backpedal, following her eyes as she rises. And then keeps rising. And then a little more.

Fuck, she's tall.

"Hope?"

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

She quirks her eyebrow ever-so-slightly at the name, but otherwise offers no sign of recognition. You hurriedly put your game face back on while pondering possible explanations. Maybe she's Hope's twin sister who wished to be a real girl?

"Not where I'm from, they shouldn't. Ye're lucky; a corpse here is a corpse. Corpse back home's just another potential enemy. But ye're not a corpse now, are ye, lassie?"

You're having rather more trouble than you expected staring down someone this much taller than you.

"I'd give the line a seven out o' ten as far as badass intros go, though. Ye've certainly got the implied-"

Her sword is on your neck. You didn't even see her draw it.

"Do you intend to talk me to death?" she says, her hostility so alien in that familiar voice.

You shrug, maintaining eye contact even as the blade threatens to turn your throat and hers into a matching set. "Can't blame a guy for bein' amiable."

"You did not come here to be amiable. You did not slaughter the Failures to be amiable. Either come forward or leave; I've no taste for banter."

"'Failures?' Come on, no need ta kick 'em while they're down. They did their best."

"Come forward or leave."

"Look, before we start dukin' it out, there any chance ye know a fellow named Gehrman? Or 'is friend who's a doll?"

The pressure on your neck eases up.

"She goes by 'Hope' now. Ye look just like 'er."

This gets a real response; she frowns and takes a few steps back, still within her own striking distance but outside yours. Her eyes flick to Simon as she begins circling you in predatory fashion, subtle movements keeping you between her and the bowman.

"Where is he now? And what do you mean by 'doll'?"

"He's doin' well for 'imself. Got his own little Dream Workshop that lets Hunters come back ta life every time they die. As far as Hope, I'm bein' literal when I say she's a doll. Looks like ye, but she's got ball joints and is made o' wood or somethin'. Figured it'd be rude ta ask for specifics." You give her an appraising look. "Speakin' of, ye look dashin' in a bonnet."

She laughs, a hoarse and hateful burst that lingers in the still air like smog.

"Oh, my beloved teacher. That would be his dream, wouldn't it? A Maria who will not leave him, will not judge him." She turns her back to you and walks stiffly back to her chair; her little stunt with the arrow makes your chances of a successful sneak attack very obvious. Upon sitting back down, she places her elbows on its armrests and looks you over with legs crossed. You try very hard not to think any Basic Instinct thoughts . "Did you kill any patients besides the Failures?"

"No. Managed ta skip all that mess."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Keep movin' forward until we find answers."

"And when you find them?"

"End the Nightmare, then finish endin' the nightmare-with-a-lowercase-n in the wakin' world. Made some damn good progress on that front."

She gives you a genuinely sad smile. "If you are not trapped here, then wake. Slay the monsters, save the maidens, be a hero. Make your world a better place. Grow old in peace and die with a smile on your face. There is nothing for you here, Good Hunter. Nothing but mistakes best left buried." The smile drifts away, leaving only her cold stare. "I simply request one thing of you on that journey."

"And that is?"

"Ask Gehrman the price of his Dream."

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Damn, where was that knack for the ominous at the beginning? Girl can drop the mic like a pro.

"I'll tell Gehrman what ye said, lass, but yer question makes me wonder. What price did you pay ta earn this Nightmare?"

She purses her lips and stares you down. Eh, worth a shot.

"If it's penance ye're after here," you continue, "that's all fine and dandy, but the Church never stopped experimentin' after ye left. I saw their work firsthand after purgin' their damned Choir. They were usin' children."

The corners of her mouth crawl steadily downwards, though it remains firmly clamped shut. You can almost hear the high-pitched whine of the momentum she gathered with her speech leaking out.

"The School of Mensis is still huddled within their wee little village resort, hidin' behind what blasphemous Great Ones remain. I aim ta burn 'em out, put an end ta the use o' the Old Blood forever. If me and my posse are gonna pull that off without heartbreak..."

You dig down in your sleeves and pull out a bell. Then, frowning, you pull out a few more. You really should have labeled these things. Once you're about 80% sure you have the right one, you present it to Maria. She takes it with a curt nod, turning it over in her hands with rather obvious relief for the distraction.

"...we could use yer strength. It's a damn sight better penance than holin' up in a mangy clocktower, no?"

Okay, that last part may have been slightly unfair. Those giant bells are nice and that clock behind her is fancy as shit. It's mangy in spirit, at least.

Maria places her new acquisition on one of the armrests, face once more set in stone. You turn to go, beckoning Simon to follow, before a thought strikes you. Turning back around to face her, you look closely at her jaw.

"Would ye mind openin' yer mouth for a sec?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That was perfect, thanks. Ye're clean, no fangs or nothin'." Hereditary vampirism crisis averted.

"You are an incredibly strange man, Mister..."

"Alexander Anderson. He's Simon."

"Charmed."

"Well then," she says, sinking her cheek into her knuckles with regained calm, "I wish you the best of luck on your journey."

"Same ta you. Don't be afraid ta answer if ye hear my bell; we'll help ye find yer worth in the wakin' world."

You and Simon step back into the warped garden without further comment. The heavy doors creak shut of their own accord, leaving the two of you alone on the sunshine.

"Great backup there," you say.

"I was nodding along. What else did you expect me to do? You had the situation under control, had a good rapport going with her. Plus, she caught my arrow. Not even Ludwig ever pulled that off."

"Betcha I could do it."

"Not taking that bet. Not because I think you'd win, but because I'd rather not spend hours resharpening my arrowheads after digging them out of your torso."

"Whatever lets ye sleep at night. Anyway, were ye at least standin' solemnly while I was talkin'?"

"Damn solemnly."

"Good man."

[] Return to the Dream
-[] Talk to
--[] Gehrman
---[] Write in...
--[] Hope
---[] Write in...

[] Go back to the Chapel

[] Explore the Nightmare further

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

You look down at the twinkling lantern at your feet, take a deep breath, and blow it out slowly.

"I'mma head ta the Dream and deal with the elephant in the room. Ye stayin' here or headin' back?"

"Figured I'd take a look at the parts of the Research Hall we skipped. I'll meet you back on the Chapel roof in a bit."

"Good luck."

"You're the one that needs it, Father Anderson."

With that, Simon strolls through the open doorway and takes a tremendous leap out of sight. You kneel down and close your eyes, bracing yourself for what's to come.

Hope rises to greet you as you materialize in the Dream and you share your customary bow. Her smile dims at the sight of your grim expression.

"Is everything alright, Hunter Anderson?"

"Gotta talk ta Gehrman. He around?"

"He is in his Workshop. Is there any way I can aid you with what troubles you?" You try to picture that earnest gaze on Maria's face and fail utterly. Somehow, the eyes without blood within them are infinitely warmer.

"It's somethin' he and I've gotta deal with, but I do appreciate that."

"Very well."

The man in question wheels himself around at your approach, placing the streamlined chunk of Amygdala he was tweaking on a shelf beside some bells. "Father Anderson. The prostheses aren't quite ready yet, but it won't be long before-"

"Maria."

He starts, his hollow smile twisting into a strained rictus. "Excuse me?"

"I met her in the Nightmare. She wanted ta know the price o' yer Dream."

His composure disintegrates. You've seen him shaken a few times, but never to this extent. Half-formed sentences pile up on his lips as he steals glances towards the moon, one hand bobbing uncertainly in your direction and the other gripping his familiar black blade with white-knuckle fervor.

"Is she suffering?" he manages to say.

"Only thing makin' her suffer is her own conscience. What was the price, Gehrman?"

His visible sag transitions seamlessly into the upright posture of a pallbearer. "Come with me."

You follow Gehrman to the grave with which you access the Nightmare. At his approach, the Messengers scatter.

"Read," he says. You kneel down to get a better look at the inscription, unfaded despite its incredible age.

Lady Maria of Cainhurst
Prized Pupil
Beloved Compatriot
Friend
​

"She was beautiful, smart as a whip and twice as deadly. When I spoke with her, when I sparred with her, when I just looked at her and delighted in the fact that she existed, I was alive. I was home. She was such an amazing, such an impossibly amazing woman that she made that whole mess of a world worth living in.

"And then she killed herself and left me alone. I was, I couldn't...I built the Doll, spent hours and days and weeks getting every last detail down to the millimeter right. I brought her with me into this Dream and she stood up and smiled and for one second I thought I had Maria back. I thought I had a home again."

He's crying, ugly wet sobs that he's barely managing to speak over. "But it wasn't her. Maria wasn't some, some servile little tart who'd grovel before every blasted Hunter she saw. But she'll say things, she'll say 'Good Hunter' like Maria used to and it'll be that first second all over again and it hurts every time."

Heaving, trembling, he glares at you with bloodshot eyes. "I've been in that next second for longer than you've been alive, Father Anderson. That's my price."

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

You meet his glare, though you're careful not to push back. You can't imagine how many years he's let that fester.

"D'ye wish ta wake up?" you ask. His heavy breaths level out, but he doesn't answer, instead fixing his gaze on the offending gravestone.

"Ye've been a great help ta me, Gehrman, and many others besides. It wouldn't be very Christian of me ta not do ye at last that tiny a favor. I'll have ye watch the dawn with me and the rest o' the crew, God willin'."

The old man sags in his seat, fire spent. It's some time before he finally responds.

"Hunters need the Dream and the Dream needs a caretaker. We all have our place, Father Anderson; yours is out there in the thick of the mess, mine is here. When the last Hunter puts down his blade, my job will be over. Until then, I am guide and custodian, leading the young and remembering the old when no one else can."

He turns his chair back towards the workshop, wheels creaking. "I am very tired, Father Anderson. Please forgive a bit of delay on your current project. Should you see Maria again, let her know that I miss her."

With that, he leaves you. The scattered Messengers reassemble once he's gone, though they lack their characteristic pep. A few others with tiny vases on their heads pop up in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You leave them to their efforts, making your way back down the path to where Hope stands. Gehrman wasn't using his indoor voice.

"I cannot be what Gehrman wishes me to be," she says, "and I am forever sorry. I do not begrudge him his words." She smiles sadly. "Perhaps I can at least be a better Hope than I ever was a Maria."

[] Keep talking to Hope
-[] About?

[] Go to
-[] The Chapel
-[] The Nightmare

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Ye've got nothin' ta be sorry for. Only standards that matter are yer own."

She bows slightly. "I appreciate that, Hunter Anderson."

Side-by-side, you walk down to the first of the occupied graves. The Messengers at its base appear to be playing some variant of duck-duck-goose with more wrestling involved than the standard ruleset allows. You've half a mind to teach them the style you and the crew cooked up at the last Iscariot Christmas party, minus the bit where you included firearms due to Heinkel being an extraordinarily persuasive drunk.

Before you kneel down for your return to the chapel, you pause and turn towards your companion.

"Assumin' I can deal with the logistical clusterfuck, would ye like ta meet Maria? She seems like a good lass."

"I would like that very much," she replies. "I think it would be good for Gehrman, help him see that we are not the same person. It would be good for me as well, I suppose."

"Good ta hear. No promises, but I'm sure we can rig up somethin' out of all this heathen bell magic fuckery."

She smiles, wistful and sad. "I have all the faith in the world, Hunter Anderson."

Following your customary bow and trip through the inky void, you rise amid the medical hubbub of the chapel's ground floor. It's died down quite a bit since you last left, more patients dozing in beds than being actively ministered to, and Iosefka is resting in a corner with the girls and a damn-near-translucent Arianna. Girl probably qualifies as a reverse vampire at this point with all the blood they've sucked out of her.

You sit down with them, steadying a teetering Fiddle and ruffling her hair. Emma and the good doctor are engrossed in conversation, a surgical one judging by the snippets you catch. It's good to see her enjoying herself after all the shit her family's gone through tonight.

"Everyone alright?" you ask Iosefka when they hit a lull.

"No complications, thank goodness. They won't be fit for another excursion for some time, but everyone will live. Except maybe this foolish woman, who was two vials past her promised stopping point when I caught her." She looks over at Arianna with mock anger. The guilty party gives a labored shrug before lolling to one side, slightly jostling the fluid-filled IV that's thankfully giving rather than receiving for once.

"No fun chewin' her out before she's got her senses back. She won't appreciate it properly." You glance about, looking for your teammates. "How's the posse?"

"Steffon and Eileen are still asleep. We had to tie Djura down after the second time he woke up and tried to convince us he was ready to fight."

"That go smoothly?"

"Claire got a black eye but she laughed it off. How about your own adventures?"

"Think we're done in the Nightmare for the moment; things got a wee bit complicated. Gonna brainstorm with Ebrietas and Simon, figure out where to go from here."

She nods, then hesitates. "Is it nearly over, do you think?"

"God willin'. If not, well, that's what I'm here for."

Fiddle's been drooping at an increasingly-precarious angle as your conversation progressed. Her sister rights her, then carts her over to an unoccupied bed and helps her onto it. You make your way up to the roof, where a no-longer-supine Ebrietas sits beside the shallow crater her head made. She waves a tentacle at your approach.

"Feelin' any better?"

I think so. Everything is just moving so quickly; I used to measure time in decades, but now all these things are happening in the span of hours. Humans are complicated.

"Ain't about ta argue that. Mind if I sit with ye for a bit? Simon's explorin' the Nightmare."

Please do.

The two of you look at the stars together for some minutes. Ebrietas points out a few constellations, happily explaining how many light years apart the component stars are to a surprising number of significant figures.

After a short while, she stops mid-sentence and appears to concentrate. Simon soon materializes, sitting down heavily beside you and letting out a deep sigh.

"Find anythin' interestin'?"

"Brador wasn't wrong about some things being best left buried." He shakes his head. "I would very much rather not discuss what I saw, if it's all the same to you."

"Fair enough."

You get the mental impression of Ebrietas opening her mouth to question further, but she acquiesces. You decide to take charge.

"As far as I can tell," you say, "Yahar'gul and Byrgenwerth are the only locations of interest left. Thoughts?"

"I say scout Yahar'gul. The siege and ambush had to have depleted almost all of their forces and there's no point in letting them regroup."

I think Simon's right. I want to go visit Byrgenwerth but there could be more of Amygdala's kin. I'd like to come with you, too; I think I figured out how they were hiding themselves, so I'll be able to sense whatever ones are left.

[] Keep talking
-[] About?

[] Go to
-[] Yahar'gul
-[] Byrgenwerth
-[] Other

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

You look over your questionably-vertebrate companion; she's regenerated practically all of the damage she accrued during her scrap with the Lesser Amygdala, just a few ragged wing edges standing testament to the brawl. You briefly consider the difficulties of teaching proper brawling to someone without legs before shelving the idea for later.

"Might as well head out now if ye're both good. Unless ye'd like ta take this opportunity ta fuck with Djura while he's strapped to a bed."

"I'm old, not stupid," says Simon.

That would be mean.

"But also funny," you point out.

Is that enough of a reason to do something like that?

"Damn right it is."

"Anderson, stop corrupting Ebrietas," Liam calls from the roof's edge.

"Buncha fuckin' spoilsports. Anyway, meetcha at Yahar'gul's front door?"

Okay.

She takes to the air, graceful as always in blatant disregard for conventional understanding of aerodynamics. You and Simon scurry down the steps, pausing only to inform Iosefka and the others of your plans. Arianna and Fiddle are both thoroughly conked out and you crack a small smile at this bastion of tranquility in a sea of unrelenting carnage.

The two of you reach the meeting point entirely unmolested by half-naked Hunters, caroling senior citizens, or Amygdalae eager for round three. Upon seeing you, Ebrietas descends from on high and touches own before the building Patches and company had intended to use as a killzone.

How can I best help?

"Same as before, I think: fly high and keep us updated on the surroundin's. Is that alright with ye?"

Of course. Stay safe, okay?

You nod and stroll into the building, the pressure wave of her takeoff sending Simon's tatters streaming in every direction.

"Is the whole Raggedy Andy thing yer aesthetic or didja just never bother ta change clothes?" you say.

"You'd be amazed at how little attention the 'righteous' pay to those in rags. Also, there was nothing better to wear in the Nightmare. Everyone's clothes vanish with them when they die and none of them were willing to part with them beforehand."

"Didja try knockin' one of 'em out, tyin' 'im up, and then nickin' his breeches?"

"They're surprisingly squirrelly."

"I can believe it."

The locked doors within fall to a well-placed boot, revealing a sprawling array of buildings and walkways reminiscent of Old Yharnam. The whole thing is eerily silent; despite your less-than-subtle entrance, no angry hordes appear to stir. The two of you walk through empty streets lined with occasional statues of Amygdala, some of which you pause to adorn with permanent-marker moustaches.

"Why do you even have that in your sleeves?" Simon asks.

"For just such an occasion."

A lanky man with a sack, somewhat shorter and stockier than Liam, nearly gets the drop on you from a blind alley in the sole spot of excitement. Said spot proves all-too-brief as you fold him in half with a body shot to set up Simon's headshot. You sigh as the big man crumbles bonelessly to the cobbles.

"Is it wrong ta be disappointed that there's not more goons ta slaughter?"

"Will my answer in any way affect your mindset?"

"Nope."

"I appreciate the honesty."

There's something northwest of you, Ebrietas reports. It feels a lot like the eye we use to access the Nightmare; do you want to meet there, or keep exploring?

You look around at the squat structures, almost all radiating an air of disuse. Still, the place is a lot more sprawling than you anticipated; even if they committed most of their forces to the siege, it's hard to imagine that they only left one Stranger Danger poster boy to hold the fort while they were out.

[] Meet Ebrietas at the connection point

[] Search the surrounding area

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"We'll meetcha there," you tell her. "Pretty sure they gave us everythin' they had in that ambush." You turn to face your companion. "That sound good ta you?"

He frowns a tad before looking upwards at the wriggly silhouette that is Ebrietas. "Do you think you could head back to the Chapel and ask Liam if there's anything waiting for us? I know he said he wasn't very involved, but any information helps."

Okay! I'll be back in a little bit.

She swoops away like the world's largest, squishiest owl, leaving you and Simon alone in the Yharnam evening. You look through a few windows while you wait.

"If this is the 'School o' Mensis,' why aren't there any fuckin' classrooms?"

"Open-air teaching? It was something of a fad back in my time."

"Open-air teachin's for when ye've got grass and trees and all the other good nature shit. It's not for sittin' in the middle o' the fuckin' street with cobblestones up yer arse."

"Budget issues, then?"

"I can believe it."

I'm back, Ebrietas announces. Liam says that Mensis was down to a skeleton crew by the time he left; not enough new recruits and the people he and the others kidnapped never got conscripted. He doesn't know what happened to them but he's sure it was really bad.

"Thank you, Ebrietas." Simon turns to you and beckons you to lead. "Shall we?"

You shall. You stroll through the quiet streets, enjoying yourself despite being in the midst of a wretched hive of scum and villainy that you will likely burn to the ground once you've both dealt with your current issues and scrounged up enough buckets of kerosene. You begin sorting through your titanic array of ribald tunes and have narrowed it down to ten by the time you're jumped in an alley.

It's a damn good ambush, all things considered; you wonder if this place offered it as a major. Hopefully his thesis defense wasn't as bad as his actual defense.

You slam the poor sod into one wall and then the other, using him as drum accompaniment for your mental rendition of "What's Left of the Flag." He goes limp three or four smacks in, but you keep at it until you reach the chorus. Simon helpfully pulls the knife out of your kidneys.

You look down at the limp pile of broken everything and grin. "Looks like this crew-"

"If you're making a pun on 'skeleton crew,' I'm leaving."

"Can't blame a man for takin' a gimme."

"Watch me."

I'm sure it would have been funny, Ebrietas chirps as consolation.

The Mensisites (Mensislings?) hit you a few more times along the way, sometimes in groups of up to four and always in opportune locations. You're not sure if they actually think they can kill you or if it's a widespread case of suicide-by-Anderson. Considering they look like the furry nutters you've dealt with all night, you might be overthinking their motivations.

The two of you reach an open stretch of street that culminates in a sizable plaza flanked by two high walkways. Countless stone figures litter the clearing, frozen in moments of panic. You're reminded of Pompeii, the ancient casts left behind by the relentless onslaught of ash. Some wear street clothes, others the fanciful robes of the Healing Church, and still others what looks like university garb. As you approach the plaza, you see more and more of the petrified students, many of them wearing some sort of tall, thin cage atop their shoulders.

You prod one of them as you pass. It crumbles to nothing at your touch.

"The fuck happened here?" you say.

"I can't even imagine," Simon replies. He sounds genuinely rattled, and considering what he's been through in the Nightmare, that's worrying.

Ebrietas touches down in the plaza as you approach, looking about with naked concern.

Something happened here. There's, there's traces. Like afterimages or echoes.

Or nuclear shadows, you muse.

Mass-scale blood manipulation to pierce dimensional barriers? Would that even work? Maybe with enough raw material, but...

"Ebrietas," you say, recognizing the oncoming tunnel vision of problem solving, "what was the connection point ye mentioned?"

Oh, she replies. It's this, right here. She points to another of the casts, this one seated near the back of the plaza in a position of importance. It's definitely a link to another dimension, but I can't see what that dimension is like. There's something interrupting the connection.

"Can you tell what it is?" Simon asks.

Maybe another one of my kin? But it's not fluctuating at all. The signal's coming from somewhere to the southeast. She flutters up, looks in the indicated direction, and comes down heavily.

It's coming from Byrgenwerth.

[] Go to
-[] Byrgenwerth
-[] The chapel
-[] Elsewhere

[] Keep talking to Ebrietas
-[] About?

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Of course it wouldn't be that easy. What's a man gotta do ta start a proper Inquisition around here? This whole fuckin' town's been cockblock central since the minute I got here."

What's a cockblock?

"I'll tell ye when ye're older." You clap your hands together. "So, there a walkin' path ta Byrgenwerth? Ferry? Toll road? Anythin' other than the forest full o' mutant snakes?"

I could fly you there, Ebrietas offers. I know the way.

"That'd work, I suppose, as long as ye're okay with it."

Sure! I carried Simon to a roof earlier. Humans aren't very heavy.

"Don't sell yerself short; ye're a right strong lass. Lemme see those guns. Yer muscles," you clarify as she swings her head about to look for guns. She's not very good at figures of speech, you recall.

Oh. After a moment's hesitation, she gives you a hesitant flex. You smile and give her a pat on the tentacles.

"There we go. Ready?"

I am. You think you hear a smile in there. As she scoops you both up, you note the precise wriggles Simon utilizes to improve comfort and do the same. She takes to the air without any hint of struggle and you soon find yourselves cruising along at an impressive altitude.

Awash in the crisp air, you open your mouth to make a "Whole New World" quip before realizing with horror that neither of them would know what the Hell you're talking about. You're flying along on a gorgeous moonlit night and neither of these two have ever heard of Aladdin. Fuck, Ebrietas even has the same general color scheme as the carpet.

This amazing, perfect opportunity will be lost in time, like tears in rain. They wouldn't get that reference, either.

The journey passes in relative silence due to both your grumpiness and the fact that you're moving way too fast for Simon to hear anything below a bellow. You occupy yourself with watching the brickwork of Yharnam segue into untamed wilds. Despite the height, you catch glimpses of gargantuan boars and knotted piles of snakes moving as one.

Air Ebrietas was definitely a better choice.

A sizable lake soon slides into view and Ebrietas banks towards the sole visible structure on its shore. You take one final look down at the waning forest to see three hooded figures following your flight. They vanish from sight as your ride dives below the treeline and slowly brings herself to a halt.

We're here. It still looks the same as when I left.

Byrgenwerth, Yharnam's premiere hotspot of higher learning, looks more like a dorm than a college. The single structure is wide and tall, sure, but it's severely underwhelming considering the hype. A nearby gate leads through the short stone wall surrounding it, utterly bereft of any official insignias or even frat graffiti.

There are, however, a pair of familiar black lumps plopped atop said wall, looking at you with cocked heads.

"Crawrk."

"How the fuck didja get here?"

"Squirk.'

"Oh, well, that explains it."

[] Explore the grounds

[] Go straight inside

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[Tricia]

"How do those things even fly?" says Simon. He then takes a long look at Ebrietas' threadbare wings. "I retract my question."

"Some things we just weren't meant ta know. Up for a tour o' the grounds?"

"Might as well. Ebrietas?"

I think the interference is coming from somewhere in the lake. Is it okay if I go take a look?

"Knock yerse-" you begin before catching yourself. "Go ahead."

With a nod, she ambles into the air and cruises leisurely above the lake's surface. A lever sits on the opposite side of the closed gate, but the architect apparently failed to take into account your ability to climb over the chest-high wall beside said gate and pull said lever. Not entirely unsurprising.

A faint chittering fills your ears from an indeterminate distance, a rather fitting leitmotif for the college's decrepit grounds. The cracked tiles teem with grass and lichen and the blatantly Great One-shaped busts along the shoreline wall have been worn down into vaguely-phallic lumps. Of course, you can't be certain that wasn't the intention. Art majors are weird.

"Ever visit this place back in yer day?" you ask your companion.

"Never got the opportunity, unfortunately. The Church was rather insistent on Byrgenwerth being forbidden ground."

"How insistent?"

"An acolyte tried to sneak there on a dare and the Church cut his feet off."

"That's pretty insistent."

A hunched shape lurches at you from the now-open gate, aiding your discussion of corporal punishment by offering itself as an example. Neither the insectile legs sprouting from its back nor its bulbous, many-eyed head do anything to save it from a rapid and merciless shitstomping.

"So what'd they use ta chop 'em off?" you say, scraping off bits of bug-person from your boots. "We talkin' bonesaw, machete, what?"

"They went with an axe. Some of the Executioners wanted to mash his feet into paste with giant wooden wheels, but they were overruled."

"I like the cut of their jib."

You take a left and stroll through the pillars holding up the second-floor balcony; knowing the architect, it's probably not safe to spend too much time underneath it. A light, dangling from a fleshy stalk, swings into view from around the corner and manages to produce an eldritch glow for about half a second before Simon plugs it. Whatever creature it belongs to gives a gurgling hiss that swiftly peters out.

Turning the corner reveals a long, thin, faceless creature with way too many legs and a mouth like a pointy zipper. It's like someone stapled the business end of an angler fish to the front of a stick insect and shoved an entire WWE stable's worth of steroids up its ass. Probably used that light to draw in animals or particularly stupid, Protestant-like humans into its maw.

With a few kicks to ensure it's properly dead, you turn to walk inside before a series of synchronized footsteps draws your attention to the far end of the walled enclosure. The three figures you saw in your flight approach, silent in their march and trailing a wake of dismembered bug-people (beeple?). One holds a curved blade, another a shorter sword and candle, and the third a mace.

The third one's other hand is on fire. It does not appear bothered by this fact.

"I got the one who's on fire," you say to Simon. "You got candle-boy?"

"I do, indeed," he replies before nocking an arrow. You roll your shoulders and swagger towards your oncoming foes. You flash a thumbs-up at Ebrietas, who's peeled off from her search effort and is currently hovering just offshore.

You've got this.

BOSS BATTLE: SHADOWS OF YHARN-​

The hooded men don't even get the chance to react to the white-robed Hunter that crashes down behind them before she ravages the swordsman's neck with a spiked whip. Simon buries a shaft in the back of candle-boy's head when he turns to look at the new challenger and you cap off the wipe with an onslaught of bayonets that takes the last of them off his feet.

Despite the massive damage, the three bodies writhe and bulge in a way that just screams "powerup." Unfortunately for them, she cuts off any chance of an epic comeback in short order. In one smooth motion, she pulls a silver lookalike of Gilbert's flamethrower from the recesses of her robes and sprays the fallen fighters with an acrid mist. They sizzle and hiss as it eats away at their robes and the flesh beneath; the ones you and Simon sniped soon go still, while the one with the fucked neck continues to writhe until she drives her boot clean through its chest.

Fuck, that's hot.

PREY SLAUGHTERED​

With the assholes rather thoroughly disposed of, you size up your saviour. Her white robe, similar in style to Gale's from Upper Cathedral Ward, is stained here and there with blood and you're not certain how she sees through the odd tricorn-blindfold hybrid atop her head. What little you see of her face is smooth and unblemished, a thin mouth atop a strong jawline. Though the fight's over, she remains poised to strike, hand resting on her cane with all the murderous promise of an open bomb bay.

"A Great One carried you two to Byrgenworth," she rasps in a husky voice. "I have questions."

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