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

[Tricia]

"I mentioned that 'Ebrietas' thing, right? Apparently this is one o' her kin. Fucker was sittin' on the chapel all invisible-like. When I tried ta ward the place, it wasn't too pleased. Credit where it's due, it could talk some fine smack for somethin' without a mouth."

Iosefka has moved on to the gratuitously-perforated limbs, examining the structure of the intact hands. She bends them this way and that, exploring their range of motion.

"This thing, or something like it, is what the Church worships and the source of blood ministration," Eileen asks flatly.

"Seems ta be the case."

She pulls out her blade, looking back and forth from it to the body before putting it away with a sigh.

"You said it was invisible?"

"Until it wanted me ta see it."

"So there could be any number of these things around Yharnam and we'd never know it. Any number of these things anywhere." She starts walking up to join Iosefka in her examination. Connor and Murphy seem unfazed by her approach, perhaps accepting her as one of their own. "Still, you've proven that they can die. That's good to know."

You walk over to the legs as the women take a closer look at one of the arms that ran afoul of your exploding chain. They poke and prod at the exposed bone while you check out the damage you managed to inflict with the sword. You swung like a hurling veteran on PCP and it looks like it still failed to reach any thing important. If this thing had that kind of durability all over, it might have stood a chance.

Someone wasn't intelligently designed.

"This creature," Iosefka says as she works her way towards you, "is an affront to all medical knowledge. It doesn't even have any visible means of eating or drinking, and it would take an extraordinary amount of food to maintain a body of this size. I've never even seen tissue like the sort it has in its head. I've half a mind to open it up, but I get the sense I would just wind up with more questions."

"Probably. I think it tried ta shoot a laser at me, too."

"A what?"

"Like a beam of light that makes things explode."

The doctor just stares at you for a moment before seating herself on the chapel steps.

"Three hours ago, I was wondering whether I had enough bedpans for the night. Now I'm thinking about autopsying a god."

"Not a god. A pretender. A false idol, struck down by the LORD through my blades."

She doesn't respond to that, instead looking up at the violet sky. Without the electrical clutter of a modern city, the tableau of stars shines brilliantly, though even their combined efforts pale in comparison to the all-encompassing moon.

"We're going to change the world tonight," says Eileen.

"Aye. Even if we have ta kick its arse ta do it."

You take a moment to enjoy the sky. The last twilight of the Healing Church and its monsters.

Then a fancy strikes you.

You stroll back over to the corpse. You think about using the head; the lattice is still strong despite the hole you blew in it and the brain is still solidly connected inside if your exploratory jostling is any indication, but it's clearly too big for even someone like you to wield. The arms are a bit spindly for your taste as well.

The legs and the tail do have that armor, however. You ponder your options as Eileen and Iosefka regard you curiously.

[] Use a leg for your club of righteousness

[] Use tail for your club of righteousness

[] Use other appendage for your club of righteousness

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

On second thought, you're not really a craftsman, and while there's a certain deep satisfaction in bludgeoning heathens to death with something you put together with your own two hands, your "furious arm of the LORD" spiel would fall apart pretty quick if it broke after three hits.

Luckily, you know someone who's better at this than you are.

You start chopping bits off here and there; a section of arm and a chunk of leg, which took four hits in the same spot to cut through, vanish up your sleeves

"Wait," Eileen says as you prepare to inter its tail. She and Iosefka walk up to you and stare intently at your sleeve. "Alright, go ahead."

You do so. The women look at you, at each other, and back to the sleeve.

"Do you think you could pull it back out?" Iosefka asks. You do so, then put it back in more slowly. Even Maxwell wasn't dense enough to miss the joke here, but you're better than that.

Also, Eileen would probably stab you a lot. She points a finger at you.

"Tomorrow morning. You promised."

You grin and return to the head, plucking out a few medicine ball-sized eyes.

"So what, exactly, do you intend to do with all of that?" Eileen asks.

"I was thinkin' o' makin' some kinda club out of it. Y'know, beat the heathens over the head with the irony o' their situation. It's symbolic."

She looks at you for a moment.

"You just find the concept of bashing people with the pieces of a giant alien monster hilarious, don't you."

Damn this woman and her incredible powers of deduction.

"I mean, I've got a legitimate reason," you say. "I've only got tools for stabbin' and slashin'. I need somethin' for bludgeonin' purposes. Gotta cover my bases."

She merely shrugs. Your logic is flawless.

"And what of the rest of it?"

"It's up ta Doctor Iosefka. If she wants ta take a look inside, she's welcome to. Or we could burn it, of course."

"I think," Iosefka says, "I would like to take a look, but not until everything's ready in the chapel. Would you mind putting one of your wards around it before you go to Old Yharnam? Just something to keep the scavengers off."

The crows look offended.

"I can do that, sure."

The three of you walk back inside. Fiddle and Emma are currently organizing the limited amount of supplies Iosefka managed to bring from the clinic.

"Do you intend to build that weapon yourself, Father?" Eileen asks.

"Nah. Figure Gehrman might appreciate a new project."

"You'll be returning to the Dream, then?"

"Just ta drop off the material."

Eileen nods and turns to Iosefka.

"I'll get to work trapping the Workshop door. I managed to scrounge quite a few guns from the citizens you dealt with. Doctor, do you think you could help me take some of these apart? I'll walk you through it."

"Alright."

They make their way over to the pile of assorted blades and firearms as you walk towards the lantern. The girls look up at you.

"Goin' back ta the Hunter's Dream for a moment. Don't worry, ye don't have ta carry my fat arse this time."

They wave and you kneel down by the crooked stem. The chapel dissolves around you into the emptiness of sleep. Or are you the one dissolving?

Is that an ontological or a logistical question?

Whatever the case, Hope seems mildly surprised when you rise from the brick road of the Dream.

"Did something happen, Hunter Anderson? It has not been long since you departed."

"Nah, just wanted ta speak ta Gehrman again. I've got a project for him."

"Of what sort?"

"Got some new material for him ta work with. I was hopin' he could make a weapon out of it."

She smiles. "He's not made one in some time. I am sure he will appreciate the chance to create something new. He is in the Workshop."

You ascend the stairs to find him sharpening a curved, black blade on a whetstone near the workbench.

"Back so soon?" he says without turning around.

"Are ye gonna ask me a question without turnin' around every time I come back?"

"Why not? I can tell when it's you and it saves us the trouble of awkward hellos."

"Point. Anyway, I was wonderin' if I could put in an order for a commission."

"Oh?" He puts the blade on the bench and swivels to face you. You reach into your sleeves and pull out the slabs of giant spider one-by-one. His eyes widen exponentially with each one and look about ready to fall out by the time the tail clunks to the floor.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"The thing with your sleeves."

"Why is everyone so caught up on that?"

"Why wouldn't they be?!"

He wheels his way forward and hefts the tail with an impressive effort. He raps on the carapace with his knuckles and prods it with the freshly-sharpened blade.

"Strong stuff. What is it?"

"Great One cutlets."

He takes this news with impressive stoicism. "Trying to one-up Izzy, are you?"

"That's the plan. I was hopin' ye could make some sort o' club out o' this. If ye wouldn't mind, o' course."

He puts the tail down and picks up one of the eyes.

"Careful with that. I think it shoots explosions. If ye could incorporate that, it would be awesome."

He rotates it so that the "iris" is pointing towards the ground and continues his examination.

"Well, Father Anderson," he says, putting the eye on the bench, "I can safely say that this is the most interesting request I've ever had. I can't think of any way to charge you for my services, save that I'll expect you to use it if you run up against any hostile Hunters. Indulge an old man's vanity and show them that my designs still work."

He scoots his way past you towards a chest, from which he extracts a set of assorted tools.

"I'll get to work right away." He extends a free hand with a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you, Father."

[] Stay until Gehrman finishes

[] Return to Yharnam, come back at another time
-[] Go to
--[] Old Yharnam
--[] Grand Cathedral

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

"Y'know," you say, shaking his hand, "if there's anythin' left over, ye could use it ta trick out the chair. Won't have ta break down any weapons ta do it."

You step over to the side of his chair and kneel down by a wheel.

"Maybe add a spike here? Whole ring of 'em? Get somethin' ye could do some proper strafin' runs with. Maybe put a harpoon on the front; fits with the spike theme."

You "walk" your hand along the armrest with your other hand in hot pursuit, miming out a potential chase scene cut short via the incredible convenience of a harpoon. Your stricken hand writhes in agony from the hypothetical spear embedded in its vitals.

"Curse ye and yer fuckin' sweet wheelchair, Gehrman," it says in a high-pitched voice.

He seems to ponder it for a moment before shaking his head with a grin. "Tempting, tempting. Perhaps after I've finished with this. Will you be going back to Yharman in the meantime?"

"Yeah. Eileen thinks Djura might be willin' ta help our crusade against the Church. I'm gonna pop on down ta Old Yharnam 'n' see if he's still around."

"Really?" He seems surprised. "Eileen and Djura were partners at one point, if I recall correctly. I'd have thought she'd be the one to recruit him."

"They had a bit of a fallin' out, apparently."

"Was he shooting at her with one of those big guns of his?"

"He was shootin' at her with one of those big guns of his."

He chuckles and hefts the tail onto the workbench.

"Well, good luck, Father Anderson. Make sure you keep something solid between you and him during your pitch."

You nod and trek back to the graves as he makes some measurements. As always, you and Hope bow to one another before you return to the chapel. The girls have joined Iosefka and Eileen, helping tie some knots for their developing trap array. They pause a moment to wave at you before the sound of their efforts and conversations once more fill your den of iquity.

Is that a word? Iquity? Like, the opposite of iniquity? Questions for later.

[] Re-ward the chapel
-[] Go to
--[] Grand Cathedral
--[] Old Yharnam

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Schedule update!

I will be getting up early tomorrow morning to head to Alaska with my father for about a week of salmon fishing, so no update tonight. I will then be going to a friend's wedding, so I won't be home until the night of the 13th.

I believe I will have internet service while I'm up there, but I'm not sure how steady it will be. In addition, I'd like to take advantage of the time away from it all with my family. If I do have the Internet necessary to do so, I will definitely try to run; I've been excited about writing Old Yharnam for a while. That said, I'm going to try doing every other day instead of daily while I'm there.

I've got some ideas for omakes to make up for it, so you're welcome to vote on which one you want first.

[] That's a Bad Move, Little Ant

[] Carrying the Fire (crossover with another quest)

[] Axis

[] The Pickup Artist

 

[Tricia]

Everything seems to be in order for the moment; time for Journey to Old Yharnam 2: The One with 100% Fewer Sanity-Flensing Abominations, Hopefully.

"I'm about ta put up another ward; be sure ye've all got yer crosses if ye wanna leave. I'll be back with Djura in a bit. Stay safe."

Agatha waves goodbye, as do the ladies before quickly returning to their efforts. You go back out the side door and prepare your Bibles.

The feathery squatters on the corpse appear to have had their fill and are presently comatose in a cluster of graves. You attach a quick ward to the hulking mass as per Iosefka's request before turning back to the towering clinic-to-be.

"The false idol that once befouled this holy place has been slain. May those who attempt ta follow in its blasphemous footsteps meet the same fate. The flock of the faithful, those who carry the eternal reminder of your Son's sacrifice, shall come and go as they please, but the profane will find only ruin on this path. AMEN!"

Once more, the chapel thrums with holy power. You take a few minutes to rest and manage your resurgent fatigue, which is significantly easier now that you're not trying to play street-rules pattycake with Mr. Happy Slaps here. You'd kick the corpse one last time if you hadn't already put the ward there, because you are nothing if not petty and prone to violent outbursts.

You don't see any of the tall men during your break and it looks like the one that got your sword applied directly to the forehead either walked away or got dragged off. Wherever they've gone, it's nowhere nearby and you go down the first two sets of steps without being accosted. Both sets' railings, you notice, are lined with well-carved depictions of griffons. Or sphinxes. Some kind of cat/bird thing.

Seriously, who thought of those? "Yeah, cats are vicious little blighters that destroy everything they can get their grubby little mitts on. It would be awesome if they could fly, too."

Another sizable chapel sits a fair distance from the bottom of the staircase, in front of which a handful of Yharnamites and dogs are milling about near a small bonfire. You consider sniping them before deciding against it.

You were just in a life-or-death struggle and you're on a mission from God. You should take what opportunities you can to unwind.

The nearest one, an axeman with a torch, doesn't have time to turn around before you barrel into him at a dead sprint and wrap your arms around his neck. The sound of several vertebrae disintegrating doesn't quite drown out your bellow of "RKO outta nowhere!"

The swordsman nearby manages to round on you, only to get his face broken by a well-placed Brogue Kick. He falls screaming while the three dogs that decided to get a piece of the action run into some well-placed strikes. The pitchfork wielder has the misfortune of being the last man standing. You rip his weapon away, force his head down with a nasty elbow, and hoist him up into piledriver position.

The Celtic Cross may not be the most efficient finisher ever, but when it's on cobblestones, it's enough.

You consider pinning the last surviving member for a three-count, but your hopes are dashed when a gunman lopes into view from a stairway to the side of the chapel. Instead, you just stick a bayonet through his shattered face and tell yourself the referee wasn't looking before charging the gunman. He actually manages to reload before you clothesline him so hard he does a full flip in the air before the back of his head becomes intimately acquainted with the stone.

Such a shame Eileen wasn't here. You've got some lovely ideas for tag team finishers.

With the Undisputed Yharnam Championship now under your belt, you climb the stairway to find a side door to the chapel. To your surprise, it's unlocked, and you step inside.

The circular patterns on the floor and general interior architecture are highly reminiscent of Oedon Chapel. Agatha mentioned that the entrance to Old Yharnam should be somewhere around here, so it seems it's time for some good ol'-fashioned detective work.

At least it would be, if a blonde man with a strong jaw and a hammer the size of his torso wasn't eyeing you from the room's other entrance.

"I heard the commotion outside and figured some beast was trying to get into the chapel. Can't say I expected this. Who might you be?"

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

The bonfire writhes disconsolately, its erratic motions a stark contrast to the unbroken shine of the lanterns surrounding it.

You bring your hand up to your chin. Sure, you've taken a few dozen blows to the head recently, but you're pretty certain that wasn't there last time. You mentally retrace your steps; talked to Hope, talked to Gehrman about the Club of Righteousness, kneeled at the grave, emerged in the infinite blackness. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except that there's a bonfire sitting in the middle of the cluster of lanterns.

You walk over to take a closer look. The flames lap at your legs tenderly, devoid of their expected voracious hunger. Curious, you reach a hand into the splintering wood.

The gaudy stone halls of a medieval castle fill your mind. Cavernous rooms filled with food and drink, armored behemoths lining the corridors, and a huddled assembly of giants all flit through before settling on a most unexpected image.

A young woman alone in a bed, her mane of red hair strewn haphazardly about the immaculate sheets.

Fiddle and Emma are safe with Eileen. Something tells you this girl is a more pressing concern. You close your fingers around the intangible heart of the flame and awake.

You're coughing before your eyes even have a chance to wake. The stone reeks of ash and dead things. You quickly scramble to your feet and brush yourself off, taking a look around in the process. A heavy door squats behind you while an impossibly-long hall challenges the limits of your depth perception. Orange sunlight meanders in through a series of ornate windows, telling of the far-off coming of night. At your feet, firewood withers away into nothing, bleeding a slow drip of smoke. You turn and give the door an exploratory push. To your mild surprise, it swings open with the silence of perfectly-maintained hinges.

"Aslatiel?"

You stop at the sound of the voice from within. After a brief silence, you make your way fully into the room. As far as you can tell, it's a hospital room, lined wall-to-wall with pristine beds. It's a far cry from Iosefka's humble clinic; you're fairly certain the good doctor literally dreams of having a facility like this. Despite its size, a fire-haired young woman of Japanese descent is its sole occupant, eyeing you with contempt from one of the center beds. Oddly, it has a neighbor on just one side, a wooden chair sitting in place of the bed on the other.

"What do you want? I've already spoken to Oktavia; you can just ask..."

The scorn dies on her lips. She stares at the shining cross around your neck with an inscrutable medley of emotions on her face. For some time, she simply gawps at you in silence save for half-formed exclamations that tumble haphazardly from her open mouth.

"Who are you?" she asks. She seems significantly smaller than when you first entered.

"Father Alexander Anderson."

"How did you get here? Where are you from?"

"I'm from the Vatican. Ta be honest, I'm not sure how I got here. I was in a Dream and there was this bonfire and-"

"You're from the Vatican? From Italy?"

"That, I am. What about you?"

"I'm from Kazamino. In Japan. How are you here?" There's fear in her eyes now and she's gripping the sheets so tightly her nails are punching through.

"I felt like I was supposed ta be."

She begins to shiver. Even through the linen pajamas, you can tell she's worryingly thin.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Now it's your turn to gawp.

"No, lass, of course not. I was led here by God-"

"Don't talk to me about God."

No teenager should ever have that kind of hurt in their voice. Nobody should ever have that kind of hurt in their voice. You give her a moment to steady her breathing and regain eye contact.

"Do ye mind if I sit down?"

She nods and gestures towards the chair next to her. As you approach, she begins rambling.

"Aslatiel was sitting there, but then the guards said Ornstein wanted to speak with him and escorted him out. I guess the other guards aren't here yet."

You take a seat and intertwine your fingers. When no further comment is forthcoming, you straighten up and look her in the eye.

"What's yer name, lass?"

"Kyoko Sakura."

"Ms. Sakura, is there anythin' ye'd like ta speak or confess? I'm a stranger ta this land, and anythin' ye say is between you, me, and the LORD. I am not here to judge ye, only ta act as a willin' ear."

She looks fit to snap at you again, but instead sags. She takes a deep breath and she tells you.

She tells you of being young and hungry, of her father who spread his own new gospel. She tells of her wish and the rat-like thing that granted it. She tells of the cost and the fire and being alone.

Loneliness. A found friend. A lost friend. A stupid girl with blue hair who eventually meant everything. Crashing wheels and shining chains and one final prayer.

Death in battle. Awakening in some unknown place for an unknown purpose with nowhere to go but forward.

You let her speak her fill. When she is finished, you gather your thoughts and turn to her.

"You were tempted, as we all are. With love in yer heart, ye succumbed ta temptation and bartered with unholy forces."

She nods, pursing her lips.

"But though yer actions brought ruin, ye fought for redemption and laid down yer life in pursuit of it. Ye gave all ye could give, and there is nothing more the LORD could ask of ye."

Your words seem to bounce off her ablative misery armor with no visible effects. You sigh, reach into your sleeves, and pull out an unmarred copy of the Word.

"In yer desire ta help yer father, ye became a monster of God. Is that correct?"

"It wasn't for God. It wasn't even for Dad. It was for me."

"Ye fought ta spread the Word. For yer family and for the God ye believed in, ye paid the price of unending combat. And in the end, ye died so that a lost girl wouldn't have ta die alone. For the goodness in the world which is God. 'For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.'"

"Luke 9:24."

You smile, then turn your eyes downward. "I gave up everything, too. I faced a monster, the worst monster there ever was, and I became a monster of God ta stop him. I threw away all of myself ta win."

She looks up at you curiously.

"And I still lost. I died on the streets of London, and then I awoke in a new land that had never heard the Word." You put a hand on her shoulder. "I was given a second chance, just as you were. These things don't happen by accident. Nothing does.

"I can't force ye ta return ta God. Nobody can. It's yer decision and yers alone. But we are where we are for a reason, Kyoko Sakura."

You smile.

"Because we're the good guys, and we're carryin' the fire."

She meets your gaze for a moment, and then she smiles as well. You pick up the Bible and offer it to her.

"I'm sorry, Father. I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet."

You nod and return it to the confines of your sleeves.

"When ye are, I'll be around, God willin'."

The sound of armored footsteps in perfect sync interrupts your moment. Looks like those guards finally got off their asses. You look around for an avenue of escape before a faint glow near the door catches your attention.

A lantern has sprung from the stone, complete with a gaggle of Messengers. You give the confused girl a bow and make your way over to it.

"Until we meet again."

And you're gone.

Rather than the Dream, you find yourself in the infinite blackness once more. The bonfire is crackling and spitting its last. Before it winks out, you catch the echoes of final images; armored men arguing about who forgot the guard rotation, Kyoko staring at the lantern that sank into the floor as though it was never there.

There's just ashes now, but you can feel the life in them. They'll burn again, when the time comes. For now, you have a very long night ahead of you.

 

[4WheelSword]

alert Knock it off
While the quest might be covering certain topics that generate discussion, it would be best to leave that discussion out of the quest thread. There are plenty of other options for discussing personal attitudes towards religion.

 

[Tricia]

You consider pulling out your bayonets for a proper flourish, but this guy might not interpret that too favorably. Instead, you spread your hands wide.

"Father Alexander Anderson, Blade o' The LORD, Messenger of His Word, and Doom of the wretched beasties and Protestants! Yerself?"

He stares at you for a moment.

"The 'lord'?"

"LORD. All capitals."

"The lord, sorry, LORD of what?"

"The LORD. Singular."

"Of what?"

"Everythin'. He is the one true God, the Alpha and the Omega."

He puzzles this over for a moment, then lowers his hammer.

"Let's start over. My name is Alfred, of the Executioners. I am here in case the beasts of Old Yharnam break through while the Church's forces are occupied with the Hunt. Who are you and why are you here?"

Well, that was more informative but a lot less fun than you'd hoped. Whatever happened to two warriors listing off their increasingly-absurd titles in minutes-long monologues and not even bothering to explain them before turning each other's organs into modern art?

"Alexander Anderson, of the Catholic Church. I'm here because there's someone in Old Yharnam I need ta talk to."

"Well, I can't say I've ever heard of the Catholic you what."

He's had a steady expression of extreme bafflement ever since you first opened your mouth, but he's dug deep into his gawping reserves and is going all-out.

"You're planning to go to Old Yharnam?"

"Yep. Got someone ta speak with."

"There's nothing there but beasts. I mean, the Powder Kegs stayed behind, of course, but there's no possible way they've survived this long."

"Have ye checked?"

He doesn't even respond to this, exuding the quiet desperation of someone begging on his hands and knees for another topic of conversation.

"Sooo..." you offer, "...Executioners, huh? Ye execute people?"

"Just heretics, mostly."

"Really? I love executin' heretics, too." You rapidly point from yourself to him with both fingers. "We got that in common, right? Crushin' the blasphemers 'neath our heels, that's a proper bondin' activity right there."

This actually prompts a smile. One that, you note in the brief time it spends on his face, looks rather like yours.

"If only," he says. "Alas, the path to Cainhurst and the Vileblood Queen continue to elude me."

Those sound super gothic and aristocratic. Could it be...?

"I've not heard o' those."

"I'm not surprised; the information was not released to the public, after all. The Vilebloods were nobles who, through the use of corrupted blood brought to them by a Byrgenwerth traitor, became inhuman creatures who preyed on the blood of others. Our leader, Master Logarius, led the Executioners in an assault on their home of Cainhurst Castle and slaughtered them to the man. Alas, their Queen proved immortal, and Logarius sealed her away with himself as the key. I seek to find my way to Cainhurst and complete Master Logarius' mission."

He looks down at the conclusion of his somber tale. You grin gigantically.

"Immortal bigwigs who feed on blood and live in a fancy castle?"

"Yes...?"

"HA! I thought I'd never get ta kill another fuckin' vampire, and here I meet a fellow vampire hunter outta fuckin' nowhere!"

"Vam-what?"

You march over to him and clap a hand on his shoulder.

"Alfred, lad, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Alfred looks like he wants no part of this beautiful friendship, but gives a nervous nod anyway, possibly due to being within arms' reach of a giant European man with a violence fetish.

"Yes, well, I certainly admire your enthusiasm. I'm certain the Church Hunters would appreciate having someone like you."

You can almost hear the record scratch. Now that you're this close, you can see the resemblances between Alfred's garb and that of Lumnia.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Alright, deep breaths. There's no need to be hasty, although there is certainly a want. There's no telling how far up the chain of command this guy is, and anyway, didn't Iosefka use to be a member of the Church? Goodness can arise from even the worst of places, like a mushroom of righteousness from the rotting skunk carcass of iniquity.

Odd. Why did you just get the mental image of Iosefka with a mushroom for a head?

Anyway, best to grill him for information anyway. Just until medium-rare, though, not well-done.

"You part o' the Church?"

"Technically. The Executioners joined with the Church when the latter was founded, serving as its martial force until the Church developed its own organization of Hunters. There hasn't been much demand for us since Logarius' crusade, and so those of us who remained afterwards just do odd jobs. Enforce a quarantine here, take down a runaway darkbeast there, that sort of thing. I'm sorry, but would you please stop touching me?"

"Sorry," you say as you remove your hand from his shoulder.

"Thank you. I'll admit to knowing little of the Church's ins-and-outs. If you want to no more, you can visit the Grand Cathedral, back the way you came. Assuming it's still open on a night of the Hunt, of course."

He's not lying, as far as you can tell. You ruefully shelve your many creative ideas about how to use that hammer on his unmentionables.

"You said you were from the 'Catholic' Church, correct?" he asks in return. "Where is that located?"

"Oh, nowhere nearby. I'm on whatcha might call a missionary trip."

"What's your church like?"

You warm up your proselytizin' muscles, only to remember that you've got a job to do.

"I'll tell ye more later. Right now, I've got me a cranky old man ta pull outta retirement for one last job."

His eyes flit from you to the large stone block, capped by a carved female figure, that occupies the middle of the first floor.

"You do realize how insane you sound right now, don't you? Old Yharnam is-"

"Yeah, yeah, full o' beasts. We've been over that. Doesn't change the fact that that's where I'm goin'."

He bites his lip.

"The only way for you to get down is to unseal the entrance. Someone would have to re-seal it after you went down and even if you managed to make it back, there's no way to remove the seal from within."

"No need ta reseal shit. Nothin's gonna get past me."

"And you expect me to just accept that? If the seal is removed, the beasts could pour in, and I'd expect the Hunters are already stretched thin dealing with the ones aboveground."

"Nothin' is gonna get past me."

He grits his teeth and matches your glare. This could be a complication.

[] Write in...

 

[Tricia]

Hang on a tick; you can teleport. Why don't you just do that? In fact, why don't you do it more often?

Well, probably because Maxwell started putting up flypaper after the desk incident. Since then, you've mostly just used it for dramatic entrances and going directly from your bed to the bathroom at night to avoid waking the kids.

"I've got a solution," you tell him. "We unseal it, then ye seal it again behind me. I can get back through on my own."

"And how will you do that? No misdirection, no trying to goad me into asking more questions. Explain."

You frown at his boring pragmatism and pull out a Bible. "I can do this."

As you materialize behind him amidst your swarm of pages, you file away the idea of papercutting the living shit out of people with this for later.

To your mild surprise, Alfred isn't as flustered as you'd expect someone who'd just witnessed one of your many insults to modern understanding of space and time to be.

"You can go through solid objects with that?"

"Aye, so long as there's enough room for a page ta slip in; I just need ta know how far ta go."

He nods. "Do you use a Hunter tool to do that? The Old Hunter's Bone allows one to move faster than the eye can follow, but I've never seen true teleportation."

Something new to ask Gehrman about; there's no need to extend this conversation any further. "Somethin' like that. Satisfied?"

"I suppose; so long as you're not putting anyone else in danger, there's no reason for me to stop your suicide mission. The entrance is hidden beneath that altar on the first floor."

"D'ye know how ta open it up?"

He looks rather guilty as he points to...of-fucking-course it's a goddamn lever.

"Ye've got a whole horde o' beasts down there. Ye go ta all the trouble o' sealin' the place off and ye put the key where any chucklefuck could open it?"

"Trust me, I'm with you on this."

"Ye could at least put some tape around it. A 'do not pull' sign, anythin' at all."

"I know, right?"

Well, you'll have plenty of time to gut and refurbish this place's infrastructure once you have the crazy guy and his gatling gun. You hop over the railing and make your way over to the altar. Alfred, who you're pretty sure agreed to all of this mostly as an excuse to have a slab of rock between you and him, pulls the lever at your signal. The altar slides backwards (not on any sort of rails or with any visible connection to the lever, of course), revealing a forgotten stairwell.

"Be back in a bit, Al."

"Please don't call me that."

"So long as ye don't call me 'Betty.'"

"What?"

You're barely halfway down before the altar slides back into place. Perplexingly, your way is still lit. You find the culprits, a large group of statues holding candles, at the bottom of the stairs, girding another room with the omnipresent circular patterns on the floor. How are these things still lit?

Apparently, for as far behind as Yharnam is in most respects, they're on the cutting edge of candle technology. Or maybe they just killed a shitload of whales.

Questions for later.

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