"I'm a bit curious now, ta be honest. Any other memorable Hunters ye've met?"
He rubs his chin thoughtfully, looking down and to the right in the classic thinking pose.
"There was Ludwig, back in the day. He was one of the first to use Laurence's designs. Not entirely sure what happened to him. Irreverent Izzy, that's a name I won't soon forget. She was probably the best Hunter to ever come out of Loran. She actually fought with weapons she made out of undead beast bones, hand-to-hand with monsters thrice her size. Hundreds of scars and a story for every one.
"I've mentioned Djura; he and his associates could do magic with gunpowder. Of course, they experimented with a bit more enthusiasm than was prudent. Had some issues with turnover."
He makes another microscopic adjustment to the gem tool.
"It's been a long time, I think, since we've had anyone pass through. Can't exactly tell from here. I think I told you before that the Church forbade the contract, and since the majority of Hunters operate through the Church, well..." He shrugs.
That Izzy sounds like your kind of woman, although you'd prefer "reverent" to the current prefix. But then, nobody's a perfect 10 except the LORD. There's one other bit of curiosity to satisfy before you leave, though.
"Jus' one more question, then."
"Oh?"
"Ye've built all these fancy weapons, so why haven't ye tricked out that wheelchair? Some treads or turrets would be fuckin' awesome."
The old man adopts a grim expression, broadens his shoulders, and rises to his full (seated) height.
"It doesn't need anything like that. It's got me on it."
He holds that expression for about four seconds before breaking out into laughter. "I've been meaning to, but it's easy to put things off until tomorrow when you've got this many tomorrows to choose from. Plus, I don't really want to break these weapons down for parts. Sentimental value." He turns to wheel his way back towards the garden, chuckling. "Enjoy the rest of the evening, Father."
You wave goodbye and make your way down to the line of graves. You're probably still not 100%, but you've got work to do.
Hope bows when you pass and you reciprocate.
"Farewell, Hunter Anderson. Good fortune on your journey."
You kneel at the bottom-most grave and, as before, find yourself in the sparsely-lit expanse of nothing. You note the two new lanterns and make your way over; the first conjures the image of the graveyard in your mind, while the second shows Eileen, Iosefka, and the girls huddled around the chapel's corresponding lantern. You grasp that scene and breathe in the heavy air of Yharnam.
Multiple sets of arms move to help you sit up from the cold stone floor. Iosefka breathes an audible sigh of relief.
"I told you there was nothing to worry about, Doctor," Eileen says, her mask unable to entirely contain the undertone of smugness. Iosefka gives her a glare Hippocrates wouldn't approve of and then turns back to you.
"What in the world happened, Father?"
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