You know what? You've had a busy, productive day. Why not take your time and smell the roses on your way to the crossing? Keeping royalty waiting may be a faux pas, but so is stabbing them repeatedly in the face. Might as well go all the way.
As you stroll your way down the incline towards what looks like the center of activity, you chuckle to yourself at Simon's blown opportunity for loot scroungin'. His loss.
What structures you see can charitably be described as ramshackle, wood and stone smashed together into asymmetrical shapes that look poised to collapse at the slightest provocation. Carts piled high with bodies dot the center of activity as women mill about, inhuming and dissecting and doing all the things with corpses that general society finds acceptable. It strikes you as a sort of boomtown, only with Yharnam's surplus of dead people instead of oil.
Fair play to them, they found a niche and they've taken advantage.
"Evenin'!" you call as you step into the plaza. "I'm new in town and was wonderin' if any of ye fine ladies would mind givin' me a tour."
Things stop dead for a moment, after which the fine ladies in question shriek and charge you in entirely predictable fashion. You suppose that if they want to make more work for their friends, that's their business.
Once you've finished thrashing them, you toss aside the limp body you utilized in said thrashing and try to pick out which buildings are homes. The majority span the funereal continuum, crematorium belching smoke and organ storage reeking of overused formaldehyde, but you do find a few that sport the familiar incense burner. It's not until the third one you knock on that you get a response.
"Oh ho ho, does the beast expect charity? Lie among the bones and accept your fate," a voice rasps before launching into mocking laughter.
"Well that's rude," you say. "I was just lookin' for directions ta the crossin'."
"Oh," the voice replies, much more chipper than before, "why didn't you just say so? Just keep heading uphill; it's past the gate. Can't miss it."
"Mighty kind, thanks."
"Of course! Sorry about the monologue, it's kind of a tradition around here."
"Nah, I getcha. Have a good evenin'."
"You, too!"
What a nice man.
You trudge your way up the slope, short-circuiting a couple of well-placed ambushes by way of excessive force. A firebomb manages to set your pants on fire and you trip over a very tasteful plaque at one point, but the journey is fairly relaxing overall.
Partway there, a wispy, lanky figure bears down on you with a languid stride. Its empty eyes track your movements and when it gets within a handful of meters, it launches itself at you with furious abandon. You trade hits, its sickles burying themselves in the meat of your shoulders as you impale it through the belly, and it dissolves in the rank breeze. When no sneak attacks are forthcoming, you continue your climb until you reach said gate and pummel the Igor guarding it.
There's a lever behind it. You teleport through the bars and kick it relentlessly for about a minute.
While cathartic, your episode draws the attention of two hulking axemen and a veritable conga line of pissed-off biddies with farming implements. The one in the lead, wielding what looks like a red-hot trowel on a stick. screeches as she charges in. You back up into the gate, limiting their avenues of approach, and smile as the trailing women hang back so as not to crowd their teammates.
This makes it quite simple for you to smack them into next week with your club. You even manage to belt a line drive directly into one of the axemen, who staggers back a couple of steps before re-establishing his footing. With a grin, you store the club back in your sleeves and wave the pair on.
"I'm in a good mood, so I'm gonna make this a little easier for ye. Come an' get it."
They have slightly better coordination than their fellows, as it turns out. One surges forward from the right with an overhead swing, herding you into the other's diagonal chop. Lefty's reach works against him, though, as you step inside and drive your fist into his unarmored face. Several important things crack, loosening his grip on the axe, and you yank it from his hands with a flourish that buries the blade halfway through his neck. A quick pivot puts the corpse between you and Righty's next swing, which leaves his axe lodged in the dead man's belly.
He takes his eyes off of you for a moment to try to wrench it free and you bulldoze him to the ground with a double leg takedown. A quick hop puts you in full mount, where you slam home elbows until he runs out of face for you to break.
Once you've wiped the viscera from your sleeves, you spot the signpost that seems to signify the crossing. Before you go there, though, you take the time to scale a nearby rock face and explore a set of stables. Sadly, they seem to contain no live horses, and neither the angry women or the spiky dogs within seem keen on being ridden. At least the roof gives a lovely view of the lake.
Hang on, shouldn't the horses get their own graves? It's not like there's a fucking shortage of them.
[] Wait at the crossing
[] Check out that building at the top of the hill
[] Write in...
