Which end?
Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)
- Thread starter Tricia
- Start date
Malaquez
[MUFFLED EUROBEAT]
- Location
- Singapore
Oh. there're multiple? Alright, the most likely one to happen here then, please.
Dantalion
Insight: 365
- Location
- A Guest Room at the Brass Embassy, dying of Frenzy
- Pronouns
- Any
Hunter takes down Corpsey McCagehattington, then Mergo's Wet Nurse. When he returns to the Hunter's Dream, the building is engulfed in flames, and the Doll informs him that Gehrman is waiting amongst the graves. The Hunter goes to Gehrman and either A: willingly submits to being decapitated by Gehrman only to wake up in the ruins of Yharnum, B: decide to fight Gehrman, beat him, then get turned into the new Keeper of the Hunter's Dream by the Moon Presence, or (if they got and consumed at least 3 thirds of an umbilical cord) C: fight Gehrman, beat Gehrman, fight the Moon Presence, beat the Moon Presence, and become a baby squid-god.
We're probably looking at one of the first two.
We're probably looking at one of the first two.
Malaquez
[MUFFLED EUROBEAT]
- Location
- Singapore
Alright, thanks dude.
Here's hoping that Anderson can pull a fourth ending out then. And oh man, isn't Gehrman the First Hunter? This is gonna be a tough fight.
NuclearNickel
smug.jpg
- Location
- Bootes Void
*PTSD intensifies*
YOU HAVE NO IDEA
Malaquez
[MUFFLED EUROBEAT]
- Location
- Singapore
Lemme go find a video of it real quick.
*watches*
*sees Gehrman teleport around with a bigass scythe and a shotgun*
We might have to tank some pretty heavy hits. That scythe looks nasty as fuck. That white pulse looks like something we can seal. I think.
As as side note, is Gehrman who Qrow was based off of?
Dantalion
Insight: 365
- Location
- A Guest Room at the Brass Embassy, dying of Frenzy
- Pronouns
- Any
Might've been some inspiration there. Though Qrow being a scythe user predated Gehrman, so at most it's the fighting style.
Eh.
Given that God interfered with the sword, I don't think the Moon Presence will have a very fun time of trying that.
Plus, well, we've also got Ebrietas as backup.
- Location
- A Place Miserably Bereft of Cats
You're forgetting that we still (presumably) have Helena's Nail.
I predict that when the Moon Presence shows up, Anderson is just going to go full Monster of God. But hey, that means we get to be eternal Ebrietas-buddies~
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PsyFarrow
Verified Necrodancer
- Location
- Space
Nope, this was covered already. Alucard tore it out of us along with our heart.
- Location
- Chicago
But then Anderson woke up in Yharnam, body whole, heart intact and present in his chest...
...as far as we know. Has Anderson, throughout this entire crazy adventure, ever taken the time to listen to his heartbeat?
What would he hear if he did that?
NitroFumetsu
Blaze of Glory
That's the tame version of the thought we've thunk.
The first thought was to tear our chest open to see if the heart is still there.
...your idea is 100% less stupid.
The first thought was to tear our chest open to see if the heart is still there.
...your idea is 100% less stupid.
- Location
- Chicago
Whelp, German's gonna be tearing Anderson's innards out with Visceral attacks anyways: may as well ask him to aim for the heart.
Entropy Judge
Recurring Bouts of Misanthropy
Hmm ....
'Course, if it's really important Anderson could probably go find a mirror or something and crack open his rib cage. :/
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
On the matter of the Nail, have we checked everywhere in our sleeves? That's where we usually keep them, after all.
Also there was that one bit when we picked up the Moonlight Greatsword and felt 'a scraping in (y)our chest, as though of writhing thorns.' That'd possibly indicate it's still there, just dormant sorta?
Also there was that one bit when we picked up the Moonlight Greatsword and felt 'a scraping in (y)our chest, as though of writhing thorns.' That'd possibly indicate it's still there, just dormant sorta?
Host of the Nightmare
As pale limbs go flying and Ebrietas piledrives her foe into the dirt, you concede that they have this under control. You snipe one of the fat blokes on principle and prepare to teleport to your destination. The last thing you see before you dissolve is a colossal bone paw, easily twice the size of Electromutt's, burst from the earth and discharge enough voltage to render Yharnam's formidable candle industry obsolete.
Yahar'gul takes shape around you and you jog towards the dead man, struggling to ignore the ever-increasing number of petrified corpses around you. Some cower, some remain stoic, and some creepy bastards actually look eager. Whatever shit went down here would have had the Spanish Inquisition flogging themselves to tamp down their massive erections.
There's no giant portal or creepy stream of dreamsmoke or anything else to signal that anything's changed in the man. Tapping his cage hat fails to produce any response, and neither does tapping various parts of it in quick succession to produce a reasonable facsimile of Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." When you grab his shoulder, however, the world goes sideways in that familiar transdimensional way and you tumble through the liminal space. It's a longer tumble than usual, so you take the time to ask the LORD's forgiveness for doubting your friends' abilities. This is probably a vacation for them after the Amygdala clusterfuck.
Rather than the screaming Hellscape you expected, you wake in a room that wouldn't be out of place in Byrgenwerth, a table of assorted scientific apparatuses sitting neglected in the corner. You flick the lantern to life and open the door to reveal the second floor of some great hall. The structure reminds you of Cainhurst's library, two long balconies connected by narrow bridges. Support columns dot the walkways and an ornate chandelier dangles between two of said bridges.
Of more immediate concern are the gelatinous figures shambling your way. They remind you vaguely of the snail-women from the Nightmare, though far less solid, and their graduation gowns suggest that you've found where the actual "School" of Mensis went. They lurch and moan and occasionally vomit, producing fond memories of your own college days.
As expected from graduates of an institution that clearly didn't devote much of its budget to the athletics program, none of them put up much of a fight, although you do enjoy watching them weeble-wobble back-and-forth when you clothesline them. The nearby Church Giant with flaming hands, whom you assume to be either an RA or a graduate student, doesn't seem put out by your advanced hazing but does enter the fray when you invade his personal space.
You almost feel bad for hurling him into the chandelier. It really tied the place together.
Your exploration doesn't take long; unlike the Cagehat Express, one set of doors has the decency to spew creepy smoke. When you open them, the world doesn't so much turn sideways as turn perpendicular to any known cardinal direction and drive a non-Euclidian boot up your ass. It takes you about a minute to pull your head back together, after which your double vision clears and takes in the cave made of screaming faces.
Either the Nightmares share landscapers or someone's a Goddamn plagiarist.
The sky outside is choked with clouds, the vaguest hints of fog pooling in a miniature facerock valley. A torch struggles to shine through it from higher up the slope; a combination of stealthy advancement and intense squinting show its holder to be a mangy, lanky werewolf-thing with exposed ribs and, unless your glasses have been warped by the unknowable forces they've been subjected to, a sideways face.
Rather than charge headlong at you, however, it scampers away and you quickly lose it among the tumorous outcroppings of facerocks that litter the grounds. You spot more of the things in the near distance, only for them to leg it as well. You frown, activating a nearby lantern without looking, and survey the area ahead of you. You have two paths before you, one of which looks like a dead end and the other of which leads to an ornate building on the horizon. Well, buildings, technically; the two structures are linked with bridges on various stories. Whoever made these places really liked the letter "H", apparently.
In addition to the wolf weirdos, you see shaggy giants along the path, humanoid-ish but lacking necks or any real facial features besides, in a bit of a change of pace, the standard number of eyes and mouths. They spot you too and offer friendly waves before turning back to their rocks; it looks as though they've devised some sort of primitive bowling with the rock outcroppings as pins. None of them move to accost you as you walk along, but do offer apologetic gestures when one of their rolls comes uncomfortably close.
You don't take it personally. Poor bastard got a 4-10 split; he's suffering enough.
You shove the massive doors open and step inside. Gigantic spiders quickly recede into the ceiling, leaving you alone in a massive foyer dotted with what are almost assuredly eyes. Neither the spiders nor any other denizens jump you when you walk deeper into the cavernous halls, stopping every few steps to watch your back.
"Come on, we all know the script," you say. "I fight my way through the cannon fodder, make a few quips, and then have a proper fight with whoever's in charge. Hasn't been a winnin' formula for you lot, but there's no need ta abandon tradition."
No response. You look up to see one of the spiders waving two of its legs back and forth in what you interpret as "don't want any trouble." You don't exactly have a good history with spiders tonight, but they don't want none, so there's no reason to start none.
You soon find yourself on one of the connecting walkways and enter the other half of the structure. Mist clings to the ground and carries the echoes of your footsteps through the open spaces with unnatural longevity. The whole thing is less "Victorian Castle" and more "Fuck Dungeon" than the other half.
Unfortunately for the thing that bumps into you, that's what you were thinking of at the time, leading you to reflexively decapitate it. You look down at the body, a shrunken thing in the shape of a masked man, and raise an eyebrow.
"Huh. Leprechauns. Knew this place was missin' somethin'."
Once you've confirmed that no fountain of cereal is forthcoming, you look up to see more of the things milling about, seemingly oblivious to either your presence or their dead comrade. Bigger versions of them actually try to accost you, but fail to slow you down. You do appreciate that someone has respect for proper procedure.
You find an elevator near the point where you run out of floor. Despite your best efforts, you can't see the bottom of the chasm and, when you throw an aggressive little shit with a crossbow and a jester hat into it, he makes no sound.
After an uneventful ride up, you step into the open air and promptly get attacked by a crow with a dog's head. This begs a number of uncomfortable questions, so you kill it and continue along the outer walkway. A group of four, including a dog with a crow's head, move to halt your progress, but are swiftly cowed by a pair of familiar feathery lumps yelling at them. You figure it's best to just roll with it.
"Thanks."
"Sqrk," they reply, puffing out their chests as best they can. They're still smaller than their stomachs, but it's the thought that counts.
You soon find your way back inside and make your way down a metal walkway. Scattered ceramic and metal bits gather together into marionettes, which bow and sweep their arms towards the archway leading further in. As they finish their gesture, what looks like a metal birdcage slowly slides into view from the side. After awhile, a mop of greasy black hair appears, followed by a pale, sunken face looking sideways at you. He frowns, points at you, points at the marionettes, counts on its fingers while mumbling something, and then steps out in front of you. He takes a deep breath and raises his finger straight up.
"You're new."
The scholarly robes confirm what his cage hat all but spelled out: this is the guy whose dream you're in. He furrows his brow, scrutinizing you, waiting for a response.
"Yep. And ye're the host." Your steel sings. "Means all I gotta do is kill ye ta fix this whole mess."
"Wait. Wait wait wait," he says, frantically waving his hands. "Hold on. Wait."
"Got friends outside dependin' on me. Haven't got time ta wait. Give me a reason."
"I have three." He raises the appropriate number of digits. "One is that killing me won't get rid of this place. I've tried. Two is that the time dilation between here and the outside world is somewhere around 3600 to 1. Hour to the second. And that's a conservative estimate. Three is that if you run headlong at the thing at the top of this building, she'll kill you and then we're both fucked."
You pause, frowning. "Killin' the host has worked out pretty well for me so far. Ye're the host. What am I missin'?"
"I've been demoted. Look, sit down, okay? I'll have the marionettes bring tea. All they're bloody good for, really. I'll answer what questions you have if you'll answer mine." He tries to run his fingers through his hair, only to wince when his fingertips hit the cage instead. "I'm Micolash. Pleasure to meet you."
[] Talk to him
-[] About?
[] Kill him
[] Write in...
Yahar'gul takes shape around you and you jog towards the dead man, struggling to ignore the ever-increasing number of petrified corpses around you. Some cower, some remain stoic, and some creepy bastards actually look eager. Whatever shit went down here would have had the Spanish Inquisition flogging themselves to tamp down their massive erections.
There's no giant portal or creepy stream of dreamsmoke or anything else to signal that anything's changed in the man. Tapping his cage hat fails to produce any response, and neither does tapping various parts of it in quick succession to produce a reasonable facsimile of Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." When you grab his shoulder, however, the world goes sideways in that familiar transdimensional way and you tumble through the liminal space. It's a longer tumble than usual, so you take the time to ask the LORD's forgiveness for doubting your friends' abilities. This is probably a vacation for them after the Amygdala clusterfuck.
Rather than the screaming Hellscape you expected, you wake in a room that wouldn't be out of place in Byrgenwerth, a table of assorted scientific apparatuses sitting neglected in the corner. You flick the lantern to life and open the door to reveal the second floor of some great hall. The structure reminds you of Cainhurst's library, two long balconies connected by narrow bridges. Support columns dot the walkways and an ornate chandelier dangles between two of said bridges.
Of more immediate concern are the gelatinous figures shambling your way. They remind you vaguely of the snail-women from the Nightmare, though far less solid, and their graduation gowns suggest that you've found where the actual "School" of Mensis went. They lurch and moan and occasionally vomit, producing fond memories of your own college days.
As expected from graduates of an institution that clearly didn't devote much of its budget to the athletics program, none of them put up much of a fight, although you do enjoy watching them weeble-wobble back-and-forth when you clothesline them. The nearby Church Giant with flaming hands, whom you assume to be either an RA or a graduate student, doesn't seem put out by your advanced hazing but does enter the fray when you invade his personal space.
You almost feel bad for hurling him into the chandelier. It really tied the place together.
Your exploration doesn't take long; unlike the Cagehat Express, one set of doors has the decency to spew creepy smoke. When you open them, the world doesn't so much turn sideways as turn perpendicular to any known cardinal direction and drive a non-Euclidian boot up your ass. It takes you about a minute to pull your head back together, after which your double vision clears and takes in the cave made of screaming faces.
Either the Nightmares share landscapers or someone's a Goddamn plagiarist.
The sky outside is choked with clouds, the vaguest hints of fog pooling in a miniature facerock valley. A torch struggles to shine through it from higher up the slope; a combination of stealthy advancement and intense squinting show its holder to be a mangy, lanky werewolf-thing with exposed ribs and, unless your glasses have been warped by the unknowable forces they've been subjected to, a sideways face.
Rather than charge headlong at you, however, it scampers away and you quickly lose it among the tumorous outcroppings of facerocks that litter the grounds. You spot more of the things in the near distance, only for them to leg it as well. You frown, activating a nearby lantern without looking, and survey the area ahead of you. You have two paths before you, one of which looks like a dead end and the other of which leads to an ornate building on the horizon. Well, buildings, technically; the two structures are linked with bridges on various stories. Whoever made these places really liked the letter "H", apparently.
In addition to the wolf weirdos, you see shaggy giants along the path, humanoid-ish but lacking necks or any real facial features besides, in a bit of a change of pace, the standard number of eyes and mouths. They spot you too and offer friendly waves before turning back to their rocks; it looks as though they've devised some sort of primitive bowling with the rock outcroppings as pins. None of them move to accost you as you walk along, but do offer apologetic gestures when one of their rolls comes uncomfortably close.
You don't take it personally. Poor bastard got a 4-10 split; he's suffering enough.
You shove the massive doors open and step inside. Gigantic spiders quickly recede into the ceiling, leaving you alone in a massive foyer dotted with what are almost assuredly eyes. Neither the spiders nor any other denizens jump you when you walk deeper into the cavernous halls, stopping every few steps to watch your back.
"Come on, we all know the script," you say. "I fight my way through the cannon fodder, make a few quips, and then have a proper fight with whoever's in charge. Hasn't been a winnin' formula for you lot, but there's no need ta abandon tradition."
No response. You look up to see one of the spiders waving two of its legs back and forth in what you interpret as "don't want any trouble." You don't exactly have a good history with spiders tonight, but they don't want none, so there's no reason to start none.
You soon find yourself on one of the connecting walkways and enter the other half of the structure. Mist clings to the ground and carries the echoes of your footsteps through the open spaces with unnatural longevity. The whole thing is less "Victorian Castle" and more "Fuck Dungeon" than the other half.
Unfortunately for the thing that bumps into you, that's what you were thinking of at the time, leading you to reflexively decapitate it. You look down at the body, a shrunken thing in the shape of a masked man, and raise an eyebrow.
"Huh. Leprechauns. Knew this place was missin' somethin'."
Once you've confirmed that no fountain of cereal is forthcoming, you look up to see more of the things milling about, seemingly oblivious to either your presence or their dead comrade. Bigger versions of them actually try to accost you, but fail to slow you down. You do appreciate that someone has respect for proper procedure.
You find an elevator near the point where you run out of floor. Despite your best efforts, you can't see the bottom of the chasm and, when you throw an aggressive little shit with a crossbow and a jester hat into it, he makes no sound.
After an uneventful ride up, you step into the open air and promptly get attacked by a crow with a dog's head. This begs a number of uncomfortable questions, so you kill it and continue along the outer walkway. A group of four, including a dog with a crow's head, move to halt your progress, but are swiftly cowed by a pair of familiar feathery lumps yelling at them. You figure it's best to just roll with it.
"Thanks."
"Sqrk," they reply, puffing out their chests as best they can. They're still smaller than their stomachs, but it's the thought that counts.
You soon find your way back inside and make your way down a metal walkway. Scattered ceramic and metal bits gather together into marionettes, which bow and sweep their arms towards the archway leading further in. As they finish their gesture, what looks like a metal birdcage slowly slides into view from the side. After awhile, a mop of greasy black hair appears, followed by a pale, sunken face looking sideways at you. He frowns, points at you, points at the marionettes, counts on its fingers while mumbling something, and then steps out in front of you. He takes a deep breath and raises his finger straight up.
"You're new."
The scholarly robes confirm what his cage hat all but spelled out: this is the guy whose dream you're in. He furrows his brow, scrutinizing you, waiting for a response.
"Yep. And ye're the host." Your steel sings. "Means all I gotta do is kill ye ta fix this whole mess."
"Wait. Wait wait wait," he says, frantically waving his hands. "Hold on. Wait."
"Got friends outside dependin' on me. Haven't got time ta wait. Give me a reason."
"I have three." He raises the appropriate number of digits. "One is that killing me won't get rid of this place. I've tried. Two is that the time dilation between here and the outside world is somewhere around 3600 to 1. Hour to the second. And that's a conservative estimate. Three is that if you run headlong at the thing at the top of this building, she'll kill you and then we're both fucked."
You pause, frowning. "Killin' the host has worked out pretty well for me so far. Ye're the host. What am I missin'?"
"I've been demoted. Look, sit down, okay? I'll have the marionettes bring tea. All they're bloody good for, really. I'll answer what questions you have if you'll answer mine." He tries to run his fingers through his hair, only to wince when his fingertips hit the cage instead. "I'm Micolash. Pleasure to meet you."
[] Talk to him
-[] About?
[] Kill him
[] Write in...
Last edited:
Thanatos757
Captain of the Four Knights
[X] Make Nicholas Cage puns
reborn214
Deep in thought
- Location
- California
Micolash is telling the truth unfortunately on the killing him part. The time dilation is a bit iffy on that.
The thing about hosts is that they host something. Micolash hosts Mergo. Maria hosts Kos. Gherman hosts well Flora.
Killing the host doesn't change much because the main backer Great one still exists. They can always acquire a new host. We killed Kos to end the Nightmare not Maria.
But honestly I doubt killing him would be much of a lose, Mergo is a lot less scary than Kos.
Pretty sure that was Willem, who was already mercy killed.
- Location
- Hyperborea
[X] Talk to him
-[X] First, introduce yourself properly.
-[X] Ask about him trying to kill himself to get rid of the place.
-[X] Ask about what is at the top of the building.
-[X] Make Nicholas Cage puns.
Yeah, he is surprisingly spry for a one legged multi-centenarian.