- Pronouns
- He/Him
Can we try this?
Anderson Quest: Killing Vampires and Werewolves and Leprechauns (Hellsing/Bloodborne)
- Thread starter Tricia
- Start date
- Location
- the Moon
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Even Maria?
[X] Yeah. Yer good. No question 'bout that. Yer the legend in whose footsteps they all follow, an' fer damn good reason. But y'know, ye remind me of someone I fought once. Was the last fight I had before I came here, actually. And if it hadn't been for you, it would been the last fight I had, period. S'pose I should get around to thankin' ye fer that at some point.
-[X] See, this motherfucker was, is I suppose since the protestant bastard won, the Monster of Monsters, the perfect nightmare that all the bloodsuckers and beasts of my world wanna be when they grow up. Fighting him when he went all out...it was like trying ta turn back tha tide.
-[X] And ya know what? I gave that fighteverything I had, I pulled out every trick I had, I fought until I had nothing left but the soul I was born with and I gave that too so I could strike him with the bloody Wrath of Heaven. Because that's who I am. Hunter. I may bleed, I may break but I ain't givin up until I am dead or the Job's done.
--[X] Hopefully he's done the polite thing and listened to you monologue, giving you time to regenerate.
[X] Fight defensively. You can regenerate, he can't. There's a time limit on this battle, and it's in your favor. Focus on keeping yourself intact, attack only when its safe, lay traps or preparations when it's not. Throw bayonets, and don't worry if they miss - every missed shot with an explosive bayonet is just a newly-planted mine you can lead him over later in the fight. Tank attacks with your holy armor if you can't dodge. Set up quickly made wards to keep your distance. If you get the chance, teleport away to give yourself some space and spam bayonets while laying traps. Fight dirty, hit him with surprise attacks whenever possible and pull out whatever dirty tricks you can think of. If you get the chance, catch him off guard with the Amygdalan Arm - you're pretty sure he doesn't know about that one.
-[X] Maybe try to get some holy water in that chest wound of his.
[X] Yeah. Yer good. No question 'bout that. Yer the legend in whose footsteps they all follow, an' fer damn good reason. But y'know, ye remind me of someone I fought once. Was the last fight I had before I came here, actually. And if it hadn't been for you, it would been the last fight I had, period. S'pose I should get around to thankin' ye fer that at some point.
-[X] See, this motherfucker was, is I suppose since the protestant bastard won, the Monster of Monsters, the perfect nightmare that all the bloodsuckers and beasts of my world wanna be when they grow up. Fighting him when he went all out...it was like trying ta turn back tha tide.
-[X] And ya know what? I gave that fighteverything I had, I pulled out every trick I had, I fought until I had nothing left but the soul I was born with and I gave that too so I could strike him with the bloody Wrath of Heaven. Because that's who I am. Hunter. I may bleed, I may break but I ain't givin up until I am dead or the Job's done.
--[X] Hopefully he's done the polite thing and listened to you monologue, giving you time to regenerate.
[X] Fight defensively. You can regenerate, he can't. There's a time limit on this battle, and it's in your favor. Focus on keeping yourself intact, attack only when its safe, lay traps or preparations when it's not. Throw bayonets, and don't worry if they miss - every missed shot with an explosive bayonet is just a newly-planted mine you can lead him over later in the fight. Tank attacks with your holy armor if you can't dodge. Set up quickly made wards to keep your distance. If you get the chance, teleport away to give yourself some space and spam bayonets while laying traps. Fight dirty, hit him with surprise attacks whenever possible and pull out whatever dirty tricks you can think of. If you get the chance, catch him off guard with the Amygdalan Arm - you're pretty sure he doesn't know about that one.
-[X] Maybe try to get some holy water in that chest wound of his.
WinterLantern
Smoked bird
- Location
- North England
Dammit, missed the deadline. So who won? How are we bullying the old man?
Anderson would LOVE to be nothing more then a weapon of war.
But only one of God's. Anyone else's would be completely and utterly meaningless to him.
Higure
Witch of Faith
- Location
- The Golden Land
To be used for any other cause than God's...I think we'd find out if a Bayonet can turn upon its wielder.
Dantalion
Insight: 365
- Location
- A Guest Room at the Brass Embassy, dying of Frenzy
- Pronouns
- Any
Rather looks like it is, from here.
ATTRITION BATTLE
Flechette storm: 30% damage, 5% major damage, 5% grievous damage
Bayonet mines: 30% damage, 10% major damage
Dirty fighting: 25% damage, 5% major damage
Holy water SPLASH ATTACK: 30%
Gehrman onslaught: 35% damage, 10% major damage, 15% grievous damage
Gehrman ???: 40% damage, 10% major damage, 5% grievous damage
Writin~
Flechette storm: 30% damage, 5% major damage, 5% grievous damage
Bayonet mines: 30% damage, 10% major damage
Dirty fighting: 25% damage, 5% major damage
Holy water SPLASH ATTACK: 30%
Gehrman onslaught: 35% damage, 10% major damage, 15% grievous damage
Gehrman ???: 40% damage, 10% major damage, 5% grievous damage
Writin~
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
I've always wondered: what if all the rolls fail so none of the conditions you just outlined trigger?
Dantalion
Insight: 365
- Location
- A Guest Room at the Brass Embassy, dying of Frenzy
- Pronouns
- Any
An interpretive dance-off.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, here goes.
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
vs. Gehrman, the First Hunter: End of Watch
You press a nostril shut and loose a spray of blood from the other, which has the unfortunate side effect of causing your left eye to swell. Bastard cracked your orbital with that last slam. Time to crack something more important of his.
"Even Maria?"
You've seen anger, confusion, regret, and even genuine misery on Gehrman's face before, but never abject loathing. You swear the grips of both the black blade and his blunderbuss start to splinter in his hands. He marches towards you not with the carefree swagger of before, but with the dispassion of the hangman.
"Yeah, ye're good. No question about that. Ye're the legend in whose footsteps they all follow and for damn good reason. But, y'know, ye remind me-"
Gehrman slams into you with freight train thunder, his strikes slamming into your ward armor with newfound venom. It's not just whatever juice he's on; his grunts have become bellows, his shoeshine flurries full-on barrages that have your bones creaking as the armor bends and shudders beneath it.
He was fighting to beat you. Now he's fighting to break you.
You leap back, leap to the sides, dash through flames in an effort to keep him at range, hurling bayonets in groups of four or eight. He blurs past them, using the same freak bursts of speed Maria used to great effect, and continues laying into you. He's so devoted to offense that he doesn't notice the fuses on the bayonets he dodged, even when you corral him into them. Those reflexes save him from severe damage, but the explosion is still enough to strip a good chunk of flesh and muscle from his good leg. He flat-out refuses to acknowledge the wound, instead glaring at you.
"See this motherfucker was-is, I suppose, since the Protestant bastard won, the Monster o' Monsters, the perfect-"
"Shut UP."
"Oh, NOW ye don't want me ta talk."
He pistol-whips you hard enough to send teeth flying, then fires a slash that sends the bayonet you block it with partway through your neck. You try to slam a knee into his groin, but he intercepts it with his shin and sends one back that, were it not for your armor, would probably have ended the fight immediately. It's the sort of knee that speaks of countless testicles, both human and monstrous, mercilessly obliterated in his pursuit of the picture-perfect cheap shot. Maybe the fact that none of the beasts you saw had any external genitals was a necessary adaptation.
The field is basically all fire and leftover bayonets at this point, licking at your armor and crisping the exposed flesh of Gehrman's damaged leg. He smashes aside your attempted holy water toss regardless, somehow compensating for necessary muscle fibers with sheer determination. When you once again leap out of the way of his attack and send a volley of bayonets in return, he takes to the sky and seems to hover for one precious moment, rearing back as his cape smolders behind him. As the edge of his blade sends a line of wind screaming towards you, you plant your feet and answer with a fresh storm of blessed steel.
Your armor finally breaks beneath the blast, which re-opens your chest wounds and takes you off your feet. The force was enough to put out a sizable chunk of fire, thankfully, so you're only scraping off bits of burnt flower as you scramble up and grumble.
"Why does everyone know how ta do the sword beam except me?!"
No quip, no grunt, no invective comes back. You look towards the base of the blast's comet tail to see Gehrman pawing feebly at the bayonet that's punched clean through his neck. The old man stumbles, forces himself to stay upright for a handful of moments before his legs finally give out on him. He goes down face-first in the ash, bleeding freely and murmuring something you can't quite hear. You walk forward and kneel beside him as his murmurs grow fainter, leaning in until you can finally make them out.
"Thank you. I'm sorry."
Light consumes the First Hunter's body, leaving behind only a cross you once sent to someone who needed a friend.
Before you can even process this, your own body begins to lose solidity amongst the flames. Panic sends your mind into overdrive and the answer soon becomes apparent. Gehrman summoned you. When the summoner dies, the person they summoned goes back to their body. But you don't have a body to go back to. Struck with indecision as to whether to rage or accept your fate, you watch yourself dissipate piece-by-piece.
connection stabilized. outsider remains useful.
Then, all of a sudden, you're not.
You look up to see a gaunt alien creature descending from the moon, countless tentacles streaming from its masked face. It touches down on all fours with grace, heedless of the bloodied line of exposed ribs running along its elongated torso, and fixes you with what appears to be an appraising stare. When you fill your hands once again, it raises its own clawed forelimb palm-out.
cease aggression. request conversation.
[] Talk
[] Fight
"Even Maria?"
You've seen anger, confusion, regret, and even genuine misery on Gehrman's face before, but never abject loathing. You swear the grips of both the black blade and his blunderbuss start to splinter in his hands. He marches towards you not with the carefree swagger of before, but with the dispassion of the hangman.
"Yeah, ye're good. No question about that. Ye're the legend in whose footsteps they all follow and for damn good reason. But, y'know, ye remind me-"
Gehrman slams into you with freight train thunder, his strikes slamming into your ward armor with newfound venom. It's not just whatever juice he's on; his grunts have become bellows, his shoeshine flurries full-on barrages that have your bones creaking as the armor bends and shudders beneath it.
He was fighting to beat you. Now he's fighting to break you.
You leap back, leap to the sides, dash through flames in an effort to keep him at range, hurling bayonets in groups of four or eight. He blurs past them, using the same freak bursts of speed Maria used to great effect, and continues laying into you. He's so devoted to offense that he doesn't notice the fuses on the bayonets he dodged, even when you corral him into them. Those reflexes save him from severe damage, but the explosion is still enough to strip a good chunk of flesh and muscle from his good leg. He flat-out refuses to acknowledge the wound, instead glaring at you.
"See this motherfucker was-is, I suppose, since the Protestant bastard won, the Monster o' Monsters, the perfect-"
"Shut UP."
"Oh, NOW ye don't want me ta talk."
He pistol-whips you hard enough to send teeth flying, then fires a slash that sends the bayonet you block it with partway through your neck. You try to slam a knee into his groin, but he intercepts it with his shin and sends one back that, were it not for your armor, would probably have ended the fight immediately. It's the sort of knee that speaks of countless testicles, both human and monstrous, mercilessly obliterated in his pursuit of the picture-perfect cheap shot. Maybe the fact that none of the beasts you saw had any external genitals was a necessary adaptation.
The field is basically all fire and leftover bayonets at this point, licking at your armor and crisping the exposed flesh of Gehrman's damaged leg. He smashes aside your attempted holy water toss regardless, somehow compensating for necessary muscle fibers with sheer determination. When you once again leap out of the way of his attack and send a volley of bayonets in return, he takes to the sky and seems to hover for one precious moment, rearing back as his cape smolders behind him. As the edge of his blade sends a line of wind screaming towards you, you plant your feet and answer with a fresh storm of blessed steel.
Your armor finally breaks beneath the blast, which re-opens your chest wounds and takes you off your feet. The force was enough to put out a sizable chunk of fire, thankfully, so you're only scraping off bits of burnt flower as you scramble up and grumble.
"Why does everyone know how ta do the sword beam except me?!"
No quip, no grunt, no invective comes back. You look towards the base of the blast's comet tail to see Gehrman pawing feebly at the bayonet that's punched clean through his neck. The old man stumbles, forces himself to stay upright for a handful of moments before his legs finally give out on him. He goes down face-first in the ash, bleeding freely and murmuring something you can't quite hear. You walk forward and kneel beside him as his murmurs grow fainter, leaning in until you can finally make them out.
"Thank you. I'm sorry."
Light consumes the First Hunter's body, leaving behind only a cross you once sent to someone who needed a friend.
PREY SLAUGHTERED
Before you can even process this, your own body begins to lose solidity amongst the flames. Panic sends your mind into overdrive and the answer soon becomes apparent. Gehrman summoned you. When the summoner dies, the person they summoned goes back to their body. But you don't have a body to go back to. Struck with indecision as to whether to rage or accept your fate, you watch yourself dissipate piece-by-piece.
connection stabilized. outsider remains useful.
Then, all of a sudden, you're not.
You look up to see a gaunt alien creature descending from the moon, countless tentacles streaming from its masked face. It touches down on all fours with grace, heedless of the bloodied line of exposed ribs running along its elongated torso, and fixes you with what appears to be an appraising stare. When you fill your hands once again, it raises its own clawed forelimb palm-out.
cease aggression. request conversation.
[] Talk
[] Fight
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Wow...
[X] Talk
[X] Talk
LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
[X] Talk
- Location
- Elsewhere
Hmm...I think it's exactly the same situation as the old man. We either take the first hunter's place or fight.
On one hand, taking Gehrman's place is proooobably HERESY of the highest order.
On the other hand, we are too wounded to keep fighting.
Ahh...shit.
On one hand, taking Gehrman's place is proooobably HERESY of the highest order.
On the other hand, we are too wounded to keep fighting.
Ahh...shit.
See my smile
Life...Life never Changes.
- Location
- The Commonwealth
[X] Talk
Uh yeah let's talk. Talking seems like a good plan here.
Uh yeah let's talk. Talking seems like a good plan here.
Also:
Excellent callback, Tricia.
Goddamn, that... that was something.
Excellent callback, Tricia.
AnonymousRabbit
Rabbit Faced
[X] Talk
