Zeroth Jupi
Sporadic Writer and Haver of Ideas
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X] Head with Walter and Alucard on their trip back their HQ in London.
Henryk Quest: Guilt-Free Nazi Beast Slaying (Bloodborne/Hellsing: the Dawn)
- Thread starter colesign
- Start date
-
- Tags
- bloodborne hellsing spin-off
Usernames
Merc gonna merc ya
[X] Convince them to do something crazy.... Empty the city.
-[X] You probably wont be able to save everyone but if you can gather enough vehicles and gather the civilians and remaining soldiers you might be able to break through the initial lines, preferably with a bit of help.
--[X] Make the formation with soldiers on the outside with the heaviest and most armored vehicles in the front and back with lighter ones on the side.
---[X] Tell Alucard that, if she helps us with this.... We will do her one thing that is within pur power that doesn't conflict with our oaths as a Hunter.
---[X] Offer to teach Walter a few tricks if we survive, you are pretty sure you could teach him a bit.
-[X] You probably wont be able to save everyone but if you can gather enough vehicles and gather the civilians and remaining soldiers you might be able to break through the initial lines, preferably with a bit of help.
--[X] Make the formation with soldiers on the outside with the heaviest and most armored vehicles in the front and back with lighter ones on the side.
---[X] Tell Alucard that, if she helps us with this.... We will do her one thing that is within pur power that doesn't conflict with our oaths as a Hunter.
---[X] Offer to teach Walter a few tricks if we survive, you are pretty sure you could teach him a bit.
- Location
- Indiana
[X] Convince them to do something crazy.... Empty the city.
-[X] You probably wont be able to save everyone but if you can gather enough vehicles and gather the civilians and remaining soldiers you might be able to break through the initial lines, preferably with a bit of help.
--[X] Make the formation with soldiers on the outside with the heaviest and most armored vehicles in the front and back with lighter ones on the side.
---[X] Tell Alucard that, if she helps us with this.... We will do her one thing that is within pur power that doesn't conflict with our oaths as a Hunter.
---[X] Offer to teach Walter a few tricks if we survive, you are pretty sure you could teach him a bit.
[jk] grumble about young people making a poor old gentleman do work after the work he just finish.
-[X] You probably wont be able to save everyone but if you can gather enough vehicles and gather the civilians and remaining soldiers you might be able to break through the initial lines, preferably with a bit of help.
--[X] Make the formation with soldiers on the outside with the heaviest and most armored vehicles in the front and back with lighter ones on the side.
---[X] Tell Alucard that, if she helps us with this.... We will do her one thing that is within pur power that doesn't conflict with our oaths as a Hunter.
---[X] Offer to teach Walter a few tricks if we survive, you are pretty sure you could teach him a bit.
[jk] grumble about young people making a poor old gentleman do work after the work he just finish.
Amateurs Talk Tactics...
- Location
- Chicago
You loosen the ties of your cowl and take a deep breath of the morning air.
"Are you sure that Warsaw is doomed?" You ask ALucard.
"Like I said," Alucard grunts. "I know a doomed siege when I see it." She gestures towards the smoke-wreathed city in the distance. "Warsaw's surrounded by German regiments and forts in three directions and hemmed off by the Reds on the eastern side of the river. They're running out of food and water and ammo and the allied airdrops keep landing off target." She shakes her head. "I give it two, maybe three months before Warsaw's forced to surrender."
Wiltold clenches his teeth in anger, but he doesn't deny or object to Alucard's words. Which probably means he's telling the truth, dammit.
It's strange, you think to yourself. You've just carved your way through a small army of men and monsters, slain fearsome foes and walked away from a fiery Zeppelin crash. You know how to handle the supernatural…
But you have no idea whatsoever how to save a dying city. Shameful to admit, but an old buzzard like you is as helpless as a newborn babe when it comes to the movement of armies and the science of statecraft.
...but dammit, there ought to be something…!
"What if we evacuated the city?" You ask.
Captain Roman blinks. "What?" He says.
"You heard me," you say, digging in your metaphorical heels at the incredulous tone in Captain Roman's voice. "If the city is doomed, why not try to break the siege while you still have the strength? Gather up all the civilians and soldiers and armor vehicles you've got and break through the weakest point in the enemy's lines…"
Captain Roman stares at you with a half-horrified look on his face. "That's…" He buries his face in his hands. "Alucard, could you explain it for me?"
Alucard's sighs and turns to face you. "I'm guessing you've never seen a city under siege, Henryk," she says to you gently.
"Don't get snippy with me, woman," you growl. "I've done my time as a soldier…"
"But I doubt you were ever a general," Alucard says bluntly. "There's nearly a million people in Warsaw right now. Adults, kids, civilians, soldiers...are you really going to make them all pack up and run through lines of tanks and machine guns and barbed wire?"
"...I know they won't all make it," you admit, hating how mealy-mouthed your words sound. "But we could get the armed fighters to spearhead the charge–use heavier armored vehicles to spearhead the charge and keep the lighter ones on the sides. If we do that, we should be able to get some of the civilians out of the city…"
"And then what?" Alucard asks. "Where will you take these starving refugees? North towards the Baltic Sea? South to get massacred by paramilitary nationalist groups? West, towards the heartland of Germany? Would you have them make the march on foot? How would you feed them all? How would you keep the armored vehicles fueled? How would you hold off the pursuing German Forces coming up from the rear?"
You clench your teeth. "What about going east?" you ask Alucard. "You said that the Reds are close by."
"True. That's true." Alucard's lips press together in a brief sneer. "If you wrangled all the city residents and sent them fleeing towards Soviet lines, they'd probably survive. 'Course, the Commissars will probably execute Wiltold and his Home Army buddies for counter-revolutionary sedition…"
You rub your temples with your fingers to banish your growing headache: "What's your point?"
Alucard shakes her head ruefully: "The point is that your plan's not going to work, gramps. It's not your fault: you're just not familiar with war tech in this era…"
"So the hell what?" You snap. "Blessed Blood: I know I'm not a general! I know I'm not familiar with the countries and borders and landmarks in this blasted world? I'm not the one who should be trying to solve this problem!"
You point a trembling finger towards the ancient centuries-old vampire clad in the guise of a teenage girl. "So stop slacking off, you ingrate!"
Alucard goes very, very still. "Pardon?" She asks.
"I've seen what you can do," you tell Alucard. "I've seen you pull blood armies out of your rear. I've heard you talk about your past lives as a general. If you wanted to save Warsaw, you could do it...or at least you'd have a better chance of doing it than the rest of us!"
"...maybe," Alucard says, a dull look in her eyes. "So? Why should I care?"
You say nothing.
Walter sighs loudly and slaps his hands against his knees. "You're barking up the wrong tree, old sport," he says to you. "Saving lives? Might as well ask Alucard to switch to a vegan diet…."
"Walter," Alucard says with the utmost calm. "Just shut the f**k up for a second, alright? Grown folks are talking."
Walter's face goes beet-red with a mixture of anger and shock. Still he holds his tongue.
Wiltold and Rosa stand by in silence and watch the monster and monster hunter debate over the fate of their homeland. They hold each other's hands in a white-knuckled grip.
"I'm asking you a serious question, Gramps." Alucard says softly. "Of all the wartorn cities in all the war-torn centuries I've seen...why should I care about this one?"
There are many reasons you could cite to this ancient vampire, this blood-soaked ghost of a long-dead warlord. Compassion. Bravery. Justice. The intrinsic value of human life. The importance of becoming more than what you are.
Alucard waits patiently, giving you time to formulate an answer that you think will mean the most to her.
"I could tell you that I'd owe you one," you whisper to Alucard and Walter. "I could teach you a few valuable tricks from my trade...but that's not why you should help me."
"Oh?" Alucard says.
"You should help...because you know what it's like to fight a losing battle," you say to the vampire. "You know what's it's like to give it your all, but still lose everything." You look right into Alucard's blood-red eyes. "Is that really something you want other people to feel?"
Silence, broken only by the occasion dull 'thud' and 'boom' or artillery shells.
Alucard stares at you.
You stare right back.
Walter stares at both you and Alucard, eyes swinging back and forth, sweat brimming on his brow.
Wiltold and Rosa stare at the three of you, poised at the edge of their log-seats.
In short, there's a lot of staring going around.
Suddenly, Alucard groans in frustration and clutches at her long, dark hair. "Dammit!" She groans. "Dammit, fine! I guess we're doing this!"
Walter leaps to his feet. "What the hell, Al?" He says. "Arthur told us to head north to the Baltic…!"
"Yes," Alucard replies with a nod. "Yes, he did. But...and here's the thing...Arthur's a lush pr**k, so I don't feel bad about casually defying our master's orders on a whim. Do you?"
Walter frowns for a moment. "Not really…" He says, sounding surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. "I really don't."
Wiltold's shoulders slump. "Thank you, vampire," you hear him say.
"Oh?" Alucard raises her eyebrows. "A papist, thanking a bloodsucking creature of the night?"
Witold scratches the back of his head. "It's like Rosa said," he muses. "We've met terrible monsters this past night...and you're not the worst of them by far."
Rosa smile in a satisfied, almost-catlike way.
"So!" Alucard says, rubbing her hands together. "Papist! Care to pull out a map?"
"We may have a working relationship," Wiltold growls. "But watch your language, monster."
The elder vampire sticks her tongue out at the Home Army partisan.
Wiltold grunts in reply. He pulls a folded, tattered map from his jacket and opens it up on the forest floor.
"So," Alucard says. "Let's talk about how to save Warsaw! First things first, Henryk: your evacuation plan stinks."
"Constructive comments, Alucard," you grumble. "Wouldn't want to break this old man's heart, would you?"
Alucard winks at you and adjusts her white fur cap. "Anyways," she says, "Warsaw's pinned down by the German armies and their network of Forts. It's cut off from reinforcements and resupply. If nothing changes, the Home Army will be slowly ground away." Her diction is crisp, clear and precise, a sharp contrast from her usual devil-may-care persona. "Three things would change this outcome:
Alucard tosses her improvised swagger stick aside and spreads her hands. "I'm a literal walking army of damned souls, so you could do a lot of damage to the Nazis with me." She gives you a sickly grin. "So. How do you think I should be used?"
Blast, you think to yourself. You just admitted that you have no experience with waging war...but this ancient undead warlord is still trying to foist the tactical decisions on you…!
Unless...she already has a plan? And she wants to see if you can guess it?
You clear your throat and ask the No-Life Queen a question:
[ ] How many dead souls can you hold inside you?
[ ] I've seen how you can shapeshift...can you take the form of anyone?
[ ] Back when you were still human...how did you fight off superior armies like these?
%%%
So yeah.
This post took a while to put together...mainly because I needed to do some more research on the real-life Warsaw Uprising of 1944 and the strategic/logistical complications the Polish Home Army faced at the time.
From the looks of things, an evacuation plan would have been nigh impossible for the people of Warsaw at the time, due to being short on supplies and buried in the heart of enemy territory...and the supporting characters in this Quest wouldn't be afraid to let Henryk know that. Still, Henryk's suggestion is a good starting point for an actual discussion over how you could actually save Warsaw using an ancient, nigh-immortal, practically unstoppable vampire.
The three vote choices above are my attempt to strike a balance between letting folks make interesting tactical decisions while not letting the Quest drag on for too long. Each question stands for a different battle strategy that Henryk and Alucard will brainstorm. No Bad Ends™...just different choices that'll lead to different outcomes with different consequences.
If people ever need clarification on things, feel free to ask!
"Are you sure that Warsaw is doomed?" You ask ALucard.
"Like I said," Alucard grunts. "I know a doomed siege when I see it." She gestures towards the smoke-wreathed city in the distance. "Warsaw's surrounded by German regiments and forts in three directions and hemmed off by the Reds on the eastern side of the river. They're running out of food and water and ammo and the allied airdrops keep landing off target." She shakes her head. "I give it two, maybe three months before Warsaw's forced to surrender."
Wiltold clenches his teeth in anger, but he doesn't deny or object to Alucard's words. Which probably means he's telling the truth, dammit.
It's strange, you think to yourself. You've just carved your way through a small army of men and monsters, slain fearsome foes and walked away from a fiery Zeppelin crash. You know how to handle the supernatural…
But you have no idea whatsoever how to save a dying city. Shameful to admit, but an old buzzard like you is as helpless as a newborn babe when it comes to the movement of armies and the science of statecraft.
...but dammit, there ought to be something…!
"What if we evacuated the city?" You ask.
Captain Roman blinks. "What?" He says.
"You heard me," you say, digging in your metaphorical heels at the incredulous tone in Captain Roman's voice. "If the city is doomed, why not try to break the siege while you still have the strength? Gather up all the civilians and soldiers and armor vehicles you've got and break through the weakest point in the enemy's lines…"
Captain Roman stares at you with a half-horrified look on his face. "That's…" He buries his face in his hands. "Alucard, could you explain it for me?"
Alucard's sighs and turns to face you. "I'm guessing you've never seen a city under siege, Henryk," she says to you gently.
"Don't get snippy with me, woman," you growl. "I've done my time as a soldier…"
"But I doubt you were ever a general," Alucard says bluntly. "There's nearly a million people in Warsaw right now. Adults, kids, civilians, soldiers...are you really going to make them all pack up and run through lines of tanks and machine guns and barbed wire?"
"...I know they won't all make it," you admit, hating how mealy-mouthed your words sound. "But we could get the armed fighters to spearhead the charge–use heavier armored vehicles to spearhead the charge and keep the lighter ones on the sides. If we do that, we should be able to get some of the civilians out of the city…"
"And then what?" Alucard asks. "Where will you take these starving refugees? North towards the Baltic Sea? South to get massacred by paramilitary nationalist groups? West, towards the heartland of Germany? Would you have them make the march on foot? How would you feed them all? How would you keep the armored vehicles fueled? How would you hold off the pursuing German Forces coming up from the rear?"
You clench your teeth. "What about going east?" you ask Alucard. "You said that the Reds are close by."
"True. That's true." Alucard's lips press together in a brief sneer. "If you wrangled all the city residents and sent them fleeing towards Soviet lines, they'd probably survive. 'Course, the Commissars will probably execute Wiltold and his Home Army buddies for counter-revolutionary sedition…"
You rub your temples with your fingers to banish your growing headache: "What's your point?"
Alucard shakes her head ruefully: "The point is that your plan's not going to work, gramps. It's not your fault: you're just not familiar with war tech in this era…"
"So the hell what?" You snap. "Blessed Blood: I know I'm not a general! I know I'm not familiar with the countries and borders and landmarks in this blasted world? I'm not the one who should be trying to solve this problem!"
You point a trembling finger towards the ancient centuries-old vampire clad in the guise of a teenage girl. "So stop slacking off, you ingrate!"
Alucard goes very, very still. "Pardon?" She asks.
"I've seen what you can do," you tell Alucard. "I've seen you pull blood armies out of your rear. I've heard you talk about your past lives as a general. If you wanted to save Warsaw, you could do it...or at least you'd have a better chance of doing it than the rest of us!"
"...maybe," Alucard says, a dull look in her eyes. "So? Why should I care?"
You say nothing.
Walter sighs loudly and slaps his hands against his knees. "You're barking up the wrong tree, old sport," he says to you. "Saving lives? Might as well ask Alucard to switch to a vegan diet…."
"Walter," Alucard says with the utmost calm. "Just shut the f**k up for a second, alright? Grown folks are talking."
Walter's face goes beet-red with a mixture of anger and shock. Still he holds his tongue.
Wiltold and Rosa stand by in silence and watch the monster and monster hunter debate over the fate of their homeland. They hold each other's hands in a white-knuckled grip.
"I'm asking you a serious question, Gramps." Alucard says softly. "Of all the wartorn cities in all the war-torn centuries I've seen...why should I care about this one?"
There are many reasons you could cite to this ancient vampire, this blood-soaked ghost of a long-dead warlord. Compassion. Bravery. Justice. The intrinsic value of human life. The importance of becoming more than what you are.
Alucard waits patiently, giving you time to formulate an answer that you think will mean the most to her.
"I could tell you that I'd owe you one," you whisper to Alucard and Walter. "I could teach you a few valuable tricks from my trade...but that's not why you should help me."
"Oh?" Alucard says.
"You should help...because you know what it's like to fight a losing battle," you say to the vampire. "You know what's it's like to give it your all, but still lose everything." You look right into Alucard's blood-red eyes. "Is that really something you want other people to feel?"
Silence, broken only by the occasion dull 'thud' and 'boom' or artillery shells.
Alucard stares at you.
You stare right back.
Walter stares at both you and Alucard, eyes swinging back and forth, sweat brimming on his brow.
Wiltold and Rosa stare at the three of you, poised at the edge of their log-seats.
In short, there's a lot of staring going around.
Suddenly, Alucard groans in frustration and clutches at her long, dark hair. "Dammit!" She groans. "Dammit, fine! I guess we're doing this!"
Walter leaps to his feet. "What the hell, Al?" He says. "Arthur told us to head north to the Baltic…!"
"Yes," Alucard replies with a nod. "Yes, he did. But...and here's the thing...Arthur's a lush pr**k, so I don't feel bad about casually defying our master's orders on a whim. Do you?"
Walter frowns for a moment. "Not really…" He says, sounding surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. "I really don't."
Wiltold's shoulders slump. "Thank you, vampire," you hear him say.
"Oh?" Alucard raises her eyebrows. "A papist, thanking a bloodsucking creature of the night?"
Witold scratches the back of his head. "It's like Rosa said," he muses. "We've met terrible monsters this past night...and you're not the worst of them by far."
Rosa smile in a satisfied, almost-catlike way.
"So!" Alucard says, rubbing her hands together. "Papist! Care to pull out a map?"
"We may have a working relationship," Wiltold growls. "But watch your language, monster."
The elder vampire sticks her tongue out at the Home Army partisan.
Wiltold grunts in reply. He pulls a folded, tattered map from his jacket and opens it up on the forest floor.
"So," Alucard says. "Let's talk about how to save Warsaw! First things first, Henryk: your evacuation plan stinks."
"Constructive comments, Alucard," you grumble. "Wouldn't want to break this old man's heart, would you?"
Alucard winks at you and adjusts her white fur cap. "Anyways," she says, "Warsaw's pinned down by the German armies and their network of Forts. It's cut off from reinforcements and resupply. If nothing changes, the Home Army will be slowly ground away." Her diction is crisp, clear and precise, a sharp contrast from her usual devil-may-care persona. "Three things would change this outcome:
- The German forces retreat.
- The Germans forces all die.
- The Soviet armies attack and force the Germans to redeploy away from Poland."
Alucard tosses her improvised swagger stick aside and spreads her hands. "I'm a literal walking army of damned souls, so you could do a lot of damage to the Nazis with me." She gives you a sickly grin. "So. How do you think I should be used?"
Blast, you think to yourself. You just admitted that you have no experience with waging war...but this ancient undead warlord is still trying to foist the tactical decisions on you…!
Unless...she already has a plan? And she wants to see if you can guess it?
You clear your throat and ask the No-Life Queen a question:
[ ] How many dead souls can you hold inside you?
[ ] I've seen how you can shapeshift...can you take the form of anyone?
[ ] Back when you were still human...how did you fight off superior armies like these?
%%%
So yeah.
This post took a while to put together...mainly because I needed to do some more research on the real-life Warsaw Uprising of 1944 and the strategic/logistical complications the Polish Home Army faced at the time.
From the looks of things, an evacuation plan would have been nigh impossible for the people of Warsaw at the time, due to being short on supplies and buried in the heart of enemy territory...and the supporting characters in this Quest wouldn't be afraid to let Henryk know that. Still, Henryk's suggestion is a good starting point for an actual discussion over how you could actually save Warsaw using an ancient, nigh-immortal, practically unstoppable vampire.
The three vote choices above are my attempt to strike a balance between letting folks make interesting tactical decisions while not letting the Quest drag on for too long. Each question stands for a different battle strategy that Henryk and Alucard will brainstorm. No Bad Ends™...just different choices that'll lead to different outcomes with different consequences.
If people ever need clarification on things, feel free to ask!
Last edited:
Doctor_Hayden
Plant-Katto
- Location
- Morioh, 1999
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] How many dead souls can you hold inside you?
Hopefully, by sending Alucard's army around the bend and attacking the invading forces from behind, whilst simultaneously having Alucard get reinforcements and extra lives via dead people, all of the Nazis will die "valiantly" against an impossible foe.
Hopefully, by sending Alucard's army around the bend and attacking the invading forces from behind, whilst simultaneously having Alucard get reinforcements and extra lives via dead people, all of the Nazis will die "valiantly" against an impossible foe.
- Location
- Madness realms
If Henryk doesn't save Alucard's (F) hat by the end of this and they don't end up kissing I will be disappoint.
WinterLantern
Smoked bird
- Location
- North England
The previous write in was bad, so imma glad you pointed that all out. Maybe Alucard could falsify retreat orders via shapeshifting, considering the average German soldier isn't a Nazi, and thus fate worse than deathing them seems a tad cruel
Redking0380
Lost In The Rain
- Location
- Wet
Turns into the major and assinates hitler and then turns into hitler and calls off the war
[x] I've seen how you can shapeshift...can you take the form of anyone?
Stealth approach first, if that fails kill everything we're not trying to save.
Stealth approach first, if that fails kill everything we're not trying to save.
WinterLantern
Smoked bird
- Location
- North England
[x] I've seen how you can shapeshift...can you take the form of anyone?
- Location
- Fawnland
[x] I've seen how you can shapeshift...can you take the form of anyone?
Old Hunter [Finale]
- Location
- Chicago
40 Years Later...
The train car shifts and shudders as it goes over a bad patch of rails. You ignore your bumpy ride and open the book on your lap, reading the first words of the opening chapter...
You close the book and let out a long, long yawn. Bor-ing! Leave to historians to take a big, messy war with explosions, guns and paranormal superweapons and turn it into a dry list of facts and dates!
...maybe you should become a historian! Yeah! You could show those four-eyes what real history looks like! Write a few books, put your Dragon sigil on them, make those tweedy bastards run across the world searching for clues. Really f**k with their heads…!
"Excuse me, sir?"
You look up and stare at the train conductor. A kid (but aren't they all kids compared to you?), scrawny and beanpole-like, puffing himself up with his big-shouldered coat and army-style cap.
"I'd like to see your ticket, passport and travel papers, sir," the train conductor says, doing his best attempt at a stern look. "Be aware that the absence of one or more of these documents may be grounds for immediate deportation from the Polish People's Republic…"
"You don't need to see my identification," you say, eyes glowing red as you reach deep into the conductor's soul and giving the spiritual equivalent of his nuts a squeeze.
The conductor stumbles back a few steps. His eye dialate into quarters. "I don't need to see your identification," they say in a dull monotone.
"In fact, you're going to stop this train and let me get off next to this big, dark scary forest," you tell him.
"I'm going to stop this train and let you get off next to this big, dark scary forest," the conductor mindlessly repeats.
You really shouldn't be playing with your food like this. You know you shouldn't. But then again, that's what makes it so fun. "You think Chevy Chase is an asshole," you say.
"I think Chevy Chase is an ass…" The train conductor blinks and staggers back light returning to his eyes. "No! Mr. Chevvy Chase is a brilliant comedian! I like the bits he does with Steven Martin!" The conductors blinks again, this time in confusion. "Wait...what just happened?" He backs away from you in horror. "What the hell are you?"
"Huh," you say, looking up at the conductor with genuine surprise. "Been a while since something managed to break my hypnosis like that. Good for you, kid!" You frown. "Still...Chevy Chase? Really? He's the source of your inner strength?"
The conductor fumbles for the crappy Soviet-make pistol at his hip. "Stay right there and don't move…!"
#
One karate chop to the neck later, you leap out the train window, phase through the border fence as a flock of bats and reform in the middle of a dark, spooky forest.
You turn your inner eye towards your target and start walking, darting through the tangled trees like a wraith, feet stepping lightly over the roots and leaves and narrow game trails.
You pass through a clearing your recognize, a gap in the forest created by a mother-fucking Zeepelin crash-landing to the ground. Long coils of Ivy haven grown over the barren struts and rusted gasbag frames, giving the open field a barren, rustic look.
You continue on your way, leaving the old wreckage and old memories behind You find a hiking trail and follow it southeast, whistling a merry tune as you walk.
You sense many pairs of eyes staring in your direction, a pack of unseen creatures tracking you from the cover of the trees. Predators, stalking their quarry.
You're not particularly worried. You may be wearing red, but you're no f**king Little Red Riding Hood.
Even if you are going over the river and through the woods to a Grandfather's house.
#
When you finally reach the edge of the woods, the unseen creature fall back into the trees.
Free Warsaw rises towards the sky in the distance, a hodgepodge of cutting-edge skyscrapers and baroque architecture, modern and historic in the same breath.
(You'll admit. You didn't think this city would last that long. Technically, after all it's still under siege! 30 years and counting…)
You walk up the cobblestone path towards the cottage, a humble abode shaped from bricks and logs. There are garden patches of lily flowers all around, hemmed in by tangled wrought-iron fences.
The door to the cottage is open, creaking back and forth slightly in the evening breeze. You step onto the cottage stoop, putting just enough pressure onto the planks in order to make them creek.
"Yo!" You shout. "Gramps! You in there?"
A moment of silence.
Then you hear the creaking of wheels grinding against floorboards and carpet.
Henryk emerges from the shadowed recesses of his cottage, his wrinkled, bony, vein-covered hands spinning the wheels with practiced ease.
He's gotten older and thinner since you last saw him...which is saying something considering how old he was back then. His receding hairline is better on account of him having no hair left to recede. HIs beard, once dark and curled, is now streaked with lines of grey.
His wheel-chair has a light machine gun attached to the right arm rest, a long belt of ammunition that snakes beneath his seat.
"Alucard," he says conversationally, sighting down the LMG's barrel towards you with his blue eyes, rheumatoid yet clear.
...Jesus Fucking Christ, this guy's one Hot Dad.
"Henryk," you reply.
Henryk scowls. For a moment, you think he's going to shoot you. Then he grunts and lets the machine gun barrel swing down to point at the floor. "You took your sweet time coming back to visit," he grumbles, wheeling his chair back a few steps so you can enter his home.
"Sorry," you say with genuine remorse. "I was doing this whole bondage thing with Arthur...and next thing you know, I spent thirty-plus years in hibernation…"
Henryk snorts. "An easy excuse," he says. "Still, that does sound like you." He looks you up and down. "So," he says. "You're not a teenage girl anymore."
"Not anymore," you acknowledge. "Thought I'd try to look a little less like jailbait."
"Good," Henryk said. "That shit always creeped me out." He reaches up to the wall and pulls a lever. A generator in the back coughs and roars to life, kindle a row of lamps that shine over a comfy parlor with all the comforts of home:
A shelf of books.
A crackling fireplace.
A mantlepiece radio.
A coat-rack from which his buff-coat and feather cap dangles.
Walls filled to the brim with weapon racks: Saw Cleavers, flintlocks, boar spears, carbines, anti-material rifles, assault rifles, crossbows with sniper scopes...
"Make yourself at home, vampire," Henryk says, wheeling himself towards his kitchenette. "The kettle's on the stove, and I think there's some AB left over in the ice-box…"
"You got wine?" You ask him.
"I've got some bottles of Pinot around." Henryk looks at you with visible skepticism. "Do you...drink wine?"
"Eh," you say with a shrug. "I mostly just swirl it around in my glass for dramatic effect when enemies break into my room to kill me. Gotta out-style the opposition, you know?"
Henryk stares blankly at you for a moment. Then his wrinkled old jowls peel back in a grin. "It's good to see you, Alucard," he says.
"It's good to see you, Henryk," you reply.
#
You and Henryk wind up chatting into the wee hours, regaling each other with stories of everything that's happened over the years.
You tell him about Walter (who's grown up and learned to mask his inner-psycho a bit) your new master (A BAMF girl who used your arm as a hand rest to shoot her fratricidal uncle in the face) and Queen Elizabeth (hotter than ever).
Henryk, in turn wind up talking about his efforts over the past decades––earning dividends from careful investment in Warsaw's real-estate, tracking the movements local werewolf populations, working with Witold to train and leader an order of monster hunters ...
"...I tell you," Henryk grumbles, "Polish Hunters these days are way too grim and melodramatic! Their flashy silver swords, their potions and Sign Magic, their rampant promiscuity…"
"I dunno..." you say, stroking your chin as you take a sip of hot blood from your cup. "I wouldn't mind being hunted by someone like that..."
"Of course you'd think that," Henryk says with a sigh, taking a deep siptea.
"What does Witold think about the new hunters?" You ask Henryk. "A Roman Catholic with a huge, long anti-tank rifle? I always figured he was repressing big time…"
Henryk lowers his teacup. "Witold's dead," he tells you.
"...Oh," you say after a moment, feeling very awkward.
"He kept getting sent to go on spy missions in Soviet Warsaw," Henryk explains, cradling his teacup in his lap and staring down at the flickering fireplace. "It wasn't like he did anything stupid; his luck just...ran out. I turned on the radio one morning and heard a report about his death by firing squad."
You can't think of anything to say in response to that. Well, nothing beyond...
"Sounds like it was rough for you."
"Mhmm," Henryk replies.
"Is Rosa…?" You cautiously inquire.
"Ol' Shoshanah?" Henryk says, brightening up a little. "Ha! No, that bird's still flying fast and strong! She's on vacation in Brazil right now: sunbathing on the beaches, swindling fools at card games and tracking down war criminals…!"
He goes on to talk about lighter things with you –– the time he went Nazi-hunting with Rosa and uncovered a mad doctor's plot to flood the world with Hitler clones, busting a Soviet scientist attempt to weaponize ancient ghosts...
Have just recently woken up, you don't have many stories to share...but you do show him the brand new Casull pistol you've been taking on your missions –– a silver gun with explosive silver cross bullets and a ludicrously heavy powder. Henryk perks up at that, listening with rapt attention as you show him a clip of the bullets and demonstrate the slide action system…
#
"...I never did find a way back to Yharnam," Henryk muses, his deep, mellow voice waxing hoarse.
The two of you moved outside to watch the moon, full and glorious in the twilight sky. You've taken one of the rocking chairs. Henryk wheeled himself outside, brushing off your attempts to help push his wheelchair.
"Sorry," you say to Henryk, feeling like the lamest of assholes the moment you say it.
"Don't be," Henryk replies, giving you a stern look of disapproval that brooks no sympathy. "It's my own damn fault for not bothering to shake some answers out of the Doctor before killing him. Not that I had the time to give the bastard a proper torturing…"
Henryk trails off mid-sentence, eye distant as he stare up at the sky.
"Gramps?" You say. You wave your white-gloved hand in front of the old Hunter's face. "Hello? Earth to gramps. You in there?"
Henryk twitches. "Ah," he says. "Sorry. Just woolgathering."
"Woolgathering, huh?" You say. "Walter would probably make a dry remark about your senility if he were here...not that he's much of a spring chicken these days…"
"He wouldn't be wrong," Henryk says with audible rue. "Some days it's harder than others. Not as hard as it was during my bloodier Hunter days, but still…"
Henryk trails off again. The look on his face, you realize is not that of absent mindedness or confusion. Rather, it's the look of a man desperately trying to find the right words to say.
"I knew I was going to have to stay in this world," he confesses at last. "I knew the moment I let that wolf and his pet scourge beasts go. I knew I'd have to stay to keep watch. To make sure they didn't get up to trouble." He sniffs loudly. "Serves me right for being so sentimental."
"For your hometown, Yharnam?" You ask.
"Gods, no!" Henryk says with a sudden passion. "F**k Yharnam! The people were narrow-minded bigots, the food was undercooked, the architecture was pretentiously ornate, all the liquor was made from blood and the Elevators didn't make any sense!"
You raise your eyebrows: "Well. Now I wish you'd found a way back there. You could have shown me the sights!"
Henryk cackles in classic old-man fashion. "And the best blood cocktail breweries?" He asks.
"And all the people I could eat without feeling guilty," you add. "I mean, Christ on a Stick, if you knew how often Integra gets on my case about eating people…"
It's your turn for your voice to trail off as you see the tear-tracks glisten on Henryk's cheeks.
"...Whoa there!" you say. "Talk about a mood shift. You alright, man?"
"How old are my granddaughters now, I wonder?" Henryk whispers. "Does time pass at the same rate in my home reality? Are they still as young as your master? Have they grown up? Fallen in love? Become mothers? Or did they become Hunters like their old men…?"
He stares up at the twilight sky, which slowly but surely grows redder with the promise of dawn. "I made good choices in the end, I think," he tell you, "so why do I still feel regret…?"
Your cold undead black heart breaks a little at the sight of this sad old man. You want to cheer him up. You want to give him some small amount of comfort.
But that's not who you are. That's not the short of thing you ever knew how to do.
So you fall back on one of things you are good at.
"You done feeling sorry for yourself?" You say. "All this whiny brooding's bad enough when I hear it coming from emo vampires...but from a hunter like you?" You shudder dramatically. "What are you going to do next? Put on eyeliner? Write lame poetry…?"
Henryk's withered hand blurs. Two serrated knives, slender and tapering, sprout deep within the recesses of your skull.
"I…" Henryk declares, "...was an excellent poet in my time. I melted the hearts of countless maidens...and I'm not about to let some withered-up blood-bag disparage a noble art!"
Henryk stops talking and pants for breather, eyes like the daggers he just threw your way.
"Feeling better?" You ask him.
Henryk glares at you one last time, then sighs. "Yeah," he says. "A little."
You reach for the daggers in your head and try to pull them free. "Damn," you say with genuine surprise. "These are in deep."
"That's the idea," Henryk says. "The serrations act like arrow barbs."
"Kinky," you say, eyebrows rising.
Henryk rolls his eyes. "I definitively wouldn't want you meeting Emma and Viola," he says. "You're definitively too much of a bad influence."
"I do try," you reply, trying not to sound too smug.
"Eileen would have gotten a kick out of you, though," Henryk says, a soft smile creasing his face. "Djura too, after seeing your regenerative ability. You'd be the perfect guinea pig for testing out his prototypes."
"Well," you says, shrugging. "I'm got crazy blood magic powers. I have Skype chats with the Devil every other Tuesday. If I did some asking around, maybe I could figure out how to open a portal to this Yharnam of yours…"
Henryk leans back in his wheelchair and closes his eyes. "That'd...be nice…" He says, his voice soft and sleepy.
"It's a promise, then," you tell the Old Hunter. "I'm not exactly the sort for keeping promises, but still...traveling to another world sounds pretty fun! Hopefully we won't have to get hit by a truck first…."
The sun peaks over the horizon, a sliver of dawn that emanates countless golden rays. You hiss loudly, raising the collar of your greatcoat to shield your eyes. "Oh no!" You shriek. "The light! It burns! I'm melting! What a world, what a world…!"
You lower the hem of your coat and grin. "Kidding," you say, pulling your spectacles out of your pocket and sliding them on. "Seriously, though: sunlight gives me a headache. Mayb we could move this party of ours back inside...Henryk?"
Henryk lies slumped in his wheelchair, his head bowed, rays of light pouring over his withered face.
"Henryk?"
At first, you think he's sleeping. Which is fair, you guess. You'd kept the poor bastard up all night…
Then you look at him with your vampire eyes –– eyes that can see across miles of countryside. Eyes that can pierce the cruelest magical illusions. Eyes that can see the red-hot pulsing of blood as it flows through a person's veins.
Your eyes and your other senses are all telling you the same thing:
Henryk's heart has stopped beating.
#
You dig a grave in Henryk's front yard, burying him among the lilies he liked to tend.
You bury him with the tools of his trade –– the Cleaver, the brace of pistols, the knives and stylish yellow coat and hat.
After some hesitation, you pluck the feathers from his cap and tuck them in your pocket.
You fill in the dirt, find a big rock, used your vampire powers to roll it over the loose mound of soil.
You stare down at the crude grave, dozens of conflicting feeling running through you at the sight of it:
Sorrow.
Annoyance.
Rage.
Melancholy.
Envy.
These feelings of yours are like river stones, jagged rocks worn thin and smooth by the rushing tides of centuries. Most days, these feelings don't, well, feel like much at all.
But then days like this happen...and your feelings are as raw and fresh as they were in your foolish, long-gone mortal days.
You pull out the the dashing quail feathers and hold them up to the sky with your white-gloved hand. "A promise is a promise," you tell the Old Hunter. "I'll find them for you. I'll tell them how Henryk lived."
You tuck his feathers back into your pocket and turn to go.
A long mournful howl echoes through the air.
You turn. There, at the very edge of the ancient Polish Forest, a tall white-wolf and his pack of shaggy, gargantuan beasts lift their snouts to the morning skies, raising their voices in sorrowful harmony.
The howls die down. The pack of beasts retreat back to the forest.
The white wolf lingers, his crimson eyes meeting your crimson eyes, the two of your communicating without words, speaking to each other in a way only ancient monsters can….
...then he too turns and vanishes back into the woods.
The train car shifts and shudders as it goes over a bad patch of rails. You ignore your bumpy ride and open the book on your lap, reading the first words of the opening chapter...
You close the book and let out a long, long yawn. Bor-ing! Leave to historians to take a big, messy war with explosions, guns and paranormal superweapons and turn it into a dry list of facts and dates!
...maybe you should become a historian! Yeah! You could show those four-eyes what real history looks like! Write a few books, put your Dragon sigil on them, make those tweedy bastards run across the world searching for clues. Really f**k with their heads…!
"Excuse me, sir?"
You look up and stare at the train conductor. A kid (but aren't they all kids compared to you?), scrawny and beanpole-like, puffing himself up with his big-shouldered coat and army-style cap.
"I'd like to see your ticket, passport and travel papers, sir," the train conductor says, doing his best attempt at a stern look. "Be aware that the absence of one or more of these documents may be grounds for immediate deportation from the Polish People's Republic…"
"You don't need to see my identification," you say, eyes glowing red as you reach deep into the conductor's soul and giving the spiritual equivalent of his nuts a squeeze.
The conductor stumbles back a few steps. His eye dialate into quarters. "I don't need to see your identification," they say in a dull monotone.
"In fact, you're going to stop this train and let me get off next to this big, dark scary forest," you tell him.
"I'm going to stop this train and let you get off next to this big, dark scary forest," the conductor mindlessly repeats.
You really shouldn't be playing with your food like this. You know you shouldn't. But then again, that's what makes it so fun. "You think Chevy Chase is an asshole," you say.
"I think Chevy Chase is an ass…" The train conductor blinks and staggers back light returning to his eyes. "No! Mr. Chevvy Chase is a brilliant comedian! I like the bits he does with Steven Martin!" The conductors blinks again, this time in confusion. "Wait...what just happened?" He backs away from you in horror. "What the hell are you?"
"Huh," you say, looking up at the conductor with genuine surprise. "Been a while since something managed to break my hypnosis like that. Good for you, kid!" You frown. "Still...Chevy Chase? Really? He's the source of your inner strength?"
The conductor fumbles for the crappy Soviet-make pistol at his hip. "Stay right there and don't move…!"
#
One karate chop to the neck later, you leap out the train window, phase through the border fence as a flock of bats and reform in the middle of a dark, spooky forest.
You turn your inner eye towards your target and start walking, darting through the tangled trees like a wraith, feet stepping lightly over the roots and leaves and narrow game trails.
You pass through a clearing your recognize, a gap in the forest created by a mother-fucking Zeepelin crash-landing to the ground. Long coils of Ivy haven grown over the barren struts and rusted gasbag frames, giving the open field a barren, rustic look.
You continue on your way, leaving the old wreckage and old memories behind You find a hiking trail and follow it southeast, whistling a merry tune as you walk.
You sense many pairs of eyes staring in your direction, a pack of unseen creatures tracking you from the cover of the trees. Predators, stalking their quarry.
You're not particularly worried. You may be wearing red, but you're no f**king Little Red Riding Hood.
Even if you are going over the river and through the woods to a Grandfather's house.
#
When you finally reach the edge of the woods, the unseen creature fall back into the trees.
Free Warsaw rises towards the sky in the distance, a hodgepodge of cutting-edge skyscrapers and baroque architecture, modern and historic in the same breath.
(You'll admit. You didn't think this city would last that long. Technically, after all it's still under siege! 30 years and counting…)
You walk up the cobblestone path towards the cottage, a humble abode shaped from bricks and logs. There are garden patches of lily flowers all around, hemmed in by tangled wrought-iron fences.
The door to the cottage is open, creaking back and forth slightly in the evening breeze. You step onto the cottage stoop, putting just enough pressure onto the planks in order to make them creek.
"Yo!" You shout. "Gramps! You in there?"
A moment of silence.
Then you hear the creaking of wheels grinding against floorboards and carpet.
Henryk emerges from the shadowed recesses of his cottage, his wrinkled, bony, vein-covered hands spinning the wheels with practiced ease.
He's gotten older and thinner since you last saw him...which is saying something considering how old he was back then. His receding hairline is better on account of him having no hair left to recede. HIs beard, once dark and curled, is now streaked with lines of grey.
His wheel-chair has a light machine gun attached to the right arm rest, a long belt of ammunition that snakes beneath his seat.
"Alucard," he says conversationally, sighting down the LMG's barrel towards you with his blue eyes, rheumatoid yet clear.
...Jesus Fucking Christ, this guy's one Hot Dad.
"Henryk," you reply.
Henryk scowls. For a moment, you think he's going to shoot you. Then he grunts and lets the machine gun barrel swing down to point at the floor. "You took your sweet time coming back to visit," he grumbles, wheeling his chair back a few steps so you can enter his home.
"Sorry," you say with genuine remorse. "I was doing this whole bondage thing with Arthur...and next thing you know, I spent thirty-plus years in hibernation…"
Henryk snorts. "An easy excuse," he says. "Still, that does sound like you." He looks you up and down. "So," he says. "You're not a teenage girl anymore."
"Not anymore," you acknowledge. "Thought I'd try to look a little less like jailbait."
"Good," Henryk said. "That shit always creeped me out." He reaches up to the wall and pulls a lever. A generator in the back coughs and roars to life, kindle a row of lamps that shine over a comfy parlor with all the comforts of home:
A shelf of books.
A crackling fireplace.
A mantlepiece radio.
A coat-rack from which his buff-coat and feather cap dangles.
Walls filled to the brim with weapon racks: Saw Cleavers, flintlocks, boar spears, carbines, anti-material rifles, assault rifles, crossbows with sniper scopes...
"Make yourself at home, vampire," Henryk says, wheeling himself towards his kitchenette. "The kettle's on the stove, and I think there's some AB left over in the ice-box…"
"You got wine?" You ask him.
"I've got some bottles of Pinot around." Henryk looks at you with visible skepticism. "Do you...drink wine?"
"Eh," you say with a shrug. "I mostly just swirl it around in my glass for dramatic effect when enemies break into my room to kill me. Gotta out-style the opposition, you know?"
Henryk stares blankly at you for a moment. Then his wrinkled old jowls peel back in a grin. "It's good to see you, Alucard," he says.
"It's good to see you, Henryk," you reply.
#
You and Henryk wind up chatting into the wee hours, regaling each other with stories of everything that's happened over the years.
You tell him about Walter (who's grown up and learned to mask his inner-psycho a bit) your new master (A BAMF girl who used your arm as a hand rest to shoot her fratricidal uncle in the face) and Queen Elizabeth (hotter than ever).
Henryk, in turn wind up talking about his efforts over the past decades––earning dividends from careful investment in Warsaw's real-estate, tracking the movements local werewolf populations, working with Witold to train and leader an order of monster hunters ...
"...I tell you," Henryk grumbles, "Polish Hunters these days are way too grim and melodramatic! Their flashy silver swords, their potions and Sign Magic, their rampant promiscuity…"
"I dunno..." you say, stroking your chin as you take a sip of hot blood from your cup. "I wouldn't mind being hunted by someone like that..."
"Of course you'd think that," Henryk says with a sigh, taking a deep siptea.
"What does Witold think about the new hunters?" You ask Henryk. "A Roman Catholic with a huge, long anti-tank rifle? I always figured he was repressing big time…"
Henryk lowers his teacup. "Witold's dead," he tells you.
"...Oh," you say after a moment, feeling very awkward.
"He kept getting sent to go on spy missions in Soviet Warsaw," Henryk explains, cradling his teacup in his lap and staring down at the flickering fireplace. "It wasn't like he did anything stupid; his luck just...ran out. I turned on the radio one morning and heard a report about his death by firing squad."
You can't think of anything to say in response to that. Well, nothing beyond...
"Sounds like it was rough for you."
"Mhmm," Henryk replies.
"Is Rosa…?" You cautiously inquire.
"Ol' Shoshanah?" Henryk says, brightening up a little. "Ha! No, that bird's still flying fast and strong! She's on vacation in Brazil right now: sunbathing on the beaches, swindling fools at card games and tracking down war criminals…!"
He goes on to talk about lighter things with you –– the time he went Nazi-hunting with Rosa and uncovered a mad doctor's plot to flood the world with Hitler clones, busting a Soviet scientist attempt to weaponize ancient ghosts...
Have just recently woken up, you don't have many stories to share...but you do show him the brand new Casull pistol you've been taking on your missions –– a silver gun with explosive silver cross bullets and a ludicrously heavy powder. Henryk perks up at that, listening with rapt attention as you show him a clip of the bullets and demonstrate the slide action system…
#
"...I never did find a way back to Yharnam," Henryk muses, his deep, mellow voice waxing hoarse.
The two of you moved outside to watch the moon, full and glorious in the twilight sky. You've taken one of the rocking chairs. Henryk wheeled himself outside, brushing off your attempts to help push his wheelchair.
"Sorry," you say to Henryk, feeling like the lamest of assholes the moment you say it.
"Don't be," Henryk replies, giving you a stern look of disapproval that brooks no sympathy. "It's my own damn fault for not bothering to shake some answers out of the Doctor before killing him. Not that I had the time to give the bastard a proper torturing…"
Henryk trails off mid-sentence, eye distant as he stare up at the sky.
"Gramps?" You say. You wave your white-gloved hand in front of the old Hunter's face. "Hello? Earth to gramps. You in there?"
Henryk twitches. "Ah," he says. "Sorry. Just woolgathering."
"Woolgathering, huh?" You say. "Walter would probably make a dry remark about your senility if he were here...not that he's much of a spring chicken these days…"
"He wouldn't be wrong," Henryk says with audible rue. "Some days it's harder than others. Not as hard as it was during my bloodier Hunter days, but still…"
Henryk trails off again. The look on his face, you realize is not that of absent mindedness or confusion. Rather, it's the look of a man desperately trying to find the right words to say.
"I knew I was going to have to stay in this world," he confesses at last. "I knew the moment I let that wolf and his pet scourge beasts go. I knew I'd have to stay to keep watch. To make sure they didn't get up to trouble." He sniffs loudly. "Serves me right for being so sentimental."
"For your hometown, Yharnam?" You ask.
"Gods, no!" Henryk says with a sudden passion. "F**k Yharnam! The people were narrow-minded bigots, the food was undercooked, the architecture was pretentiously ornate, all the liquor was made from blood and the Elevators didn't make any sense!"
You raise your eyebrows: "Well. Now I wish you'd found a way back there. You could have shown me the sights!"
Henryk cackles in classic old-man fashion. "And the best blood cocktail breweries?" He asks.
"And all the people I could eat without feeling guilty," you add. "I mean, Christ on a Stick, if you knew how often Integra gets on my case about eating people…"
It's your turn for your voice to trail off as you see the tear-tracks glisten on Henryk's cheeks.
"...Whoa there!" you say. "Talk about a mood shift. You alright, man?"
"How old are my granddaughters now, I wonder?" Henryk whispers. "Does time pass at the same rate in my home reality? Are they still as young as your master? Have they grown up? Fallen in love? Become mothers? Or did they become Hunters like their old men…?"
He stares up at the twilight sky, which slowly but surely grows redder with the promise of dawn. "I made good choices in the end, I think," he tell you, "so why do I still feel regret…?"
Your cold undead black heart breaks a little at the sight of this sad old man. You want to cheer him up. You want to give him some small amount of comfort.
But that's not who you are. That's not the short of thing you ever knew how to do.
So you fall back on one of things you are good at.
"You done feeling sorry for yourself?" You say. "All this whiny brooding's bad enough when I hear it coming from emo vampires...but from a hunter like you?" You shudder dramatically. "What are you going to do next? Put on eyeliner? Write lame poetry…?"
Henryk's withered hand blurs. Two serrated knives, slender and tapering, sprout deep within the recesses of your skull.
"I…" Henryk declares, "...was an excellent poet in my time. I melted the hearts of countless maidens...and I'm not about to let some withered-up blood-bag disparage a noble art!"
Henryk stops talking and pants for breather, eyes like the daggers he just threw your way.
"Feeling better?" You ask him.
Henryk glares at you one last time, then sighs. "Yeah," he says. "A little."
You reach for the daggers in your head and try to pull them free. "Damn," you say with genuine surprise. "These are in deep."
"That's the idea," Henryk says. "The serrations act like arrow barbs."
"Kinky," you say, eyebrows rising.
Henryk rolls his eyes. "I definitively wouldn't want you meeting Emma and Viola," he says. "You're definitively too much of a bad influence."
"I do try," you reply, trying not to sound too smug.
"Eileen would have gotten a kick out of you, though," Henryk says, a soft smile creasing his face. "Djura too, after seeing your regenerative ability. You'd be the perfect guinea pig for testing out his prototypes."
"Well," you says, shrugging. "I'm got crazy blood magic powers. I have Skype chats with the Devil every other Tuesday. If I did some asking around, maybe I could figure out how to open a portal to this Yharnam of yours…"
Henryk leans back in his wheelchair and closes his eyes. "That'd...be nice…" He says, his voice soft and sleepy.
"It's a promise, then," you tell the Old Hunter. "I'm not exactly the sort for keeping promises, but still...traveling to another world sounds pretty fun! Hopefully we won't have to get hit by a truck first…."
The sun peaks over the horizon, a sliver of dawn that emanates countless golden rays. You hiss loudly, raising the collar of your greatcoat to shield your eyes. "Oh no!" You shriek. "The light! It burns! I'm melting! What a world, what a world…!"
You lower the hem of your coat and grin. "Kidding," you say, pulling your spectacles out of your pocket and sliding them on. "Seriously, though: sunlight gives me a headache. Mayb we could move this party of ours back inside...Henryk?"
Henryk lies slumped in his wheelchair, his head bowed, rays of light pouring over his withered face.
"Henryk?"
At first, you think he's sleeping. Which is fair, you guess. You'd kept the poor bastard up all night…
Then you look at him with your vampire eyes –– eyes that can see across miles of countryside. Eyes that can pierce the cruelest magical illusions. Eyes that can see the red-hot pulsing of blood as it flows through a person's veins.
Your eyes and your other senses are all telling you the same thing:
Henryk's heart has stopped beating.
#
You dig a grave in Henryk's front yard, burying him among the lilies he liked to tend.
You bury him with the tools of his trade –– the Cleaver, the brace of pistols, the knives and stylish yellow coat and hat.
After some hesitation, you pluck the feathers from his cap and tuck them in your pocket.
You fill in the dirt, find a big rock, used your vampire powers to roll it over the loose mound of soil.
You stare down at the crude grave, dozens of conflicting feeling running through you at the sight of it:
Sorrow.
Annoyance.
Rage.
Melancholy.
Envy.
These feelings of yours are like river stones, jagged rocks worn thin and smooth by the rushing tides of centuries. Most days, these feelings don't, well, feel like much at all.
But then days like this happen...and your feelings are as raw and fresh as they were in your foolish, long-gone mortal days.
You pull out the the dashing quail feathers and hold them up to the sky with your white-gloved hand. "A promise is a promise," you tell the Old Hunter. "I'll find them for you. I'll tell them how Henryk lived."
You tuck his feathers back into your pocket and turn to go.
A long mournful howl echoes through the air.
You turn. There, at the very edge of the ancient Polish Forest, a tall white-wolf and his pack of shaggy, gargantuan beasts lift their snouts to the morning skies, raising their voices in sorrowful harmony.
The howls die down. The pack of beasts retreat back to the forest.
The white wolf lingers, his crimson eyes meeting your crimson eyes, the two of your communicating without words, speaking to each other in a way only ancient monsters can….
...then he too turns and vanishes back into the woods.
Doctor_Hayden
Plant-Katto
- Location
- Morioh, 1999
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well. That was a solemn, heartfelt, tearjerking ending.
Bravo, man.
Bravo, man.
- Location
- Chicago
And that's the end of Henryk Quest!
This was my first Quest, and my first attempt at running a roleplaying narrative over such a long period of time. Suffice to say, it was an interesting experience!
Things didn't always go so smoothly, of course. I wrote posts with typos. My voting options were occasionally vague. At times, I railroaded when I should have given players more freedom to steer the story in strange directions...
...and despite all that, I think I still managed make something interesting, in no small part due to the efforts of some lovely players and insightful commentators.
So thank you all, everyone who voted and participated. And thank you, Tricia, for starting the ball rolling with your original, amazing Quest.
May the good Blood guide your way...
...until our paths cross again one day!
This was my first Quest, and my first attempt at running a roleplaying narrative over such a long period of time. Suffice to say, it was an interesting experience!
Things didn't always go so smoothly, of course. I wrote posts with typos. My voting options were occasionally vague. At times, I railroaded when I should have given players more freedom to steer the story in strange directions...
...and despite all that, I think I still managed make something interesting, in no small part due to the efforts of some lovely players and insightful commentators.
So thank you all, everyone who voted and participated. And thank you, Tricia, for starting the ball rolling with your original, amazing Quest.
May the good Blood guide your way...
...until our paths cross again one day!
Redking0380
Lost In The Rain
- Location
- Wet
Well this is an end to a great story and a great man.
Rest in peace Banana man
Cant wait to see what tale of epic proportions you concoct next
Rest in peace Banana man
Cant wait to see what tale of epic proportions you concoct next
lockingbane
If you're crazy and you know it clap your hands!
- Location
- Waxahachie tx
...... Is it bad i am vaguely hoping for you to write some insane cross quest of mlp and bloodborne next? I am admittedly very drunk but it sounds awesome in an insane kind of way.
- Location
- Somewhere, probably Earth
Alucard saw a paragon of Humanity, a Hunter that could have and would have hunted him down and finally brought him the End he so desperately sought.
But Vladimir was not his prey. Never his prey. He waited until the very end for the call of the hunt, to finish what started forty years ago. That call never came.
Goodbye, Henryk, you crazy ass banana man. Your legacy, the ones you left behind and inspired, live on.
But Vladimir was not his prey. Never his prey. He waited until the very end for the call of the hunt, to finish what started forty years ago. That call never came.
Goodbye, Henryk, you crazy ass banana man. Your legacy, the ones you left behind and inspired, live on.
Punchweasel
Maverick Weasel
- Location
- Central Illinois, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Him
Thank you for running this! This was a wonder to read from beginning to end, and I've enjoyed our-and-Alucard's antics the whole way through.
Heavy READER
Book Devourer/Speed Reader
- Location
- Fitchburg, MA
May you find your worth in the waking world, Old Hunter.