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Seek (Worm/Bloodborne)

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Raffle Reward: Tea Time
  • Apocrypha
    • A/N: For my first official Patron-request raffle, user Dragonin over there won and requested a scene of Taylor from Seek having tea with some of the other Yharnam ladies. Dragonin was also kind enough to offer to share this with the rest of the world, so it's appearing as a canon-questionable bit of apocrypha. I hope you all enjoy!


    As Doll had said, the Dream could alter to a certain degree in order to accommodate temporary needs. In this case, a lovely red-and-white picnic blanket stretched over the lumenflower field. The last two guests, a brunette and a blonde, were on their way. Both small and slight, the brown-haired woman was slightly older and as such politely opened the spiked, wrought-iron gate for the younger blonde. The girl in a green, maze-patterned robe was followed closely by her white-robed companion.

    "You are just in time," Doll said, the pleasant tone of her voice accompanying the slightest of smiles on her mostly-unchanging features. "Taylor was about to begin pouring."

    Returning the nicety, Elle helped Iosefka to take a spot on the blanket and passed her a cup and saucer. "What blend is it this time?"

    "Orange blossom and vanilla," the raven-haired girl replied, her wide mouth curving into a smile. She had a nice smile: Elle thought she should do it more.

    "I still don't know how you convinced an old curmudgeon like me to come here, or how an ex-Dreamer could arrive," Eileen grouched goodnaturedly. She fidgeted with her bun of graying red hair, checking to ensure it wouldn't come loose.

    "As Gehrman is wont to say," Annette began the quote with a smirk, "'It'll do you no good to dwell on these things.'"

    Normally the etiquette was for the pourer to serve herself last, but since Doll didn't drink, Taylor saved her for last and poured the last droplets of tea into her cup. Steaming, tropical scents rose from the china cups and the assembled women smiled to one another. Iosefka; Eileen the Crow; Annette Hebert; Labyrinth, known as Elle to her friends; Doll; and Taylor Hebert. All of them arrayed atop a red-and-white checked blanket.

    "Hey!" "Don't start without us!" "Wait up!"

    Three more figures appeared out of the mist, hurrying along. Arianna, the oddly motherly woman of the night; Adella, curate of the Healing Church; and adorable little Siobhan.

    Taylor blanched in embarrassment. "I-I don't think we have–"

    Doll cut her off, gesturing calmly to the teapot. Taylor contemplatively hefted it, hearing and feeling the slosh. Much like her mother said, best not to question it.

    The girls all widened the circle, making room for their newest guests and pouring tea for them. "Careful," Taylor admonished the smallest blonde, "it's very hot."

    "I can see the steam," Siobhan confirmed. "Don't worry, I won't burn myself."

    As the massive tree provided some shade from the overcast and cloudy sky, the clouds parted to allow the glittering, opalescent moon to gaze protectively, affectionately down at the assembled women – and at one in particular.

    Annette could feel her daughter's discomfort, and it tore at her heart. Taylor was once known as a motor-mouth, an adorable source of stream-of-consciousness babble that quickly leapt from frivolity to deep philosophical rhetoric and back again. Now Taylor was silent, awkward, lost as to how she could initiate pleasant conversation. "How've you been, Eileen?" She took initiative to start things off.

    "Well enough, Annette. Been hunting down blood-drunk and maddened hunters, though Taylor helped one to find his way back to sanity – at great personal risk. I can't say I approve of her methods, but it worked out well enough this time.

    "I'd never have marked her as yours, by the by. Not that there's no resemblance: it's almost uncanny. But generational hunters are rare, even more so both active so close in time."

    Doll sank in on herself a bit.

    Annette pivoted the conversation to their other Earth-Bet companion. "Now Elle, you're a cape with Faultline, right? Labyrinth, I think? How'd you make it here?"

    "I found my way a month or so ago. Miss Doll is a kind host," the girl responded, a dreamy and somewhat detached air about her. She felt lost, but also in no great hurry to be found.

    "It's been a while since we spoke, Taylor," Iosefka piped up with her soft and gentle voice. "And yet also no time at all. This strangeness with time is most confusing," she admitted with slight grousing. "The Hunt is still ongoing and you're still here: are you alright? This night is good for no-one, in body or soul."

    Taylor shrank in on herself. Multiple hands reached out for her: Arianna, Adella, Annette, Doll, and Iosefka all responded near-immediately to comfort the young woman. Siobhan almost crawled into her lap. For a moment Taylor shrank even further, then her cheeks colored. Maybe she didn't believe herself worthy of such care, and from so many people, but the kindness and faith still drew her out of her shell.

    "It's...it's been hard. Awful. A nightmare," Taylor confessed. "And while I've helped people, so many more I haven't been able to save. I don't know how much longer I can do this…"

    The Dream can change space to accommodate different needs. In this moment, space warped in a manner worthy of Vista to allow hugs from everyone assembled and a grumpy shoulder-squeeze from Eileen. Even Elle, though reluctant, joined in.

    "I wish you didn't have to do this, Little Owl," Annette whispered. "But I know you can. I know you can be free."

    "You're one of the strongest hunters I've seen in a long time. You can weather the storm," Eileen stated.

    "You can do anything," was Doll's simple assertion.

    "A good heart matters, and yours is good as gold," Iosefka beamed.

    "I have the utmost faith in you," Adella added with an admiring smile.

    "Everyone believes in you," Arianna gently admonished. "Believe in yourself."

    "You're my hero," Siobhan declared.

    "You're a nice person," Elle said simply.

    It even felt as though the glittering moon was shining crystalline faith down upon her.

    Taylor swallowed hard, eyes welling with tears, trying her hardest not to cry. "A-alright, enough with the sappy stuff," she weakly joked. "What do you all think of the tea?"

    Allowing the moment to pass, and for Taylor to compose herself, her companions began to speak their praise or critiques of the tea.

    This moment, frozen in time with people who should never be able to arrive, should not have been possible. But Dreams are where the impossible happens every night.

    And at least for one night, in a dream within a Dream, I could perhaps soothe her soul at least a bit. Perhaps she would remember snippets of this, and draw strength from it. I could only hope, for the trials ahead...
     
  • Apocrypha
    • Vherstinae said:
    [Snip]
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The moon glistening at them is pretty cute!
    I want to leave a Hug and give a point of Insight, but it won't let me do both...I was half-expecting some invisitext cuddles from the Moon, too. 😄
    Never have I considered the strength of a Vista hug, she could warp space to make it feel like she's bigger than you, give a hug at range, or include more people than her smol arms can reach.
     
    An early Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American readers! The new chapter is up on Patreon and will be available publicly in one week!
     
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    54
  • Threadmarks
    • Remembering Alfred, I went back to the tunnel entrance to Old Yharnam but found him gone. Incense was still burning near the wild-bearded relief of Logarius, but it was so low that Alfred had likely been gone for some time. I didn't know how much time I had to capitalize on this summons, and that's before taking into account how time worked in Yharnam, so I didn't wait for the curly-haired blond.

    Instead I took the nearest lantern back to the Dream, where I met with Doll.

    "Taylor," she greeted softly. "Did you find something by which to remember Iosefka? You appear conflicted…"

    I withdrew the plaque. "I was hoping you could hold onto it for me, at least for now, so I don't lose it. I don't know how I could bring this back to the real world, but I'd rather it not get broken in all the fights I have." I took a breath. "As for my attitude…" I withdrew the invitation and showed it to her. "That was waiting for me in Iosefka's office – or, I guess, it was where the imposter was hiding at the time."

    Doll pursed her porcelain lips. "I know very little of Cainhurst. Gehrman would know more, but please be delicate."

    I nodded. The woman whom Gerhman had loved, he'd named her to me. Lady Maria of Cainhurst.

    I found Gehrman out back, staring absently out at the loose garden of moon-scented flowers. "Gehrman? I have a question for you. It's...about Cainhurst," I said as gently as I could.

    While I could tell he was listening from the moment I spoke his name – and likely had heard my approach well before – he didn't react until I mentioned Cainhurst. The old hunter turned and began wheeling his chair to rotate and face me. "I hadn't expected you to take an interest in such old history, lass. What's on your mind?"

    I presented the invitation and he pursed his lips, much like Doll – and much like Maria, I suspected. I wondered if he had picked up the trait from her, since his lips weren't much made for pursing. He was silent for a good few seconds and I could practically see the currents of history wearing on his emotions like tides against a rock. "Well, this is interesting. I had no idea Annalise still had reach outside the castle."

    "Who is she?" Perhaps if I kept his attention away from Maria…

    "The last Queen of Cainhurst, first of the Vilebloods. Maria's cousin, albeit somewhat distant. There was bad blood there, I never asked exactly what: she wanted to leave it in her past. But Maria departed Cainhurst and made her way to Byrgenwerth.

    "As I've said before, I'm no scholar. I couldn't tell you the timeline, whether the Healing Church or Cainhurst came first. But Cainhurst was always a small province, and they consolidated their new power among the nobility. At some point hostility broke out between the Church and Cainhurst, though by that time I was mostly retired. The Knights of Cainhurst were often a match for two hunters or more. But, well, we had far more than two hunters for each of their knights. Eventually the hostility ceased due to logistical issues: Cainhurst was inhospitable, the land itself seeming to rebel against invaders, and enough knights had been slain that they retreated to defend their home rather than striking out against the Church.

    "At some point, I believe after Laurence's passing, a firebrand named Logarius began agitating that the Vilebloods should be eliminated. Perhaps he saw their continued existence as a black mark on Laurence's legacy. He gathered elite hunters, garbed them in white and gold, named them Executioners. They made their way to Cainhurst and massacred the entire land." Gehrman sighed. "Barely anyone returned. They declared the castle cursed, lamenting Logarius' failure."

    "But this is decades after all of that. You're saying the queen is somehow still alive?" Despite everything I'd seen, I knew just how good hunters were at killing.

    "Some things don't quite obey the rules of mortality, lass," Gehrman replied with a deeply sad smile. "If you want to know more, you'll have to see it for yourself."

    I patted the poor old man on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Gehrman." I stopped by and gave Doll a hug, then departed for Hemwick.

    (BREAK)

    The massive obelisk was still there, and still patrolled by two hulking hooded brutes. I'd grown much stronger since the last time I faced them, and dispatched each without much trouble. The obelisk would have to serve as some sort of landmark, right? Would the invitation somehow allow me to pass through that fog?

    My contemplations were interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. Living in Brockton Bay, I'd never heard hoofbeats in real life, but some movies were very realistic rather than using foley effects. Still, the heavy staccato thud of workhorse hooves reverberated in my bones as they drew nearer, emerging from the fog. The crank and clatter of an ancient carriage accompanied the clamor of the horses, and a black stagecoach erupted from the cloying mist. Hauled by a team of four black horses, it careened toward me and stopped on a dime beside the obelisk.

    The coach was almost entirely pitch-black, only accented by golden metal. Whether it was real gold or something like pyrite, I couldn't say. Deep maroon curtains drew across the windows, obscuring the interior. The horses gently stamped and waited obediently, likewise pitch-black. They were worryingly thin, their ribs easily visible, though the animals exuded obvious strength. They were enormous.

    The driver was all but invisible beneath a massive black shroud drawn over his body and head. Black robes obscured his feet and sleeves, until he turned to me. I could see nothing beneath that hood, even with my enhanced vision. "Invitation?" His voice was like dead leaves blowing across cobblestones, a rasp that personified age and decay. I held up the letter and a hand emerged from the robes, gray and desiccated. The hand and letter disappeared back into the darkness and the coach door sprung open, making me jump slightly. "Welcome aboard," he hissed in a manner that could perhaps have been intended to be welcoming.

    I climbed inside and sat on black-upholstered seats with gold buttons. The door swung shut and I felt the coach jerk to life. Through the still-drawn curtains, I could occasionally make out the thick fog passing by. The hooves and wheels clattered in my isolation, ceaseless and rhythmic.

    ––––––––––

    This was probably a stupid idea. I write this entry from the confines of some questionably-magical carriage, en route to Cainhurst Castle. Somehow the queen there, Annalise, who should be long since dead, has sent me a personalized invitation to her court. Something compels me to go, to learn. I have to know what she wants with me.

    ––––––––––

    The carriage creaked to a stop. "We have arrived," the coach driver rasped, his voice so clear that he could have been sitting directly beside me. I opened the door, which this time didn't pop open of its own volition, and stepped outside.

    The moment the door opened, my world tilted on its axis and I nearly fell back into the cabin if I hadn't caught myself on the doorway: the door was pointed mostly skyward! I clambered out and landed in deep snow, looking back at the coach. "Oh fuck me," I hissed.

    The coach was covered in snow, the horses dead and partly rotted, preserved in the cold. The driver was curled up beneath his shroud, tiny and obviously frozen solid. At least one wheel was missing, hence the angled door.

    I took a moment to look around, and didn't much like what I saw. To my left was clearly the entrance to Cainhurst Castle. What had once been a garden now lay barren, snow lumped in what were likely demarcations for flowerbeds, and an enormous fountain empty and sad. A monstrously broad staircase, each step at least twenty feet across, led up to the portcullis and the castle itself. It towered into the sky, so high that the mist and fog obscured the tops. It likely reached ten or twenty stories, if not more. All solid stone construction.

    To my right was some small stone edifice, a little building built into a mountainside. I could see why Cainhurst had been so difficult to assault: the entire place was within some sort of volcanic crater or surrounded tightly by mountains. Directly in front of me, the rocks formed into a steep decline into some sort of little stony valley.

    And milling all about were some new horrors. Creatures, shaped like enormous fleas, scrabbled through the snow with their heads down. Long shaggy hair dragged through the flakes while overly long limbs dragged them around. These looked even less human than the beastmen of Yharnam, unable even to walk bipedally.

    I snapped open the saw spear and headed for the depression, keeping my head on a swivel. As I got closer to the edge, I could see in the snowy depths there were several more horse corpses, the snow-covered bodies oddly bloated. Nearly slipping on the icy stones and high-piled powder, I made my way down to inspect. My morbid curiosity only increased as I saw the nearest bloated corpse was...churning.

    I picked up a chunk of ice and whipped it at the undulating belly, and couldn't hold back a shriek as the corpse burst. Enormous worms erupted from the dead horse, scything mandibles like bobbit worms lashing at the air as they tried to attack whatever had disturbed them. And then they began slithering toward me, somehow sensing my presence.

    Yeah, no. Fuck all of that. I drew the flamesprayer and hosed them down. While it was horrific and disgusting, a part of me drew satisfaction from their unnatural screeching and the tallow-popping of their bodies.

    I felt and heard the disturbance in the air and threw myself into the burning worms just in time to avoid an aerial attack. One of those flea-creatures careened out of the sky, bringing its forelimbs down like hammers. I heard stone splinter under the impact. It held up its head, a narrow O for a mouth opening wider to let foot after foot of needle-thin tongue lash out like a whip. The rest of its face was shriveled and unused, eyes nearly the same gray as the rest of its body. Only a bit of its underbelly, particularly around its intestines, were a different color – blood red.

    I snapped the saw spear through the air, tip hacking off part of the monster's tongue. It made a disturbing human screech as it reeled back, swiping at me with its overlong arm. Those fingers were longer than I'd given credit, and sharp nails bit into me, sending me sprawling into the frozen horse corpse. I shoved myself aside as the beast came crashing down again, obliterating the body and sending frozen chunklets hurtling through the air.

    I rammed the spear into it, rotating the weapon and feeling my wounds close from its blood, then it mule-kicked me and my chest collapsed. I fumbled for a blood vial while my vision blackened, and then my vision went darker faster than expected as the beast dropped out of the sky and crushed me.

    I awoke back at the ruined and frozen carriage. Now I began focusing on drawing one flea-man at a time, juking around to kill them by a thousand cuts. Gehrman had spoken of Cainhurst being dangerous, their knights a cut above the hunters, but I hadn't really comprehend just what that meant. It was humbling to realize just how mighty these old hunters must have been, that these scavengers in their wake were so frighteningly powerful.

    I first cleared a way to the structure built into the mountainside. It was beautifully constructed, different design from Old Yharnam but made with the same kind of love and pride. Angelic statues adorned the columns, and there was what looked like an elevator shaft – but it was locked shut and the lever refused to move. After yanking for a bit, I decided best not to break the thing.

    I made my way back toward the castle, passing the empty fountain. There was something about that fountain that I found consummately depressing. I don't know what it was that made me focus on the fountain in particular, when there was so much tragedy on display, but the fountain was what kept drawing my eye. The way it was dry, empty, a landmark of a time when this place must have been beautiful and lively, a display of joy and aesthetic loveliness… It pulled at my heartstrings for some reason.

    I made my way to the final of the flea-creatures, which was both the strongest and least dangerous of their number. The beast was monstrously bloated with blood, so engorged it couldn't jump and could barely move from its resting place: likely afraid of tearing open its overladen belly and starving. I avoided the easy target of the belly and instead went for the limbs and head – I didn't want to lighten this creature and have its monstrous strength fully devoted to vengeance. If it could move with full speed, I'd have one hell of a fight on my hands.

    When at long last the creature fell, it exploded. Pressurized blood, old and potent, slammed into me and sent me careening through the air, where I crashed head-first into the fountain's base.

    ––––––––––

    They could hear its cries before it was born. Glory turned to fear. Their queen was shackled and kept within a ritual circle to hopefully protect against whatever this curse was. What had given them this gift, and why? The thought was on all minds, as the colicky cries echoed through every hall. They were mighty, beautiful, but was this all part of some elaborate trap?

    Then, at long last, their world was stillborn.

    ––––––––––

    I fluttered my eyes open. I was back in my bed. Somehow I'd been knocked-out in Cainhurst and woke up back in the real world? But what had that last vision been? Had that been, as Poe had said, a dream within a dream? Or perhaps a dream riding along with another?


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    • Every chapter makes me wish bloodborne was on pc. When this game came out I went out and bought a ps4 and bloodborne then played the game none stop for a few days and returned the PS4 and sold bloodborne on eBay. Great game and lore.
     
    55
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    • I avoided Dad. What could I tell him? "Hey, I met Mom. She's a memory fragment left in an endless nightmare to which I'm cursed to return every night, and when she got her freedom she died for real"? That'd go over well. The only thing worse than what I had now would be to go to one of those parahuman asylums.

    School was a blur. Sophia hit me, Madison did stupid shit, Emma talked. None of it affected me. While I still weighed about as much as normal, the strikes didn't bruise. I didn't even feel them. Emma's words were white noise, a hazy cluster of sound. I didn't even have to ignore it. I just stared blankly at her long enough for her to pause, then wandered off.

    My real-world life was starting to feel more like a dream.

    At home, I found the strength to put on a brave face. I smiled, made small talk. We cooked dinner together – naan bread pizzas made using pasta sauce as a base. When we headed upstairs and bade each other goodnight, I think he was in a good mood. My head hit the pillow and I felt myself spiral inward.

    ––––––––––

    The dead screamed, crawling from their tombs and clawing in frenzied panic, striking out at anything they could. The sensation of impact was the only experience afforded them, bereft of sight and sound and smell and taste and any nuance of touch. The people aged and mutated and inverted, ethereal beauty becoming eldritch horror. The footmen, chosen for their aesthetic appeal as much as their martial prowess, deformed into bloated abominations. Their architecture itself rippled and changed, becoming hostile, hateful. The earth reached up with grasping fingers and swallowed their nation, plunging them into darkness.

    The child, never truly born as its very existence was a paradox, a stillbirth of reality, continued to cry.

    (BREAK)

    I awoke, my feet cold in the snow, before the massive castle of Cainhurst. Shockingly, the flea-people hadn't reset. "What is time, in a dream?" I quoted Gehrman to myself.

    The double-doors themselves were stories tall, carved from stone and reinforced with metal. I placed my hands on the freezing barriers and pushed. For all of my superhuman strength, I had to strain with all my might to open the doors. Were they otherwise operated by some mechanism? Or was the average Cainhurst knight truly that strong?

    The front hall was beautiful. The floor was dark marble, blackish-green, polished to a mirror sheen. Enormous columns, ridged like classic greco-roman architecture, rose all the way to the vaulted ceilings at least fifty feet above. Enormous statuary, several times life-size, was set periodically into the perimeter. Each one was subtly different, but all of them were carved in Shakespearean garb – some with the classic Elizabethan collar, others with massively overdone ascots...cravats, I think they were called.

    Oddly, there were no chandeliers down here. Instead, clustered around every statue and column were dozens of candles, all of them steadily burning down and pooling wax everywhere. The hall led to an enormous staircase, a flight of stairs that then forked left and right. White marble stairs were nearly hidden behind a colossal red carpet clearly shaped explicitly for the staircase, with how it too split at the landing.

    The hall wasn't empty. On the floor, cowering and murmuring to themselves, were some manner of servant. They were covered in gray cloth, like a tiny and unthreatening version of the sack men – complete with emaciated gray limbs visible beneath the cloth. They had brushes and rags and for the most part ignored me, their muttered nonsense growing more distressed when I got close, but otherwise made no indication that they recognized my presence.

    I could hear sobbing, and at first thought it was a servant. Then I saw movement from the corner of my eye and dodged on instinct. An ethereal dagger carved through the air, and as I put distance between my attacker and myself she faded from view. She'd been see-through, like a ghost, and an absolute tower. Easily six and a half feet, possibly even taller than Arianna...and in a similar dress, come to think of it.

    Drawing the saw spear and closing the distance, I watched the ghostly woman fade back into visibility. Sure enough, her dress was near-identical to my friend and Siobhan's substitute mother-figure. The woman wearing it had been beautiful in life, a willowy but full figure and flowing hair. I couldn't help feeling envy toward a dead woman.

    Her sobs turned smoothly to an angry snarl as she staggered forward, clutching the curved dagger in both hands and slashing repeatedly. I didn't know if my weapon would hurt her, but it wouldn't hurt me to try – hopefully. I juked to the side and swung: the saw spear passed through her with some resistance, rather like cutting through gelatin. She screamed in agony and staggered: I could see some of her essence flowing with my spear like currents of air or water, and not all of it returned to her.

    Other ghosts appeared as they approached close enough to be visible, clutching their weapons with hateful expressions on their lovely faces. Dealing with them was more an exercise in tedium than anything. These women had not been fighters in life, and their ghosts didn't really know how to maneuver. They charged and chopped like maniacs, but it was easy enough to dart around them. It was slow going to actually slay them, however, although eventually I disrupted each one enough that she broke apart with a fading scream.

    The servants continued to dutifully scrub the floors, heads down.

    Heading up the stairs, I found most of Cainhurst's doors barred and too sturdy for me to batter down. It was, once again, humbling: for all the strength I'd accrued, the dreaming world was stronger still. I found myself funneled through beautifully appointed libraries, with stories of bookshelves. Rich brown wood melded with white-stone railings and columns, accented by golden floor tiles and ceiling panels. I desperately wished that I could have spent time there, but I wasn't alone. Armed servants, some with rapiers and others with bizarre blowguns, tried to kill me – and were disturbingly effective at it.

    Thankfully, Cainhurst seemed to follow the same rules as Yharnam when it came to their loot: contained within an enormous chest was a new weapon, a cup-guard rapier. In experimenting with it, I discovered that the blade was actually in two pieces: the upper half could slide off and down the blade to expose a gun barrel. I could still stab in this mode, though I feared for the weapon's durability, but of course the advantage was that I could put a bullet straight into a fresh wound.

    After a few hidden-door puzzles (a staple in any ancient library, with sliding bookshelves and secret exits), I found my way outside and amid more giant statues I faced fucking vampire-gargoyles. More gray creatures, the exact color of the snowy stone, with wings growing from their arms. Their faces had stony beards and their mouths sported massive fangs, which they used to tear open my neck and drink greedily from me. From a distance, they could launch sonic attacks, and somehow the stone fuckers could fly.

    Thankfully, just because they were stony, they weren't immune to bullets or saws. A well-aimed shot knocked one from the sky and it plummeted all the way down to the stony earth outside of Cainhurst Castle, shattering upon impact. The rest I tended to hack apart, though pegging them out of the air was still advantageous.

    I navigated back inside to a library left exposed to the elements, everything shades of washed-out gray from frost and whatever else had ravaged it. The books crumbled into paper flakes at the slightest touch. A servant took potshots at me with his blowgun, while more ghosts lurked around: some were the dagger-women, but others were headless – that is, they carried their decapitated heads in their hands, lifting them up to scream a hellish wail of agony which caused my physical pain. My blood froze in my veins, turning into sharp snowflakes that tore at my blood vessels.

    That room took me several tries to conquer, and at one point between ascents I found a corridor leading to an elevator – it turned out that was the same elevator built into the cliffs, which made for a decent shortcut. My reward was another chest, an important-looking book. This book, illuminated in gold leaf and elaborate paintings within its red-leather cover, was a genealogical registry of Cainhurst's nobility and their "Vileblood Hunters," who were apparently outsiders sponsored to war against the Healing Church.

    "If they claim that our blood is unclean," a quote from Queen Annalise was recorded within, "then we will adopt this status as their enemy. We will drown them in our vile blood and those beings they mark as being accursed will be their end."

    Within the chest nearby was another weapon, and a beautiful one at that. The pistol was stunning, immaculately crafted with a long barrel that was itself a work of art. The barrel was embossed and engraved with bronze and gold. And carved into the grip was a name: Evelyn.

    (BREAK)

    The castle exterior was quite the slog, going higher and higher as it felt like I was guided. I used the pistol, Evelyn, to pop the gargoyles: it punched more meaningful holes in them than my old flintlock. At last I made it to the top, which left me wondering why I'd been brought there. The rooftop was empty other than some parapets. But as I made my way further, I saw through the gentle snowfall that there was a figure seated in a wooden chair. A gray robe clung to an emaciated gray body. A black scythe rested against the chair, a sword at his hip. His beard and hair blended together into a wild mane, and a golden crown rested atop his head.

    While the equipment was new, that mane was almost unmistakable: the relief I'd seen Alfred venerating had seen to that. The name escaped my lips. "Logarius…"

    The frozen hand cracked as it broke the coating of frost, clenching in the air. The cold-mummified corpse tore itself free from the chair, air escaping his clenched teeth in a rasp that sounded like "No…"

    And then the dead man began to levitate, bare feet only just brushing the ground! He floated backward, weaving his scythe in the air, and I could smell the coppery tang of blood as he seemed to conjure it from nothing.

    There was no argument to be made, no chance to talk with him or state my case. Not that I expected a long-dead lich would be amenable to diplomacy. With each slash of his scythe, a screaming skull made from blood manifested and chased me. I had to blast them with my pistol or lead them to crash into a parapet, because the fuckers exploded with considerable force.

    After about a minute of cat-and-mouse, with the floating lich walling me out via his blood magic, I made my move. I kicked off one of the parapets, leaping over the latest skull, and slammed into Logarius. His body creaked and cracked under the impact, and I rode him to the ground, impaling him with my spear. His dark mouth opened in a soundless scream of rage and I leapt back off him just in time to escape another explosion, though the impact was vast enough that I spiraled through the air and crashed to the ground.

    As I scrabbled to return to my feet, slipping on ice and snow, Logarius glowed a malicious red. He drew the sword at his hip and drove it into the ground, where it too began glowing the same hateful crimson. Then he took to the air, sending more skulls after me while blood swords rained from the sky.

    It didn't take me long to make the connection that the blood-red glowing sword was likely the cause of the actual blood swords dropping down onto my head, so I made for the sword to break it and give myself some breathing room.

    Logarius plummeted from the sky the moment I was fully extended and striking the sword, slamming into me with impressive force. Shingles broke apart as he dug a trench with my body, while I barely held his scythe from impaling me. My saw spear was at a bad angle and I couldn't strike with any worthwhile impact. So I abandoned it, letting the weapon clatter across the rooftop, and balled up my fist. I caught him unprepared when I decked him in the face, arresting his movement and thus mine as well. He staggered back and I seized my opportunity: my fingers cracked as I allowed them to become claws, driving deep into his chest. As I ripped my hand from his ribcage, I was already sprinting for my saw spear and firing my pistol half-aimed behind myself. I heard one of the telltale explosions of a blood skull bursting.

    I grasped the spear and whirled just in time to deflect another scythe attack. Logarius was a blender, lashing out with scythe and sword, and it was everything I could do to keep up with him – especially as I had only one blade against his two. I could have cast aside the Evelyn and drawn the threaded cane, but I had another plan.

    There! As I deflected his sword strike, he was in the middle of winding up for another hack with his scythe. There was just enough time for my pistol to snap up and catch him in the face, almost exactly where my fist had impacted him. His head snapped backward and he staggered, looking agonized even though still no sound emerged from his long-dead lungs.

    I chased after him and this time drove both hands into his chest cavity, clutching his ribs and trying to pull his very torso apart! Logarius met my decisive blow with his own, impaling me on his sword and attempting to saw me in half. My method was quicker, and I shattered his ribcage with a pair of violent yanks. I tore the frost-mummified corpse apart, and Logarius fell back. As he lay still, body beginning to fade into nothingness, I would swear that I saw a contended and perhaps even thankful smile on his lips – though partly hidden by his wild beard.

    I fell to one knee, needing three blood vials to unto the canyon he'd carved into my side. His sword had begun to sever my spine by the time I'd managed to finish him.

    Logarius' body faded and dissolved, and the gold crown that had sat atop his head clunked to the ground.

    Why had I been led up here? There was no Annalise, no Queen of Cainhurst. Only this empty expanse of rooftop. Surely this hadn't all been some elaborate ruse to slay Logarius, had it? I stooped down to pick up the heavy crown, solid gold and fitted with numerous gemstones – thick-cut rubies, sapphires, topaz and emeralds. This wasn't part of Logarius' trappings, and hadn't faded with him. So why had he worn it?

    In what might have been a profoundly stupid idea, I doffed my hat and placed the crown atop my head. There had been enough secrets hidden within Cainhurst, so perhaps there was one more. And as an entire new wing of the castle appeared as if from a desert mirage, my supposition was proven correct. Well, that explained why Logarius had stayed back and died there. But what had happened to him? Had that been him fighting me, or something else? Because that blood magic (the only term I could think to apply to the spells he'd been flinging) was nothing like anyone in the Healing Church had used. Could Logarius not have simply taken the crown with him to prevent others from finding this hidden place? Or had he stayed because he'd been...infected?

    I pushed open the human-sized double doors to reveal row after row of statuary. Elaborate rolling horse-and-rider constructs as well as nobles posed upon plinths, all piled in as if to protect them from destruction. They were more whole than most of the statues I'd seen on the way here, so perhaps that was exactly the reason they were here. It was eerie, walking on the red carpet over polished black marble, striding before a silent audience of statues.

    A second set of doors, these ones padded with velvet, opened to an immense vaulted throne room. A gentle voice rose from inside, elegant and feminine. "And you must be Miss Taylor Hebert. Approach our throne, that we may better see our guest."

    Seated in a towering but somewhat spartan throne, made of gold and plush fabric and set beside a matching empty throne, was a frail and willowy figure fitted with a massive caged helmet over her head and shoulders.

    Annalise, Queen of Cainhurst, bade me come closer.


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    • I debated whether I would post this, but ultimately decided it's worth sharing.

    On Friday, December 1st, my mother went to the doctor after a good amount of nagging from me regarding some stomach issues. It was determined that she had a hernia as well as possibly a bladder infection and early appendicitis, so she was sent to the hospital for diagnosis and treatment.

    The night staff nearly killed her several times over, from rupturing a vein with a bad IV insertion to continued bad IV insertion which caused intravenous infiltration. Then they gave her bad blood-pressure medication which, combined with the tremors and damage caused by the infiltration, sent her into a hypertensive crisis where her systolic blood pressure reached 239. For those not familiar, anything over 180 is a crisis and anything over 220 is nearly unheard-of, because the patient typically dies.

    The night staff were inattentive and more focused on trying to pass blame than to save my mother's life, and it's only a genuine miracle that she survived all of these events in order. I have her home and she's convalescing, but that was a terrifying weekend and resulted in me being awake for over 50 hours straight.
     
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    • I'm glad your mother survived. I hope you can sue the hospital for all of that; it sounds incredibly traumatic.

    And thank you for still taking the time to write out a new chapter.
     
    What the hell! Do you live somewhere where you can sue the hospital? I know some countries where that's not possible, but if you can sue them and you can afford to, do so. Endangering patients like that, repeatedly... If they are that inept, I fear for their other patients.
     
    Vherstinae said:
    I debated whether I would post this, but ultimately decided it's worth sharing.

    On Friday, December 1st, my mother went to the doctor after a good amount of nagging from me regarding some stomach issues. It was determined that she had a hernia as well as possibly a bladder infection and early appendicitis, so she was sent to the hospital for diagnosis and treatment.

    The night staff nearly killed her several times over, from rupturing a vein with a bad IV insertion to continued bad IV insertion which caused intravenous infiltration. Then they gave her bad blood-pressure medication which, combined with the tremors and damage caused by the infiltration, sent her into a hypertensive crisis where her systolic blood pressure reached 239. For those not familiar, anything over 180 is a crisis and anything over 220 is nearly unheard-of, because the patient typically dies.

    The night staff were inattentive and more focused on trying to pass blame than to save my mother's life, and it's only a genuine miracle that she survived all of these events in order. I have her home and she's convalescing, but that was a terrifying weekend and resulted in me being awake for over 50 hours straight.
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    Hi. Hello. Attorney here.

    That's a major violation of the standard of care.

    Have your mother request copies of all of her hospital records — if they press a question as to why, have her tell them it's for a referral from her primary care provider.

    I barely even need to look at this fact pattern to know it's malpractice, and they will probably settle at the first opportunity because of how egregious this was.

    Find yourself a goddamn lawyer.
     
    Vherstinae said:
    I debated whether I would post this, but ultimately decided it's worth sharing.

    On Friday, December 1st, my mother went to the doctor after a good amount of nagging from me regarding some stomach issues. It was determined that she had a hernia as well as possibly a bladder infection and early appendicitis, so she was sent to the hospital for diagnosis and treatment.

    The night staff nearly killed her several times over, from rupturing a vein with a bad IV insertion to continued bad IV insertion which caused intravenous infiltration. Then they gave her bad blood-pressure medication which, combined with the tremors and damage caused by the infiltration, sent her into a hypertensive crisis where her systolic blood pressure reached 239. For those not familiar, anything over 180 is a crisis and anything over 220 is nearly unheard-of, because the patient typically dies.

    The night staff were inattentive and more focused on trying to pass blame than to save my mother's life, and it's only a genuine miracle that she survived all of these events in order. I have her home and she's convalescing, but that was a terrifying weekend and resulted in me being awake for over 50 hours straight.
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    Click to shrink...

    I'm the primary caregiver for my grandfather he has dementia, March of this year I took him to the ER for a bad nose bleed. Turns out he had been taking his blood thinners to many times which caused the bleed. never got a clear answer but they gave him an anti schizophrenia medication for no reason I could figure out. He walked in on his own power and was bed ridden shorty there after we thought he was going to die. Got him home and a few days later he was walking around again and that's when we started asking questions…. It's made me deeply distrustful of hospitals…. Soooo ya I feel you man stay strong.
     
    The night staff should have their medical licenses suspunded, wtf
     
    Yeah, I'm with the others. Sue that Hospital into the ground. Total Scorched Earth. Accept no BS that suing would "hurt the patients". Better they go elsewhere than stay at that craphole.
     
    lol. Sue the hospital… good luck people always say that but unless it's a clear cut case which when it involves elderly it never is winning such a case is nearly impossible, or any other case really unless it's a plan as day fuck up. They keep lawfirms on speed dial.
     
    There's one more backlogged chapter coming (thankfully this mini-arc got finished before shit hit the fan), then it might be a bit before the next public release.
     
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    • "Ambivalent" is a term that's misused almost constantly. People for some reason think it's synonymous with "apathetic," when it has more in common with "indecisive." Its root is in ambi-, meaning two or dual, and valent, meaning polarized as with magnets. Roughly defined, it means to be pulled in two directions at once and therefore unable to make a decision. If you have two close friends who want to do two mutually-exclusive activities, you'll probably be ambivalent as you can't decide who you'll have to disappoint.

    I go through this trouble of defining the concept because I was very much ambivalent about my reaction to Annalise's welcome. There was something primal about her that frightened me, like staring into the eyes and maw of an ancient predator of prehistoric humanity – the sort of visceral reaction that I imagine a neolithic caveman might experience upon noticing golden eyes watching him from the tall grass. The small, willowy creature resting sickly in that throne was a predator, a hungry beast, and I could all but see the drool spilling from the monster's maw. The only thing that kept me from turning around and casting aside the crown was a combination of curiosity and another primally human reaction, the urge to fall when staring down from a great height.

    Ultimately, it was that curiosity – and perhaps an unhealthy amount of self-destructive instinct – that compelled me to step forward. I strode forward, making note of the dusty surroundings and the empty, bloodstained throne beside the queen. Though I couldn't see her eyes through the dark mask affixed to her head and shoulders, I could feel her piercing gaze upon me.

    "Kneel before us," she commanded, her voice carrying the imperious tone of one who expected her orders to be immediately followed, despite the state of her castle and throne room.

    I stepped forward and remained standing. "You invited me here. I want to know how and why."

    Her decrepit form, like an anorexic beneath her weathered dress, shifted slightly and I once again felt the danger. My neck bristled and I bared my teeth behind the face covering. "You insult us in our own throne room, and then expect favors?"

    "You invited me here, thus I am a guest and afforded hospitality. In addition, I'm a foreign national. It would be bad form to kneel." That little factoid was a gift from my father, a memory dredged up from an impromptu 'take your daughter to work day' years ago. We'd been talking about all manner of weird things and I'd gotten to the topic of the fine china in a high cabinet and what we might do if the Queen of England came to visit.

    I could feel her assessing me, eyes gliding along my frame. "...Normally, we would refuse to treat with such a defiant one. Despite claiming no subjects any longer, we are still Queen, and due respect. However, you make an interesting argument. Very well. Ask thine questions again, Taylor Hebert."

    "How did you know about me? My full name? How did your invitation end up in Iosefka's clinic? And why did you call me here?"

    She went through the effort to lift her head a bit more, the enormous helmet clanking slightly. It was a beautiful and terrible thing, black metal decorated with gold filigree. At the top of the helmet, the metal was molded in a tiny and almost cartoonish imitation of a crown. "We are aware of many things, and though our power has waned in our starvation, we can still reach out. We dreamt of your arrival, and sent out an invitation where it would be found. We know nothing of any Iosefka: worry yourself not with explaining her – we care not in the least. Only of concern is that the letter found its way to you."

    "Alright," I nodded along. "That still doesn't explain why." Did she expect me to free her?

    "You are the first hunter in ages that we might call cousin," she replied simply, as if that answered my question.

    "That...tells me nothing. Look, I know a lot less than you think I do." It was all I could do not to pinch the bridge of my nose.

    "Do you? Or do you simply not understand? We believe that you know far more than you think you do."

    "I don't like when Gehrman and Doll talk in riddles, and I actually like them. I have no reason to stand around and talk in circles with you."

    That brought a girlish titter from within her helmet. "Headstrong, as well. Yes, this was a good choice. We cannot properly explain why we summoned you, not directly. You may come to understand."

    I huffed, then pulled out the registry book. "Your quote in here… What do you have against the Healing Church? Well, before you went to war?"

    "...Would that I could, I would respond crassly to that name spoken here. Laurence was a snake and a self-obsessed maniac, endlessly experimenting upon others for his own benefit. You have heard the story, yes? A scholar from Byrgenwerth brought forbidden blood here and we became accursed monsters?"

    That was pretty spot-on to the blurb Alfred had told me. I nodded.

    "A partial truth, to hide the damning part when it could not be brushed away altogether. Byrgenwerth's provost was a strange and aloof man, but a wise one. We did not begrudge terribly when our dear cousin fled to his flock. But Willem's caution caused many of his more ambitious acolytes to chafe." She leaned forward, the weight of her helmet threatening to topple her out of the throne. "Chief among those was Laurence himself, future First Vicar.

    "Before discovering their Holy Medium, they found a different kind of blood. Ancient and powerful, steeped in pain and forbidden knowledge, and horrors untold." Annalise gestured at herself. "The Blood of Pthumeru runs through our veins, and those of every true child of Cainhurst. But the blood of the Pthumerians, of Queen Yharnam, of Oedon's favored...it is too potent. We became mighty indeed, but we follow the same path of our predecessors. Laurence sought something different, and thus disavowed us. Not that it mattered to our people, of course." Annalise gave a low, throaty chuckle. "The Healing Church continued with its deceptions until I discovered its hunters. Those great men and women, half-cut with the strongest blood, were ideal for us to follow in Pthumeru's footsteps. Poor fools, sacrificial lambs all, were lucky to be claimed by our Knights rather than the ultimate fate that otherwise awaited them."

    "You killed people." My tone was half-inquisitive, half-accusatory.

    "In its own way, it was a mercy, though that was a side benefit. Even if it had not been, we would still have ordered it done. Our needs were, and are, greater."

    "Did you call me here to eat me?" Had this all been a cat playing with its food, before this monster pounced me?

    She tsk'd at me. "Even were we not inconvenienced with this mask, we would not so sully a cousin in blood. You have taken your own steps on a similar path." I could hear the smirk on her voice in her next statement. "We had hoped for you to kneel to satisfy our vanity, more than anything."

    "I have to ask. What's up with the mask?"

    Another, more forceful tsk. "A last, desperate gambit by a madman. Logarius and his Executioners stole into Cainhurst like thieves in the night, attacking under cover of darkness and offering no quarter. Knight and servant; man, woman and child; none were spared his wild-eyed fury, nor that of his adherents. By blade and blood we cleaved soul from body, bleeding his forces, but they had surprise and numbers on their side.

    "They played on our vanity and desire to preserve our legacy. When they began destroying statuary, we ordered for our favorites to be brought here and protected. And in leaving the doors open, we likewise left an entrance." The slight jitter of the helmet implied that she was shaking her head in self-disgust. "Logarius and his surviving Executioners fought their way here. Our bravest and dearest knights at last fell, and it was only us against the wild man and his followers." I could hear her feral grin. "They were woefully unprepared.

    "Logarius survived the onslaught and struck back, leaving us crippled. But our life is not so easily forfeit. As we healed, he used some manner of alchemical rite and our own destroyed statues, and created this helm. We can no longer properly feed, leaving us to wither. But we struck in return, and ensured that our rotten blood mixed with his. He would be condemned by his own people. His last petty act of defiance was to steal the Crown of Illusion and hide our throne room, leaving us to starve. We are left here, Queen of a dead land, trapped upon this throne."

    I knew that I'd regret asking, but I had to know. "Why did you kill hunters in the first place?"

    "Only certain hunters, though it is difficult to identify who carries the right blood until they are already dead. Some carry greater purpose within their blood, which I can consume. I will thereby conceive a child of blood, usurping the legacy of Pthumeru and fulfilling my destiny as heir of this ancient blood." I made note of her change to singular there.

    I managed to hold my tongue for the moment. "And what fate were you 'saving' the hunters from?"

    "Oh you poor child." While her tone was still distant, there may have been a hint of genuine pity in her voice. "We will tell you not. We are not nearly so cruel."

    I took a long several seconds to assess the woman before me. This was a monster, unequivocally. However, it was a defanged beast. I knew that I would have to make my way back to Yahar'gul eventually, and face more of the Church's experiments. "Do you still want revenge on the Healing Church?"

    "Oh my. An odd hunter thou art indeed. Wilt thou then offer oath and join us in the ancient blood?"

    I gave my head a sharp jerk. "That's not the deal I'm offering. I'm offering to take your fight to the Healing Church, to let Cainhurst be the last edifice standing. The question is, what do you offer in exchange for my power being brought to bear against your enemies?"

    She straightened in her throne as best she could, sagging and lolling under the weight of that helm. "And now we negotiate? You intrigue me. You stink of fear and yet you approach our throne with the attitude of a privateer. You are willing to do battle at the slightest provocation, yet still insist on acting solely in defense. And that which clings to you…" Her helmet jerked with a sharp nod. "Very well. We will offer you access to our store of weapons, and to our library. The library, you are not permitted to remove any books from the premises." She extended an emaciated arm, wrist limp. "Take mine hand and seal the pact."

    I took her by the wrist. She would call me a distant cousin? Then we'd agree like equals, rather than me taking the position of subordinate.

    ––––––––––

    For generations uncounted, their civilization had stood. They had grown tall, beautiful, elegant and powerful. Those peoples with whom they interacted were small, ugly and weak by comparison. While their contemporaries lived in mud huts and ramshackle towns at best, they carved a might empire from stone. When war came to their land, they struck back with fire and blood. Soon enough they were seen as near to gods, and rightly so.

    The more powerful the blood, the greater the effect. The nobility stood quite literally head and shoulders above the commoners, and the royal line even greater than that. Queen Yharnam was the greatest monarch their people had ever seen, wise and mighty beyond even her centuries of immaculate life.

    Then she fell pregnant, despite having lost her husband long before. She was even more shocked than the populace, declaring that she had been celibate since her spouse's passing, as was only right. And by the emotion in her voice, no man or woman could dispute her assertion.

    Then the child began to cry, despite still being within its mother. All could hear it, burning in their minds rather than their ears. Finally the wisest of their civilization were forced to question just why they were so different from their contemporary nations. Had this power that set them so far beyond their peers been a poison pill, not truly empowering them but rather changing them, to make them more compatible with something outside their understanding?

    Doubt gave way to panic. Their queen was shackled, placed inside a circle marked with ancient sigils of warding. It did nothing to prevent the cries. The royal guard battled the queen's shadows to keep her imprisoned. The blood that was shed only seemed to further panic the child.

    By the day of Mergo's birth, the Pthumerian empire was crumbling. Existential dread and madness gripped every corner of the land. And, as the earth itself rebelled to swallow the nightmare that extruded into reality, a question was answered that had never been asked.

    What happens when a god is stillborn?

    ––––––––––

    I fell back onto the red carpet, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Yharnam – no, Annalise – had collapsed back into her throne, breath likewise shallow and weak.

    "...As we had said," she intoned, her voice still raspy and frail, "you know far more than you understand. You are welcome to make use of the library when you care to. Those poor wretches that haunt the castle are not under our aegis: you will have to dispose of them. Now, leave us to our thoughts."

    "W-wait, what was that!?" I prepared to insist for more information. What were these visions that I'd been having since arriving at Cainhurst? How was I seeing them? Was our blood truly somehow...related?

    "Get thee gone, both of you, and leave me to my contemplations!" she snapped. A powerful psychic pressure sent me reeling and the throne room seemed to distort, extending and contracting, until I staggered back out of the door and into the snowy exterior. The door slammed shut before me.

    I shook myself off, then paused. "Wait… 'Both of me'?"

    ––––––––––

    I've finally met someone in the dreaming world who knows things and is willing to talk. The problem is that she's an insane monster. Our conversation made less sense than I'd hoped, but more sense than I'd like. If that makes sense. I managed to make a deal with Queen Annalise and got out of it without having to take her blood into myself. After seeing what it did to Logarius, I don't want it anywhere near me.

    What did she mean, though, by "Get thee gone, both of you"? Has someone, or something, been sneaking along with me?

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    • I can't imagine who could be following Taylor in such a scenario... Am I just missing something or is there some external element (to Bloodborne at least) here?
     
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