Seek (Worm/Bloodborne)
- Thread starter Vherstinae
- Start date
You forgot path 5:
Taylor gives her the broach and escorts her past the sewer pigs, then takes her through the dream to relative safety in Brockton Bay. Or relative safety in the chapel.
I know it's a bit over-optimistic, but I just wanna be hopeful.
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Honestly I never liked them removing player agency by making the little girl die off-screen, with no way to actually save her, instead of letting the player actually escort her to safety.
It just feels like pointlessly hopeless chunk of feelings-bait, yannow? Which I suppose is part of the game's theme, but it's a theme of the game I never liked.
Would you rather they make it an escort mission? You know that she would die in one hit, wander out into the open every chance she could, and being a Fromsoft game you wouldn't get to try again if she died. And they'd either drop an extra boss in Gascoigne's arena, or have the kid see her dead parents and either kill herself, of flip out and try to kill you.
As I said in my post, I understand that the hopelessness is a theme in the game. It is just not a theme of the game I enjoyed.
Draxsis
SANLOST
- Location
- United states
While I agree whole heartedly that there should be a fifth path where you escort her to the chapel I was only listing the canon game paths. Seriously if there was a path where you can save her I'd do it every time. As much as I hate her quest line there has never been a play through where I haven't tried to save her. Holding onto the hope that there's a fifth path we just haven't discovered yet. Fromsoft does like to hide secrets after all and having some convoluted, yet somehow obvious, way to save her that we just haven't found yet, may still exist.
Edit: though knowing Fromsoft they would tag on some cutscene to the end of the escort that kills her off anyways. They're dicks like that sometimes.
Edit: though knowing Fromsoft they would tag on some cutscene to the end of the escort that kills her off anyways. They're dicks like that sometimes.
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- Location
- USA
For me that quest line has always just been weird. The child is the daughter of a hunter and the granddaughter of a decades experienced hunter, the idea that she hasn't had any training in stealth or defense from her father or grandfather stretches disbelief. At the very least she should know that incense wards off beasts and know to carry with her the burner if she leaves the house during nights of the hunt.
In a realistic view of things I would give the elderly addict lower odds of successfully navigating to the chapel than the child, since they would have to use the same pathways and thus meet the pig both ways. One is small enough to avoid the pig more so than the other, and the elderly woman is addicted to sedatives which shouldn't help her survive.
Frankly, in my opinion if they had wanted to have the survivors die as an outcome then they should have put it on the hunter's shoulders to ensure they survived. Just have the hunter kill everything on the route that they would take, and then they survive the trip to the place you send them. Not just teleport there nice and sound except for the girl that would probably have the best knowledge on how to actually survive.
In a realistic view of things I would give the elderly addict lower odds of successfully navigating to the chapel than the child, since they would have to use the same pathways and thus meet the pig both ways. One is small enough to avoid the pig more so than the other, and the elderly woman is addicted to sedatives which shouldn't help her survive.
Frankly, in my opinion if they had wanted to have the survivors die as an outcome then they should have put it on the hunter's shoulders to ensure they survived. Just have the hunter kill everything on the route that they would take, and then they survive the trip to the place you send them. Not just teleport there nice and sound except for the girl that would probably have the best knowledge on how to actually survive.
Timeline
Vherstinae
Patron Saint of Cuddlebugs
- Location
- Home
What is time, in a dream?
But yes, Taylor's sections started two months before the Greg/Sophia parts and are slowly catching up. It's important to understand how Taylor got to be where she is.
- Location
- California
Two months, then I'm guessing Taylor is either finished with the main story of bloodborne or is close depending on if she's doing the nightmares and the chalice dungeons and exactly how fast she's moving through it all. She at the very least has the Red Moon over Yharnam considering she used The Blades of Mercy and you only get those after getting the Hunter of Hunter's badge at the end of Elieen's Questline.
10
Vherstinae
Patron Saint of Cuddlebugs
- Location
- Home
Oedon Chapel. I didn't know what Oedon was, but it didn't seem like a province. People here swore on gods, so perhaps it was one of Yharnam's gods? I really needed someone to give me a primer on the local beliefs and superstitions.
In order to reach the chapel I couldn't take a straight shot because that would be far too easy. No, instead I had to go up and down through rotting, hollowed-out buildings and face numerous maddened beast-men, more rats and crows, trolls… It wasn't a fun trip.
When I finally reached the graveyard area, marked on the map as the Tomb of Oedon (was Oedon interred here, or was this a gravesite for his faithful?), I found a solitary man. Garbed in black with a white stole over his massive duster coat, he was driving his axe into the chest cavity of a long-dead beast as if by rote. I'd been working to be more stealthy in this place, but he either heard or smelled me.
"Beasts," he whispered in a soft voice, accented differently than most native Yharnamites, "all over the shop." He turned, eyes bandaged over like the Wheelchair Man's had been, though with cleaner wrappings. "You'll be one, too… Sooner or later." He exhaled, steam rising from his mouth. It wasn't that terribly cold out, so he must have been monstrously hot on the inside.
I had the feeling this was inevitable, but still held off on overtly hostile actions. "I was asked by a little girl–" And damn me for not thinking to ask her name, "–to find her family. She said her father was out on the Hunt and her mother, with a big red brooch, had gone to look for him."
That was the wrong thing to say. "You'll not have her!" he snarled, voice thick with saliva, lunging at me. He fought… To say he fought like a maniac would have been unfair: while he was definitely insane, he didn't simply throw himself at me as that would imply. He fought like a force of nature, always on the offensive, always maneuvering for a better angle. When his axe wasn't whistling through the air, his blunderbuss barked instead.
I'd been hardened by days of battle. I'd had my body enhanced through Doll's weird magic. I'd faced down abominations several times my size.
None of it was enough. I was facing a true hunter, not the simple armed townsfolk. He was faster than me, stronger, far more experienced. That was my first time dying to Gascoigne. As he wrenched his axe from my neck, he spat his words derisively. "Too proud to show your true face, eh?" His derision then washed between horror and rage as my body faded away. "You'll be harder to put down."
This was my first encounter with someone else who had once Dreamt. As I would discover, those who had been touched by the Dream kept some measure of their memories even when time reset. Well, as Gehrman and Doll would correct me, time wasn't exactly resetting. My deaths in the Dream became what could be, and I was then set back to do it right this time.
Father Gascoigne, once a priest or other holy man from a land unknown to the common Yharnamite, could remember that he had killed an enemy who would not remain dead. And, as a hunter, he did what he did best.
The next time I fought him was outside of Gilbert's home, the hunter having tracked me down. We slammed against fences and into Gilbert's window, much to his distress. I could hear my friend coughing, possibly dying from panic, as I screamed out in pain. I'd like to say I gave as good as I got, but in the end I died and Gascoigne lived.
The next several days were some of the worst in my short life. I knew what would come every time I lay my head down: whether it took hours or minutes, the relentless maddened hunter would find me and we would battle. The pain and suffering were intense, but the true agony was the certainty: in my normal waking life, I understood the certainty that Emma would hurt me. In my dreams, I knew that Gascoigne would kill me.
I struggled, argued, spat curses at him. It was so much noise to his ears. I'm sure, to his broken mind, I was just another fur-covered wretch. He didn't laugh, didn't cajole. Didn't even make animalistic sounds. Gascoigne was silent and efficient. Night after night he pursued his prey, slaughtering his way through other beasts in order to seek me out. Our cat-and-mouse chase led all across outer Yharnam, to the steps of Iosefka's clinic. It was there, bleeding out on the stairs before her door, and hearing Iosefka's worried voice call out, that something in me settled, stone resting within my sacrum.
This would never end until I ended it.
I returned to Odeon's tomb, knowing the hunter would be following me. At this point I was all but certain that he was the girl's father, and so I played my gambit: I wound the music box and set it on a stone lantern. The slow, clicking melancholy disturbed the night air. When the hunter finally arrived, he was not the composed pursuer he normally was. His chest was heaving, face sweating. He gripped his weapons so hard they shook. "Where did you get that?" he snarled, spittle flying. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?"
"Your daughter gave it to me," I shot back in an even voice, rolling clear of his leaping strike. "Because your wife left without it. What did you do to your wife?"
He stumbled. "V-Vi? No, I didn't– I would never–!" The hunter whirled on me. "Goddamn beasts! You took her from me!"
It was the closest he'd gotten to human, but he'd clearly been insane long before he met me, if a music box was the only thing that kept him from killing or abandoning his family. "I'm no beast. What happened to your wife? What did you do?"
"Liar!" A sweep of the axe. "Deceiver!" I ducked behind a gravestone to avoid the scattershot from his gun. "You took her from me! I heard her scream!"
Keeping low, I crawled around the gravestones and plucked up the music box, winding it again. He screamed as it played. He leapt for me again, shattering the lantern with a single vicious strike from his axe.
"Murderer! You beasts are all the same!" I could hear his tears.
"Your daughter still needs you! Will you just abandon her? Forget her like you always do!? Bury yourself in your hunt until nothing else matters!?" I was screaming now, tears running down my own face. Was I still talking to this hunter? Was I even in Yharnam? I wound the music box one more time, letting the tune creak out. He hunched in on himself, shouting, sobbing. Had I done it? Would at least one family not be utterly shattered?
The change had been brewing, likely since he'd begun to forget his family. Nothing could have stopped it. But many nights I fear that I may have pushed it along. That my attempts to break through to his humanity had instead scraped on his guilt and sent him fleeing into his animal side.
The hunter's sobs became a bestial roar as his clothing burst, a colossal shaggy beast at least eight feet tall standing where before had been a broken man. He charged at me, crushed gravestones without effort. A claw caught me in the chest and sent me flying. I tried my best to dodge out of the way, firing in retaliation, working to get some distance. Any distance was negligible as the newborn beast closed it in a single bound. Claws shredded my coat, ripped through my clothing, shattered my ribs.
Coughing blood, I injected myself with the last of Iosefka's special vials and stumbled away. His claws caught my coat and lifted me up, then he threw me through a tree. Somewhere in my flight I lost hold on my saw cleaver. I looked up through concussed eyes at the flailing, blood-maddened beast. I couldn't die like this, couldn't leave this monster alive. It would kill others. Gilbert, Iosefka, the hunter's own daughter.
Something glinted on the ground. I dived forward, praying my unfocused eyes could perceive depth enough that I wasn't doomed to fail. My fingers closed on the hunter's own axe. I somersaulted to my feet and whirled around, driving the weapon deep into the beast's neck. I shot it just as Gehrman had told me, arresting its momentum when it tried to claw me, and chopped again. Blood spewed from its neck, healing my wounds. It was slowing now. I struck again, nearly severing its head, and the monster fell back.
Even semi-decapitated as it was, the creature still wasn't finished. Claws rose up slowly, reaching threateningly for me. Upon the miserable monstrosity, my mind superimposed the face of my father, face twisted in hate and desperation.
I screamed in terror and rage, and brought the axe down onto its chest. It kept fighting, trying to stand, to claw me, to do anything. I brought the axe down again, slicing through its ribs.
Again, into its organs.
Again, splitting its chest wide.
At some point I'd resumed crying, robotically lifting up the axe only to plunge it back into the beast's chest cavity.
I don't know how long I stood there, mutilating that dead thing, until Eileen the Crow found me.
(BREAK)
"Stop that, now," a wizened woman's voice gently chided. "I understand you're scared, but this isn't you. You're no beast. Not yet, though if you let yourself keep as you are…"
At first I thought I was seeing Death, in the dim light of Oedon's Tomb. White face, heavy hood, ragged cloak. As my vision cleared and I wiped my tears, I saw instead a feather-caped woman more reminiscent of a plague doctor. A jagged knife rested loosely in one of her hands.
"Settle down, child, and dry your tears," she said, stepping smoothly to lean against the staircase that led up to the chapel proper. "It won't do to lose yourself on this, of all nights."
"I–" My words were forcibly cut off. I lurched to the side, tugging down my face covering to vomit profusely and noisily on the stone. Thin but strong hands took me beneath the arms to hold me up.
"Been quite some time since I met a hunter this new," the woman chuckled. Her accent was also strange, emphasizing the 'u' in hunter. "What a mess you've been caught up in. What got into your head to start the hunt tonight?"
I reached back to pat her shoulder in what I hoped was a universal translation for 'I'm good.' I coughed a few more times, spat some bile from my mouth, wiped my face with the tail of my coat. "I… I didn't have much of a choice. I was brought here."
"An outsider, eh? So unlucky. And you were brought here?" At my confirmation, the bird mask tilted. "Do you Dream, then?"
My eyes widened. "Y-you know about that?"
"Aye." She made her way back to the stairs and took a seat on the steps, patting the stone beside her. "I'll wager the majority of hunters who can still string together a sentence Dreamt at some point. Tell the little doll I said hello."
I sat beside her, body going almost limp. "Sorry, but who are you?"
"So new I'll bet you don't even know the various hunter traditions. Then again, had you known, perhaps you'd not have been so eager to speak with me." She folded an arm across her chest and bowed slightly. "Eileen the Crow, hunter of hunters. Those poor souls who go mad from the hunt, it is my duty to put them down." Eileen gestured to the corpse I'd been destroying, as it dissolved into mist.
"Poor Gascoigne; once, hunters used to still call him Father. He was a holy man from another country, so he said, who fell in love with a lass from fair Yharnam. A good man once. I think this was a long time coming. He had more will than most, but he was falling apart."
"That reminds me too much of my father," I muttered, then suddenly began crying again. Some girls cry beautifully. In the Lord of the Rings movies, Arwen was only more beautiful when she cried. My eyes get puffy, my cheeks redden, I sweat. And right now I was bawling, howling my sobs. It was too much. I was just a child: I shouldn't even have to deal with what I faced in the real world, much less all of this.
Eileen shifted, not really sure what to do. "You need to steel yourself, girl. You can't go falling apart, not tonight. There are no humans left, they're all flesh-hungry beasts now. And I won't be around to help you come back from whatever state in which you find yourself."
That actually helped me come back around. Hiccuping softly, I lifted my goggles and wiped my eyes. "Th-that's not true. I know at least two people who're still human, still good people. There's still hope," I protested. There had to be. If there wasn't hope, what did I have left?
"Then the night hasn't claimed quite everyone yet. This land is still doomed, but I suppose you can try to save a few." Her casual statement rankled.
"Nobody deserves this hell," I protested.
"Nothing about deserving," Eileen countered. "Bad happens to good all too often: no scales are being balanced. I doubt any efforts toward rescue will bear fruit, but I have been wrong before. If you think you can be a grand savior that's your prerogative." She stood and shook off her feather cape before fishing in a pouch on her belt. "A welcome for the new hunter." She offered me four small, folded sheets of parchment. "Now best be on your way: there's no shortage of beasts to deal with. Try to leave the hunting of hunters to me. No easier way for an inexperienced hunter to become blood-drunk than in dealing with the mad."
Eileen strode off into the darkness, leaving me with my thoughts. After sitting for several minutes, I remembered that I'd promised to find the little girl's mother. From everything the hunter – Gascoigne – had said and screamed, I knew that I wouldn't like what I found. And sure enough, on a roof overlooking the graveyard, I found the corpse of a lovely blonde woman. On her chest was a massive red brooch the color of fresh blood. I delicately unpinned it: if I was going to tell the girl the truth (and I was still undecided), I'd need some proof.
Inscribed into the back, like you might find carved into a tree, were two names within a heart.
Gascoigne + Viola
In order to reach the chapel I couldn't take a straight shot because that would be far too easy. No, instead I had to go up and down through rotting, hollowed-out buildings and face numerous maddened beast-men, more rats and crows, trolls… It wasn't a fun trip.
When I finally reached the graveyard area, marked on the map as the Tomb of Oedon (was Oedon interred here, or was this a gravesite for his faithful?), I found a solitary man. Garbed in black with a white stole over his massive duster coat, he was driving his axe into the chest cavity of a long-dead beast as if by rote. I'd been working to be more stealthy in this place, but he either heard or smelled me.
"Beasts," he whispered in a soft voice, accented differently than most native Yharnamites, "all over the shop." He turned, eyes bandaged over like the Wheelchair Man's had been, though with cleaner wrappings. "You'll be one, too… Sooner or later." He exhaled, steam rising from his mouth. It wasn't that terribly cold out, so he must have been monstrously hot on the inside.
I had the feeling this was inevitable, but still held off on overtly hostile actions. "I was asked by a little girl–" And damn me for not thinking to ask her name, "–to find her family. She said her father was out on the Hunt and her mother, with a big red brooch, had gone to look for him."
That was the wrong thing to say. "You'll not have her!" he snarled, voice thick with saliva, lunging at me. He fought… To say he fought like a maniac would have been unfair: while he was definitely insane, he didn't simply throw himself at me as that would imply. He fought like a force of nature, always on the offensive, always maneuvering for a better angle. When his axe wasn't whistling through the air, his blunderbuss barked instead.
I'd been hardened by days of battle. I'd had my body enhanced through Doll's weird magic. I'd faced down abominations several times my size.
None of it was enough. I was facing a true hunter, not the simple armed townsfolk. He was faster than me, stronger, far more experienced. That was my first time dying to Gascoigne. As he wrenched his axe from my neck, he spat his words derisively. "Too proud to show your true face, eh?" His derision then washed between horror and rage as my body faded away. "You'll be harder to put down."
This was my first encounter with someone else who had once Dreamt. As I would discover, those who had been touched by the Dream kept some measure of their memories even when time reset. Well, as Gehrman and Doll would correct me, time wasn't exactly resetting. My deaths in the Dream became what could be, and I was then set back to do it right this time.
Father Gascoigne, once a priest or other holy man from a land unknown to the common Yharnamite, could remember that he had killed an enemy who would not remain dead. And, as a hunter, he did what he did best.
The next time I fought him was outside of Gilbert's home, the hunter having tracked me down. We slammed against fences and into Gilbert's window, much to his distress. I could hear my friend coughing, possibly dying from panic, as I screamed out in pain. I'd like to say I gave as good as I got, but in the end I died and Gascoigne lived.
The next several days were some of the worst in my short life. I knew what would come every time I lay my head down: whether it took hours or minutes, the relentless maddened hunter would find me and we would battle. The pain and suffering were intense, but the true agony was the certainty: in my normal waking life, I understood the certainty that Emma would hurt me. In my dreams, I knew that Gascoigne would kill me.
I struggled, argued, spat curses at him. It was so much noise to his ears. I'm sure, to his broken mind, I was just another fur-covered wretch. He didn't laugh, didn't cajole. Didn't even make animalistic sounds. Gascoigne was silent and efficient. Night after night he pursued his prey, slaughtering his way through other beasts in order to seek me out. Our cat-and-mouse chase led all across outer Yharnam, to the steps of Iosefka's clinic. It was there, bleeding out on the stairs before her door, and hearing Iosefka's worried voice call out, that something in me settled, stone resting within my sacrum.
This would never end until I ended it.
I returned to Odeon's tomb, knowing the hunter would be following me. At this point I was all but certain that he was the girl's father, and so I played my gambit: I wound the music box and set it on a stone lantern. The slow, clicking melancholy disturbed the night air. When the hunter finally arrived, he was not the composed pursuer he normally was. His chest was heaving, face sweating. He gripped his weapons so hard they shook. "Where did you get that?" he snarled, spittle flying. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?"
"Your daughter gave it to me," I shot back in an even voice, rolling clear of his leaping strike. "Because your wife left without it. What did you do to your wife?"
He stumbled. "V-Vi? No, I didn't– I would never–!" The hunter whirled on me. "Goddamn beasts! You took her from me!"
It was the closest he'd gotten to human, but he'd clearly been insane long before he met me, if a music box was the only thing that kept him from killing or abandoning his family. "I'm no beast. What happened to your wife? What did you do?"
"Liar!" A sweep of the axe. "Deceiver!" I ducked behind a gravestone to avoid the scattershot from his gun. "You took her from me! I heard her scream!"
Keeping low, I crawled around the gravestones and plucked up the music box, winding it again. He screamed as it played. He leapt for me again, shattering the lantern with a single vicious strike from his axe.
"Murderer! You beasts are all the same!" I could hear his tears.
"Your daughter still needs you! Will you just abandon her? Forget her like you always do!? Bury yourself in your hunt until nothing else matters!?" I was screaming now, tears running down my own face. Was I still talking to this hunter? Was I even in Yharnam? I wound the music box one more time, letting the tune creak out. He hunched in on himself, shouting, sobbing. Had I done it? Would at least one family not be utterly shattered?
The change had been brewing, likely since he'd begun to forget his family. Nothing could have stopped it. But many nights I fear that I may have pushed it along. That my attempts to break through to his humanity had instead scraped on his guilt and sent him fleeing into his animal side.
The hunter's sobs became a bestial roar as his clothing burst, a colossal shaggy beast at least eight feet tall standing where before had been a broken man. He charged at me, crushed gravestones without effort. A claw caught me in the chest and sent me flying. I tried my best to dodge out of the way, firing in retaliation, working to get some distance. Any distance was negligible as the newborn beast closed it in a single bound. Claws shredded my coat, ripped through my clothing, shattered my ribs.
Coughing blood, I injected myself with the last of Iosefka's special vials and stumbled away. His claws caught my coat and lifted me up, then he threw me through a tree. Somewhere in my flight I lost hold on my saw cleaver. I looked up through concussed eyes at the flailing, blood-maddened beast. I couldn't die like this, couldn't leave this monster alive. It would kill others. Gilbert, Iosefka, the hunter's own daughter.
Something glinted on the ground. I dived forward, praying my unfocused eyes could perceive depth enough that I wasn't doomed to fail. My fingers closed on the hunter's own axe. I somersaulted to my feet and whirled around, driving the weapon deep into the beast's neck. I shot it just as Gehrman had told me, arresting its momentum when it tried to claw me, and chopped again. Blood spewed from its neck, healing my wounds. It was slowing now. I struck again, nearly severing its head, and the monster fell back.
Even semi-decapitated as it was, the creature still wasn't finished. Claws rose up slowly, reaching threateningly for me. Upon the miserable monstrosity, my mind superimposed the face of my father, face twisted in hate and desperation.
I screamed in terror and rage, and brought the axe down onto its chest. It kept fighting, trying to stand, to claw me, to do anything. I brought the axe down again, slicing through its ribs.
Again, into its organs.
Again, splitting its chest wide.
At some point I'd resumed crying, robotically lifting up the axe only to plunge it back into the beast's chest cavity.
I don't know how long I stood there, mutilating that dead thing, until Eileen the Crow found me.
(BREAK)
"Stop that, now," a wizened woman's voice gently chided. "I understand you're scared, but this isn't you. You're no beast. Not yet, though if you let yourself keep as you are…"
At first I thought I was seeing Death, in the dim light of Oedon's Tomb. White face, heavy hood, ragged cloak. As my vision cleared and I wiped my tears, I saw instead a feather-caped woman more reminiscent of a plague doctor. A jagged knife rested loosely in one of her hands.
"Settle down, child, and dry your tears," she said, stepping smoothly to lean against the staircase that led up to the chapel proper. "It won't do to lose yourself on this, of all nights."
"I–" My words were forcibly cut off. I lurched to the side, tugging down my face covering to vomit profusely and noisily on the stone. Thin but strong hands took me beneath the arms to hold me up.
"Been quite some time since I met a hunter this new," the woman chuckled. Her accent was also strange, emphasizing the 'u' in hunter. "What a mess you've been caught up in. What got into your head to start the hunt tonight?"
I reached back to pat her shoulder in what I hoped was a universal translation for 'I'm good.' I coughed a few more times, spat some bile from my mouth, wiped my face with the tail of my coat. "I… I didn't have much of a choice. I was brought here."
"An outsider, eh? So unlucky. And you were brought here?" At my confirmation, the bird mask tilted. "Do you Dream, then?"
My eyes widened. "Y-you know about that?"
"Aye." She made her way back to the stairs and took a seat on the steps, patting the stone beside her. "I'll wager the majority of hunters who can still string together a sentence Dreamt at some point. Tell the little doll I said hello."
I sat beside her, body going almost limp. "Sorry, but who are you?"
"So new I'll bet you don't even know the various hunter traditions. Then again, had you known, perhaps you'd not have been so eager to speak with me." She folded an arm across her chest and bowed slightly. "Eileen the Crow, hunter of hunters. Those poor souls who go mad from the hunt, it is my duty to put them down." Eileen gestured to the corpse I'd been destroying, as it dissolved into mist.
"Poor Gascoigne; once, hunters used to still call him Father. He was a holy man from another country, so he said, who fell in love with a lass from fair Yharnam. A good man once. I think this was a long time coming. He had more will than most, but he was falling apart."
"That reminds me too much of my father," I muttered, then suddenly began crying again. Some girls cry beautifully. In the Lord of the Rings movies, Arwen was only more beautiful when she cried. My eyes get puffy, my cheeks redden, I sweat. And right now I was bawling, howling my sobs. It was too much. I was just a child: I shouldn't even have to deal with what I faced in the real world, much less all of this.
Eileen shifted, not really sure what to do. "You need to steel yourself, girl. You can't go falling apart, not tonight. There are no humans left, they're all flesh-hungry beasts now. And I won't be around to help you come back from whatever state in which you find yourself."
That actually helped me come back around. Hiccuping softly, I lifted my goggles and wiped my eyes. "Th-that's not true. I know at least two people who're still human, still good people. There's still hope," I protested. There had to be. If there wasn't hope, what did I have left?
"Then the night hasn't claimed quite everyone yet. This land is still doomed, but I suppose you can try to save a few." Her casual statement rankled.
"Nobody deserves this hell," I protested.
"Nothing about deserving," Eileen countered. "Bad happens to good all too often: no scales are being balanced. I doubt any efforts toward rescue will bear fruit, but I have been wrong before. If you think you can be a grand savior that's your prerogative." She stood and shook off her feather cape before fishing in a pouch on her belt. "A welcome for the new hunter." She offered me four small, folded sheets of parchment. "Now best be on your way: there's no shortage of beasts to deal with. Try to leave the hunting of hunters to me. No easier way for an inexperienced hunter to become blood-drunk than in dealing with the mad."
Eileen strode off into the darkness, leaving me with my thoughts. After sitting for several minutes, I remembered that I'd promised to find the little girl's mother. From everything the hunter – Gascoigne – had said and screamed, I knew that I wouldn't like what I found. And sure enough, on a roof overlooking the graveyard, I found the corpse of a lovely blonde woman. On her chest was a massive red brooch the color of fresh blood. I delicately unpinned it: if I was going to tell the girl the truth (and I was still undecided), I'd need some proof.
Inscribed into the back, like you might find carved into a tree, were two names within a heart.
Gascoigne + Viola
The concern is that by the time Taylor catches up to the start of the story, she might not be the same person you envisioned when you first started writing this.
If there is an interesting character development you think of mid-way through, you might be will be constrained by that first draft and constrain your own story as a result.
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They
The tragic story of Gascoigne comes to an end.
- Pronouns
- Dark/Majesty
Not yet, Ezord. Not yet.
11
Vherstinae
Patron Saint of Cuddlebugs
- Location
- Home
It was disturbingly easy to get Alan Barnes' assistance in acquiring a surreptitious bodycam. Emma had her dad wrapped around her finger, to a degree that it made sense why Alan either didn't know or didn't care that his daughter was bullying her former sister in all but blood, daughter to the man who'd been Alan's best friend in college.
This and further details were revealed as Sophia and Emma discussed Taylor. At Emma's inquiry as to Sophia's sudden increased interest, the athlete responded, "I dunno, it's just getting boring for me. Hebert's been a wet blanket since she went into the hospital and I need excitement. It's no fun just beating a dead cat against the wall. Hebert's broken, so why not find a new toy?" Truthfully Sophia didn't need some grand chase or challenge: simply exerting her power over another was entertainment enough, and hurting someone fit that criterion. Emma was still her friend, though, and if she could direct the redhead away from the walking massacre then she would.
"She hasn't learned her place yet," Emma insisted. "She keeps coming to school, going through the motions, like being a good little lemming will get her anywhere. Taylor needs to understand that a weakling like her isn't wanted, doesn't belong."
Damn it, Emma… "If you say so," Sophia shrugged. "I'll probably start looking for new game, myself. Hebert's lost my interest. Have fun." Well, that discussion could have gone better.
Worse, now the ball was in Greg's court. A looming incident that could cost her friend's life, her own reputation, her freedom, and it all rested in the hands of Greg Veder.
I'm doomed.
(BREAK)
The first step of any investigation is to establish parameters. If you just try gathering any and all information, you'll end up with piles of useless intel and only stumble onto clues through sheer luck. Likewise, if you set too narrow a focus then you risk throwing out vital info because it doesn't fit your expectations.
Greg had prepared as soon as he had help, putting together his own conspiracy board. From aliens to zombies to faerie changelings, all sorts of potential ideas were on the table. Most of them were probably complete bullshit but it always pays to keep an open mind.
Now came the second and most important aspect: actually gathering the intel. The best analysts in the world can't come up with answers if they don't have information, and the best theory will go unproven without evidence. Stage 1 of that info-gathering began on Monday.
Taylor still looked undead, the circles under her eyes just as dark as ever, and the girl had taken to sneaking a can of caffeinated energy drink inside her backpack with one of those attachable sippy tops so she could slurp it when she thought nobody was looking. Whatever was happening, Taylor seemed desperate to avoid sleep.
Was it a problem at home? With her dad, maybe? He never really heard her talk about her dad, but before she started scaring him Greg also never heard or saw anything that was a red flag for abuse. And he'd been looking – maybe not for that specifically, but he liked to think he would have noticed if it'd been there. So some other reason for her to be avoiding sleep. Of course, the need for caffeine could be something else: perhaps her powers left her constantly exhausted. Or there was some sort of time-dilation where things took longer for her than for anyone else. Could she be living hours in another person's minutes, and so got sleepy that much faster? Maybe she was traveling to another dimension – wherever she got her costume and weapons – and time didn't work the same way there as here. Maybe she'd only ever intended to be a hero in that other universe.
In Earth Aleph, where Japan was one of the world's booming economies, anime and manga were big and there was a genre called isekai. Greg had no clue what it translated to, but essentially it was a normal person dropped into a fantasy world. Normally those stories just ended up weird Mary-Sue wish fulfillment that left the reader unsatisfied, but some of them explored the ideas of how a person from the modern world might react to a fantasy one, and how someone adapted to a world where killing was a way of life might struggle to function once brought back to the real world.
That idea held some merit, but it still didn't explain Taylor's behavior in school. Unless school was her anchor, something she was doing to keep reminding herself she was normal. That didn't really make sense, on second thought. Why would she come to such an awful place as Winslow, with Emma Barnes there, if she wanted to feel normal and give herself solid mental ground?
No, idle theorizing would do no good. Operation Taylor Investigation had to get down to the nitty-gritty, and that started with getting Taylor into his team for World Affairs' next group project. Then he could come over to her place to study and discuss ideas. A body camera would do for now, and if he found something that felt like a clue...maybe Greg could somehow buy a stealth camera from Leet or Toybox, to plant in her place? It made him feel terribly like a stalker, but Taylor wasn't this killer cape. She was a sweet, timid girl and needed his help.
They didn't have terribly many classes together so, during Computer Science after finishing the light workload Mrs. Knott assigned that Monday, Greg opted to browse Parahumans Online and see if anyone had leaked or otherwise distributed information about Taylor's debut on the cape scene. According to some information leaks, the PRT were designating her with the intimidating name Bloodmoon, ostensibly to discourage people from trying to approach her. Thankfully the various people posting used "he" and "she" interchangeably to describe Bloodmoon depending on who was talking, so nobody seemed to know her real identity.
More interesting was the information shared by others. Greg and Sparky were both firm believers in the power of basement-dwelling weirdos on the internet, and that belief was once again justified: Somebody was aware that the Empire was moving in shipments of guns and brought this up, which forced the PRT to admit that the cape they were already labeling as a villain had halted a massive load of automatic weapons which the PRT had seized in the aftermath of the massacre.
Even more notable, after the PRT's admission about the guns came a deluge of insistent, cajoling and threatening posts demanding that the Parahuman Response Team be honest about what happened at the ABB warehouse. According to the poster, there had been more body bags removed than ABB grunts had been stationed there, and at least one person had been brought out alive. If Greg had been the one making those accusations, he'd have suffered another ban – and possibly a permanent one. But the mods didn't silence this poster.
Finally, Reave (account name for one of the PRT's liaisons for Brockton Bay) shared the whole story. The Azn Bad Boyz hadn't just been occupying some random warehouse: they had been shipping girls between locations. Perhaps some had been imported, some ready for export. Nobody could be sure because the survivors weren't talking. But there had been at least two dead girls there, beaten to death or dead from infection, and one or more still alive by the time Bloodmoon attacked. And the cape hadn't touched a hair on the girl's head.
That kicked off a shitstorm that was apparently still ongoing, new posts flooding in as users argued whether Bloodmoon should be counted as a villain or even a vigilante, countless low-content posts simply stating "Good riddance" or a variation of such, and threadbans being tossed out left and right.
Reading through all this, Greg bit his lip. This was the injection of hope he needed, the bit of proof that Taylor was still in there beneath the costume and the blood and the violence. He'd been obsessed with her for almost two years now, and more than ever hated himself for his cowardice in not defending her. But he knew the kind of person she was: protective, stubborn, gentle. The willingness to kill was new but it was focused, and even more than he'd presumed. Even when Bloodmoon was out and active, it was still Taylor. And she could be saved.
(BREAK)
Now or never, Veder, Greg girded himself. World Affairs was here. He'd need to swallow his fear, focus on his goal, and actually talk to Taylor again. More than that, he had to convince her to work with him and Sparky.
On cue, Taylor shuffled into class and took her seat just before the bell. Madison batted her eyelashes teasingly at her and Greg rolled his eyes. How did this girl not notice the seething danger just beneath Taylor's skin? Primal threat radiated off the girl like stink off a linebacker's jockstrap!
Mr. G. started in on his little lecture and it was so much noise to Greg. Gladly never really had much interesting to say but usually he tried to at least frame it in a cool way, sitting on the desk with his tie mostly undone. Right now Greg couldn't have been less interested in what the teacher was saying, just waiting for Gladly to get to the project.
"Now, since we've been dealing with parahumans this semester, I think it's fitting that our group project should focus on them as well. I want you all to gather in groups of three or four and put together a presentation on how the economy has changed due to parahumans," Mr. G. Declared. Jackpot!
"Taylor," Madison singsonged, "you can come work with Katie and me." Unknown to her, Madison had just played right into Greg's hands and he hadn't even needed to do anything. He just had to speak up now, before Mr. G. could say what a splendid idea it was that someone was helping the class pariah.
His voice first came out in a cracked squeak that he managed to disguise with a cough. "Ah, sorry Madison. Sparky, Taylor and I already agreed to work together on the next World Affairs project. I'm sure you can find another third for your group."
Gladly sat back behind his desk, pulling out some papers. "Alright, the rest of class is for you all to plan. Feel free to mill around and gather up with your partners. If you haven't got a full three-person group by the end of class, stick around and see me and we'll see what we can do."
Greg had to smack Sparky, who was busy doodling in his notebook. "C'mon. You know Taylor won't come to us."
His longtime friend pouted. "Do I have to? She's so boring."
"You can bring your notebook, dude. Just show some solidarity."
That perked his friend right up. Sparky was insensitive sometimes, but easy to please.
It felt like one moment of truth after another. Greg had to continually steel himself against the fear that made him want to run in the other direction. Every step forward on this plan could crumble apart if he faltered, and the pressure felt like a hydraulic press on his skull. Still, he was proud of himself that he only stuttered once. "H-hey, Taylor. So, sorry to rope you in with Sparky here but I know you didn't want to get stuck with those two. But, ah, I think we could come up with a good project. Sparky's really good with numbers, I know a lot of cape stuff, and you're really smart." It was coming more easily now. "Maybe we could meet up after school? Get one of those side rooms at the library, maybe?" It was definitely too early to go over to her house yet, not just because the body camera wasn't scheduled to arrive until Tuesday. Taylor's trust was in short supply and she could see a premature request to come to her house as some sort of threat – and someone like Taylor, like Bloodmoon, responded to threats in a very visceral way.
The girl still hadn't said anything, just blinking owlishly at them. Then she parted her lips, working her jaw for a split-second like it was suffering from disuse. "Uh, okay?" she replied in that cute, confused voice in a way that was entirely Taylor.
This and further details were revealed as Sophia and Emma discussed Taylor. At Emma's inquiry as to Sophia's sudden increased interest, the athlete responded, "I dunno, it's just getting boring for me. Hebert's been a wet blanket since she went into the hospital and I need excitement. It's no fun just beating a dead cat against the wall. Hebert's broken, so why not find a new toy?" Truthfully Sophia didn't need some grand chase or challenge: simply exerting her power over another was entertainment enough, and hurting someone fit that criterion. Emma was still her friend, though, and if she could direct the redhead away from the walking massacre then she would.
"She hasn't learned her place yet," Emma insisted. "She keeps coming to school, going through the motions, like being a good little lemming will get her anywhere. Taylor needs to understand that a weakling like her isn't wanted, doesn't belong."
Damn it, Emma… "If you say so," Sophia shrugged. "I'll probably start looking for new game, myself. Hebert's lost my interest. Have fun." Well, that discussion could have gone better.
Worse, now the ball was in Greg's court. A looming incident that could cost her friend's life, her own reputation, her freedom, and it all rested in the hands of Greg Veder.
I'm doomed.
(BREAK)
The first step of any investigation is to establish parameters. If you just try gathering any and all information, you'll end up with piles of useless intel and only stumble onto clues through sheer luck. Likewise, if you set too narrow a focus then you risk throwing out vital info because it doesn't fit your expectations.
Greg had prepared as soon as he had help, putting together his own conspiracy board. From aliens to zombies to faerie changelings, all sorts of potential ideas were on the table. Most of them were probably complete bullshit but it always pays to keep an open mind.
Now came the second and most important aspect: actually gathering the intel. The best analysts in the world can't come up with answers if they don't have information, and the best theory will go unproven without evidence. Stage 1 of that info-gathering began on Monday.
Taylor still looked undead, the circles under her eyes just as dark as ever, and the girl had taken to sneaking a can of caffeinated energy drink inside her backpack with one of those attachable sippy tops so she could slurp it when she thought nobody was looking. Whatever was happening, Taylor seemed desperate to avoid sleep.
Was it a problem at home? With her dad, maybe? He never really heard her talk about her dad, but before she started scaring him Greg also never heard or saw anything that was a red flag for abuse. And he'd been looking – maybe not for that specifically, but he liked to think he would have noticed if it'd been there. So some other reason for her to be avoiding sleep. Of course, the need for caffeine could be something else: perhaps her powers left her constantly exhausted. Or there was some sort of time-dilation where things took longer for her than for anyone else. Could she be living hours in another person's minutes, and so got sleepy that much faster? Maybe she was traveling to another dimension – wherever she got her costume and weapons – and time didn't work the same way there as here. Maybe she'd only ever intended to be a hero in that other universe.
In Earth Aleph, where Japan was one of the world's booming economies, anime and manga were big and there was a genre called isekai. Greg had no clue what it translated to, but essentially it was a normal person dropped into a fantasy world. Normally those stories just ended up weird Mary-Sue wish fulfillment that left the reader unsatisfied, but some of them explored the ideas of how a person from the modern world might react to a fantasy one, and how someone adapted to a world where killing was a way of life might struggle to function once brought back to the real world.
That idea held some merit, but it still didn't explain Taylor's behavior in school. Unless school was her anchor, something she was doing to keep reminding herself she was normal. That didn't really make sense, on second thought. Why would she come to such an awful place as Winslow, with Emma Barnes there, if she wanted to feel normal and give herself solid mental ground?
No, idle theorizing would do no good. Operation Taylor Investigation had to get down to the nitty-gritty, and that started with getting Taylor into his team for World Affairs' next group project. Then he could come over to her place to study and discuss ideas. A body camera would do for now, and if he found something that felt like a clue...maybe Greg could somehow buy a stealth camera from Leet or Toybox, to plant in her place? It made him feel terribly like a stalker, but Taylor wasn't this killer cape. She was a sweet, timid girl and needed his help.
They didn't have terribly many classes together so, during Computer Science after finishing the light workload Mrs. Knott assigned that Monday, Greg opted to browse Parahumans Online and see if anyone had leaked or otherwise distributed information about Taylor's debut on the cape scene. According to some information leaks, the PRT were designating her with the intimidating name Bloodmoon, ostensibly to discourage people from trying to approach her. Thankfully the various people posting used "he" and "she" interchangeably to describe Bloodmoon depending on who was talking, so nobody seemed to know her real identity.
More interesting was the information shared by others. Greg and Sparky were both firm believers in the power of basement-dwelling weirdos on the internet, and that belief was once again justified: Somebody was aware that the Empire was moving in shipments of guns and brought this up, which forced the PRT to admit that the cape they were already labeling as a villain had halted a massive load of automatic weapons which the PRT had seized in the aftermath of the massacre.
Even more notable, after the PRT's admission about the guns came a deluge of insistent, cajoling and threatening posts demanding that the Parahuman Response Team be honest about what happened at the ABB warehouse. According to the poster, there had been more body bags removed than ABB grunts had been stationed there, and at least one person had been brought out alive. If Greg had been the one making those accusations, he'd have suffered another ban – and possibly a permanent one. But the mods didn't silence this poster.
Finally, Reave (account name for one of the PRT's liaisons for Brockton Bay) shared the whole story. The Azn Bad Boyz hadn't just been occupying some random warehouse: they had been shipping girls between locations. Perhaps some had been imported, some ready for export. Nobody could be sure because the survivors weren't talking. But there had been at least two dead girls there, beaten to death or dead from infection, and one or more still alive by the time Bloodmoon attacked. And the cape hadn't touched a hair on the girl's head.
That kicked off a shitstorm that was apparently still ongoing, new posts flooding in as users argued whether Bloodmoon should be counted as a villain or even a vigilante, countless low-content posts simply stating "Good riddance" or a variation of such, and threadbans being tossed out left and right.
Reading through all this, Greg bit his lip. This was the injection of hope he needed, the bit of proof that Taylor was still in there beneath the costume and the blood and the violence. He'd been obsessed with her for almost two years now, and more than ever hated himself for his cowardice in not defending her. But he knew the kind of person she was: protective, stubborn, gentle. The willingness to kill was new but it was focused, and even more than he'd presumed. Even when Bloodmoon was out and active, it was still Taylor. And she could be saved.
(BREAK)
Now or never, Veder, Greg girded himself. World Affairs was here. He'd need to swallow his fear, focus on his goal, and actually talk to Taylor again. More than that, he had to convince her to work with him and Sparky.
On cue, Taylor shuffled into class and took her seat just before the bell. Madison batted her eyelashes teasingly at her and Greg rolled his eyes. How did this girl not notice the seething danger just beneath Taylor's skin? Primal threat radiated off the girl like stink off a linebacker's jockstrap!
Mr. G. started in on his little lecture and it was so much noise to Greg. Gladly never really had much interesting to say but usually he tried to at least frame it in a cool way, sitting on the desk with his tie mostly undone. Right now Greg couldn't have been less interested in what the teacher was saying, just waiting for Gladly to get to the project.
"Now, since we've been dealing with parahumans this semester, I think it's fitting that our group project should focus on them as well. I want you all to gather in groups of three or four and put together a presentation on how the economy has changed due to parahumans," Mr. G. Declared. Jackpot!
"Taylor," Madison singsonged, "you can come work with Katie and me." Unknown to her, Madison had just played right into Greg's hands and he hadn't even needed to do anything. He just had to speak up now, before Mr. G. could say what a splendid idea it was that someone was helping the class pariah.
His voice first came out in a cracked squeak that he managed to disguise with a cough. "Ah, sorry Madison. Sparky, Taylor and I already agreed to work together on the next World Affairs project. I'm sure you can find another third for your group."
Gladly sat back behind his desk, pulling out some papers. "Alright, the rest of class is for you all to plan. Feel free to mill around and gather up with your partners. If you haven't got a full three-person group by the end of class, stick around and see me and we'll see what we can do."
Greg had to smack Sparky, who was busy doodling in his notebook. "C'mon. You know Taylor won't come to us."
His longtime friend pouted. "Do I have to? She's so boring."
"You can bring your notebook, dude. Just show some solidarity."
That perked his friend right up. Sparky was insensitive sometimes, but easy to please.
It felt like one moment of truth after another. Greg had to continually steel himself against the fear that made him want to run in the other direction. Every step forward on this plan could crumble apart if he faltered, and the pressure felt like a hydraulic press on his skull. Still, he was proud of himself that he only stuttered once. "H-hey, Taylor. So, sorry to rope you in with Sparky here but I know you didn't want to get stuck with those two. But, ah, I think we could come up with a good project. Sparky's really good with numbers, I know a lot of cape stuff, and you're really smart." It was coming more easily now. "Maybe we could meet up after school? Get one of those side rooms at the library, maybe?" It was definitely too early to go over to her house yet, not just because the body camera wasn't scheduled to arrive until Tuesday. Taylor's trust was in short supply and she could see a premature request to come to her house as some sort of threat – and someone like Taylor, like Bloodmoon, responded to threats in a very visceral way.
The girl still hadn't said anything, just blinking owlishly at them. Then she parted her lips, working her jaw for a split-second like it was suffering from disuse. "Uh, okay?" she replied in that cute, confused voice in a way that was entirely Taylor.
Good chapter it was really smooth how you transitioned the POV but maybe during the break line you clarify who its changing to? You are really good at getting the different internal monologues right, my god why is he so perceptive yet dumb at the same time.
12
Vherstinae
Patron Saint of Cuddlebugs
- Location
- Home
My mind swirled with ideas as to what I might say to the poor orphaned girl. Even more so, what she might do if left all alone. She couldn't be older than ten, maybe not even that old. Could I count on her to stay locked in her house? What if something tried to break in? Damn it, I was only a teenager, I wasn't prepared for anything like this!
I was spiraling. I needed to stop and focus. Center myself. Be on the lookout for beasts, I reminded myself. Concentrate on that for now, stew on the existential crisis of responsibility in the background. Heading up the massive steps took me to the biggest damn church complex I'd ever seen. Everything was carved from stone, many of the statues and all of the pillars were hewn from a single stone each and immaculately carved. The statues were horrific, Lovecraftian nightmares fusing the human and the inhuman. Portrayals of robed figures with heads like stinkhorn mushrooms, arms raised in supplication or perhaps triumph. Were these portrayals of Oedon? Perhaps his – its – angels? If so, I'd take my chances with Biblically-accurate angels.
As I explored the complex, multiple mausolea and smaller temples, I found an honest-to-God treasure chest. The big thing was ornate and hidden in a shadowy corner, and I opened it fully expecting a trap, or an ambush, or for a mummy to pop out and yell at me. Instead I found a strange tool. Divided into parts, it looked like a sextant and some bizarre combination of measuring scales and one of those 3D chessboards I'd seen in a novelty shop. I had absolutely no idea what this thing was but as I watched, some of the oddities that Doll called the little ones (I guess I should start calling them that too, if only so we had common parlance) rose up from the solid bottom of the chest.
With the opportunity to watch this time, it was honestly fascinating. First came the churning substance, as a pseudo-liquid like whiteout bubbled up from nowhere. Then the little ones rose up in a cluster, emerging from the liquid as if surfacing from beneath the water. The stark white faded away, leaving a slight… Mist was not the correct term, but my eyes interpreted it as mist or fog despite it not drifting away. The area where the little ones met the solid surface was disrupted by this mist, preventing me from seeing it clearly. Perhaps it was like the headache I'd gotten when Doll had started using her magic and I'd looked right at it. If so, I was glad I couldn't see what was going on.
The little ones grabbed the tool, moaned in what I presumed was thanks or perhaps congratulations, and pulled it down with them. Then the chest was empty and its floor undisturbed. Even the dust was still in place. "This place is so fuckin' weird," I muttered to myself.
Normally when I hear the word 'chapel,' I think of a smaller church – someplace where one or two dozen people at most could gather for worship. If the naming conventions held true and this was a small church… Well, put simply, Oedon Chapel was massive. Vaulted ceilings at least fifty feet high, probably a hundred feet from front to back, with a raised central dais a dozen feet or more across. Everything was beautifully carved, even the floors were textured. Alcoves featured little pedestals, some with what I could only presume were artifacts. I couldn't begin to imagine how Oedon was worshiped, but however they did it they did it in style. And all around me were massive urns with wicks, all burning and releasing a scent I somewhat recognized.
It had been difficult to place at first, because I'd gotten used to the scent. It was the smell of the moonlight-flowers that clung to me. Well, not quite that smell, but this was an approximation. And, my brain registered, there had been a candle, lamp or incense holder releasing that same scent at Gilbert's window and at Gascoigne and Viola's house. And here were hundreds of these, filling the entire cathedral with the smell.
"Well now," a voice chirped from my right, "even steps, not muttering to yourself, and you can stomach the incense. Unless my ears deceive me, I do believe someone with their wits still about them has come to the chapel. I was starting to get worried I'd be the only one left," the man finished with a slightly unhinged giggle. I couldn't tell if it was a tic, a nervous breakdown from fear, or if I was dealing with a madman.
I turned to address the speaker and froze. Once again, I was confronted with something frightening. He had gray-black skin like ash, not of the same texture as human skin. I could tell it was almost papery. He was far too long – arms almost like tentacles, topped with spindly-fingered hands, even a face too long and narrow. Gehrman at least appeared in the realm of reason, but this...this creature's pointed chin and nose were elongated so much as to be obviously unnatural. Milky eyes blinked unseeing, and it undulated in ragged red robes, long torso resting on the stone. This creature had no legs.
"Are you mute?" It spoke in a friendly, youthful male voice. Someone in his early twenties, maybe? Definitely a Yharnam accent. "I sure hope not or that'll make things difficult. I can't exactly see, you see?" Another giggle.
I tightened my grip on the pistol. "...Sorry if this is rude," I said at length, "but what are you?"
If he was offended, he didn't show it. "I'm a person! At least I think I am. Best we can figure, me parents left me here for the priests to care for me. I can't entirely blame them, I've never met anyone like me and nobody else has either. No legs, eyes don't work, they tell me I'm the wrong shape and color. Let me tell you, it's the 'no legs' thing that's the most inconvenient," he chuckled. "So I live here at the chapel, at the priests' generosity. What brings you through here, traveler?"
I kept a healthy distance. "I'm heading to Cathedral Ward, to the Healing Church. I think I need their help to get home." I looked around. "You said there were priests here?"
"Well I'm glad you clarified, since you're in Cathedral Ward already. And yes," his face fell, "there were priests here. This hunt...it's different. Everyone's locked up inside, as you do, since it always ends. It'll end this time too, mark my words, but something tells me it'll end badly. The priests got their gear together and went out to help people. That was hours ago and not a one has come back." He tilted his too-long head. "You don't sound too frightened by all this. Are you perchance a hunter?"
I shrugged. "I guess so. That's what Gehrman tells me, at least."
His lips spread in a disturbing smile. Even his teeth were too long, and all of them oddly blunted. "That's wonderful news! I've been waiting for one of your ilk. Maybe we can make a difference yet!" As if sensing my incredulity, he continued. "Far as I can tell, the beasts are getting bolder. The usual little incense dish isn't always enough to keep them back. Even some folks hiding away are going bad. Yharnam's done for, mark my words. But that doesn't mean that we can't still help people." The ragged mutant waved a long arm in a sweeping motions. "The incense in these urns all together is strong enough to scare off any beast, and it'll last well into the morning if not longer. If you find any folk with their wits about 'em, tell 'em about Oedon Chapel here. They'll be safe. And if we can get some supplies, close off the doors, we can make a good stand of it till the hunt ends, come what may." He trailed off with that unsettling giggle again.
"So what's your name?" This was the longest conversation I'd had with someone that wasn't through a door, aside from Gehrman and Doll, but they didn't exactly count considering they were in a pocket-dimension Dream.
"Don't have one," he shrugged. "Priests always just called me 'my child' or some such, others called me the Chapel Dweller like it was a profession. I'm naught but a humble beggar, no skills to count as a profession."
I blinked. "You're the second person without a name I've met tonight. Would you like one?"
He smiled again. "Oh sure. I've tried to come up with one for meself, but nothing ever felt quite right. Do you have a name, miss hunter?"
I wanted to believe he was a gentle wretch, a victim of circumstance who had genuinely good intentions. Yharnam hadn't beaten hope out of me yet. However, the saying always goes to trust but verify. "I'm Taylor. Nice to meet you." Hopefully Iosefka or Gilbert, or maybe Doll might know about him. Doll from stories told by other hunters, but still. Gehrman was probably too far out of date to know. "I'll have a look around. If I find anyone, I'll keep you in mind."
"All I can ask," he declared with another laugh.
(BREAK)
Gilbert didn't know about the beggar, having never made it to Cathedral Ward himself. He listened as I explained my current problems, then I heard the grinding of wood on wood. He wheezed and I could hear him staggering.
"Gilbert!" I cried out in concern, his shadow approaching the window.
"This is probably...the last time I can move like this," he wheezed. "But Taylor, you've been kind to me and I want to repay that kindness, as well as give you the chance to succeed at your quest." He fumbled with the window, managing to slide it up somewhat. His hands were bandaged, gnarled, shriveled. His body looked withered like a corpse or a wizened old man. I still couldn't see his face: I was certain this was intentional. He passed something through the bars: it looked like a strange watering can, or an oversized airbrush tool. "When Iosefka told me about the beasts, how they're a risk but don't like fire, I got ahold of this. Now I want it to be yours." I tried to protest but he cut me off. "If you must, consider it a last request from a dying man. Don't get trapped here, Taylor. Burn your path to freedom." Gilbert shoved the device into my hands and with great effort shut the window again. He staggered back to his bed. "N-now off with you, lass. I need to read my new book and get some rest."
I smiled softly. "Rest well, Gilbert. If I can, I'll get you out of here too."
His shadow tiredly waved me off. "I've made my peace, girl. Unharmed by this plague of beasts, I can die human and on my own terms even if the schedule's not mine. And I can help my new friend get out of here."
(BREAK)
My reasons for meeting Iosefka were twofold: I wanted to know if she had any information on this beggar and if he was trustworthy, and I was looking for her advice on what to do with the little girl. Could she make an exception and open her door to let the girl inside? I slaughtered my way through the huntsmen and the beasts – it was almost by rote at this point – and knocked on her door. "Iosefka, are you busy?"
The voice that echoed through the door shortly thereafter was smooth, assured, the voice of a confident doctor. It was decidedly not Iosefka's voice. "Oh, well hello there. Who's this again? I've been so busy I'm having trouble keeping track of voices."
My spine felt like it was made of frozen metal. The chill that circulated through me was only rivaled by when I realized I'd never see my mother's flute again. I swallowed hard. If Iosefka was being held hostage, if there was hope of saving her, I'd need to avoid alerting this other woman. "I-it's Taylor. From earlier tonight?"
"Ah, Taylor. Of course, how could I have forgotten? How are you, dear girl?" The words were right, but they were completely insincere. I could feel the falsehood, taste its bitterness on my tongue. This woman had no idea who I was or what my relationship was to Iosefka.
"I'm alright. I was just in the area so I thought I'd check in, make sure you're still safe in there."
That perked her up. "Oh yes, I've set up quite the safe area in here. In fact, I think I can accommodate more patients – or, if not patients, at least guests in need of safety. If you find any survivors, send them to my clinic. Upon my oath as a healer, if they are human I will look after them, perhaps even cure them. This sickness, these beasts, they are not to be feared."
A far cry from the gentle woman who'd feared for her patients' health and safety.
"This time the night is long," the woman continued. "I might be trapped here, but I should do some small thing to help. How about I even offer a reward for your assistance? Tempted?" she purred.
Play along, I exhorted myself even as I gripped my saw so hard it shook. Like Gascoigne had shaken when he heard the music box. "Y-yeah, a reward would be nice."
"Wonderful! Well, off you go, then. If you find anyone who's still human, send them to Iosefka's Clinic! You can assure them there's no place safer!"
"Don't worry," I replied, "I'll get right on that."
It took all my willpower to walk away rather than run.
(BREAK)
"Gehrman!" I shouted, charging out of the mist in the Dream. "I need directions!" I skidded to a stop, lowering my voice once I found him. The wheelchair-bound man sat before one of the desks, fiddling with a device – the same device that the little ones had retrieved from outside the chapel!
"I expected as much," the old man replied, not looking up from his inspection. "What possessed you to bellow so greatly I half-expected the roof to collapse upon me, Taylor?"
"Iosefka – one of my friends in Yharnam – I think she's been kidnapped. Or...or she's dead," I responded, throat suddenly blocked by the volume of my worry. Iosefka had been the first person to sing me to sleep since my mother died, the first altruistic soul I'd encountered in so long. It was through her that I managed to cling to hope and take those first tentative steps toward freeing myself from this nightmare. "I need to know if there's another way into the clinic. It's in western Yharnam, Northwest I think. Big building, full of gurneys and medical equipment."
Doll peeked in from the doorway. "The ministration clinic that Laurence once frequented on his charitable missions," she clarified for me. I didn't miss how Gehrman's hackles rose, shoulders hunching defensively when she spoke.
The old man did his best to silently let out his tense breath through his nose, pretend he hadn't just been so on-edge he might well have split in two. "...Aye, I know the place. It's connected by underground corridor to a village in the Forbidden Woods."
Even with my panic, I couldn't keep my eyebrow from rising and the sarcastic comment slipped out with no regard to my emotional state. "It's called the Forbidden Woods? Did you let somebody's edgy thirteen-year-old name it?"
Gehrman waved me off. "Nah. Woods're infected with some sort of disease. People went mad, monsters moved in. Even the beasts avoid the place. Course, they would've been forbidden regardless with the schism between the Church and Byrgenwerth, but that's just one reason to avoid them. Now give me some paper, lass, anything will do: it won't be terribly detailed." I provided him a scrap and he began to scribble. "I made it a point not to spend much time out there. Never felt right even before the infection. Snakes and worse out there in the fetid swamps, and I always felt like something far too intelligent was watching me from the shadows." He drew a basic path, some buildings to represent a village… "The trapdoor should be around this area, provided a shack hasn't been erected atop it." Gehrman rolled his chair around to look at me as he passed me the paper. "Now tell me why you need to get inside through a back way."
I did my best to condense the information, telling him about Iosefka and why she was important to me, as well as this new voice pretending to be her. At length, Gehrman sighed and gazed at me with those sorrowful eyes.
"I won't tell you not to try saving her, though I will caution against it," he warned. "I can guarantee you that your journey won't have a happy ending."
I squared my shoulders. "Even if I can't save her, Iosefka and her patients deserve vengeance at the very least."
His frown deepened. "Do what you will." Gehrman turned back to his device.
In an attempt to avoid leaving things on a somewhat negative note, I spoke up again. "So what did I find, anyway? What is that thing?"
"Blood-gem tool," he responded, resuming his inspection. "We used it to concentrate blood and blood gems into our weapons. Blood, the echoes, is representative of strength and fortitude. By making this symbolism physical we fortify our weapons just as we can fortify our bodies. The blood gems… I have no cultural touchstone to help you understand, so simply comprehend that these are solidified concepts written in blood and given physical form. When worked into a weapon, they can provide powerful advantages. Some keep memories of trauma and carry drawbacks, but suffering always breeds strength so they can be the most powerful – if you can handle the danger. Kegs used to be fans of seeking those kinds of gems, the madmen." The mix of fondness and derision in Gehrman's voice when he mentioned Kegs reminded me of how Dad used to talk about his cousin Rob, so I could only imagine that Gehrman saw them as having their hearts in the right place but their heads up their asses.
"Interesting. Once you're done looking it over, maybe I'll try it out." I stepped closer, moving slowly so as not to startle him. Gehrman didn't seem to frighten easily, but what I had planned… "And thank you, for the map." I leaned down against his chair and gave the old man a gentle hug. He'd been alone for God only knows how long, his only company being someone he obviously couldn't stand. If Doll's words meant what they seemed and he couldn't even travel to Yharnam, Gehrman must have been starved for human contact to a degree even I couldn't fathom.
I didn't hold the embrace for more than a second or two. He stiffened in my arms and didn't respond, verbally or physically. I left him to his work and approached Doll.
"Thanks for the help there. So who's Laurence?" I asked her.
"He was one of Gehrman's old friends, a brother in arms," she replied evenly.
"Was, huh?" I let out a low breath. "Gehrman's lost a lot of people, hasn't he?"
"And even more within this Dream. Countless hunters he mentored, far fewer was he able to free. Too many succumbed to madness or beasthood. I sometimes walk the path and look at all of the names, to recall everyone who has fought to escape the hunt." Doll was always subdued but she sounded particularly melancholic there.
"I wanted to ask you," I changed the subject with the subtlety of that bridge monster, "do you know anything about a blind mutant in Oedon Chapel?" I described the strange man as best I could.
"I believe so, at least in passing. Several people have mentioned someone of that general description. None have commented on his character, so either he is inoffensive or has simply not done anything to draw attention from those hunters who encountered him."
I sat on the garden wall. "So, this might be a difficult question, especially since you live here and don't have much context. But I need to ask somebody for advice and with Iosefka unavailable you're the one best equipped, I think. There's a little girl, orphaned now. Her mother was killed by beasts, her father went insane and turned into a beast himself. I… I don't want to leave her alone in her house. Young and trusting as she is, she might wander off or let some maniac inside. Do you think it's better to bring her to Oedon Chapel, so she'll at least have someone to talk with? Or is she safer in her house?"
Doll stood silent for a time, apparently thinking while she was perfectly immobile. It was a bit disconcerting to see how she didn't breathe, didn't twitch or fidget. "On the worst nights, beasts become so bold that even incense will not frighten them away. A dish burning through the night would not provide safety. A chapel filled with incense urns would turn away more and larger beasts than a dish would, and Yharnamites build their places of worship with thick stone doors."
An answer that didn't exactly tell me what to do, but Doll raised good points. As long as the beggar could be trusted, Oedon Chapel's stone doors and thick walls would likely be safer. "Thanks, Doll. I'll see you later."
"Farewell, Taylor," she said with the tiniest smile. "May you find your way safely through the dreaming world."
I was spiraling. I needed to stop and focus. Center myself. Be on the lookout for beasts, I reminded myself. Concentrate on that for now, stew on the existential crisis of responsibility in the background. Heading up the massive steps took me to the biggest damn church complex I'd ever seen. Everything was carved from stone, many of the statues and all of the pillars were hewn from a single stone each and immaculately carved. The statues were horrific, Lovecraftian nightmares fusing the human and the inhuman. Portrayals of robed figures with heads like stinkhorn mushrooms, arms raised in supplication or perhaps triumph. Were these portrayals of Oedon? Perhaps his – its – angels? If so, I'd take my chances with Biblically-accurate angels.
As I explored the complex, multiple mausolea and smaller temples, I found an honest-to-God treasure chest. The big thing was ornate and hidden in a shadowy corner, and I opened it fully expecting a trap, or an ambush, or for a mummy to pop out and yell at me. Instead I found a strange tool. Divided into parts, it looked like a sextant and some bizarre combination of measuring scales and one of those 3D chessboards I'd seen in a novelty shop. I had absolutely no idea what this thing was but as I watched, some of the oddities that Doll called the little ones (I guess I should start calling them that too, if only so we had common parlance) rose up from the solid bottom of the chest.
With the opportunity to watch this time, it was honestly fascinating. First came the churning substance, as a pseudo-liquid like whiteout bubbled up from nowhere. Then the little ones rose up in a cluster, emerging from the liquid as if surfacing from beneath the water. The stark white faded away, leaving a slight… Mist was not the correct term, but my eyes interpreted it as mist or fog despite it not drifting away. The area where the little ones met the solid surface was disrupted by this mist, preventing me from seeing it clearly. Perhaps it was like the headache I'd gotten when Doll had started using her magic and I'd looked right at it. If so, I was glad I couldn't see what was going on.
The little ones grabbed the tool, moaned in what I presumed was thanks or perhaps congratulations, and pulled it down with them. Then the chest was empty and its floor undisturbed. Even the dust was still in place. "This place is so fuckin' weird," I muttered to myself.
Normally when I hear the word 'chapel,' I think of a smaller church – someplace where one or two dozen people at most could gather for worship. If the naming conventions held true and this was a small church… Well, put simply, Oedon Chapel was massive. Vaulted ceilings at least fifty feet high, probably a hundred feet from front to back, with a raised central dais a dozen feet or more across. Everything was beautifully carved, even the floors were textured. Alcoves featured little pedestals, some with what I could only presume were artifacts. I couldn't begin to imagine how Oedon was worshiped, but however they did it they did it in style. And all around me were massive urns with wicks, all burning and releasing a scent I somewhat recognized.
It had been difficult to place at first, because I'd gotten used to the scent. It was the smell of the moonlight-flowers that clung to me. Well, not quite that smell, but this was an approximation. And, my brain registered, there had been a candle, lamp or incense holder releasing that same scent at Gilbert's window and at Gascoigne and Viola's house. And here were hundreds of these, filling the entire cathedral with the smell.
"Well now," a voice chirped from my right, "even steps, not muttering to yourself, and you can stomach the incense. Unless my ears deceive me, I do believe someone with their wits still about them has come to the chapel. I was starting to get worried I'd be the only one left," the man finished with a slightly unhinged giggle. I couldn't tell if it was a tic, a nervous breakdown from fear, or if I was dealing with a madman.
I turned to address the speaker and froze. Once again, I was confronted with something frightening. He had gray-black skin like ash, not of the same texture as human skin. I could tell it was almost papery. He was far too long – arms almost like tentacles, topped with spindly-fingered hands, even a face too long and narrow. Gehrman at least appeared in the realm of reason, but this...this creature's pointed chin and nose were elongated so much as to be obviously unnatural. Milky eyes blinked unseeing, and it undulated in ragged red robes, long torso resting on the stone. This creature had no legs.
"Are you mute?" It spoke in a friendly, youthful male voice. Someone in his early twenties, maybe? Definitely a Yharnam accent. "I sure hope not or that'll make things difficult. I can't exactly see, you see?" Another giggle.
I tightened my grip on the pistol. "...Sorry if this is rude," I said at length, "but what are you?"
If he was offended, he didn't show it. "I'm a person! At least I think I am. Best we can figure, me parents left me here for the priests to care for me. I can't entirely blame them, I've never met anyone like me and nobody else has either. No legs, eyes don't work, they tell me I'm the wrong shape and color. Let me tell you, it's the 'no legs' thing that's the most inconvenient," he chuckled. "So I live here at the chapel, at the priests' generosity. What brings you through here, traveler?"
I kept a healthy distance. "I'm heading to Cathedral Ward, to the Healing Church. I think I need their help to get home." I looked around. "You said there were priests here?"
"Well I'm glad you clarified, since you're in Cathedral Ward already. And yes," his face fell, "there were priests here. This hunt...it's different. Everyone's locked up inside, as you do, since it always ends. It'll end this time too, mark my words, but something tells me it'll end badly. The priests got their gear together and went out to help people. That was hours ago and not a one has come back." He tilted his too-long head. "You don't sound too frightened by all this. Are you perchance a hunter?"
I shrugged. "I guess so. That's what Gehrman tells me, at least."
His lips spread in a disturbing smile. Even his teeth were too long, and all of them oddly blunted. "That's wonderful news! I've been waiting for one of your ilk. Maybe we can make a difference yet!" As if sensing my incredulity, he continued. "Far as I can tell, the beasts are getting bolder. The usual little incense dish isn't always enough to keep them back. Even some folks hiding away are going bad. Yharnam's done for, mark my words. But that doesn't mean that we can't still help people." The ragged mutant waved a long arm in a sweeping motions. "The incense in these urns all together is strong enough to scare off any beast, and it'll last well into the morning if not longer. If you find any folk with their wits about 'em, tell 'em about Oedon Chapel here. They'll be safe. And if we can get some supplies, close off the doors, we can make a good stand of it till the hunt ends, come what may." He trailed off with that unsettling giggle again.
"So what's your name?" This was the longest conversation I'd had with someone that wasn't through a door, aside from Gehrman and Doll, but they didn't exactly count considering they were in a pocket-dimension Dream.
"Don't have one," he shrugged. "Priests always just called me 'my child' or some such, others called me the Chapel Dweller like it was a profession. I'm naught but a humble beggar, no skills to count as a profession."
I blinked. "You're the second person without a name I've met tonight. Would you like one?"
He smiled again. "Oh sure. I've tried to come up with one for meself, but nothing ever felt quite right. Do you have a name, miss hunter?"
I wanted to believe he was a gentle wretch, a victim of circumstance who had genuinely good intentions. Yharnam hadn't beaten hope out of me yet. However, the saying always goes to trust but verify. "I'm Taylor. Nice to meet you." Hopefully Iosefka or Gilbert, or maybe Doll might know about him. Doll from stories told by other hunters, but still. Gehrman was probably too far out of date to know. "I'll have a look around. If I find anyone, I'll keep you in mind."
"All I can ask," he declared with another laugh.
(BREAK)
Gilbert didn't know about the beggar, having never made it to Cathedral Ward himself. He listened as I explained my current problems, then I heard the grinding of wood on wood. He wheezed and I could hear him staggering.
"Gilbert!" I cried out in concern, his shadow approaching the window.
"This is probably...the last time I can move like this," he wheezed. "But Taylor, you've been kind to me and I want to repay that kindness, as well as give you the chance to succeed at your quest." He fumbled with the window, managing to slide it up somewhat. His hands were bandaged, gnarled, shriveled. His body looked withered like a corpse or a wizened old man. I still couldn't see his face: I was certain this was intentional. He passed something through the bars: it looked like a strange watering can, or an oversized airbrush tool. "When Iosefka told me about the beasts, how they're a risk but don't like fire, I got ahold of this. Now I want it to be yours." I tried to protest but he cut me off. "If you must, consider it a last request from a dying man. Don't get trapped here, Taylor. Burn your path to freedom." Gilbert shoved the device into my hands and with great effort shut the window again. He staggered back to his bed. "N-now off with you, lass. I need to read my new book and get some rest."
I smiled softly. "Rest well, Gilbert. If I can, I'll get you out of here too."
His shadow tiredly waved me off. "I've made my peace, girl. Unharmed by this plague of beasts, I can die human and on my own terms even if the schedule's not mine. And I can help my new friend get out of here."
(BREAK)
My reasons for meeting Iosefka were twofold: I wanted to know if she had any information on this beggar and if he was trustworthy, and I was looking for her advice on what to do with the little girl. Could she make an exception and open her door to let the girl inside? I slaughtered my way through the huntsmen and the beasts – it was almost by rote at this point – and knocked on her door. "Iosefka, are you busy?"
The voice that echoed through the door shortly thereafter was smooth, assured, the voice of a confident doctor. It was decidedly not Iosefka's voice. "Oh, well hello there. Who's this again? I've been so busy I'm having trouble keeping track of voices."
My spine felt like it was made of frozen metal. The chill that circulated through me was only rivaled by when I realized I'd never see my mother's flute again. I swallowed hard. If Iosefka was being held hostage, if there was hope of saving her, I'd need to avoid alerting this other woman. "I-it's Taylor. From earlier tonight?"
"Ah, Taylor. Of course, how could I have forgotten? How are you, dear girl?" The words were right, but they were completely insincere. I could feel the falsehood, taste its bitterness on my tongue. This woman had no idea who I was or what my relationship was to Iosefka.
"I'm alright. I was just in the area so I thought I'd check in, make sure you're still safe in there."
That perked her up. "Oh yes, I've set up quite the safe area in here. In fact, I think I can accommodate more patients – or, if not patients, at least guests in need of safety. If you find any survivors, send them to my clinic. Upon my oath as a healer, if they are human I will look after them, perhaps even cure them. This sickness, these beasts, they are not to be feared."
A far cry from the gentle woman who'd feared for her patients' health and safety.
"This time the night is long," the woman continued. "I might be trapped here, but I should do some small thing to help. How about I even offer a reward for your assistance? Tempted?" she purred.
Play along, I exhorted myself even as I gripped my saw so hard it shook. Like Gascoigne had shaken when he heard the music box. "Y-yeah, a reward would be nice."
"Wonderful! Well, off you go, then. If you find anyone who's still human, send them to Iosefka's Clinic! You can assure them there's no place safer!"
"Don't worry," I replied, "I'll get right on that."
It took all my willpower to walk away rather than run.
(BREAK)
"Gehrman!" I shouted, charging out of the mist in the Dream. "I need directions!" I skidded to a stop, lowering my voice once I found him. The wheelchair-bound man sat before one of the desks, fiddling with a device – the same device that the little ones had retrieved from outside the chapel!
"I expected as much," the old man replied, not looking up from his inspection. "What possessed you to bellow so greatly I half-expected the roof to collapse upon me, Taylor?"
"Iosefka – one of my friends in Yharnam – I think she's been kidnapped. Or...or she's dead," I responded, throat suddenly blocked by the volume of my worry. Iosefka had been the first person to sing me to sleep since my mother died, the first altruistic soul I'd encountered in so long. It was through her that I managed to cling to hope and take those first tentative steps toward freeing myself from this nightmare. "I need to know if there's another way into the clinic. It's in western Yharnam, Northwest I think. Big building, full of gurneys and medical equipment."
Doll peeked in from the doorway. "The ministration clinic that Laurence once frequented on his charitable missions," she clarified for me. I didn't miss how Gehrman's hackles rose, shoulders hunching defensively when she spoke.
The old man did his best to silently let out his tense breath through his nose, pretend he hadn't just been so on-edge he might well have split in two. "...Aye, I know the place. It's connected by underground corridor to a village in the Forbidden Woods."
Even with my panic, I couldn't keep my eyebrow from rising and the sarcastic comment slipped out with no regard to my emotional state. "It's called the Forbidden Woods? Did you let somebody's edgy thirteen-year-old name it?"
Gehrman waved me off. "Nah. Woods're infected with some sort of disease. People went mad, monsters moved in. Even the beasts avoid the place. Course, they would've been forbidden regardless with the schism between the Church and Byrgenwerth, but that's just one reason to avoid them. Now give me some paper, lass, anything will do: it won't be terribly detailed." I provided him a scrap and he began to scribble. "I made it a point not to spend much time out there. Never felt right even before the infection. Snakes and worse out there in the fetid swamps, and I always felt like something far too intelligent was watching me from the shadows." He drew a basic path, some buildings to represent a village… "The trapdoor should be around this area, provided a shack hasn't been erected atop it." Gehrman rolled his chair around to look at me as he passed me the paper. "Now tell me why you need to get inside through a back way."
I did my best to condense the information, telling him about Iosefka and why she was important to me, as well as this new voice pretending to be her. At length, Gehrman sighed and gazed at me with those sorrowful eyes.
"I won't tell you not to try saving her, though I will caution against it," he warned. "I can guarantee you that your journey won't have a happy ending."
I squared my shoulders. "Even if I can't save her, Iosefka and her patients deserve vengeance at the very least."
His frown deepened. "Do what you will." Gehrman turned back to his device.
In an attempt to avoid leaving things on a somewhat negative note, I spoke up again. "So what did I find, anyway? What is that thing?"
"Blood-gem tool," he responded, resuming his inspection. "We used it to concentrate blood and blood gems into our weapons. Blood, the echoes, is representative of strength and fortitude. By making this symbolism physical we fortify our weapons just as we can fortify our bodies. The blood gems… I have no cultural touchstone to help you understand, so simply comprehend that these are solidified concepts written in blood and given physical form. When worked into a weapon, they can provide powerful advantages. Some keep memories of trauma and carry drawbacks, but suffering always breeds strength so they can be the most powerful – if you can handle the danger. Kegs used to be fans of seeking those kinds of gems, the madmen." The mix of fondness and derision in Gehrman's voice when he mentioned Kegs reminded me of how Dad used to talk about his cousin Rob, so I could only imagine that Gehrman saw them as having their hearts in the right place but their heads up their asses.
"Interesting. Once you're done looking it over, maybe I'll try it out." I stepped closer, moving slowly so as not to startle him. Gehrman didn't seem to frighten easily, but what I had planned… "And thank you, for the map." I leaned down against his chair and gave the old man a gentle hug. He'd been alone for God only knows how long, his only company being someone he obviously couldn't stand. If Doll's words meant what they seemed and he couldn't even travel to Yharnam, Gehrman must have been starved for human contact to a degree even I couldn't fathom.
I didn't hold the embrace for more than a second or two. He stiffened in my arms and didn't respond, verbally or physically. I left him to his work and approached Doll.
"Thanks for the help there. So who's Laurence?" I asked her.
"He was one of Gehrman's old friends, a brother in arms," she replied evenly.
"Was, huh?" I let out a low breath. "Gehrman's lost a lot of people, hasn't he?"
"And even more within this Dream. Countless hunters he mentored, far fewer was he able to free. Too many succumbed to madness or beasthood. I sometimes walk the path and look at all of the names, to recall everyone who has fought to escape the hunt." Doll was always subdued but she sounded particularly melancholic there.
"I wanted to ask you," I changed the subject with the subtlety of that bridge monster, "do you know anything about a blind mutant in Oedon Chapel?" I described the strange man as best I could.
"I believe so, at least in passing. Several people have mentioned someone of that general description. None have commented on his character, so either he is inoffensive or has simply not done anything to draw attention from those hunters who encountered him."
I sat on the garden wall. "So, this might be a difficult question, especially since you live here and don't have much context. But I need to ask somebody for advice and with Iosefka unavailable you're the one best equipped, I think. There's a little girl, orphaned now. Her mother was killed by beasts, her father went insane and turned into a beast himself. I… I don't want to leave her alone in her house. Young and trusting as she is, she might wander off or let some maniac inside. Do you think it's better to bring her to Oedon Chapel, so she'll at least have someone to talk with? Or is she safer in her house?"
Doll stood silent for a time, apparently thinking while she was perfectly immobile. It was a bit disconcerting to see how she didn't breathe, didn't twitch or fidget. "On the worst nights, beasts become so bold that even incense will not frighten them away. A dish burning through the night would not provide safety. A chapel filled with incense urns would turn away more and larger beasts than a dish would, and Yharnamites build their places of worship with thick stone doors."
An answer that didn't exactly tell me what to do, but Doll raised good points. As long as the beggar could be trusted, Oedon Chapel's stone doors and thick walls would likely be safer. "Thanks, Doll. I'll see you later."
"Farewell, Taylor," she said with the tiniest smile. "May you find your way safely through the dreaming world."
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
How long has Gehrman been without a friend? How long has he been alone? How long has it been since anyone even thought about how he must feel? It's good that Taylor has been able to show Gehrman the kindness of a hug.
Taylor cares about saving the people more than hunting beasts and it shows. I'm glad that we are able to see her interact with all the different characters. It's something that doesn't happen often in Bloodborne fanfics.
Taylor cares about saving the people more than hunting beasts and it shows. I'm glad that we are able to see her interact with all the different characters. It's something that doesn't happen often in Bloodborne fanfics.
- Location
- Texas
I hope for the girl and Iosefka but I still expect them to die, probably in worse ways seeing as everyone you try to help ends up dying worse deaths. Then again Taylor has more agency so maybe she can do something.
- Location
- miami
My interpretation of bloodborne was the hunters dream was more then Gehrman little prison. As the hunter you go out In to a city in its last night, everything has fallen apart or will soon enough. I always though the city its self was just another construct of the moon presence. Every new hunters wakes ups, dies and gets greeted by gehrman where he guides them to end the hunt and wake up.
But how many times has he done this, some of the NPCs talk about dreaming but it doesn't seem to be the same thing as the player character is experiencing.
When you get to the end of the game gehrman tells you it will all seem like a bad dream. It just made more sense to me that the whole city was long gone and dead and some old one was keeping the whole thing on a loop in its dreams.
Anyway, hope Taylor remains sane"ish. Or like the good sith from Star Wars goes so hard she comes out the other side sane.... ish.
Thanks for the chapter.
But how many times has he done this, some of the NPCs talk about dreaming but it doesn't seem to be the same thing as the player character is experiencing.
When you get to the end of the game gehrman tells you it will all seem like a bad dream. It just made more sense to me that the whole city was long gone and dead and some old one was keeping the whole thing on a loop in its dreams.
Anyway, hope Taylor remains sane"ish. Or like the good sith from Star Wars goes so hard she comes out the other side sane.... ish.
Thanks for the chapter.
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
Unfortunately we know that is not true as seen in the Submission Ending where Gehrman severs you from the Dream and the Hunter awakes in Yharnam under the light of a rising sun. So its fairly clear that the city is alive in the waking world and based on the Doll's lines it is arguable that the city we go to from the Dream is one and the same as the one seen at the end of the game in that ending, just altered via the Hunter being tied to the Dream.
We also know that Drjua did once dream as he was part of the Power Keg workshop at one point, which was allied with Gehrman's workshop so he at least knows of the Dream, but it seems likely that he was an actual Dreamer. Also Eileen outright tells us that she was a Dreamer of the Dream in the past, with her ending dialogue.
- Location
- Um..
I wonder how different the events in Bloodborne are going to be because Taylor's the hunter. Will different things happen because it's Taylor there or will circumstances shape themselves in a way that Taylor ends up following the story of Bloodborne without a lot of deviation. Nornally, I'd be against the second option, but in this case, it would make sense. The original player character of Bloodborne is a stand-in character without any defined characteristics, and it would fit with the cosmic, deterministic themes of Bloodborne.
13
Vherstinae
Patron Saint of Cuddlebugs
- Location
- Home
I returned to the lantern in the middle of Oedon Chapel's dais. The little one holding it wiggled at me, and for the first time I really took note that I could only hear them when in the Dream. Its mouth was certainly moving so I expected it was trying to make those bizarrely deep moans, but silence greeted me. Must be the dimensional shenanigans, something with them not being here in their entirety. In a roundabout way it made sense, in that only I could see and interact with them but sound wasn't nearly as discriminatory.
The crippled mutant perked up, looking around in fright. "Mm? Who's there?"
"It's Taylor again. Don't panic."
His head turned on its too-long neck to face my general direction. "A-and how'd you end up in here? I certainly didn't hear footsteps." Another giggle, despite there definitely being nothing humorous in his questioning.
"It's a long story. I don't know if you're familiar at all with the idea of teleportation. Suffice to say that until I can escape Yharnam I at least have the ability to move around with relative ease to places I've already been."
"Well, well I'd appreciate it if you announced yourself on arrival. Don't know how much me insides differ from the average person's but I'm in no mood to see if I can die of fright." It was interesting that he was a little indignant but was calming down. In a way that made me a bit more inclined to trust him, that he wasn't putting on a purposeful air of obsequiousness.
"Sorry for the scare." My apology was genuine. "Can you perhaps give me advice as to where the priests might've kept chairs, tables, that sort of thing? I have a little girl with nowhere else to go so I'd like to set her up here rather than leave her with an incense dish alone."
He chewed his lip with those blunt teeth. "A little girl? How little are we talking? You do know I won't be able to keep an eye on her or give chase, for obvious reasons."
Time to see how he reacted to the next part. "Well it's either here or Iosefka's clinic…"
"A clinic? Out west, for blood ministration? Those places have strong doors. If there's still enough staff it'd be a far better place for a little girl." And that reaction sealed it. It came out so quickly and lacking in subtlety that I couldn't imagine it to be a lie. This poor man was trying to help as best he could.
"Thanks for the advice. Sorry to say, that was just a test. Someone...someone's either kidnapped or killed Iosefka. I'm going to either rescue or avenge her, but in the meantime the girl will need to stay behind these particular strong doors."
"...I don't know if I'd be enough entertainment to keep a child occupied," he said at length. "And if she wandered off, got herself hurt… I couldn't forgive meself."
"She's a hunter's daughter," I did my best to reassure him. "She's just a little too full of hope and willing to talk with others. I'm hoping, myself, that she'll understand the seriousness of the situation especially on the walk over." I began shoving the huge stone doors shut, closing off the entrances. Even with the physical boost Doll gave me, it was back-breaking work and I grunted with the effort as stone ground against stone.
"As for furnishings, I think… Wait, no, I don't really know what direction I'm facing." He posed and pointed forward and to his left. "There's a storage room over there. Think you might have to move a few urns, can't be sure, but there should be chairs and some other things."
"Thanks," I smiled as I began to retrieve a few things. Some chairs, a fold-out wooden table… Now I just needed a deck of cards or some other thing to occupy someone's time. "I'll work on thinking up a name for you if you're still interested."
"Either or," he shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Suits me just fine regardless."
(BREAK)
I set out from the chapel on foot, hacking my way through the various beasts and monsters on the long, tedious journey from the chapel to Gascoigne and Viola's home. By the time I reached the window I was winded, battered, and covered in blood. I still hadn't settled on what I would tell her, so it'd have to come organically.
I rapped on the window. "Are you still awake?"
Stocking feet padded over, pulling the curtain aside hesitantly at first, then more fully once she recognized me. Now I got a good look at her. Honestly, the girl reminded me a good deal of Vista from back home. Her long blonde hair fell in slight waves down her back, tied lightly with a white silk ribbon to keep it from falling in her face. Bright blue eyes, almost cyan, glittered up at me. She was tiny but had the look of a preteen, so my estimate of around ten – a small ten, to be sure – was probably accurate. A hopeful smile adorned her face, but I could see the metaphorical cracks. Somehow, between then and now, I think she realized what had most likely happened. Or perhaps she had already by the time I'd first met her but still clung to desperate hope.
"Hello, Miss Hunter," she chirped. "Do you have any news?"
It spilled from my mouth before I could stop it. "I-I found your mom. She...beasts got her. Your dad killed them all, but…" I was only barely able to pause myself and edit things. I wasn't about to tell her the truth of that particular interaction. "I got to talk with him a little, before he passed. He loved you and your mom very much."
Tears spilled from her eyes like waterfalls, absent sniffles or sobbing. It was a near certainty that she'd already acknowledged what was likely to happen but just hadn't admitted it to herself. "I, wh-what…?" She couldn't speak, throat closing up.
The fear that I was breaking another member of this poor family nearly overwhelmed me, but I pressed on. I withdrew the brooch from my pocket. "They would have wanted you to have this. It's...it's yours now." I rested against the window lattice, feeling my body going limp as I shared in her sorrow. "I… I lost my parents too. My mom died and my dad forgot me, and evil people stole the flute I used to remind him. I couldn't… You needed to know the truth, even though it hurts, because your life isn't over. It's going to hurt, it's going to hurt every single day. But you're still alive. Your parents' love and dreams live on in you and you can't give up because of the hurt. You can't give up like I did," I finished with a whisper.
The window slid open. Her little hand rested on mine, holding my hand as much as the brooch. What a strong girl. "Sssso what do we do now?" she asked, forcing the words out through trembling lips and a throat that kept wanting to seal up, a voice that shook and tried to hiccup.
We… "The beasts are getting more aggressive. Just the incense dish might not keep them back tonight. I found a place, Oedon Chapel, outside the Tomb. It has a lot of incense, enough to scare off most any beast, and huge stone doors to keep out anything else nasty. I'll take you there to wait out the night. You don't have the magic or weapons I can rely on, so your job is just to stay alive so you can make a new life after all this is over. My job is to kill every single beast I can and save as many people as I can manage."
She nodded gravely, accepting the brooch. "Let me get my shoes. The front door is over this way." The window closed.
I took off my hat, pulled down my face covering and lifted my goggles so she could see my real face. "Do I… Is it okay if I come in? My shoes are pretty nasty."
The girl was all business now, the woman of the house. "Daddy used to have the same problem. Usually Mummy would clean it up, but for tonight I think we can leave it. Bigger issues to deal with, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Grab whatever food will keep, we'll put it in a rucksack. If you have a favorite doll, or a deck of cards, anything to help keep yourself occupied. I'll hopefully find more people but right now the only other person at the chapel isn't going to be the best company. He's nice enough but was born with a lot of defects."
She looked over at me when I said that. "Defects?" The use of the term seemed strange to her, and I suppose it probably was. I described the Chapel Dweller and his eccentricities. "And he doesn't have a name, either?"
"Yeah, we're working on that for him."
Her little head poked out of the kitchen from where she was folding up a tablecloth to form a sack. "I just realized, I never asked your name."
"Heh, nor I yours. I'm Taylor."
"That's a pretty name," she smiled. "I'm Siobhan."
I took her hand and led her out. Not a moment too soon, apparently. I don't know what was pursuing us, but as we walked away my sharpened ears picked up the sound of rummaging from within Siobhan's home, followed by a maddened female scream. "Where is it!?"
We walked more quickly.
(BREAK)
Siobhan was a strong girl. She didn't say anything about the corpses we passed. Then again, perhaps I was misjudging her stoicism. This girl was the daughter of a hunter, someone who killed these monsters as a profession. It only made sense that she wouldn't see this as quite so horrific, much like how I would be horrified at having to slaughter a cow but a farmer would see it as a part of life. Interestingly, I still internally cringed at the idea of having to kill a cow. I guess there was a fundamental difference between killing things that mean you harm and killing something harmless out of necessity. Still, she followed behind me up the various ladders and didn't complain when her shoes and stockings got soiled. I led her to Oedon Chapel and introduced her to the Dweller, who was surprisingly cute in his nervousness over how to handle her. It made me think of C-3PO.
Once again, his impotent mother-hen attitude set me at ease. He might not be able to keep Siobhan safe, but at least I was assured that he meant her no harm. "So who could give me directions around here? I'm trying to find a few places, including the entrance to the Forbidden Woods."
He actually gasped at that. "The Forbidden Woods!? Not even beasts stray far inside there. The monsters out there are the stuff of nightmares. Why in the Vicars' good graces would you ever want to go to that hell?"
"Because the back entrance to Iosefka's clinic is through there. If she's still alive and being held hostage, I have to rescue her. If she's dead, I have to avenge her. She was my first friend in Yharnam." My voice was even, stern, resolute.
His long neck bobbed his head. He understood but clearly didn't like it. Something he had in common with Gehrman. "Well, I don't know much outside of these walls. But the streets of Cathedral Ward should surely have people still alive and possessed of their wits. You can ask around while helping people back here. I can all but guarantee at least one of them will have the answers you need. Only thing I can tell you is that the gate to the Grand Cathedral should still be shut. The leader of the Hunt is required to open that gate, or whoever to whom he gave his emblem. Last Hunt, that was noble Ludwig, but I don't know who bears the emblem of Chief Hunter since the Holy Blade passed."
I nodded, humming, seated in one of the (admittedly rickety) chairs I'd retrieved. "Any other advice?"
"Well, on the night of the Hunt, resources are going to be focused on, well, the Hunt. Plus, as an outsider, you're going to be looked down on. Whatever problems you face, you're likely going to need to negotiate with the Choir – maybe even Vicar Amelia herself. If you had something to offer in return for their help, you'd be in a better position." He smiled. "I know there's an artifact in the ruins of Old Yharnam, something that the priests have long tried to retrieve but were stymied by beasts – and hunters, of course, have far more important tasks than playing errand boy. However, if you were to bring whatever is held within the Church of the Good Chalice, I think it might earn you an audience with the Vicar herself."
I stood and stretched. "Thanks for the advice. You hold up here as best you can, Desmond."
He blinked those milky eyes. "What now?"
"Well, I was thinking of names," I smirked, "and you look like a Desmond."
A giggling guffaw bubbled up from his chest, and he beamed at me.
The crippled mutant perked up, looking around in fright. "Mm? Who's there?"
"It's Taylor again. Don't panic."
His head turned on its too-long neck to face my general direction. "A-and how'd you end up in here? I certainly didn't hear footsteps." Another giggle, despite there definitely being nothing humorous in his questioning.
"It's a long story. I don't know if you're familiar at all with the idea of teleportation. Suffice to say that until I can escape Yharnam I at least have the ability to move around with relative ease to places I've already been."
"Well, well I'd appreciate it if you announced yourself on arrival. Don't know how much me insides differ from the average person's but I'm in no mood to see if I can die of fright." It was interesting that he was a little indignant but was calming down. In a way that made me a bit more inclined to trust him, that he wasn't putting on a purposeful air of obsequiousness.
"Sorry for the scare." My apology was genuine. "Can you perhaps give me advice as to where the priests might've kept chairs, tables, that sort of thing? I have a little girl with nowhere else to go so I'd like to set her up here rather than leave her with an incense dish alone."
He chewed his lip with those blunt teeth. "A little girl? How little are we talking? You do know I won't be able to keep an eye on her or give chase, for obvious reasons."
Time to see how he reacted to the next part. "Well it's either here or Iosefka's clinic…"
"A clinic? Out west, for blood ministration? Those places have strong doors. If there's still enough staff it'd be a far better place for a little girl." And that reaction sealed it. It came out so quickly and lacking in subtlety that I couldn't imagine it to be a lie. This poor man was trying to help as best he could.
"Thanks for the advice. Sorry to say, that was just a test. Someone...someone's either kidnapped or killed Iosefka. I'm going to either rescue or avenge her, but in the meantime the girl will need to stay behind these particular strong doors."
"...I don't know if I'd be enough entertainment to keep a child occupied," he said at length. "And if she wandered off, got herself hurt… I couldn't forgive meself."
"She's a hunter's daughter," I did my best to reassure him. "She's just a little too full of hope and willing to talk with others. I'm hoping, myself, that she'll understand the seriousness of the situation especially on the walk over." I began shoving the huge stone doors shut, closing off the entrances. Even with the physical boost Doll gave me, it was back-breaking work and I grunted with the effort as stone ground against stone.
"As for furnishings, I think… Wait, no, I don't really know what direction I'm facing." He posed and pointed forward and to his left. "There's a storage room over there. Think you might have to move a few urns, can't be sure, but there should be chairs and some other things."
"Thanks," I smiled as I began to retrieve a few things. Some chairs, a fold-out wooden table… Now I just needed a deck of cards or some other thing to occupy someone's time. "I'll work on thinking up a name for you if you're still interested."
"Either or," he shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Suits me just fine regardless."
(BREAK)
I set out from the chapel on foot, hacking my way through the various beasts and monsters on the long, tedious journey from the chapel to Gascoigne and Viola's home. By the time I reached the window I was winded, battered, and covered in blood. I still hadn't settled on what I would tell her, so it'd have to come organically.
I rapped on the window. "Are you still awake?"
Stocking feet padded over, pulling the curtain aside hesitantly at first, then more fully once she recognized me. Now I got a good look at her. Honestly, the girl reminded me a good deal of Vista from back home. Her long blonde hair fell in slight waves down her back, tied lightly with a white silk ribbon to keep it from falling in her face. Bright blue eyes, almost cyan, glittered up at me. She was tiny but had the look of a preteen, so my estimate of around ten – a small ten, to be sure – was probably accurate. A hopeful smile adorned her face, but I could see the metaphorical cracks. Somehow, between then and now, I think she realized what had most likely happened. Or perhaps she had already by the time I'd first met her but still clung to desperate hope.
"Hello, Miss Hunter," she chirped. "Do you have any news?"
It spilled from my mouth before I could stop it. "I-I found your mom. She...beasts got her. Your dad killed them all, but…" I was only barely able to pause myself and edit things. I wasn't about to tell her the truth of that particular interaction. "I got to talk with him a little, before he passed. He loved you and your mom very much."
Tears spilled from her eyes like waterfalls, absent sniffles or sobbing. It was a near certainty that she'd already acknowledged what was likely to happen but just hadn't admitted it to herself. "I, wh-what…?" She couldn't speak, throat closing up.
The fear that I was breaking another member of this poor family nearly overwhelmed me, but I pressed on. I withdrew the brooch from my pocket. "They would have wanted you to have this. It's...it's yours now." I rested against the window lattice, feeling my body going limp as I shared in her sorrow. "I… I lost my parents too. My mom died and my dad forgot me, and evil people stole the flute I used to remind him. I couldn't… You needed to know the truth, even though it hurts, because your life isn't over. It's going to hurt, it's going to hurt every single day. But you're still alive. Your parents' love and dreams live on in you and you can't give up because of the hurt. You can't give up like I did," I finished with a whisper.
The window slid open. Her little hand rested on mine, holding my hand as much as the brooch. What a strong girl. "Sssso what do we do now?" she asked, forcing the words out through trembling lips and a throat that kept wanting to seal up, a voice that shook and tried to hiccup.
We… "The beasts are getting more aggressive. Just the incense dish might not keep them back tonight. I found a place, Oedon Chapel, outside the Tomb. It has a lot of incense, enough to scare off most any beast, and huge stone doors to keep out anything else nasty. I'll take you there to wait out the night. You don't have the magic or weapons I can rely on, so your job is just to stay alive so you can make a new life after all this is over. My job is to kill every single beast I can and save as many people as I can manage."
She nodded gravely, accepting the brooch. "Let me get my shoes. The front door is over this way." The window closed.
I took off my hat, pulled down my face covering and lifted my goggles so she could see my real face. "Do I… Is it okay if I come in? My shoes are pretty nasty."
The girl was all business now, the woman of the house. "Daddy used to have the same problem. Usually Mummy would clean it up, but for tonight I think we can leave it. Bigger issues to deal with, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Grab whatever food will keep, we'll put it in a rucksack. If you have a favorite doll, or a deck of cards, anything to help keep yourself occupied. I'll hopefully find more people but right now the only other person at the chapel isn't going to be the best company. He's nice enough but was born with a lot of defects."
She looked over at me when I said that. "Defects?" The use of the term seemed strange to her, and I suppose it probably was. I described the Chapel Dweller and his eccentricities. "And he doesn't have a name, either?"
"Yeah, we're working on that for him."
Her little head poked out of the kitchen from where she was folding up a tablecloth to form a sack. "I just realized, I never asked your name."
"Heh, nor I yours. I'm Taylor."
"That's a pretty name," she smiled. "I'm Siobhan."
I took her hand and led her out. Not a moment too soon, apparently. I don't know what was pursuing us, but as we walked away my sharpened ears picked up the sound of rummaging from within Siobhan's home, followed by a maddened female scream. "Where is it!?"
We walked more quickly.
(BREAK)
Siobhan was a strong girl. She didn't say anything about the corpses we passed. Then again, perhaps I was misjudging her stoicism. This girl was the daughter of a hunter, someone who killed these monsters as a profession. It only made sense that she wouldn't see this as quite so horrific, much like how I would be horrified at having to slaughter a cow but a farmer would see it as a part of life. Interestingly, I still internally cringed at the idea of having to kill a cow. I guess there was a fundamental difference between killing things that mean you harm and killing something harmless out of necessity. Still, she followed behind me up the various ladders and didn't complain when her shoes and stockings got soiled. I led her to Oedon Chapel and introduced her to the Dweller, who was surprisingly cute in his nervousness over how to handle her. It made me think of C-3PO.
Once again, his impotent mother-hen attitude set me at ease. He might not be able to keep Siobhan safe, but at least I was assured that he meant her no harm. "So who could give me directions around here? I'm trying to find a few places, including the entrance to the Forbidden Woods."
He actually gasped at that. "The Forbidden Woods!? Not even beasts stray far inside there. The monsters out there are the stuff of nightmares. Why in the Vicars' good graces would you ever want to go to that hell?"
"Because the back entrance to Iosefka's clinic is through there. If she's still alive and being held hostage, I have to rescue her. If she's dead, I have to avenge her. She was my first friend in Yharnam." My voice was even, stern, resolute.
His long neck bobbed his head. He understood but clearly didn't like it. Something he had in common with Gehrman. "Well, I don't know much outside of these walls. But the streets of Cathedral Ward should surely have people still alive and possessed of their wits. You can ask around while helping people back here. I can all but guarantee at least one of them will have the answers you need. Only thing I can tell you is that the gate to the Grand Cathedral should still be shut. The leader of the Hunt is required to open that gate, or whoever to whom he gave his emblem. Last Hunt, that was noble Ludwig, but I don't know who bears the emblem of Chief Hunter since the Holy Blade passed."
I nodded, humming, seated in one of the (admittedly rickety) chairs I'd retrieved. "Any other advice?"
"Well, on the night of the Hunt, resources are going to be focused on, well, the Hunt. Plus, as an outsider, you're going to be looked down on. Whatever problems you face, you're likely going to need to negotiate with the Choir – maybe even Vicar Amelia herself. If you had something to offer in return for their help, you'd be in a better position." He smiled. "I know there's an artifact in the ruins of Old Yharnam, something that the priests have long tried to retrieve but were stymied by beasts – and hunters, of course, have far more important tasks than playing errand boy. However, if you were to bring whatever is held within the Church of the Good Chalice, I think it might earn you an audience with the Vicar herself."
I stood and stretched. "Thanks for the advice. You hold up here as best you can, Desmond."
He blinked those milky eyes. "What now?"
"Well, I was thinking of names," I smirked, "and you look like a Desmond."
A giggling guffaw bubbled up from his chest, and he beamed at me.
Lurking_Badger
Cheese Enjoyer
- Location
- Wisconsin
Desmond is a good first name, but he needs a last name too. Lots of last names are based on professions, so Chapelsweller or just Dweller works. He is most likely the only surviving member of his church, so I'm going to say he is the new priest just for the cool title.
That gives him the name Reverend Desmond Chapeldweller.