Bloodborne - The Eternal Hunt

[Artorias]

You wake up in a dim lit room, stirrings creaking the bloodied tables your body lays upon. You are not the only one in this room as others begin to stir. Your head pounds in pain, faded memories grasping to the surface but the deeper you delve into those faded memories the more it hurts and the less you remember of who you are. All you have is a name, your name or so you believe. Every single one of you has the same bandage wrapped around the same wrist with a spot of blood peeking through. You feel different somehow--as if you are stronger, faster and lighter on your feet.

In the next room is a man, clad in Hunter garb with blood soaking the black material. He was watching the front door which he had barred with shelves and chairs. A pistol hanging in his left hand, and his right hand holding onto a curved black blade with a strange hilt. On his back was a fold scythe that would unfold and connect to the hilt of the curved blade, creating a dual headed scythe. He had no passing knowledge of the groups awakening, but they only had one exit and that was through the Hunter who was waiting patiently.

Words ring in your ears, incoherent except for one line. "End the Hunt." and it played in your mind like a record that was frozen in time. The wood creaked as your bodies shifted from the bloodied tables you were operated upon. It was eerily quiet in the room. Not a window in sight to gaze into the fires that burned Yharnam as her people fought for their lives and were taken by the beasthood to only fuel the Hunt even more. The more the people fought and struggled against the Hunt, the harder it had become on the Hunters. Time was not on your side.

You were above the Outsider Workshop, hidden in the middle of Yharnam. It was deep underground with the elevator that gave access to the Workshop just in the next room with the Hunter, Viktor, who was humming now. Little choices are to be made with no escape. You could only move forward and see what the night has to bring, and may you all succeed and survive on the perilous hunt.

​

 

[CasketCase]

The pain was unbearable. Compared to it, his descent from the table was but a gentle caress from a lover. The crash of steel and wood striking the floor as the table tipped over echoed in his brain, irritating the pain that was already driving him to madness. There was something important he needed to do, or so screamed the voice in the back of his mind, yet any attempts to draw up his recollection only drew the ire of the unknown ailment plaguing his nerves.

His hands clawed the floor, dull slivers of wood digging underneath his fingertips as he fought the forces gravity and lethargy attempted to pin him down with. Despite the pain, the confusion, and the misery he currently existed through, he found his body was more agreeable, his muscles easily carrying his frame compared to before...before what?

A glimpse of dirtied white drew his attention to his wrist and the small dot of red beneath. Something had happened, something he subjected himself to, something he knew he regretted now. Words, not of his own, rang in his head, compelling him to end the hunt, whatever that hunt would be. No, there was something more important to him, something he had forgotten, much to his dismay. If this hunt would bring him answers, then he had no choice but to play along...for now.

 

[Dipper]

The tang of iron coated Leonhardt's teeth. Beneath his skin, a burning ache raced like fire along his bones and pooled somewhere in his gut. He gagged on bile and rolled onto his side, shivering from the nauseating sensation of being. Buried deep beneath the mindless panic and confusion, a question hovered: why?

His stiff fingers curled into fists against his chest. It took immense effort for him to stretch out his limbs. He dangled one arm off the side of the table and stared blindly at the far wall, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion.

He was... he was from the North. His name was Leonhardt. There was something important for him to do, to stop, but comprehension came to him slowly. A hunt.. a... he had to stop it... didn't he? Why did he...? Why him? Leonhardt sucked in a rattling breath before sitting up.

There was nothing to see. The room was dark and stuffy, save for an old lamp and the faint light of the next room. It drew him in like a moth to a flame and, for a moment, he forgot what he was thinking about. It made sense now. All of it. The Hunt. Why he was here. He had to stop it, didn't he? How, he didn't know. He didn't care. Something inside him wanted him to move, an instinctual desire to take part in this hunt for its own sake, a bloodlust he didn't know he had.

Or maybe he'd always had that. He couldn't remember.

Leonhardt stumbled off the table onto trembling legs and made his way, slowly, toward the light. Perhaps it would show him the way.

 

[InkaDinkaDoo]

Durel awoke with a start, cold sweat dampened his clothes and brow as his body shuddered uncontrollably. Propping himself up into a sitting position, he winced reflexively as he felt a sharp pain in his temples, the inside of his skull pounding rythmically in time with his pulse. His eyes teared and his vision blurred, as another wave of pain wracked his body. Looking down at his arm, he eyed the bloodied bandage over his wrist, his brow furrowing in confusion. Just what had happened to him?

"Oh that's fun.", he chimed mostly to himself. Letting out a small laugh that he soon regretted as his sore body protested the action. Moving his head slowly and gingerly, he noticed the other tables. Two older men, like him, were groggily making their way to their feet. It was then he heard a voice. One that was not his own echoing in his mind, the words endlessly and incessantly repeating;

'End the Hunt.'

Durel swallowed hard, trying to his best to remember how he got here, and decode whatever the cryptic message meant -- but to no avail. Each attempt to remember anything about himself other than his name was met with failure. Managing to catch the tip of the thought, but only for a moment before it elusively slipped away, like mist. He grunted, visibly frustrated, as he took a look around the room, finding nothing of interest other than the open door that led to the next room. With a pained sigh, he took a step off the table, expecting to collapse, but was surprised to find that despite the pain in his head and the rest of his body, he felt . . . strong. And with that, he let out a shaky breath as he made his way into the next room.

 

[Eon]

Garabald's fingers woke up before the rest of him did, twitching and scrambling like spider's legs, searching for prey to sink into.

They found nothing, save for the cold, sturdy wood he'd been propped up against. His eyes shot open as if by mechanisms, a bright and starry blue that was the only sign of honest life in the skeleton of a man that was Garabald Jenkin. He pushed himself into a sitting position, body creaking like old floorboards. A cacophony of whispers ripped through his thoughts just as they started to come to him, strange sounds that he just barely didn't understand. It was strange to him, that he couldn't understand the noise, but he couldn't say why. He thumped the side of his head violently, as if he were trying to crack his skull and pull out his brain to examine it.

Finally, as if prompted by his bashing, the voices in his head came to a brief moment of harmony. In unison, the words came through. A three word command to end the hunt. That seemed to be the last of it, as the otherworldly murmuring ceased all at once as soon as the "t" in "hunt" sounded out.

Garabald pushed himself off whatever he'd been laying on and took stock of his surroundings. He was inside, but it was still terribly dark and uncomfortably cold. He wasn't naked, though the sight of his clothes brought forth a sort of instinctual revulsion, making him wish that he was. They were hideous clothes, weren't they?

Jenkin didn't know.

A light burned, a brilliant beacon against the inky darkness. It hurt Garabald's eyes, so he resolved to snuff it out. Stomps echoed across the wooden floor as he soldiered forward, resolved to plant a boot straight to the lantern and snuff the damn thing out. Once he got to it, he did exactly that, slamming one foot into the lantern with all the strength his body could muster. It was an impressive kick, for one who's skin hung off them like a leather bag thrown over a corpse, but the lantern didn't so much as swing on it's post, staying impossibly still and glowing just as bright. Perhaps brighter, out of spite for the crotchety man.

"Damned lamps, too bright for this time of night. Going to blind a man with that whorish light," he muttered to himself, unaware of any others who had sought refuge in the lantern's light.

 

[The Wanderer]

Erik

As Erik slept, still affected by whatever had sent him into unconsciousness. He dreamed. Nothing happy or terrifying as the typical dreams that other people would have. Instead, he found himself floating in an dark abyss. Where he couldn't tell which was up or which was down. And despite there being a dull light, he couldn't find its source. Every time he tried to move, it was if he were trying to swim through a thick sludge.

It would've seemed that he would've stayed floating there in the abyss, alone. However, fate had something else in mind.

The very air around him trembled as something began to approach Erik in the abyss, as if in fear of what was coming. At first, he couldn't see what exactly was coming, but then the thing came into whatever light there was. Erik could not find any word to even begin to describe this creature. Infact, just by looking at this gigantic beast. Erik could feel fear building up. Its cold touch making his stomach turn and his heart to beat faster and faster until he could hear its beat in his ears.

He tried to move away, but unlike moments ago where he could barely move. Now, it was as if the air was keeping him still. Forcing to gaze upon this terrifying sight.

Then it spoke. Not in words that Erik understood, but in growls and groans.

Despite being of a considerable distance from this thing, he could still hear it clearly, so much so that it was if the words were echoing inside his head. Stranger still, the words brought about a sense of calm to him.

The monstrosity continued to speak, almost as if it were trying to tell Erik something very important. And the language barrier was preventing this. But, the creature eventually stopped speaking. Soon retreating into the darkness of the abyss. As this happened, Erik began to fall. As if whatever had kept him suspended in the air had suddenly let go of him. For what seemed like hours of nothing but falling, Erik could see that he was rapidly falling towards a sea of red. And as he hit the surface, he came back into the waking world.

Sitting up with a sharp gasp, Erik looked around at his surroundings. Not remembering anything, even how he got here. Getting off the table he had previously been sleeping on. He wondered what was that dream, or more specifically the creature in it.

Deciding that it would be best to put the dream off as part of a fever. Afterall, the dream seemed too weird to be majorly affected.

It would seem there others in the room with him. Deciding to quickly get some answers. He spoke. "What's going on?" He noticed that his voice had a certain accent to it. Such as him saying his 'W' as a 'V' Perhaps this would help him figure out who he was.