[i]taptap, taptap, taptap[/i]

The hunter rapped two of his fingers against his Threaded Cane rhythmically, a consequence of his impatience with the situation he found himself in. It went without saying that Oz was by no means a religious man, so the thought of being crammed inside a cathedral with his fellow hunters to listen to a sermon was obviously not very high on his to-do-list. Yet here he was, standing in a veritable sea of rabble, waiting for the First Vicar to get on with it. If it hadn’t been for the explicit instructions he had been given by Lady Maria, the enigmatic leader of the faction he belonged to, Oz would have been all too happy to tell the church to shove off and go about his day. He wasn’t sure what he would have done with his free time, but it wasn’t difficult to top listening to choir boys for an exacerbating amount of time.

The tapping ceased as soon as Laurence showed himself. To the former doctor, the man elicited a bundle of conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was instrumental in the Corbett name falling from grace, but at the same time Oz couldn’t help but respect the man for being able to build an entire religion from the ground up in such a relatively short span of time. [I]‘So one part disdain, one part admiration. What an odd combination,’[/i] he mused while he took note of the various assignments the vicar was handing out to the assembled groups of hunters. But an odd wave of disappointment struck him as he heard that he would be stationed in Cathedral Ward. Because despite the fact that it was logical to Maria’s Circle, which boasted the fewest number of hunters of any of the present factions, guard the smallest area of the city, it would also mean that there would be fewer chances for him to actually hunt beasts considering how secure the place would be.

Thankfully, the feeling passed as he realized how ridiculous the notion was. The last thing Oz wanted was for some malevolent force to make his desire come true in the worst way imaginable. Because even if he wasn’t particularly religious, any Yharnamite worth his salt knew better than to go out of his way to tempt fate with such matters. To that end, the man resolved to find some good wood to knock on later, but the sound of Djura making an ass of himself pulled him out of his thoughts. Not that his question was asinine, in fact Oz raised an eyebrow in disbelief when he heard that Old Yharnam would be left all but defenseless, but rather the way in which he chose to do so just spoke leagues about the Powder Kegs in general. It was of little consequence though, as the vicar brushed the comment aside and like that the little gathering was brought to a close.

The Porcupine shuffled along with the wave of hunters pouring out of the obscenely large doors of the cathedral. He couldn't help but stare down at his hand contemplatively, clenching and unclenching it as he did so. The very hands that he had spent the better portion of his life cultivating to handle fine instruments precisely were now being used to slay monsters that sprang straight out of the tales of his childhood, which was a fact that he still had trouble truly believing every now and then. So far, his first three Blood Moons he had participated in had gone without much incident, but from the whispers he had been hearing, the one coming would be on a different level entirely. And while he felt stronger and more capable with each beast he destroyed, he couldn’t quite shake the apprehension that was building inside of him. It was as if some subconscious part of him knew better than to be a part of the coming hunt, but it was already far too late for him to turn back now.

The sight and smell of his city helped sooth his nerves a bit. [i]’It’ll all still be here in a week,’[/i] he reminded himself, steeling his resolve for the nights to come.