Real men play Bloodborne under some kind of challenge mode. I suppose I signed up for one with this character.

[hider=Adelicia, Healing Church Blood Saint]
[u]Name[/u]
 - Saint Adelicia

[u]Race[/u]
 - Yharnamite (Blood Saint)

[u]Sanguine Blessing[/u]
 - While regular blood vials aid in the restoration of a Hunter’s regenerative abilities, Adelicia’s blood is on an entirely other level to regular, common blood. Even someone on the brink of death, whom no normal injection could save, can be brought back to the living within mere moments by her sanguine blessing. Indeed, so strong is her divine blood that imbibers feel invigorated and their health boosted for many hours, sometimes days, after their injection. It is even known to cure the Ashen Blood and other maladies with a single shot. It does, however, ruin one’s desire for regular blood thereafter and there are many who would gladly kill, or worse, to get more than their fair share of her’s.

[u]Appearance[/u]
 - Short, meek and frail, Adelicia possesses the innocent charms of a teenage girl. Faded blond hair frames a pale-skinned face that’s grown accustomed to dark places. Her gentle blue eyes radiate with infantile curiosity as she studies a world that seems almost foreign to her. As one would expect, she is dressed in the snow white garbs of a member of the Healing Church with a black shawl across her back, though she still walks awkwardly in her heels. When out on the streets, she always carries a censer with her to spread the warding incense around herself, masking her scent at least adequately. Those nearby may still pick up on her alluring scent, but she will be difficult to detect at a distance. Also found on her person is a small, overslung bag in which she keeps a supply of ornate blood vials and the necessary tools – chiefly a sizeable syringe – to extract her own vitals.

[u]Background[/u]
 - Adelicia does not recall her birth name, if she ever had such a thing. One of many orphans, her earliest memories are of a seedy orphanage on the outskirts of Cathedral Ward, where the gothic architecture of Yharnam gives way to the haunted wilderness of Hemwick. Who can say what happened to her parents? Had they been taken by the beasts, or become beasts themselves? Had they died to give their eyes to the fearsome witches of Hemwick, or had they brought upon themselves the ire of the church? Or, so Adelicia sometimes wonders, had they never died at all and had simply tired of rearing an ungrateful child?

Whatever the truth of the matter, the only “mother” she had ever known was the old crone at the orphanage upon whom the onus of tending to the children had fallen. The old woman had wasted no chance to remind the children of their need to be grateful for the burden she bore for them but, looking back now, Adelicia could hardly bring herself to feel even an ounce of thankfulness. Was she truly supposed to feel indebted to somebody who never had a kind word to offer her? Somebody who had permitted the endless mockeries of other children for her frailty and maudlin disposition? And someone who offered the same, rotten broth every week of the month, whose contents she’d rather not contemplate?

Perhaps. But it was difficult. Yet there was one thing Adelicia could never repay that ancient hag for: It was her decision to give her away to a tall, grim-faced man in black clothes, around whose shoulders was wrapped a dingy grey shawl. She remembered the day well, for she had never felt more terrified of any human being than she had felt of this man. So great was her dread that she had fled under her bed, a warren of dust and cobwebs she would normally avoid at any cost. Back then, the disturbing connotations of him having gone to an orphanage to look for little girls had escaped her but such had been his request and no amount of resisting could help her. She was lined up with the others for him to inspect, shoulders trembling in fear, face caked in grime except for a narrow trail leading from her glittering eyes to her chin. The teenagers were too old, the infants too young; he waved them away. But Adelicia and a handful of others had been just right and so, with a payment of blood vials, the church Hunter was given permission to lead them away from their rotten childhood into the unknown horrors of adulthood – under the sinister auspices of the White Healing Church's upper echelons.

The next years were spent in near isolation in a place called the sanatorium. It was much like a tower, only to “ascend” one had to walk down the stairs, farther into unfathomable depths. The tower’s architecture was such that there was a central shaft, accessible only to the caretakers and from which one could look into the various wards – truly a euphemism for cell – arranged in a circle around it. Connecting all of these wards, as the outmost layer, was a long corridor running the length of the outer wall. There were other floors above and below, but Adelicia was not sure what they all contained. Presumably there were mundane facilities, such as a kitchen and washing room somewhere near, but she also knew that there was a type of laboratory further down. She knew this because she, like other patients in the wards, was regularly brought down there while under the effects of a drug-induced torpor for a variety of inspections and treatments that made her flinch to recall. Meanwhile, in the lecture hall, she and the other girls were instructed in the ways of the world, and their duties within it. They were made well aware of their place in society and their worth as human beings. Questions were met with punishment, and soon there were none of those. Over half a decade went by in the candle-lit darkness of the sanatorium before she was, on the happiest of days, permitted onto the streets of Yharnam where begging hands reached out to her for a vial of her precious, divine blood. She knew it was sinful to think so, but she could not help but weep with joy when she thought of the adoration with which she was met. For the first time in her life, somebody had been kind to her. If only to receive her blessing, but it was all that she had – and all that she was now. A Blood Saint of the Healing Church, on a quest to heal Yharnam’s wounds through the holy power coursing in her veins.

It’s been scantly a year since she emerged from the sanatorium and tonight, when the red moon hangs low, her resolve and divinity will be put to the test.
[/hider]