[h3]The Hunter's Dream[/h3]
With that the party used the lantern in the garden to return to the Hunter's Dream through the process they were all quite familiar with by now, and were met by the usual scenery and welcomed by the doll and the Shopkeeper. Nothing obvious even seemed to happen on account of Farren and Torquil arriving in the Dream this time, though both of them did feel weirdly sluggish, as if their minds and bodies responded just a little bit slower and with less precision than they had recently. But aside from that they did not have much business in the Dream this time... though it did occur to Ophelia that she could still feel the blood echoes she had saved clinging to her, and that there was still one memory left with the birdbath Messengers to buy.
Thus Ophelia called everyone over to the birdbath once more and, channeling her last blood echoes into allowing the little ones to materialize the skull, absorbed its insight and shared it with the rest of the party.

[HIDER=Memory of Desperation][h1]Memory of desperation[/h1]
[h3]A different hunt on a different night, in the depths of Old Yharnam...[/h3]

“Retreat!” a man in a Hunter's garb called out, dragging a fellow in the same uniform with him through the ruined street, surrounded by rubble and lit by the flames of the pyres built at regular intervals where the corpses of dozens of beasts lay sizzling. Other Hunters around those two – some clad in the traditional Hunter's garb, others the uniform of the white church Hunters and a couple even wearing the colors of Executioners – seemed mostly undecided on what to do. Out of the two dozen Hunters gathered in this little cul-de-sac, six seemed to be moving back down the street along with the speaker with varying degrees of urgency. Another ten seemed to just be standing around in the flickering firelight, glancing around uncertainly, while the remaining eight charged forward, into what appeared to have once been a market hall of sorts. They ran past the bodies of five of their colleagues lying on the ground, two still trying to drag themselves to safety while the rest seemed to have grown still.
A horrid wail pierced the night from within before two of the Hunters that had just entered reemerged, flying backwards out of the double doors of the building before crashing to the ground, rolling another couple of meters before coming to a stop, clutching their bleeding chests and coughing. The sounds of combat could be heard as Hunters rushed to their wounded comrades to administer blood.
The shrieks of the beast was accompanied by screams of pain, fear and anger of human voices, the sound of furniture being smashed and footfalls of something very large moving very fast. The clattering of metal against stone, dull thuds of heavy objects hitting wood, one gunshot after another, all while the fiend's cries kept echoing throughout that entire part of the city.

A Hunter in an Executioner's garb stumbled out through the doors, the firelight glistening in the sweat upon his face and the blood soaking his clothes, his left hand covering his mouth in an effort to muffle what appeared to be a continuous coughing fit. The right sleeve of his coat had been ripped off at the shoulder, and an array of deep gashes down his upper arm regenerating at such a slow rate that it seemed he had already reached the limits of his powers of healing.
In a blur of motion a massive form darted from within the building, snatching up the Hunter as it passed before coming to a stop in the middle of the streets, its weakened prey clutched in the long, clawed fingers of its right hand. Its lithe, almost serpentine, long-limbed body was surrounded by a barely visible haze as transparent vapors continuously poured off its skin. Its tail whipping around in rage and anxious anticipation the creature reared its head before snapping its jaws closed around the left side of the Hunter's neck, burying its excessively long fangs deep in his flesh as it drank greedily of his blood. It did not release him until his body had gone limp, upon which it discarded its would-be bane with disinterest, now turning its blood-dripping, rag-clad face in the direction of the fearful Hunters in the street... all of which now turned and started running, desperate to escape this bloodthirsty thing.

A little further down the street, where the Hunter dragging his wounded partner was still slowly making his way away from danger, a single Hunter in the uniform of the church ran the opposite way of everyone else; toward the blood-starved beast rather than away from it.
“Rookie!” the one who had called for retreat shouted after the newcomer, terror plain on his face and in his voice. “Don't! We need more people! Better gear! It's too strong!”
The church Hunter stopped and looked over his shoulder at the speaker, his features mostly obscured by his hood, but a smile upon his face. His choice of weapons was unusual, to say the least; a small silver sword in either hand, the one in the left looking much older and battle-worn than the right, and a single scabbard for a holy blade on his back. He had no firearms, and nothing on him to allow the other small sword to transform.
“I know,” he replied calmly, his voice soft as velvet, his posture straight and proud. “The perfect chance to make a name for oneself, yes?”
“Wait –” the fleeing Hunter called again, but the church Hunter was already gone, sprinting straight ahead toward the rampaging beast at inhuman speeds, both swords at the ready.

Before the blood-starved beast even had a chance to react the Hunter had run all the way past it, dragging his two small swords across its torso as he passed before rushing through and putting some distance between himself and his opponent, holding his breath until he felt certain that he was outside the haze of vapor. The beast immediately turned to face him and, with another frenzied howl, charged.
The Hunter simply held his ground, waiting for the beast to reach him before quickstepping forward and to the beast's side at the last possible instant, slipping just under an outstretched arm that was moving to slash at him with its wicked, plague-infested claws. He stabbed at its abdomen twice in swift succession, once with either small sword, before quickstepping backward in anticipation of an attack that came just half a second later, its claws raking across the street in a shower of sparks as it tried to hit him again. While it was still recovering from its retaliation the Hunter stepped back in again, one sword slicing on the inside of its elbow while the other cut across its bicep just below its shoulder before darting away again, retreating before the Ashen Blood could take him completely.
Its wounds healed almost as fast as they were inflicted. The beast slammed its fists into the ground with an angry roar before bullrushing the Hunter again, only for him to evade its charge with yet another quickstep before closing in again with a swift pirouette, drawing both his swords, one after the other, across the beast's upper thigh.

The fight continued for nearly a minute like this, with the blood-starved beast growing more and more frenzied, causing it to move faster, strike wider and defy its fatigue with ever-growing rage. The Hunter kept avoiding its attacks in a way that seemed effortless, seemingly never losing composure, never even being touched by teeth or claw of his opponent, and never staying close enough to the beast to get infected with the plague permeating the air around it. Every time the beast attacked he moved in close again, getting two or three hits in with his dual swords, drawing blood before backing off to a distance again.
“What is this?” a nearby Hunter muttered incredulously as he watched the battle. More and more Hunters gathered in the shadows, initially intending to band together to slay the beast but soon finding themselves awestruck by the sight of this unassuming Hunter. “How much stamina does that guy have? He must have quickstepped twenty times! How can he keep going?”
“Isn't that one of the rookies?” a female Hunter remarked, equally dumbfounded by what she was seeing. “How is he already that good? I've never seen anything like this...”
The nameless Hunter smiled under his hood, calmly walking backwards to keep just out of range of his enemy as it flailed its arms at him in a desperate flurry, bits of stone and rubble being thrown through the air by its reckless assault.

Suddenly the Hunter raised both arms, placed the tips of both of his small swords on his shoulders and let them slide across and onto his back, leaving himself open as he kept walking at a measured pace to constantly remain just beyond the enraged monster's reach. With surprising ease he snapped the right, newer small sword into the scabbard on his back before slowly stretching his arms again, until just the tip of the naked small sword in his left hand rested on his shoulder, while the full-sized holy blade rested on his right one. His arms first raised high over his head before lowering to the sides, keeping the swords on his shoulders.
The other Hunters looked on, entranced by the sight; not only was this strange Hunter holding a holy blade in one hand, which was impressive in and by itself, but the theatrics of how he did this left a deep impression on everyone who saw it. The placement and movements of the swords on his back and shoulders, their silver edges gleaming in the firelight... It all worked together to make it look like this Hunter was donning a mismatched pair of shining wings.

For the first time the Hunter's posture changed from his straight, proud one to a lower, crouched stance, before he abruptly darted back into the beast's range, deftly weaving through its attacks to get right up against its vulnerable chest. His legs and right arm swelled with inhuman strength as the holy blade slid off his right shoulder, dropping low before being swung in an upward arc right into the beast, hitting it hard enough to actually throw it off its feet and send it sprawling onto its back.
A chorus of gasps resounded from the other Hunters as their champion immediately pursued his quarry, still calm and seemingly fearless, before thrusting his small sword into the creature's neck, piercing all the way through. He dodged out of the way in time to evade an avenging claw-swipe, but left his small sword embedded where it had struck.
Now gripping his holy blade with both hands the Hunter quickly moved back in and started to swing furiously at the beast, landing blow after blow, cutting deep and splashing the street in copious amounts of diseased blood. Seemingly no longer caring about the sickness in the air he simply kept up his barrage of sundering strikes, driving the blood-starved beast back without leaving it even a second to counterattack. The beast managed to claw him a couple of times during this focused offensive, but wherever its hands left tears in the Hunter's clothes, his skin was immediately drenched in beast-blood that mended his wounds while barely impacting his regenerative potential.
Delivering an especially mighty upward swing with the holy blade the man once again knocked the beast to the ground. Before it could get back up he thrust the giant blade into the creature's torso and, while the weakening beast thrashed in agony, seized the small sword he had left in its flesh with his left hand. Pulling both swords from where they were buried he finally retreated, once more wielding a giant blade in his right hand and a small one in his left, and looked at the beast expectantly.

It was clear that the blood-starved beast had been brought to the brink as it struggled to rise from its slumped position, its limbs trembling and hemorrhaging wounds failing to heal. Its throat no longer pierced by the small sword it uttered a whimper before limping in the Hunter's direction, even now still driven by hunger and instinct to attack.
As the creature reached for him with one hand, claws extended, the Hunter simply sidestepped the clumsy attack with a normal stride before driving the old sword in his left hand through its arm and into the ground below, pinning it to the spot. Weak, immobilized and obviously outmatched, the beast could only watch as the Hunter took half a step toward it, pirouetting as he approached, and smashed his holy blade directly into its head, cleaving horizontally through just above the jaw.
The monster quaked for just a second before collapsing on the spot, its lifeless limbs sprawling helplessly on the ground as the last vestiges of strength left it.

“I-impossible...” stuttered a Hunter nearby, dumbfounded by what he had just seen, while the slayer of the beast retrieved his weapons from the corpse. “That thing defeated fifteen Hunters, and that rookie managed to kill it on his own? There's no way...”
“He's only been a Hunter for a few days! How is he already...”
“I've never seen anything like that...”
“Why are you all still standing around?” the victorious Hunter called out merrily and calmly, not even sounding out of breath or in pain despite the powerful opponent he had just vanquished. “There are still plenty of beasts about. Or would you have me slay all of them myself?”
There was a moment of stunned silence, the other Hunters watching as the man returned the blade-scabbard to his back and casually walked away from the site of the battle.
“Don't get cocky, rookie!” one of them shouted angrily, shaking his weapon at him. “One kill doesn't make you better than us!”
“Then I suppose I will have to keep killing, will I not?” The rookie Hunter flashed the angry one a smile of blindingly white teeth as he swept back the hood of his church attire with a flourish, revealing his clean, golden-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Putting his left hand to the right side of his chest and throwing his right arm wide he bowed respectfully with mannerisms not of a commoner, soldier or cleric, but those of a nobleman.
“And my name is not 'rookie', friend. It is Dietrich.”

And the memory fades.[/HIDER]