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Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

More Yharnam elevators. Morgaine couldn't bear the weight of the world pressing down on her as she ascended further. Although she couldn't really see outside of the vertical tube through which they traveled, she could certainly feel the sensation. Her body knew that she was being lifted, and knew that it was wrong. As swiftly as they went, it was hard even to keep standing. She instinctively went down to a crouch, before realizing how absurd she looked and standing straight back up. Dietrich mumbled something to her, but through the din of the gears scraping together she could barely hear it, only getting the impression that he is somehow displeased. Not peculiar, she supposed, nodding in response and pretending not to be confused. He hasn't been pleased at all since they arrived at this place. Now thinking about it, he hasn't been pleased at all at any time in which she knew of him. What a sad existence that must be. Not that she couldn't sympathize, trapped in here watching tiny flashes of light zip past them, disappearing below the floor after the brief seconds in which they arrived.

Eventually, the ride ended and the pair of them stepped out into a grand and amazingly long hall. Amazing was certainly the right word for it; all of this replaced the austerity of a church for the opulence of a palace. Red velvet carpets, beautiful statues wrought into the shapes of tortured people, and everything in between gilded in gold and glittering in the faint moonlight that entered in from above somewhere. The light itself seemed to bend and twist unnaturally, or at least, not by any metric of nature that Morgaine had come to know. It was even warm in here, the first time she'd felt some actual warm air since she'd stepped foot into the city. Is this the only pleasant spot in Yharnam?

"Oedon, look at this," she drawled, doing a full turn around to look at everything. Would that she could stay longer, but alas. Dietrich led her purposefully across the hall, not even taking a second to admire their surroundings. All business as usual, she supposed. Mayhaps he'd seen it all before.

Through twists and turns they traveled, in grey stone walkways leading this way and that, barely illuminated unlike the previous hall. Finally, they emerged, into a beautiful field of flowers. They swayed gently, despite the presence of any wind, but strangely, that didn't seem strange to her. In the midst stood a frail old man, dressed in a more accented white garb than the monochromatic white of the Churchmen. Morgaine was struck by how apt Dietrich's earlier description of Vicar Harold had been. He was a nice old man, and she could trust him.

"Err, good day. Master Vicar, sir," she called out to him from her place on the walkway. Her voice carried over in a soft echo that emanated through the walls itself, it seemed. "I'm happy enough to be as well. This here is lovely, your garden. Do you grow these yourself?" She felt like she could talk to him, more than she could talk to anyone else. Even her provincial accent came through stronger.

The Sahasian Alliance

Vyarin Kremazov

name: Vyarin Kremazov

appearance: Tall and incredibly built, Vyarin is the model of a warrior. Indeed, his form is the sort that would take up an entire doorway he would happen to pass through. In accordance with the religious reforms of half a century past, he keeps his blond hair shaved down to fuzz. His face is similarly shaved. However, most notable about him is the rag that obscures his left eye, wrapped around his head, that conceals the gaping remains of his eye.

age: 19

bio: Vyarin was born to a most impressive pedigree. His father, the famed Zarrir "Usurper-of-Tyrants", had recently before Vyarin's birth led a successful rebellion against the so-called "Western Overlords" from across the Zpina mountain range. The Western Overlords' memory has been intentionally lost, with Zarrir having ordered all record of them destroyed and declaring that any who speak of them in his court have their tongues cut out. Thus, Vyarin's birth, coinciding rather neatly with the liberation, was considered highly auspicious by many. His name, "Vyarin", even means "of freedom" or "freeborn" in the now-dead Old Prozdy language. On his birth, Vyarin was given the courtesy titles of "Prince of Princes" (a title shared by his father), and "First Lord of the League". The League of which the second title represents is the nominally equal partnership of the great many rulers and nobles who had risen up alongside Prozdy against the Western Overlords, but in reality serve as effective vassals to Prozdy.

Vyarin grew up among the militant court of his father. In the Prozdy culture, strength and stoicism were the highest virtues, and nobles who shied away from military pursuits were considered illegitimate to rule. Thus, Vyarin was given a rigorous education in fighting with a great variety of weapons, strategy and tactics, and a number of traditional sports. Thus, he grew up strong, accustomed to physical strain and resistant to the fear of death. At least, that was the visage he put on for the court to see. In truth, he found he tired often of the singleminded pursuit of conflict and victory that Prozdy society seemed to worship, and found he was rather curious regarding a great many subjects not taught to him. However, there wasn't much to be done about that. His father Zarrir was an iron-fisted ruler, grim and incredibly competent, and would likely stand for no deviation on his son's part.

It was on Vyarin's coming-of-age day that his life changed rather oddly. During the celebrations, one of the princes of the League inadvertently insulted Vyarin before all the attendees. Zarrir, in a fit of rage, demanded that Vyarin and the prince duel with shashka to the death before the entire crowd. Neither were particularly interested in fighting this duel, and the prince offered to apologize, Zarrir's command was absolute, declaring that should either refuse this duel, they would be declared cowards and stripped of all honours. Eventually, after some heavy debate, a compromise was declared in which the two would fight only to first blood. The duel commenced, and ended when Vyarin fell forward, screaming and clutching at the left side of his face. Quickly, doctors were called, but the surgery was brutal, and perhaps did more damage to his eye than even the blade. Eventually, it was declared that Vyarin was blind in one eye. Zarrir, fearing for his son's life and his own court's stability, sent Vyarin away on the premise that he find a spouse.

role in the story: Prince and suitor

The Sahasian Alliance

Checking in. Glad to see everything back.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

My schedule was rather jostled this week, so my response can't come until this weekend. Sorry for the wait, I wish my schedule was more constant.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Alright. Morgaine would likely just continue following behind.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Morgaine couldn't help but spare a look at Victor while Dietrich talked. He was still shaken, an his sentiment was reinforced every time Dietrich thought to give him a glance. Something about the way Dietrich asked the question put her off, as if Victor were a defendant at court and her testimony could decide his hanging. Besides, she didn't want to be a part of the Church's little game of shadows. No good could come from the two of them ending up at each other's throats, especially not so early in their acquaintance. She took a deep breath, and set her heart to steel. Lying was never one of her talents.

"Well, I don't know what to say about that," Morgaine began. "I wasn't paying much attention to our journey's path." She stroked her chin, pretending to recall. "Well, it was chilly. Remarkable chilly, at that. I wouldn't be going outside without this robe you were so generous to lend me. We crossed through the wider road, memory serves me, into a big courtyard overlooking a sunken portion of the city. There was beasts down there, no doubt about it. Big, formless things. We could only catch their shadows and hear their endless howling. A disturbing sight, it must be said. Beyond that . . . I can't imagine much out of the ordinary. Not that I'd know much of ordinary here in Yharnam." She exhaled, slowly. "That's all I can say. Mayhaps the woman with us, Adelicia the blood giver, might know something more. If you can find her out and about at night, that is."

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Morgaine pretended not to notice the little interaction between Dietrich and Victor as she re-entered the larger room. It was humourous, admittedly, to see the big gruff churchman get gently scolded like a child, but it told her that there was something going on. At least, something going on that the two men very much didn't want her to know about. This annoyed her greatly. She wasn't the sort who enjoyed being kept in the dark. Was Dietrich's eye twitching? Something has gotten him unsettled, no doubt about that, and if she had to guess, it had something to do with her and her supposed "immortality".

"Right, let's go see your vicar," she finally said, after giving the two churchmen each an awkward glance. "I don't suppose I'd recognize a vicar were I to see one. What do they look like?" Really, was there truly a possibility in which all the men of the Healing Church were moulded of wax? Admittedly, the white church clothes weighed down on her shoulders far more than her normal clothes did. A snug fit they were, and to be quite honest, not nearly as tight as she had predicted. Certainly good for this dratted weather.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Huh. I never noticed the heels before. Does it look different in the game proper?

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

One with the latch.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

"Well . . . don't go testing it," Morgaine said, stumbling over her own words. Her gut twisted. She couldn't make sense of what they were saying. Was this some sort of prank? Something they'd say to get the new people maimed so they'd learn a lesson of some kind? She wouldn't be surprised if this were all some elaborate in-joke within the higher circles of the Church hunters. She didn't suppose she would one day be laughing about it with them in some distant later night. "Well," she began, changing the subject. It wasn't her favourite thing, being the centre of the conversation. "If the vicar wants to see me, he'll have to wait a minute or two." She held up her church garb for effect, and strode off towards the private room, leaving the two men behind.

How was this ever supposed to stay clean? The whole thing was the same off-white all over, but most importantly, not the slightest bit red. Did their seamstress never consider that hunters would get blood on their clothes? Would be a nightmare to wash it all off, only to get it all bloodied up again. Morgaine shuddered at the thought. Not even ermine capes were this pale. It was so white it seemed to reflect light almost like a mirror. Well, there was nothing for it. This was a hunter's outfit. It'll serve her better now than her village garb. Slowly, she unbuttoned her vest, dropping it on the ground, and her shirt followed soon after, exposing her back to the cool evening air. It was rather chilly now, even more so in here than outside. They must preserve fruit in here when it's not being used by people. She was glad to have finally shimmied into her new clothes, warm and snug under all that silk. Although she could do without the hood, she already had one of her own. Wrapping her cloak about her shoulders and fastening the pin. Now she was truly safe. Brushing down all the wrinkles around the skirts with her left hand, she placed her right on the door before unlocking and opening it.

"Well boys? Fair enough for the ball, you wager?" She asked, putting a hand on her hip and striking a mock-pose.