Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

All right, how about you, @Ashgan? The scenes are so interconnected by now that I sort of want to advance things with Victor at the same time as I do in the cot room. Does Adeline have anything to add to the situation, or is she just going to stare in horror at what is happening?

The Prophecy

I'm around as always, obviously, and have just been patiently waiting (not much else I can do at the moment). It's obviously unfortunate, both because it personally saddens me and because it's - at the risk of sounding overly pragmatic - inconvenient for the RP as a whole, but I've always maintained that if a player wants or has to leave it would be extremely inappropriate for me to try to convince them otherwise.

I could suggest solutions to this, but considering that we were already taking extra measures to accommodate you... eh, I'm not sure how much more we could do short of actually writing the posts for you altogether. So I don't know what to do either.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Victor hasn't been to the labyrinth, no, and Pthumeru isn't exactly common knowledge, but most Hunters of the Healing Church will heard of them regardless. I intended to eventually reveal this IC, but after the Night of the Blood Moon Pthumerians have started exiting the labyrinth and causing trouble in and around Yharnam. Victor hasn't seen any Pthumerians personally, but enough Hunters have talked about and described them for him to recognize the signs.

She most likely wouldn't know about Pthumeru (or Pthumerians), but I agree that she might know that some bells can be used for arcane purposes.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, Hunter's clinic

Staring down the barrel of the huntsman's rifle was quite possibly one of the most awkward experiences in Victor's life, most of all because both of them – him and the marksman – obviously knew that time was of the essence and that the first to react would seize the advantage, yet they both just stood there staring at each other for reasons Victor did not understand. His first instinct was to immediately dodge to the side, and indeed he could feel the Hunter's blood in his veins already burning with power to be released in a quickstep; both his body and mind told him that quickstepping to the side, adhering to the adage of “dodge the gun, not the bullet”, was the best course of action... yet he did not move. And the huntsman? He had had his rifle trained on the doorway before Victor even entered, clearly anticipating an enemy approaching. Logically he should have fired the instant Victor showed himself, yet he, too, hesitated.

In an instant that felt far longer than it was due to the surge of fight-or-flight induced adrenaline, Victor stared at the huntsman, taking a moment to figure out what about this guy was bothering him. Then it hit him: the huntsman's arms were normally proportioned to his body, he was no more hairy than was common for Yharnam citizens, and his eyes, peeking out from under the shade of a ragged hat, were not ruined by the scourge. Victor's habitual obsessive checking for signs of the scourge told him that this man was not afflicted with the scourge of beasts! Mad or not, this man was still a normal Yharnamite, which probably meant that he still possessed some semblance of sanity, yet considering the destruction wrought on the room around them he was clearly hostile toward the Healing Church... so again, why did he not shoot a Hunter of the church?
Then he turned his thoughts to himself, and realized that his identity as a church Hunter might not be immediately obvious just now. With how battered and bloodstained his garb was after the encounter with the Mad One, his clothes could conceivably be hard to recognize as a uniform from the church. On top of that the small sword of the holy blade could easily be mistaken for something normal rather than a Hunter's trick-weapon unless one noticed the massive blade-scabbard on his back. It was likely, he figured, that the Yharnamite hesitated simply because he was not sure that Victor was an enemy.
What about himself, then? Why did he hesitate? He bore no such doubts, of this he was certain...

His eyes widened and heartbeat quickened even more than it already had when he heard Adelicia's voice behind him, a heavy realization dawning upon him: if he moved and the huntsman missed, he might hit Adelicia with the pretty eyes. He did not have time to look behind himself to ascertain whether she was in the doorway or not – and taking his eyes off the huntsman would likely prompt him to fire – , but he knew from the sound of her voice that she was close. Quickstepping to the side would probably be the best tactical choice; the sudden movement would probably cause the huntsman to fire, but miss due to the inherent speed of quickstepping, forcing him to reload his weapon before he could shoot again, allowing Victor to close the distance and eliminate him. He could get through this without a scratch, at least until he had to deal with the five other huntsmen and their Pthumerian.
But if he did, Adelicia might die. She was so feeble, so fragile... a shot like this might actually kill her. Him, though? He was a Hunter, and one whose strongest parameter was his capacity for regeneration at that; granted that he had already depleted some of that capacity from the last bit of healing his lungs and to mend his hand after punching the lamppost, but he still thought he could probably regenerate a normal gunshot. Even if he happened to be using quicksilver bullets, the guy was still just a Yharnamite; quicksilver gained its power from the blood of its user, and Yharnamite blood would be very weak.
Victor could take it. Worst case he still had two vials of blood, but regardless he had to take the shot. His mission was to protect Adelicia... with all of his power, including the fact that he was hard to kill.

Bracing himself mentally for what was to come Victor took a sudden, aggressive step forward, turning himself fully toward the rifleman to present as big a target as possible. As expected the abrupt move prompted the other to pull the trigger, and with a flash and boom of gunfire something punched Victor in the lower left side of his chest, causing him to wince in discomfort, but also grin victoriously: it had gone as planned. The rifle was unloaded. He could move.
Ignoring the warm blossom of blood where he had been shot, trusting that the wound would close momentarily, he immediately accelerated to a mad sprint, ignoring the crunch of glass and wood under his feet, disregarding the six other enemies in the room, focusing entirely on the desperately reloading marksman. He was there in a second, maybe two, and attacked without hesitation, slashing diagonally across the man's torso, showering himself with delicious, invigorating blood as the Yharnamite stumbled backward with a shocked yelp, his weapon falling from his hands.

Footsteps around him. Angry shouting. Rustle of weapons.
Victor's grin widened, a pleasant shiver going through his body. Finally. Time to hunt.

~~~

Inside the back room Marcus moved to attack the staggering Mad One, and just as had previously been the case the being seemed to make no effort to defend itself, simply allowing the blow to hit it on its upper right arm. It yielded pliably with a crunch of breaking bone, everything past the being's right elbow going limp, but once again the creature seemed entirely unconcerned with the damage it had suffered.
It reached for Marcus' right shoulder with its intact left hand, intending to sink its claws into him; it also opened its lipless, salivating mouth wide, intending to pounce and bite into his throat if it managed to catch him.

The lupine man-beast, meanwhile, seemed somewhat emboldened by the Mad One and Marcus occupying each other, lowering its guard and turning to Arcturus, starting to boldly walk toward him.
Outside the room a gunshot could be heard, from just past the door, quickly followed by commotion as if a fight had begun out there.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

I actually considered continuing that post a little bit further, but I wanted to make sure that nothing unexpected happened with Adelicia before this moment, namely if she happened to be saying something/calling attention to herself somehow when Victor entered the clinic.

You can make a post if you want, or simply say so if all that is going to happen is "Adelicia followed Victor", though I would be interested in how closely she followed him. I can imagine her keeping very close ("he's the only thing keeping me alive") or staying at a distance ("he's half mad and clearly dangerous").

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, outside the Hunter's clinic

I swear, Victor thought, making a concerted effort not to groan at Adelicia's words, she is trying to make me angry. She must have a death wish of some kind.
He was not sure what kind of a past the saint had, what training – if any – she had gone through, or whether the church had intentionally raised her without even a shred of independence. It might not be entirely her fault – he would not put it past the Healing Church to intentionally render their Blood Saints useless – but it still enraged him to a dangerous degree, perhaps even more so because her unwillingness to make decisions for herself put his own lack of expertise on display. He told her that he would follow her lead, and she reacts by saying that she would follow his? As if he was much better suited for the responsibility than her? As if he was not terrified by what was going on?
The way she had said it was concerning, too; it reminded Victor far too much of how she had reacted after their fight with the Mad One back at the elevator. How she had offered up her life and well-being out of fear that Raine might kill her, as if she had been entirely at his mercy... only, this felt even worse. This was not a plea for “anything but death”, but rather “you are my only chance at survival”. She gave herself over to him completely out of belief that she could not possibly survive on her own, and that any choice she made was going to get her killed.
Now, he was the last person who would argue that Adelicia had the prowess to defend herself from... practically anything, really, but that kind of helplessness rubbed him the wrong way. Made him angry at her and for her, for being so weak. Made his teeth itch.

“Inside it is, then,” he grumbled more tartly than he had intended, gesturing for her to follow him and quickly walking to the doorway, eager to get away from the invisible thing that had taken Raine. But when he crossed the threshold of the clinic, he was rooted in place by what he saw.
The room inside seemed like it had been a typical treatment area of a Yharnam blood ministration clinic, furnished with beds and chairs for patients and doctors, numerous cabinets for various medicaments, most of which were blood-based, and the various tools for examining and operating on the ill and injured. Most of this furniture had been destroyed, however; mostly solid objects seemed to have been smashed against the ground and, if that had not been sufficiently effective, subsequently chopped to pieces. Cabinets had been toppled, their contents shattered and scattered on the floor. Vials, jars and beakers had been thrown against the walls and floor, showering the area with broken glass and vile liquids.
And past the devastation left in their wake, at the opposite end of the room, maybe ten meters (thirty-three feet) away, was another door that had been forcibly opened, and by the doorway was the cause of this mindless destruction. A group of six mostly human-looking men stood over there, two of them glancing through the far doorway at whatever was on the other side, while the other four stood off to the right, looking in his direction.
Victor had expected Yharnamite rioters, but they were not alone. Among the group to the right was a seventh figure, who was decidedly not a normal Yharnamite. Clad in a dusty brown hooded monk's robe and carrying a cane in his right hand and a bell in the other – both, Victor realized confusedly, items that had been missing from the dead church servant they had found earlier – this man, if one could call it that, had sickly gray, almost white skin and was unnaturally gaunt, with bony limbs and a face so sunken that it seemed to stick directly to the skull, and eyes that were either missing or sat so deep in their sockets that they were lost in shadow. He looked almost like a mummified corpse more than a man. Though he had never encountered one before, Victor knew that this had to be a Pthumerian from the labyrinth.

Though surprising and worrying, none of this was what brought Victor to a halt, however. One of the four Yharnamites crowding around the Pthumerian had a rifle already aimed at the door he had just entered through – and thus at him – at chest-level, clearly expecting someone to come. They had probably heard the commotion before, when Raine had been taken by the entity.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

@Habibi359? @DrabberRogue?

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

How is it looking on your end, Ashgan?

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Marcus' blow landed on the creature's head with a sickening noise, its head – and the skull underneath it, the breaking of which was likely the cause of the sound – deforming under the impact, sending a splattering of blood at the Hunter's legs and causing the Mad One's right glowing eye to once again go dark, even as the cracks in its skin from the damage started giving off its own ominous light. The blow was not enough to kill it, however, and just as it had seemed quite unconcerned with being stabbed and losing its leg earlier, even this grievous wound only appeared to enrage it further.
Before Marcus had the chance to wind up for a second or third intended strike the monster lashed out, backhanding Marcus in the chest hard enough to send him crashing into the cots behind him.

The Mad One swayed in place unsteadily, but still pursued Marcus clumsily after a second, its sense of balance evidently impaired by its wound.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

The beast grinned menacingly at Arcturus' posturing, baring its flesh-rending teeth while letting out a ragged, guttural sound that, with some imagination, sounded something like a dog trying to laugh like a man, kicking away the remnants of the door to step further into the room of sleeping Hunters with great lumbering strides.
Behind the large creature other forms were crowding the now-open doorway, though these were far from as intimidating as the Hunters' first two adversaries; in fact they just looked like men for most part, clad in normal citizens' clothes and, unlike the eager beasts the Hunters had already had to contend with, seemed hesitant to actually attack. One man looking in was armed with a pitchfork while the other brandished a hatchet. Both stayed just on the outside of the doorway, merely peeking in from either side.

“Are they really Hunters?” the one on the left remarked, looking over the room in disbelief. “They look so... normal.”
“Of course they are,” the other replied, seemingly taken aback by his companion's doubt. “Look, they even killed the echo.”

Ding-ding...

Barely had the rioting Yharnamite spoken the words before the bell from before rang again, the same two distinct tolls as the other times and with the same unnatural reverberation to the sound, as if it was not just one bell in one place, but countless bells being heard from worlds away. The beast stopped moving at the sound, its expression turning uncertain and almost fearful as it took a step backwards, slowly raising its weapons as if to shield itself from an unseen threat.
As the sound of the bell faded, another sound could be heard from the corpse of the Mad One; a sound like violently grinding bones. The sound lasted merely a second before its cause became clear: in an instant the Mad One's head seemed to seamlessly mend itself, with the red light returning to the creature's eyes and a ragged breath being drawn into its lungs. At the same time the leg it had lost reemerged; it would give the wrong impression to say that it grew back, because the process was so spontaneous and instant that it seemed more as though a fully formed leg was already within the Mad One, just waiting to explosively shoot out of its stump.

With a whine full of hatred and hunger, the Mad One stood back up.