Member
Shadowheart
Shienvien
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Necroes
KactusPunch
C4lmiaa
Guardian Angel Haruki
Streets of eastern Central Yharnam
Moving at what would be considered a brisk walking pace for normal humans was to Stefan, as it would be to any Hunter, a frustrating exercise in patience. Humans were slow and frail, Yharnamites only slightly less so, and the ones Stefan had gathered and was escorting were no exception; even their current pace would probably tire these civilians eventually, while he could comfortably have doubled the speed and still not be able to comfortably keep pace almost indefinitely. Still, this trial was one he would happily endure to serve his master.
Ordinarily Stefan would only have moved this slow to minimize the sound he made, and could indeed make his traversal almost perfectly silent if he so desired, but even that effort he recognized would be pointless in his current circumstances. Though he could keep this pace and move silently, the rattle of clothing and pointless belongings, and the labored breaths coming from the civilians would alert any nearby beasts regardless of how quiet Stefan personally was.
This was an uncomfortable task, as it would have been for any Hunter; to have to use his skills in reverse, avoiding beasts rather than seeking them out, and to preserve life rather than end it went against the instincts of a Hunter... but it was manageable. Stefan, unlike some of the other Hunters, retained his self-control and restraint and, though he did feel the draw of blood, was no slave of it nor the violence associated with it. He hunted and killed not for sport or satiation, but with conviction and fervor; any word from Vicar Harold's lips was law, and Stefan took great pleasure in knowing that he was the instrument of their exalted leader's will. This task, though frustrating in its own way, was as grand a purpose as participating in the hunt simply because it was a purpose bestowed by the vicar.
For a second Stefan tore his gaze from the area in front of the group, where he had been vigilantly keeping watch for approaching beasts, to look behind him at the motley crowd trailing behind him, making a quick tally of their number and estimating that no one had been stealthily snatched from the group. His task had been simple: head to the southeastern part of the city and then start heading north, picking up any civilians along the way that did not have a safe place to spend this Night of the Hunt, and bring them to a designated shelter where they would be in relative safety. On nights like this incense was the single most important resource in the city, as it was practically the only defense civilians had against the scourge. The white church had built these shelters for any civilian that failed to build up a store of incense themselves, or who found themselves far from home at nightfall; there would be plenty of incense at the shelter.
This particular group of civilians was remarkable to Stefan, even though most of the dozen or so people in it were the fearful, pathetic and defenseless folk that made up the vast majority of the population of the city. The ones that were remarkable, however, were the few that were not panicking, who did not try carry all their worldly possessions with them on this life-or-death journey across the city, and who seemed to have the presence of mind to have actually armed themselves. “Discount Hunters”, some in the church called them; huntsmen. Yharnamites who were willing to risk life, health and sanity to aid in the hunt.
Or, as Stefan grimly estimated their worth: beast fodder.
One of these huntsmen was actually someone Stefan recognized, however: Draco Russ, a blacksmith that had occasionally been employed by the church for weapon maintenance for the Hunters. He had heard rumors that this man was one of the few to have survived the Night of the Blood Moon five years ago, and that he used to have been a huntsman, but tonight he saw those rumors proven as the guy seemed to have armed himself with a highly irregular... weapon? Stefan was unsure how to classify the monstrosity Draco was carrying with him. It looked somewhat like a pitchfork of sorts, but modified in a way that would make it useless as a tool. It had clearly been redesigned for use as a weapon, though the Hunter struggled to figure out what advantage this weaponized pitchfork offered over the much simpler spear.
He shrugged and turned his attention back to the street in front of them, forging ahead.
The particular street they had been moving down had been a relatively safe one, practically as far toward the outskirts of Yharnam as they could get while still being in the city proper. To their right the group was flanked by a sixty-five feet tall sheer stone wall that would make it incredibly difficult for beasts to approach from that direction. To their left was a row of residences beyond which lay the rest of central Yharnam, along with – far to the west – the Cathedral Ward, where the headquarters of the church resided. Most of the windows here were dark, with but a few occasionally shining light through drawn curtains, all of which Stefan checked to confirm that they had lit censers to keep them safe through the night. He also had to keep an eye on the rooftops, of course, since scourge beasts were quite capable of scaling buildings such as these and leaping from rooftop to rooftop.
Ahead and behind lay the open street, cobbled paths lit by widely spaced lampposts as the sun slowly made its way below the western horizon, casting the city in growing shadow. Aside from the sound of the civilians moving and occasionally talking in hushed voices, the silence was also occasionally broken by distant howls and gunshots, all of which Stefan noted to plan their course accordingly. Once the characteristic wail of a cleric beast had resounded from somewhere to the distant west, prompting Stefan to momentarily close his eyes and offer a silent prayer to Oedon for the weak soul from the Healing Church that had succumbed to the scourge. It was much too far to be a threat to him or his charges, though, and could thus be safely ignored for the moment. Other Hunters would deal with that; Stefan had a task of his own.
A short while after that, however, Stefan signaled the civilians to halt, squinting down the street uncomfortably. Initially he had merely felt some faint tremors in the ground, like heavy impacts, and heard some barely audible crashing sounds, but now he could actually make out two notable things ahead of them: one was an elevator shaft, stretching all the way from the street to the top of the eastern wall, and the other was the colossal form of a church giant lumbering about at the foot of it, seemingly in the process of smashing several much smaller figures with its massive axe. They were still some three hundred meters (or a thousand feet) away, making it too difficult to identify the smaller figures, but it was enough to tell Stefan that it was probably best to avoid the area.
“There's danger ahead,” he remarked to the people behind him, quickly trying to mentally map the area they were in to find an alternative path. He also unconsciously clutched his church pick, currently in sword-form, a little more tightly than usual. “We should go back south a little and find a street west, further into the city, so we can avoid the battle ahead. It'll mean taking a pretty significant detour, but it's probably safer that way.”