Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

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Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, Hunter's clinic

“Ignore the little men. They are of no harm, at least haven’t been so far.”
Torquil stared incredulously at the nightmarish little creatures, eyes wide and terrified, as he contemplated the true depth of the meaning of the words “so far.” No one has been horribly eviscerated by the wolf so far, so it is probably harmless. And these little creatures? Compared to them, even the black-skinned, intestine-throwing creature and the vaguely humanoid beast he had awoken to finding seemed mundane and unalarming. And yet they seemed... familiar? Torquil felt like he had seen these tiny beings before somewhere, and it took him a moment to realize that they had shown up in his dreams, too, just before he had awoken as a Hunter.
Grumbling under his breath he aimed a kick at one of the ghoulish things – hard enough to be dismissive and threatening, without actually intending to harm it – only to find that his foot went straight through the faintly glowing form of the creature without resistance. The little one made a rude gesture at him in turn, but seemed otherwise unaffected and unfazed by his show of hostility.

Stumbling for a moment from the kick, Torquil decided to heed Marcus' advice and just ignore the “little men,” whatever they were, and hurry on to the barrels of weapons before he embarrassed himself even more. He perused the weapons in there for a moment, looking at the spears, axes and swords, and realized just how little he actually knew about weapons. He knew what they were, obviously, and the fundamentals of how one was supposed to use them – generally “the sharp bit goes into what you want to die” – but trying to think about it, he could not conjure any knowledge of tactics or technique at fighting. He could probably strike “soldier” from the list of possible professions he could have had before becoming a Hunter, which was less than encouraging; he figured that preexisting skills at fighting would probably have improved his chances of survival.
Channeling mental images of heavily armored knights and heroes of legend, Torquil's first instinct was to pull a sword from the pile, simply because swords were the most presentable of the three. Frowning at the alien feel of the blade in his hand he allowed himself to get a feel of the weapon, turning and tipping his grasp to feel the balance and weight of it, before tryingly swinging the sword twice through the air and finishing with a thrust.
He threw the sword back into the pile, strangely unsettled by the weapon. Wielding it felt unnatural, somehow, as though some part of him was protesting against the way his body moved while using the sword.
Of the remaining options, there was little doubt that a spear was a more impressive weapon than an axe, but... Torquil found his gaze lingering at the wooden handle of one such axe, and felt oddly drawn toward it. Even just looking at the weapon he already knew how the handle would feel in his hands, knew the heft of it, could imagine himself holding it, swinging it. He hesitantly picked up the axe, grasping it with both hands, and instantly felt that this was a much better fit for him. He swung it a few times, twice horizontally and twice vertically, and realized that his body was already intimately familiar with those motions. Axe it was.

Now adequately armed for whatever awaited beyond the door – or at least armed as well as he could be for the time being – Torquil stepped away from the barrels, carefully avoiding the little inhuman people that seemed to burrow out of the floor at random now, and went to the other Hunter. Not-Marcus, who had not yet introduced himself and had apparently been checking an extremely ill-looking woman.
Not wanting to demonstrate his broken ability to speak more than necessary, he simply waved at the man and gestured at the door, meaning to wordlessly ask whether he intended to leave as well.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, ascending the elevator

“What terrible beasts,” a woman muttered breathlessly, looking through the now-closed gate that bordered the entrance to the elevator the civilians had just used to board it, looking at the battle taking place below. Growling, roaring and loud, metallic slams could still be heard from down there, though the sounds grew somewhat more distant as everyone ascended the elevator shaft. “Thank Oedon we got out of that alive...”
“I can't believe one of them killed the Hunter,” a man murmured incredulously, clutching his chest with one hand while staring off into space with a haunted expression. “I thought Hunters were invincible...”
“'Twasn't a beast that kill'd him,” another man pointed out confidently, tapping the side of his nose with a finger. “I smell'd him. The beast-armed one wasn't no beast, 'twas another Hunter. Mad, most like. Or...” He shuddered. “Of the Harrow.”
“Another Hunter...” the woman whispered thoughtfully, turning away from the sight of Yharnam lowering under them.

Soon after the elevator reached the top, all but the loud smashing of the giant's axe reduced to unintelligible noises below, and folding doors opposite of the ones they had entered through opened in the elevator. Outside lay a surprisingly clean stretch of street with a row of single-floor, pristine houses lined up on the far side of the area. Many of these houses were made of wood rather than stone, and all seemed to be recent additions to the city, built from scratch after the Night of the Blood Moon. They seemed empty, and not a single one of the ones in sight had light inside or a censer outside, in all likelihood marking them as unoccupied. But although the area looked deserted, the ground just beyond the elevator and as much as a dozen meters (three dozen feet) from the elevator had splatters, drips and smears of mostly-fresh blood that spoke of a battle having been fought here recently. There were even faint scorch-marks in one place, very close to where lay a broken lantern.
Strangely there were no corpses, though there were some faint tracks through the blood that suggested that someone had moved through the gore and to the left of the elevator, further north along the plateau, which seemed to be the only way to go aside from entering one of the houses there.

~~~

Eastern Yharnam, Hunter's clinic

Looking around at the carnage surrounding them, hearing the silence of their far more powerful slain allies, the surviving five huntsmen turned to Marcus as he entered, staring at him in uniform horror.
After but a moment's silent but frantic deliberation one of the huntsmen turned to the only other door in the room – the one leading to the outside – and clumsily scrambled toward it, stumbling over toppled and smashed furniture along the way, not even sparing a glance for the weapon he had dropped at his feet. A second later the other four followed the first, fleeing the clinic as quickly as they could.

There were more Messengers in this room, too; two sat over by the man dressed in a thoroughly bloodied garb of the Healing Church, clawing powerlessly at a pouch on the man's left hip, which the fingers of the man's left hand was weakly grasping the top of. Another Messenger sat by a fist-sized abandoned brass bell on the ground, prodding at it and examining it without actually moving the bell in a way that suggested equal parts of curiosity and anxiety.
Most remarkable of all, however, was the crowd of Messengers – easily two dozen of them, maybe more – that surrounded and eagerly pointed to the one thing in the room that looked untouched by the otherwise rampant destruction that had occurred here. Seeming entirely out of place here as it arguably would anywhere, there was what appeared to be an entire skeletal human arm sticking out of the floor, reaching as high as it could, holding an unlit lantern in its petrified bony grip.
Two of the Messengers near this strange lantern-wielding arm seemed to be sitting apart from the others, and rather than trying to direct Marcus' attention to the lantern, these two appeared to be holding a rolled-up piece of parchment, looking at Marcus expectantly.
Adelicia would not be able to see any of this, of course; none of the Messengers, the arm sticking out of the ground or the lantern existed within a realm she could see. All she would see was the fleeing huntsmen and her guardian, Victor, collapsed on the floor.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Nah, it's fine if you just correct the bit about the huntsmen; I generally try to avoid backtracking. The comment about letting me inform what the character might see was more for future reference.

I also really wish Ashgan would pop in for Adelicia, but until he does I suppose we'll just have to assume that she's petrified by the violence she just witnessed.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

@Habibi359 Oh, you went ahead that far. Generally I would recommend that if your characters moves to see something they could not see before, you should really either let me describe what they see or at least confer with me to know what they find. In this case your post would be mistaken: all but one of the Yharnamite huntsmen in the next room are still alive (the one having been cleaved diagonally halfway through his torso being the only death among them). The remaining five have dropped their weapons and just just seem very frightened of and indecisive about the entire circumstance.

Likewise if you ever want to examine something closer IC, just have your characters actually examine the thing and I will provide additional details about it, sort of like I did with Arcturus and the disease-ridden corpse. I'll often exclude details from the quick overview of a thing based on what I think the characters would actually be able to notice.

I swear, the hardest part about GM'ing isn't keeping track of everything, but rather to restrain myself from telling the players everything...

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, bottom of the elevator

The elevator had made it about two-thirds of the way to the bottom when the beast-armed man arrived – panting from the exertion of pushing his body past its physical limitations – and stopped a mere couple of meters from where Draco and the civilians were waiting anxiously for their way out. Now that this half-man creature was closer, it was entirely evident to everyone who cared to glance at him that it was, in fact, only his arms that were bestial. The ribbons of fur and leather hanging off his body appeared to be either entire pelts of various smaller creatures, like rabbits and foxes, or cut-out strips of larger ones that were harder to identify. The leathers were likewise difficult to determine an origin of, and while some of it looked like ordinary leather from cattle or the like, but some of it looked unusual, pale and untreated compared to the rest.
It looked almost like strips of flayed human skin.
It was also quite evident that he had taken some hits in the fight against Stefan, him having several bloody cuts in his clothes and some burned spots here and there, including a side of burn hair on his hood. It was difficult to tell how much those wounds affected him due to his inhuman nature, of course; closer inspection would reveal that all of his wounds had regenerated, and there was no way to tell how much regenerative potential he had left.

Hearing Draco's declaration seemed to be what brought the stranger to pause, causing him to skid to a stop. His eyes narrowed confusedly as he stared at Draco intently, then at the weapon in his hands, then at Draco again. He sniffed loudly several times in Draco's direction before frowning at him deeply.
“Disappointing,” he sighed, seemingly no longer interested in the civilians as he started turning to the giant and scourge beasts still locked in combat.
As the elevator came to a clanking stop at the bottom of its shaft the beast-armed man rushed off toward the battle, viciously grabbing the closest of the three scourge beasts by the scruff of its neck with his bestial left hand before flinging it onto its back. As the civilians hurriedly piled onto the waiting platform – luckily avoiding the pressure plate in the middle of the floor that would cause the elevator to ascend – the murderer jumped on top of the toppled beast and started tearing into its chest with both hands.
When the two remaining scourge beasts and the giant all turned their attention on this violent stranger, it became pretty clear that he was not going to pursue the civilians for the moment. The rest of the group crowded tightly near the edges of the platform, seemingly content to leave stepping on the button to Draco.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Streets of eastern Central Yharnam, just south of the plateau elevator

Not a beast. Worse. Far worse. A Hunter's worst nightmare. Unaffected by incense, could walk among humans, Yharnamites and Hunters unnoticed if so desired. Much more versatile, unpredictable and intelligent than a beast. Able to match every power and skill Stefan had move by move, and with the same endless potential as himself.
It had taken Stefan only a single glance at the man he had been fighting to realize what he was fighting: another Hunter.
The realization had flustered and confused him, his mind trying to come up with an explanation for these dire circumstances he suddenly found himself in even as he was desperately trying to defend himself. It had been a trap. This Hunter, whoever he was, had most likely been following them in the shadows for a while, only to seize the opportunity when they paused their walk and were distracted to make a ruckus.
For a moment he wondered about the why of it, until the other Hunter was upon him and he felt once again the other's brute strength and ferocity, his power. Hunters and beasts grew their power from their victims, with more and stronger prey growing their prowess to ever greater heights, and this other Hunter was evidently significantly stronger and more durable than Stefan. This man had obviously done a great deal of killing to gain this strength. He could have a purpose in killing church Hunters specifically, but it was most likely also a simple matter of Stefan – a relatively veteran Hunter – representing strong prey. Killing Stefan would make this man even stronger.

Though robbed of his church pick and badly wounded, Stefan still forced himself to roll from his prone position into a sitting one, reaching both hands to his left hip as he looked around frantically. The civilians were running, at least, though they had not gotten as far as Stefan had hoped. He winced. If this savage Hunter killed him now, there was little doubt that he could easily catch up to Draco and the others before they reached the elevator. Stefan had wounded the other Hunter pretty bad, he knew, and must have depleted his regenerative potential quite a bit, but the dutiful servant of the Healing Church still had his doubts that a few huntsmen would stand much of a chance even against a weakened Hunter of this caliber. Stefan had to persevere at least a little longer... or those people were doomed.
He jabbed the syringe of another blood vial into his left thigh – three left, he reminded himself – and immediately felt his wounds accelerate their mending, his own regenerative potential restored. He was going to need all of his strength for this fight. With his right hand he unclasped the torch hanging from his belt, wielding it as a mace. His left hand discarded the now-empty blood vial, grabbed a small flintlock and used it to strike a spark to ignite the torch.
The other Hunter, meanwhile, took a moment to pull out the sword that he was still impaled upon, producing another gout of blood as his wounds came unplugged, before grasping the weapon with both hands and, with a moment's strain on his inhuman arms, snapped the blade on the middle before discarding the broken weapon in the street before turning his attention to Stefan once again.
The weapon wielded by the hostile Hunter was known to Stefan only by reputation, though he knew enough of it to recognize it at sight: it was a so-called beast claw, a profane armament crafted from the still-living bones of a darkbeast. The artifact itself was actually the fist weapon in his right hand, which was what caused the bestial transformation of his arms. A weapon made to allow Hunters to fight like beasts do... a truly abominable thing and, worryingly, a trophy taken from the strongest of beasts.

When the enemy rushed in to renew his attack once more Stefan reacted with a quickstep of his own, darting past the other so that they both ended up just behind each other, only for Stefan to immediately spin around, winding up his right arm as he went, and quickly slammed his lit torch into the other's side. He watched with some satisfaction as the bestial Hunter withdrew a little and staggered, clearly fazed by the fiery attack, but had to duck into a crouch but a second later when his left great claw came scything toward Stefan's head.
Against his better judgment Stefan went in closer, almost placing the two men chest-to-chest, before unleashing a barrage of strikes with his torch upon the other, swinging the fiery weapon as fast and hard as he could. The other seemed to momentarily panic and tried to retreat once more, as Stefan had hoped, only to leave an opening for Stefan to strike a clean blow against his opponent's head, sending him stumbling, the pelts that made up his primitive clothing smoldering.
How am I doing better with a bloody torch than with my trick weapon? he thought incredulously, idly twirling the improvised weapon in his hand as he put some distance between himself and his adversary, who was now glaring at him with eyes emanating rage and hatred. Of course, he had a pretty good idea why, since he had intentionally changed his tactics to achieve it: the simple act of Stefan taking the initiative and working to attack rather than defend himself was throwing off the extremely aggressive Hunter.
Stefan smiled at the other with newfound confidence. If that was really all it took, maybe he could win this fight after all.
The murderous Hunter stepped forward once again, drawing back his right arm and obviously winding up a slash or punch with all of his strength, prompting Stefan to quickstep to the man's right, now-vulnerable side outside the range of the prepared attack to land a blow of his own. He swung his torch at the other's head...
Something hit Stefan's jaw on the left side, momentarily just leaving him confused and dizzy, barely even realizing that he was stumbling to his knees. It took him a couple of seconds to understand that his opponent had changed his attack in the last instant as a reaction to Stefan moving; instead of slashing or punching, he had used the stored energy in his right arm to elbow Stefan in the head, which he had been in an almost ideal position for. A second later the pain hit, as did the halfway sad and halfway fascinated realization that he had several knocked-out teeth rattling around in his mouth now. The left hinge of his jaw felt like it had been shattered.

Stefan tried desperately to stagger back to his feet, coughing out a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. He could not think. Could barely even see clearly, struggling against the vertigo that assailed him. He just needed time. Just a moment. If he could just regenerate a little he could go on. Just a moment... just...
There was a blur, and Stefan felt something big, sharp and very, very bad plunge into his abdomen. Claws. Beast claws. The bestial Hunter had visceral attacked him with his beast-hand, burying the entire giant hand in Stefan's guts.
“You church Hunters,” the other hissed wickedly, his voice dripping with disgust and amusement. “So predictable. So arrogant. So bloody stupid!”
Movement below, sudden and violent. Pain. Unimaginable pain. Emptiness. The other was holding up his inhuman left hand, but there was something dangling from it. Stefan squinted, but could not see. Then he realized: he was holding Stefan's guts.
He could not make out the other's face anymore, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “It's going to be a good hunt tonight.”

~~~

Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, bottom of the elevator

The civilians ran as best they could under Draco's guidance, some of the less athletically inclined citizens having to be urged on several times when they started slowing down. The distance was not too great, however, and soon they managed to reach the foot of the elevator... only to find that the elevator itself was currently at the top of the shaft, not the bottom. There was a lever in the ground next to the shaft, which one of the civilians at the front of the group went to pull. The mechanism was activated with a loud “snap”, and with a faint rattle of chains the platform above started descending toward its waiting passengers.

In the street in front of the elevator, about twenty meters (65 feet) from the elevator itself, the church giant was still engaged in its own battle. Now that Draco and the others were much closer than before, it became evident that the giant – wearing several deep, bloody lacerations upon its colossal frame – was in the process of fighting off a pack of three scourge beasts, with another two lying dead in the street, smashed to bits by the giant's axe. The large, wolf-like monsters were similarly distracted with fighting the giant, running around to evade its devastating blows while occasionally leaping at it, raking their claws against his skin or burying their teeth in his flesh. A little further off was also the corpse of a church servant, though there did not appear to be any more of their kind around.

While the civilians crowded at the bottom of the elevator shaft, panting, sobbing, whimpering and complaining about how long it took for the elevator to descend, Stefan, back where they had come from, having bought them all the time he could, drew his last breath. The beast-armed killer then turned, looking in their direction, and started sprinting toward them at inhuman speeds.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Just let me know if my posts haven't given you enough to work with and I'll progress time a bit further.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Insights gained: Beckoning bell and Mad Echo

Marcus, Arcturus

With the threat of a hoarse voice from beyond a closed door, Marcus and Arcturus heard the clearly supernatural sound of a bell, only for the sound to seemingly summon a creature not unlike a Mad One within the room. This creature behaved strangely, however; it did not seem aggressive until injured, and only seemed to grow more feral, stronger and faster the more damage it sustained. While the Mad Echo did not seem to regenerate on its own, each toll of the bell seemed to instantly mend all damage, restoring it even from death. Upon the silencing of the bell the Mad Echo vanished, suggesting that the life force of the Mad Echo is somehow tied to it.
They do not have a full understanding of the mechanics of the bell or the Mad Echo, but have witnessed enough to possibly make some conclusions on their own.

Also:

Marcus, Arcturus and Torquil feel a strange sensation as something invisible and weightless clings to them. They all now have some unbound blood echoes.

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Eastern Yharnam, Hunter's clinic

Over by the slain beast the recently awakened Torquil simply nodded at Marcus' introduction and recommendations, clearly reluctant to speak out loud now that he was conscious of his broken ability to speak and, with a final shove of his foot to the creature he had just killed – not vindictively, but more in a manner as if to assure himself that it was indeed dead – he went over to the corner with the barrels of weapons. He moved carefully through the room, looking around incredulously as he went at the unusual number of cots filling the room, more than half of which having been knocked over or tossed aside during the skirmish. A handful of the sleepers were visibly injured, having suffered significant cuts, bruises and broken bones, and at least two seemed to have suffered severe enough wounds that they were doubtlessly dead, with one having been literally disemboweled and another lay in a pool of blood from an open skull fracture.
Some of the ones that were most likely only injured and not dead seemed to be visibly regenerating, interestingly, but at varying rates and none of them as quickly as would be expected of a Hunter. With some there was practically no visible recovery, whereas others were regenerating at a rate that promised them back to full health in less than a minute. Everyone here had clearly been given the blood treatment to become Hunters, but seemed to be in different stages of metamorphosis, lending them more or less of the natural vitality of a Hunter.

Meanwhile Arcturus, now that things had seemingly calmed down and the pain of his internal injuries had somewhat abated, checked the pulse of the visibly diseased individual that lay sprawled next to him, only to find the skin cold to the touch and no pulse to be felt. Whichever ailment had claimed this woman was one that none of the people currently in the clinic was familiar with, and with no other visible injuries upon her body it would only be natural to assume that it had been the cause of her death.
Were one to survey the rest of the room they would find another four bodies with similar complexion and markings as the woman, cold and dead as she was.

About at this time movement started occurring across the room, however, as the Messengers abruptly started emerging from the floor anew, seemingly burrowing through reality itself and dragging their upper bodies from wherever they hailed to the clinic. Five of these little ghoulish creatures emerged immediately surrounding Arcturus, moaning softly and unintelligibly as they gently reached for him with their small, long-fingered hands, almost as if concerned for him. Another six appeared in front of Marcus, eagerly beckoning him toward the door.
Torquil, meanwhile, let out a surprised yelp as he, too, was suddenly crowded by Messengers, only this was his first encounter with them. Letting out a string of garbled swears and curses he hastened toward the barrels, clearly disturbed by the spontaneous appearance of the tiny creatures.