∦∦ discipleoflogarius ∦∦

█ ▌✟ ┈┈   Endless a solitary night it seemed, pale moon
                         only company save idle body of beast below. 
                         Quiet for what would seem like decades be Old
                          Yharnam, man having fled its torching spires in
                          fear of the Ashen Blood which had ravaged its
                          people so entirely. A true pity. So many lives 
                          lost. Yet all that remained of pour souls be the
                          frame of turned beast fastened tight to wooden
                          crucifix set ablaze, or still with beating hearts,
                          stalking corners of streets.  

                          And yet, it was home. Lonesome, perhaps, but
                          tone ears listening to creatures as they interacted
                          among themselves could be grounding, at times.
                          The occasional snag of hunter’s coat on rotting 
                           wood or jutting rust nail even more so. Material be
                           his existence, Dreams no longer god-sent respite
                           from horrors smothering the paths to his journey’s
                           end; wherever, whenever that may be. Time was
                           a notion all but lost to Djura, the only remaining
                           fragment be the erratic chime of Cathedral bells at
                           intervals indiscernible to him.

∦∦ hunter-of-hunters ∦∦

█ ▌✟ ┈┈    Fists pulled tattered leather coat tight around
                         shudder of slender frame. Clear skies above, as
                         ever during nights of the hunt, but never did it lend mild 
                         weather. Exhalations of breath could be observed
                         as it danced ever formless, eventually into nothings,
                         soft iridescent of frost forming on roof of buildings
                         long abandoned. All a sight far too quaint for the
                         monstrosities which lied beneath.

                         Sparse movement below. A leisured surveillance of 
                         local surroundings implied that for a time, all would
                         be well. It appeared to be a given illusion of peace
                         in the ever-evolving nightmare. 

                         Snarlings of beasts among themselves a near distance 
                         from bell tower in which hunter was stationed pulled 
                         corners of lips into faint amused smile, and hand pulled
                         down aged cap to shield eyes from glare of moon.
                                          How its eyes never ceased.

∦∦ illamentatus ∦∦

█ ▌✟ ┈┈    Great Cathedral doors eased open with steady
                         force of gloved hand. It was rare- incredibly
                         rare- to see men such as Djura wandering
                         through iron doors onto supposedly sacred
                         ground with no violent intent. However
                         he felt as though there be little place else to turn.
                         In such a hellish, dilapidated excuse of a city,
                         what significance was held to the simple utterings
                         of a few meaningless prayers? If it was anything he
                         could do to ease nightmare-stricken thoughts,
                          then what was the reason not to.

                         Tossing a single silver coin into the donation 
                          box by the entrance, boots were soon resonating
                          throughout empty space between century-old
                          stone. Architecture had never been something to
                          pique Djura’s interest, but there was no denying
                          the sheer grandeur of Yharnam’s most
                          beautiful Cathedral. 

                          Fairly certain that he was alone, the hunter ceased
                          his wanders at one of the remaining pews still
                          intact. Pleasant convenience had kept a prayer 
                          cushion also in a better state than most, which he
                          picked up in order to inspect the intricate embroidery
                          upon it, still vaguely discernible despite being
                          eaten away by fire cinders. A quick glance behind
                          him before Djura set down the cushion, and placed 
                          his knees upon it, hands clasped before his head
                          as chin was inclined to chest.

                               He would be there and gone in an instant.
                          

∦∦ plxindoll ∦∦

█ ▌✟ ┈┈    Transporting back to the Hunter’s Dream never
                          ceased to fill Djura with immeasurable relief. 
                          Regardless of it being nothing more than a
                          reflection of what once was, the mere serenity,
                          the desolation in which both building & gardens
                          were held was enough to retain whatever
                          sliver of sanity that remained. Its inhabitants-
                          Gherman, the doll, the messengers, they all lent
                          to him an odd sense of…belonging, if it were to be
                          called such. Certainly, they were more welcoming
                           than the Scourge victims no, the people 
                           of whom resided in Yharnam and all beyond.  

                           Now aware of the alteration in surroundings, the
                           hunter allowed his eyes to open. Mild breeze greeted
                           his skin as sleek leather coat danced softly around
                           his ankles. Quiet, as it always was, save for the
                           messengers murmuring among themselves.
                           Absolutely, he’d take that over the snarls of beasts
                           & the shrieks of terrified women on any day.

                           Perhaps he could allow himself a little rest. In this
                           oddball place of a sanctuary, as his aging bones
                           made their discomfort known, he felt within himself
                           that he’d earned it.

∦∦ of-blood ∦∦ 

█ ▌✟ ┈┈ ❝  What sort o’ business a hunter like yo’self got 
                                  in Old Yharnam? Can you not read?
                            You do not belong, nor are you welcome here.   ❞

                       Rising to his feet from where he had been
                             content, relaxed sitting at the highest reachable
                             position overlooking the city, Djura picked up his old
                             stake driver, grumbling to himself. No man set
                             foot in his territory, and any who did were always
                             sure to bring trouble in tow. He leaned against
                             a wooden pillar, which creaked in protest, and
                             peered down into the labyrinthine valley below.                               
                             A foreigner. Typical. The indisputable scent
                             carried on the air had piqued his interest at
                             first, however further analysis, and the inability to
                             pinpoint the location of the source quickly
                             turning it to irritation. 
                                                                    _{Little rat, where are you——}