Summer in Yharnam is hot, almost oppressively so. Both the days and nights stretch on, bleeding into each other in an endless stretch of time. This time of year the sky is virtually always clear - even on occasions that it rains. In the evenings the moon climbs above the horizon and pours light across this strange place.
Farmers work in the fields, preparing tending to their various crops. In the city go about their lives happily. The markets this year flourish with the fresh catch from the surrounding fishing villages, drawing in traders and travellers from the outside world. Ground has been broken in the Cathedral Ward just outside of Yharnam, marking a new era of prosperity for the Healing Church.
Beneath this veneer of health and prosperity strange things lurk. The beast plague lingers among the populace despite the best efforts of the church doctors. Those infected are transformed into bloodthirsty monsters bent on nothing more than killing their former kin. Fortunately Yharnam has her Hunters to protect her and stave off the victims of the plague.
Immigration has always been common in Yharnam. Many come in search of blood ministration, a strange healing rite practiced in only a few places across the world. Others come to simply claim their share of the wealth and prosperity of the growing city. This has changed in the last few months. Now the majority of those settling in Yharnam are refugees fleeing Loran and the surrounding areas. News of the cities destruction comes along with these strangers and rumors spread like wildfire.
The Hunters, fearing that there may be some truth to the story of beasts running rampant in the foreign lands, have decided to dispatch hunters to investigate new arrivals in secret and flush out any quickly dispatch anyone they suspect to be a carrier of the plague.
Tonight another large group, three dozen or so, are said to be arriving in Yharnam via the south eastern viaduct just outside of the city. The sun is setting as the Hunters emerge from the depths of the city to intercept the group...
By the Gods, this city is too damned hot.'' Sigmund thought as he took a drink from his water skin. Splashing some water into his face, he put away his water skin and began to check his equipment, just in case he needed any.
''Gods, I wonder how many are going to have to die this time?''
The man who spoke looked to be in his mid-twenties. He has green eyes and short dark brown hair. His clothing consists of dark leather pants and boots, with a brown shirt and dark red longcoat. He wears a pair of bandoliers over his shoulders, a pistol sits on his left hip and the hilt of a sword sticks out from behind his back.
His equipment all seems to be in order so he leans back against the viaduct while they await the refugees.
He turns to address the other hunters that stand nearby.
''Here's to hoping no grim works stands before us eh?''
He smiles at the thought but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he is not exactly hopeful this will be the case.
"If there was nothin' to do, we wouldn't be here." Morgam concludes, not one for optimism or idle fantasy. "Word is there's two score coming from plague territory. Can't imagine they all made it out clean."
Morgam was an older man, or at least looked to be older, with his hair cut short and losing a bit of its color and his face showing scars and the beginnings of wrinkles. A pistol was tucked into his jacket, invisible, but the morningstar on his belt was harder to hide.
He gives the younger man a sidelong glare, sizing him up. "You new? I don't think I got your name."
Sigmund clicks his tongue and turns to address the older hunter.
"New? I suppose I would be seen as such by someone so old." He flashes the hunter a quick smirk to show that he's only kidding before becoming serious.
"well, not exactly new, I've been hunting beasts for two years now. I'm not from Yharnam, not technically anyway, so I'm not surprised you've never met me."
Born here but not raised here in either case.
Cursing himself for his bad manners, Sigmund extends his hand to shake.
"Sigmund Von Strauss at your service. And you?
Morgam chuckles in good humor, but he also looks a little more dangerous for an instant. Something about him seems... off. Perhaps it's that left hand obscured by the glove, that shakes a bit now and then; perhaps it's something else.
"Morgam. Wasn't born in the right place for two names. I've only been here a few years myself." He shakes Sigmund's hand with a sure and confident grip. "You met Dominic and Crowley?" He inquires, gesturing to the other two hunters.
An awkward-looking, gangly man grins at Morgam's gesture, exposing uneven, yellowing teeth - a match for his sallow complexion and sunken eyes. He is tall, with a long, narrow face and wispy dark hair receding quickly from his forehead.
He wears spectacles, resting firmly atop his bulbous, hooked nose. His left hand is wrapped around the hilt of an oversized sword, whose edged scabbard rests on his shoulder. It looks to have been modified extensively, the cross-guard converting into a trigger, the end of the scabbard an exposed gun barrel. Another pair of dueling pistols are visible in the underarm/shoulder holsters he wears beneath his charcoal-grey duster. His slacks are neatly pressed, the pleated slacks still bearing a crease down the length from the iron this morning.
At the introduction, Crowley steps forward, extending his right hand. "Oi hardly reckon it's correct to say it's a pleasure to meet another Hoonter, but, oi also suppose it's better than doing the work myself. Oi'm Crowley, here from Oto, at the Workshop. You're familiar with us?" His deep voice is skewed by a thick brogue, his face dour as he surveys the surrounding area. "Never much like this sort of thing, much as it needs doing."
Sigmund inclines his head in way of greeting after Crowley is done speaking.
He fingers the hilt of his sword, where a small trigger can be seen.
''Oto workshop eh? Aye I've heard of you. My mother used to tell me stories about your workshop. It influenced the design of her weapons and mine as well. She was a hunter you see, dad was too.''
He looks a little forlorn as he turns away to stare off into the distance. After a moment or two he shakes his head and smiles slightly.
''I'm not always fond of the work we hunters do myself. It doesn't bother me most days but sometimes...''
He trails off into silence.
Dominic turns from the bridge and raises an eyebrow, brushing a single errant hair back into place. Icy-blue eyes stare down over a patrician nose and thin lips. The man looks in every respect a dilettante - his clothing, dyed dark purples and browns, is cut to fit and accented with lace. His shoes are - somehow - spotless. Up close, you can even catch a whiff of sweet perfume.
Strange, then, that the sword at his side and the pistols belted across his chest are completely unadorned.
"You will soon learn to enjoy it. The thrill, ah, it's like nothing else. It is a shame that the Hunt is so often preceded by men like us 'investigating' the rabble."
Suddenly, he frowns. That hair had fallen back down in front of his face, and in a single motion he pulls a knife from his boot and cuts it off at the base.
"There. Shall we go introduce ourselves to these wary travelers?"
Your group is fortunate and make it to the viaduct before the refugees. You have some time to decide how you will go about things.
To your back lights start to come on across the city. Serfs move the streets with candles lighting lamps while people in their homes do the same. Their is deep rooted superstition against being out at night without cause. Besides, you've heard rumor that there is a festival tonight. Apparently two nobles that had been courting each other in public for some time were married today and many have taken it as an excuse for celebration.
Before you stretches out the farmlands and wooden structures that mark the hamlets outside of Yharnam proper. The refugees will be making their way through there about now. Beyond that civilization yields to a seemingly endless stretch of wilderness.
Sigmund raises an eyebrow at the final hunter, Dominic apparently.
''I did not ever say I did not enjoy hunting, as you said the rush is quite unlike anything I've ever experienced. Sometimes I find it harder to forget the fact that the beasts we slay were once men and women.''
Pulling out his pistol, Sigmund checks that both barrels are clean and clear and then loads each one in turn. Snapping his weapon closed he returns it to its holster on his hip.
His preparations complete Sigmund turns to address the others.
''Well, I am ready. Shall we heed Dominic and introduce ourselves?''
Morgam hikes up his belt and his morningstar jingles. "Yep. About that time." He moves forward into farmlands and beyond the city.
"Then let us begin our inspection." Dominic smiles.
Once they reach the viaduct, Dominic will square his feet in the center and wait for the refugees to reach him. "Remember, fellows, don't be gentle. We want to awaken the beast if it is there."
Sigmund spits into the dust and frowns slightly when he hears Dominic.
God damn savage.
Stepping forward he stands beside Dominic and will wait until the refugees have arrived, with his hands crossed over his chest, with one inside his coat, in easy reach of his pistol, just in case.
Traditionally Hunters tend to favor the subtle approach in these cases. Sticking to shadows and alleys and observing their prey for signs of infection. Those they deem to be carriers are queitly killed and dragged away, never to be seen again. In fact, the reason you're cell was organized is because it's best to do this before newcomers have a chance to integrate themselves into the city proper - less questions that way.
Newer workshops, like the Oto for example, have a flagrant disregard for any manner of tact. For them, brutally wrapping up this whole affair would be the best outcome. Why waste time figuring out who may be infected when each one of them could be moments away from becoming a scourge beast - a far worse situation?
Between the new guard and old guard there are dozens of other philosophies. Radical hunters who insist on applying moral relativity to the whole matter. "Only wicked beasts deserve death" they say. Others, like those hunters in the employ of the healing church occasionally go to great lengths to capture a carrier or scourge beast alive.
Ultimately you're Hunters - your job is to kill the beasts of Yharnam. No more, no less.
Morgam decides that Dominic is welcome to his way, but he will have his own. Shadows aren't tough to find at this time of night and he easily slips into their cover to observe the newcomers secretly.
"Do what you got to do; I'll be just out of sight."
Crowley slips into the shadows opposite the bridge from Morgam, pistol in one hand, his sword at his side in the other. "Best make this quick, gentlemen. Every beast is a dangerous one, especially on a night like tonight. Take no chances."
Eventually the group rounds a corner and you notice right away that something is amiss. Of the three dozen supposed refugees you count only 14. Mostly adults, a mixture of men and women, though there are two children in the group as well. They're wearing tatters for clothes and many are emaciated, some are practically staggering as they walk forward.
They near the bridge and spot Dominic and Sigmund right away. Some hesitate, half stepping tepidly with worried looks on their faces. One man wearing a ragged cloak pushes forward and the rest fall in line behind him. The entire group shuffles off to one side of the bridge and attempts to pass.
Sigmund raises one arm and points at the crowd and speaks in a clear and commanding tone.
''Stop right there!''
Once he has their attention Sigmund lowers his voice and attempts to be a little more soothing. He begins to approach them slowly, stopping once he is within twenty feet. He speaks softly and non-threateningly in an attempt to keep them calm and compliant.
''We were expecting a party of nearly forty and yet barely a dozen stand before me. why is this and where are the rest of you?''
As he speaks to them, he looks over each of them in turn, while trying to recall the common signs and symptoms of beasthood, attempting to notice if any of the refugees are exhibiting them.
Morgam rolls his eyes at the bluntness of the younger hunter. "Lots to learn." He grumbles in his head. Of course, for a man whose entire career had been predicated on subtlety, he was fairly stuck in his ways.
He tries to peer out from his spot of cover to observe this diminished crowd.
Crowley frowns at Sigmund's barking. How...uncivilized.
He leans out a bit, just enough to sneak a look at the crowd, surprised by their lacking number.
Without turning to look at his hidden companions, Dominic calls out "Check under the bridge. Being cautious is our watchword, after all!" He grins cheerily at the man who steps forward. "Yes, please do explain. And, while you do, please would everyone line up in single file for inspection?" He phrases it as a request, but it's clear by his tone that it's not.
The group stops immediately when Dominic confronts them. Many wince at just the sound of his voice and look sheepishly away. Children in the group hide their faces.
The man in lead stands his ground, which draws the attention of the Hunters. The tattered robe obscures his features and only Dominic and Sigmund can get a clear look at his face. His skin is well tanned, indicative of a Loran native, with dark brown eyes and blonde hair. A black tattoo coils around his face and down his neck where it disappears into the robe. He matches the hunters gaze but something about his eyes are hollow, devoid of fear or anger in the face of this threat. The eyes of dead man, of someone who has perhaps seen and survived terrible things.
Another man from the crowd ends up being the first to speak. "P-please, let us pass" he stammers "we have nothing for you to take, please. The others...the others didn't make it. We have suffered much just to get here. Please, don't do this."
Examining the group you see that many of them have bite marks or scratches across their legs and arms. Obvious signs of prolonged wandering in the wilderness without the proper precautions. It's not a stretch to imagine that some in this group may have succumb to starvation, dehydration, or were victim of any manner of wild beast. They are obviously unarmed don't seem to have any kind of belongings besides their tattered clothes
There are three commonly accepted methods of detecting those who may be carrying the plague:
1) The pupils of the infected will collapse - a trait that is commonly associated with the so called "blood-drunk hunters" but is not unique to them. In this stage the plague has already claimed the victim save for the final transformation into a beast. This person will appear mentally challenged as if rabid or drunk and will lash out randomly at others, including former friends and family. The only cure is a quick death.
2) The infected is experiencing severe hallucinations or paranoia. They isolate themselves from others as the decent into madness and the final stages of the plague take hold of them. In this case, the final physical symptoms have not yet manifested making it difficult to distinguish between run-of-the-mill madness. A blood test is common practice at this stage but is far from definitive. The only cure is a quick death.
3) The first signs of the infection are coughing and vomiting blood due to infection of the lungs. In some cases lesions appear in the groin or armpit of the infected. Unfortunately, these symptoms are similar to those found in pneumonia and are thus difficult to attribute solely to the beast plague. Additionally, the above blood test is even less accurate in this early stage of infection. Church doctors typically quarantine a suspected carrier at this stage. The only cure is a quick death.
Aygan looks at the man in puzzlement... looks down at himself... looks back at the Loran. "Yes... because it's possible you could have *anything* I want? No, we seek only to ensure the physical and spiritual health of our beloved city. Pass inspection, and you will be free to go."
Sigmund speaks up after Dominic is done.
''As my companion has said we do not want anything from you, except your cooperation. We have been tasked with ensuring that you are not a threat to our city. If you are healthy and free of disease you have nothing to fear and will be welcome in Yharnam.''
Sigmund eyes the group carefully when he mentions illness, trying to gauge the crowd and see if anyone gives themselves away.
''Now, for the second time, please line up for inspection and we can put this behind us all.''
He addresses the crowd a 2nd time before turning to speak with his companion.
''I'll start with the Loran, you want to examine the one who spoke?''
He waits a moment to see if the crowd heeds his instructions while he contemplates the best way to test them.
Crowley remains in the shadows, watching the crowd and trying not to draw attention to himself. He points at the crowd and whispers to Morgam. "They've been bitten and lived, with no weapons. Curious, eh?"
"It don't look good."
You all scrutinize the crowd pretty heavily but nothing immediately jumps out as obvious signs of beasthood. No elongated limbs, coarse hair, collapsed pupils, or the like.
The refugees had all already gotten into a single file when they tried to move past your group so they just shuffle into a little more of a clean order.
There are three commonly accepted methods of detecting those who may be carrying the plague:
1) The pupils of the infected will collapse - a trait that is commonly associated with the so called "blood-drunk hunters" but is not unique to them. In this stage the plague has already claimed the victim save for the final transformation into a beast. This person will appear mentally challenged as if rabid or drunk and will lash out randomly at others, including former friends and family. The only cure is a quick death.
2) The infected is experiencing severe hallucinations or paranoia. They isolate themselves from others as the decent into madness and the final stages of the plague take hold of them. In this case, the final physical symptoms have not yet manifested making it difficult to distinguish between run-of-the-mill madness. A blood test is common practice at this stage but is far from definitive. The only cure is a quick death.
3) The first signs of the infection are coughing and vomiting blood due to infection of the lungs. In some cases lesions appear in the groin or armpit of the infected. Unfortunately, these symptoms are similar to those found in pneumonia and are thus difficult to attribute solely to the beast plague. Additionally, the above blood test is even less accurate in this early stage of infection. Church doctors typically quarantine a suspected carrier at this stage. The only cure is a quick death.
Approaching the refugees with almost theatrical disdain, Dominic makes a show of inspecting each and every one of them thouroughly, though in truth he's not looking for anything medical. Instead he's staring into their eyes, invading their personal space, trying to provoke the beast to rage in all the ways he knows how.
Dominic is keeping an eye on the refugees while Morgam and Crowley look on from a distance. So cowed, Sigmund has plenty of opportunity to begin his checks. Just like Dominic he starts with a quick check for the obvious. Collapsed pupils, malformed figure, boils or rashes, etc.
So far you've found nothing definitive. One man, however, starts to cough rather violently as he stands around waiting.
Dominic takes a quick step back with theatrical disdain to avoid the phlegm, and shoots Dominic a glance. "You can check that one."
Crowley remains in the shadows, doing his best to remain inconspicuous as he slips one of his pistols from its holster, thumbing the hammer, a wary eye on the coughing man. Careful now, lads. No need to get yourself bitten...
Morgam remains still, watching the glances of the refugees to see if he or Crowley had been noticed. "If there was a beast among 'em, shoulda found it by now."
Sigmund shoots Dominic a vert flat look as he moves to stand before the man who coughed.
''You there step forward!'' He says as he points at the man. ''I will need to examine you.''
Sigmund begins to examine him trying to determine whether this man's coughing is regular illness or something more sinister.
Sigmund thinks back to his training as he examines the man, trying to remember what exactly a blood test entails and whether it is likely warranted here.
"What? No! I haven't done anything. Please!" says the refugee as Sigmund closes in on him. Sigmund does his best to carefully examine the man, checking for rashes, bleeding gums, bloodshot eyes, blackening around the fingernails. It's difficult to tell what may be medical and what may be the result of filth or exposure. He could have a lung infection or even something as simple as pneumonia. You're not confident either way, and hope that a blood test may help. The blood test entails drawing some blood from the suspected carrier and putting it to flame. If it burns black, acrid smoke then the plague is present.
While watching the other hunters, Crowley and Morgam catch sight of a small girl among the refugees, likely no more than 10 or 11 years old. She's doing her best to subtly duck through the crowd and avoid Sigmund and Dominic. She casts the occasional glance around her as she heads towards the front of the group,
Morgam whispers to Crowley as he notices the girl dodging around.
"I think that girl's going to make a break for it. If she does, I can tail her."
Sigmund addresses the man as he grabs a hold of his wrist, firmly but gently.
''I believe you, Im sure you have done nothing wrong. This however remains irrelevant. I have a job to do and I will see it through.''
Even if it disgusts me at times. He thinks silently to himself.
''Now please calm yourself and this will be over soon.''
One way or another. He adds once more to himself.
He draws a small blade from one of his pockets and holds it aloft so the man can see it.
''I am going to run a simple test, this may sting a little.'' As he is speaking, he runs the blade quickly down the length of one of the man's fingers. Once a small amount of blood has pooled on the balde he releases his wrist and produces a torch. He holds the lit torch to the blood, praying he does not get the reaction he is expecting.
The mans eyes go wide once the knife comes out and he really starts thrashing around. It takes Dominic holding him down to get the blood out. Sigmund puts the sample to light...
The blood chars somewhat and bubbles under the heat, but it does not burn.
The little girl has made it to the front of the group and takes the hand of the man there, the one with the tattoo that had gone across his face. You see him stiffen.
Suddenly among the refugees a woman falls to her knees and starts coughing violently. Her whole frame shudders with each rasping breath and the other refugees move a few steps away from her. She chokes for a moment and then vomits a bloody foam before finally collapsing into a quivering pile.
Domic looks down at the collapsed lady. "Yuk."
Sigmund gives out a small sigh of relief when the blood does not burn.
Well maybe this one won't need to die today after all.
He starts to tell the man to step back and stay in line when the woman starts vomiting bloody foam. His heart is heavy in his chest as he knows what this most likely means. As he slowly approaches the woman, his right hand moves up and behind his head to clutch the hilt of his sword, though he does not draw it yet.
With his left hand still holding the lit torch, he dips it down to lick the bloody mess the woman has left with his torch dreading the black smoke that he is expecting to find.
Morgam keeps his eye on the girl, and now the man she'd paired up with, but he doesn't dare move... yet.
Sigmund approaches the woman and puts the frothy blood to flame
After a few moments the blood doesn't seem to be burning and it seems like the Hunters may be able to relax a bit...
The woman lurches and rises from the ground. Her breathing is ragged and something about the way she moves is off - stilted. The shifting robes that cover her give way to quickly elongating limbs and bristling hair. Instantly you recognize it. This woman is transforming, succumbing to beasthood before your very eyes. The refugees seem to recognize it as well, at least on an instinctual level. They scream and scatter. Some rush towards Yharnam, some flee towards the wilderness. Desperate to escape one man throws himself over the side of the bridge to flee. The beast ignores them and lunges forward...
In the moments before the woman's transformation you were scrutinizing the tattooed man and the child. You swore, just before things started happening, you saw something about the man shift. You realize that isn't very specific and struggle to put words to what you saw, to no avail. You saw him change, just for a split second, something about him. In the panic that ensues you see him quickly walking away from the bridge and into Yharnam with the girl in tow.
When no black smoke comes off the blood, Sigmund gives another sigh of relief and begins to turn away from the woman. His relief turns to ashes in his mouth once he sees the undeniable signs of beasthood.
''F%!*!'' Sigmund curses as he hops backwards to put a little distance between him and the woman.
Ripping his sword from his back with his right hand, he brandishes it while he continues to hold his torch out with his left.
The slightest of grins spreads across Dominic's face at the woman's transformation; with eager fingers he brushes his coat aside and draws twin multi-barreled pistols.
"Sh*t."
Morgam knows that the beast will be dangerous, but he also knows that letting a possible beast into Yharnam unmolested will be a lot more dangerous for a lot more people.
But chasing it could be a lot more dangerous for him.
"Sh*t!"
He moves to follow.
Crowley sighs, drawing his sword and pistol from his belt, while watching the woman grow and writhe, an odd fascination across his face. I suppose there's nothing for it, then...
The transformed beast lunges forward but recoils.immediately at the sight of Sigmunds torch. She backs away, swiping wildly at the air before turning and lunging towards Dominic. hear claws tear their way through his jacket and shirt, leaving a long ragged cut in their wake.
Meanwhile Morgam breaks away from the hunters and stalks after the fleeing refugees with a particular target in mind. He tries to conceal himself as best as possible but its slowing him down and the pair hes tracking is starting to get away.