Resting Witch Face
breaking the laws of physics medieval style
You should not be here.
Yharnam is a bad place to settle in to for the night, I'll have you know. We're not exactly friendly to outsiders, it's a surprise you've even made it in.
What brings you to our horrid little hamlet, traveler?
Oh. Oh no.
Do not mistake my concern for malice, traveler, but those in need of such a dire service are subject to only one medicine. It's a Yharnam special, you see, the Healing Church found it deep in the ruins of an old, derelict dungeon. Spans miles below the surface, no one knows how far precisely. But it cures just about everything, anything that would ail a mortal man.
Come now, it won't hurt for long
There, not so bad eh? You'll be feeling a little woozy in a second, I'd recommend relaxing. How's about a little passage while we wait?
"Ancient myth states that the gods of our world are not all powerful beings with dominion over existence and it's resources, but instead mortal beings such as ourselves that have ascended past what we can conceive. Such is the will of the Great Ones that watch over our plane of existence, and exert their powerful force upon reality. We were foolish, long ago, and we pay for it in spades now. These beings do not give great boons and blessings as the name suggests.
"They are malevolent, magnificent, terrifying, and the only thing they bestow upon the lower beings are terrible, terrible curses. But we did not care for warnings. We took the Great One's boon from them, deep in the dungeons. The Old Blood. But men did not reap it's benefits like we had expected. It cured our ailments, save for one crucial detail. The curse of the Beasts."
"Suddenly, the clerics of our town shut the gates and declared that all beasts must be slain. Old Yharnam was burnt to the ground while men and beast alike screamed in agony, and the genocide continues to this day. Beasts are but men turned by the Old Blood, given to them by the very clerics that slaughter them in droves. And the Great Ones laugh, for there is no doubt that they had put the Old Blood there to intoxicate us. But not all turn to beast-hood. Our gods are quite fickle, after all."
"Woe to the unlucky patrons of blood who would go on past it's curse, and take on the will of the Great Ones."
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You can't remember anything else from that night, the old man ranted on and on about great ones and old blood for hours on end, and you could feel your brain tearing itself apart trying to ignore him. The terrible screaming wouldn't stop, the horrible screeches echoing through your mind and soul. And then it was over, and you found yourself floating in nothingness. Black, inky nothing surrounding you at all angles. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can hear something pulsating, breathing. As the floor comes into view you catch a glimpse of an eye the size of a horse, and the world comes slamming back into you. As the blackness leaves your mind, the screaming subsides into nothing but the cry of an infant.
The old man is gone, and you are left on a medical bed pondering what to do next.
Welcome to the hunt.
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