The dull buzz of hard workers laboring away filled the dry dock as the Gunpowder Zealot entered for the first time. He noted the myriad of normal folk who were working on the finishing touches to the craft even as his eye sought out the patron who'd managed to make such a venture possible, after all it wasn't often that such a wealthy individual as this one came around. The Zealot had thought he'd heard wrong when he'd been told by an adventurous town-person that the night had not only ended, but that a person had paid, in full, for the creation of a not just a dreadnought to sail out from the Moonside Lake but the various things needed to make such a venture possible.

The dreadnought was a monster ship by itself, the result of several engineers pouring all of their talent into the work as the venture's patron seemingly was unconcerned with the amount of coin they were pouring into it.

"Tis based on the Majestic-class Ironclad battleship designs that my father often poured over as he'd bemoan the fall of our homeland on such hard times, his passion project you understand," a voice said off to the side of the actual work and the Zealot turned slowly towards it's owner, "good evening, sir."

The owner of the voice wasn't tall, though neither was he short. He was a fellow of affable air, but the Gunpowder Zealot knew him to also be one of the current deadliest people he'd ever met. Usually the man would be dressed in the heavy trenchcoat of his occupation, but that was currently hanging from a nearby hook along with the shawl that he often wore atop it. He was the patron of this drydock, the people within it, and the venture that had galvanized the Gunpowder Zealot out of his hidden grounds.

"She's a bit of a beast isn't she." It was an observation, not a question. The Gunpowder Zealot was an expert at all things that dealt with explosive force and he could tell that the dreadnought was armed to the teeth with enough firepower to sink any ship he'd ever seen take to the sea.

"Oh yes," the patron said mildly as he pointed things out and continued talking, "The ship is four hundred twenty feet long overall, has a beam of seventy-five feet, and a draft of twenty-seven. She'll displace up to fifteen thousand eight hundred ten long tons; seventeen thousand seven hundred short tons at full combat load. Her propulsion system consists of an impressive pair of tri-cylinder triple expansion engines, powered by up to eight coal-fired boilers." The man smiled at the ship as he pointed out the ships weapons. "Though, I'm sure you're more impressed with the armaments she's taking out to sea. Four breach-loaded twelve inch 35 caliber mark eight guns mounted on fore and aft turrets," he indicated the pair of weapons upon their circular-shaped barbettes, "this saves on space so we can mount the secondary battery of quick-firing six-inch forty caliber guns," his hand indicated the six gem-like casemates upon two gun decks amidships that could be seen, "in addition to all that there are sixteen quick-firing twelve pounders and twelve quick-firing two pounders. All of this is subject to change as of yet, in case of the guns they've gone through several renovations thanks to the local artisan's knowing some interesting forging techniques for high quality firearms which apparently adapted well to the cannons." The young man gave a somber smile. "Of course that leaves out the torpedo systems and their various workings as well as the armor belt, a full nine inches thick and I hope it holds where I'm going."

"What the bloody hell do you need to take on that needs that much bang?" The Gunpowder Zealot asked in honest curiosity.

"I'm homeward bound," the man said as he flexes both hands into fists that had spilled a sea of blood getting to this point during the long night as the townsfolk were beginning to call it, "I came here because it was said to bear a miracle cure, and whilst I wish I'd never gone through what I had to fulfill my end of that bargain, I got exactly that." He released a breath explosively and then turned to the massive ship. "But home has always been a fond hope I've nursed, even after it was dragged into a pit so deep and dark that Hell itself is a neighbor."

"So your home is somewhere more dangerous that our classic welcome to town?" The Gunpowder Zealot asked incredulously.

"I quite mean it when I say that Hell itself is neighbors, dear friend." The man looked over to the Zealot with a pair of strange eyes. The watery gray-blue eyes having the off-putting sharp oval pupil was to be expected after all the Zealot had heard, but the slight sense of iron that filled the air between the pair was something that the Zealot had never come in contact with before. "I hear that one of my great-cousins participated in a crusade back in sixty-eight to break down it's doors and take the entire infernal nation by storm." The man gave a dry chuckle. "He died, of course, alongside with hundreds of others. The following accords have kept Her Imperial Majesty's Navy firmly undercut, underpaid, understaffed, and under the table in drink for the most parts."

"After all that I've seen and been through I could believe you on that. So, you plan to waltz in there with this monster?" The Zealot pointed firmly at the dreadnought being touched up. "A piece of technology like this would have that Navy you're talking about breaking all kinds of accords, wouldn't it?"

"Not really," the man said as he retrieved his belongings from the hanging hook and made to don them, "I said I'm going there, not that I'm joining the Navy. I plan to work as a privateer, or settle down when I get there, not quite sure yet. Either way the Dauntless is setting sail as soon as I can get access to a crew able to manage it all."

"Got room for a gunnery officer?" The Zealot. "I've not stood on a ship in years but once upon a time I was one of the best before coming to this place looking for that miracle cure myself." The Zealot smiled to himself even for a moment before he noticed something in a nearby open crate. He rushed over and swiftly fished out a rifle of strange design out of the padded confines. "Where'd you get one of these old things?" He glanced back down and blanched as he noted half a hundred weapons of the exact same model and make. "Where the heck did you find this old stuff? I haven't seen a proper one like this since we stopped handing out firing hammers for vials of scatter shot."

"I had a lot saved up after I was released and during one of the worst parts of the nightmare I found that stuff along with other things." The man said as he took the weapon from the Zealot's hands and pressed it back into the padded confines of the crate. "I'm going to be bringing a lot of my new home with me when I leave. The old place was torn down for the Captain's quarters because I refuse to leave it behind."

"I guess that's what I'll call you from now on the, eh?" The Gunpowder Zealot said with a grin on his face that twisted his scars fiercely. "Good Captain, how about it? Need a Gunnery Officer?" He offered his hand to shake with the man.

"I suppose it'll do... yes that use-name will do quite fine," the Good Captain said as he shook it, "consider yourself hired."

"I do have to ask though." The Gunpowder Zealot said as he turned to lean his behind against the crate full of weapons. "How're you going to manage this when it's said that those who live here can never again leave the shores without burning away into ash and cinder."

"The Dream marked us quite thoroughly," the Good Captain explained, "we carry the insight we gained during that long war even to this day. It allows for many arcane arts to be preformed and more importantly," the Good Captain walked over to a large case before freeing up the clasps and opening it to show a strange sword held within, "it allows us to see with eyes unclouded."

"Is that the bloody holy sword itself?" The Gunpowder Zealot usually didn't get bothered about weapons that didn't have a bit of kick to them but the holy sword was a relic of the past which had itself ascended into myth and legend long before his own inventions.

"Yes," the Good Captain replied, "I got this one deep in the labyrinth during one of my more foolhardy ventures. Nearly killed me but I dragged the damn thing out and I've studied it for quite some time." He touched the sheathed weapon. "I have read through the studies that this place had on the effect that takes the people as they leave and I believe it's akin to the same thing that happens to those in that dark place near Hell. Living overly long in a place with different laws seems to have a detrimental effect on people. However, unlike my poor great-cousin we carry something with us, a willingly given part from a very old being of its very self. It has been theorized by the Wise Provost that it is thus that we will be able to pass under the through the suns light without many ill effects." The Good Captain rolled both shoulders before closing the case and lifting it up with a fluid motion. "Or we'll all die in a fire like the rest, but 'nothing ventured nothing gained'."

"At least tell me where this mysterious place near Hell is." The Gunpowder Zealot said as he followed after the Good Captain.

"Yharnam must be quite out of contact with the greater world at this point so I guess I shouldn't just dance around the subject any longer." The Good Captain said as he ascended up the ramp. "London, fallen as it is, is our destination, Djura."