Bloodborne: Hunter's Moon
'Sup everyone. I have decided to compose a Bloodborne fanfic inspired by "Bloodborne: Blood of the Wolf" by Eltyr. Now, there will be similarities, but I will try to make it as different as I can. I am not trying to copy him.
Chapter 1: The Masked Hunter
I am writing this as a record and a warning to those who may come. The following may sound like the crazed ravings of a madman, and you would be partially right. After all, anyone who has been through what I have would be driven a little mad. Let me start with what I am.
I am a Hunter. But, unlike the common hunter of Yharnam, I am not a native or a foreigner from the lands outside of the city. At least, my soul isn't. My body is the body of a noble's youngest son. He was not like a normal noble-born child, though. He loved to fight, to hunt, to forge, to explore. He reveled in the feeling of doing things with his own two hands. He created many fine armaments and accessories for his family. He hunted many big game and fought many skilled fighters, all of which brought him glory and renown. And yet, he was not arrogant or vile. He was kind, generous, and humble. He made his family of seven proud, and they flourished. That is, until one dreadful day.
The young man whose body my soul inhabits contracted a fatal disease. The eldest son, who traveled, had heard of the healing blood of Yharnam. In an effort to save him, the family gathered their belongings and left for Yharnam. When they arrived, they were ambushed by beasts. The mother and her daughters were sent ahead with the youngest son while the father and two eldest boys fought off the beasts. They didn't make it. The women made it to Ioseka's clinic and found someone to give the youngest son a blood transfusion. An old man in a wheelchair and top hat.
After that, is where my soul comes into the equation. My soul comes from another world all tog. A world of horseless carriages, moving picture boxes, flying vehicles, and many more scientific wonders. There, the city of Yharnam is the setting of a interactive moving-picture game where the player controls the hunter. The objective of said game is to complete a long he tasks laid out before you and win. After that, you can restart the cycle as "new game +".
My last memory of my soul's world is one were I went to bed after playing Bloodborne. The next thing I know I'm waking up in the Hunter's Dream. Since then, I have gone through the story of Bloodborne more times than I can count. I been trying to get out of this infernal loop for who knows how long. I have tried EVERYTHING! I HAVE COLLECTED MULTIPLE OF EVERY ITEM! I HAVE TRIED EVERY SITUATION! EVERY OUTCOME! EVERY POSSIBILITY! BUT NOTHING WORKS!
…
…
I had to take a break in order to continue writing. It's maddening. On an odd note, my soul's iPod seems to have come with it. It also seems to never get damaged or need charging. Weird. I am going to rest now. I can't remember the last time I rested since entering this endless hunt. I shall finish this off with my name. This is neither the name of my body, nor the name of my soul. It is a new name which I have taken.
My name is Torva. Torva Messor.
BEH
The doll smiled down at the good hunter and covered him with a white fur blanket he was fond of (I'll give you three guesses on where it's from). He was sleeping amongst the Paleblood flowers, up against a gravestone. His hood and mask hid most of is features, save his waist-length silver hair that shine in the moonlight, and his baleful yellow eyes*. And though he rarely took the mask off, the toll the hunt had taken on him was evident on his face. Dark bags hung under his eyes. Three scars ran diagonally from under his left eye down the side of his face and neck. Two scars ran vertically down over his right eye, both intersected by a horizontal scar going across his forehead, stopping just short of his forehead's center.
His attire was one of his own assembly. He wore black shirt under a ebony cuirass with engravings depicting a snarling draconic wolf**. Over this, he wore a hooded long coat made of leather with metal pauldrons attached to the shoulders, holding in place two curtains of black feathers, similar to the ones worn by Eileen the Crow. The pauldrons took the shape of the beast engraved on the cuirass. On his face he wore a mask similar to the Cainhurst helm. It covered the whole face, along with the top, sides, and back of the head. The back and sides stopped halfway to allow for the good winter's silver hair to flow down. The face of the mask was smooth with the exception of two eye holes and a row of vicious teeth. Halfway, between the top and sides, toward the back, two horns sprouted, curve towards the front, curving back in, and curving back put to a point***.
Adorning his hands were a pair of modified Executioner's Gloves. On the top of the arm and back of the hand were metal plates. The top of the arm plate showed signs of a dart launcher build into it. The underside had a retractable blade and grappling hook. The knuckles were covered in spiked metal plates, while the tips of the fingers had metal claws attached to them. Around his waist was a dark gray, leather belt with many pouches attached. His pants were a faded black with many pockets. The pants were tucked into a pair of black leather boots that went up mid-shin. Metal plates covered the toes and the shins for protection. Around his neck he wore a old, white-yellow bone on a leather cord.
His weapons spoke greatly of his skill and knowledge. His gun of choice was a Hunter's Pistol had been modified with archaic inscriptions that increased the power of the arcane bullets he fired. When the doll had asked how he was able to make them, he had replied that he used an arcane energy that flowed within him. Though he admitted that he had no idea how he gained the energy. However, it was his primary weapon that was the most astounding. It was a variation of the Rakuyo. The large blade had a series of three back edges that came to a spike, going down six sevenths of the blade. The smaller blade resembled an elongated saberback bowie knife with a serrated edge running from the base to three fifths of the back of the blade. On the large blade, the tsuba and knuckle-guard are joined and connect to the pommel. Both blades were made of a black metal that seemed to draw all the light around it into itself. Cainhurst blood-tinge engravings lined both blades, showing that it could work like the Chikage. No hunter that the doll had ever met wielded such weapons. The hunter rarely used any other weapon, aside from the Blade of Mercy, and considering how few times he has returned to the dream from dying, the weapons served him well.
The doll rose from her spot next to the good hunter, and proceeded back to the workshop. She had many graves to visit, even if she couldn't remember whose graves she was visiting or why she needed to visit them. She hoped the good hunter would not be made for reading his journal. She had felt compelled to know what he had been writing so feverishly. She was concerned about his belief that his soul was from another world and that he was stuck in a continuous loop. She believed him, as it explained his great Insight, experience, and knowledge. She hoped that he was able to escape the loop, even if it meant never seeing him again. She did not want him to lose himself. If she were being honest, she was quite fond of the good hunter. He always made time to speak her and keep her company. He told her of his hunts, of tales from his soul's world. Humorous tales, tragic tales, joyous tales. Tales of horror, tales of adventure, tales of love. So many stories the good hunter had to tell. He caused a smile and a warmth to overcome her when she watched him tell tales he expressed great emotion for. And when he smiled, a fluttering feeling occurred in her chest area. She had no idea what the feeling was.
The cry of a raven caught her attention. Turning to a nearby gravestone, she spotted a raven with glowing silver eyes staring back at her. The doll knew it was observing her and that it was far more than it seemed.
"Hello, little one." The doll said with a courtesy. "Where did you come from?"
"From a place between reality and fantasy." A smooth, feminine voice intoned. "I have come to make good on a promise I made to the good hunter. But to do so, I will need your help, little doll."
BHM
In the Hunter's Nightmare, the top of the Astral Clock Tower was deathly silent. Within, the lifeless form of Lady Maria of Cainhurst sat in her chair. Ever vigilant over the entrance to the Fishing Hamlet. The moans and cries of the afflicted patients and beasts echoing and reverberating through the clock tower, creating a symphony of suffering and despair.
Maria doesn't know how long she has stood guard over the secrets of the Old Hunters. Weeks? Months? Years? She could not tell. She so desperately wished for this Nightmare to end. For the inhabitants to no longer suffer. For the curse to no longer afflict the city of Yharnam. For the secrets to fade into Oblivion.
But, until such a time came, she would stand guard. For that was all she could do. She had no right to end the Nightmare herself, when she was one of the people responsible for its existence. There was no redemption for one who had sinned as greatly as she. All that awaited was never-ending torment. So, she would wait and stand guard.
For she was Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower. And this was her burden.
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So, what do you think? There are similarities between this and Eltyr's story, but I think I did a decent job of differentiating the two. Tell me what you think with a review.
Also, the noted parts of the story:
*- Think of the color of Corruption in the Darksiders 2 game.
**- It looks like the head if the Zinogre from the Monster Hunter series.
***- It looks like Ichigo's Second Hollow Form mask that occurs when he becomes a hollow in his fight with Ulquiorra. The differences are the Torva's is solid white, and the horns look like the ones on the girl in this video: watch?v=cnVWK4sad_E