AN: Fair warning, this is my first fic. Expect this to crash and burn at some point in the near future. Please do note, though, that I wholeheartedly encourage criticism of all kinds. If my story is shit, tell me.
It was the ninth damn time you'd been through the dream... Every nook and cranny of Yharnam had been seen and plundered by no other than you, the Good Hunter. Every beast that had once terrified you to no end upon the beginning of your hunt made trivial by your skilled hands and hungry blade. Even now, the Holy Moonlight Greatsword is in it's sheath at your back. On your left hip was Evelyn, the highly stylised flintlock pistol used by the royalty among Castle Cainhurst's Vilebloods. Knowing what lies ahead, you pass by the burning workshop without as little as a glance and stride towards the foot of the great tree where Gherman waits for you.
"Good Hunter," he begins, "You've done well. The night is near it's end..." You interrupt him with a raised finger. "I know what you're going to offer me, Gherman. After all, I've heard your speech so often I've memorized every lilt. I refuse your offerings of mercy, Gherman." you say. The first Hunter stares quizzically at you for a second before resuming his speech, "Dear, oh dear... What was it? The hunt, the blood, or the horrible dream?" He opens his mouth to continue, only for you to interrupt him. "At risk of being impolite," you say, " I would like for us to cease the pleasantries and do what us hunters do best." Gherman lets out a small chuckle before rising to his feet (rather, foot and peg-leg) before drawing the curved sword of the Burial Blade and snapping it together with the longer handle with a series of satisfying clicks, forming the First Hunter's signature scythe. "Tonight, Gherman joins the hunt..."
It was a memorable battle to say the least. A dance of blade and bullet, with the blood of both participants serving to keep the macabre affair in full swing. Gherman's scythe opening crimson tears in your body that you force closed with the aid of more than a few blood vials. Streaks of solid moonlight streaking across the field of flowers, shortly before the crash of steel and report of a firearm are heard. The final exchange was brought to an end with a perfectly timed shot from Evelyn, causing Gherman to stumble and leaving him wide open for you to deal the finishing blow. With your hand firmly embedded in his chest, Gherman speaks his last, "The hunt, and the dream, were long..." With the First Hunter dead, you look towards the sky and see a now familiar face(?).
The Moon Presence descends to meet you in the field, not making a single sound as it lands. Per usual, it approaches you, grabs you, and holds you close as if in a hug. What ISN'T usual, however, the sense of /wrongness/ you feel as it does so. Within moments, you lose consciousness as you feel your tether to the dream fading...
You come to in a field of flowers not unlike the one you left the Hunter's Dream from. Last you checked, however, there wasn't a forest surrounding the field in the Dream. Finding the strength of your limbs gone, you attempt to will yourself to stand. After a few failed attempts, you manage to successfully challenge the dastardly force that is gravity. Now standing, you grab a blood vial from it's designated pouch and inject its contents into your right thigh. After a few short minutes of waiting, you feel your strength returning and take the time to survey the state of your equipment.
You look at your body first, only to find that you are wearing the same Crowfeather set you wore when facing against Gherman. Realizing the loss of your sword and pistol, you take to looking through the field. You find Evelyn just fine, no worse for wear than when you had last used it. Your sword, however, you find stuck about a foot and a half into a tree trunk. One bout of man-on-tree violence later, you've managed to free your sword AND fell a tree with your hands. Neat. Taking a glance at the sky in an attempt to gain some sort of direction, you see a truly horrifying sight...
The moon... It's shattered... The moon that had given you light to traverse the hell that was Yharnam was now fragmented...
After approximately fifteen minutes of /definitely/ not crying, you get a vague idea of your bearings, you decide to head North for a time and hope for the best.
Just to reiterate, criticise me if you see fit. So long as it's constructive in some way, I'm all for it.