A/N: A new chapter! Majestic!
Chapter Four: A Cure For All Ills
"I hope you are not having second thoughts about all this."
Gehrman had been staring into empty space, consumed by his own thoughts, and alarm crossed his face when he realised he was being spoken to. Laurence saw the strife in his colleague, and felt a twitch of concern. But Gehrman was as steely as ever.
"I'm just tired, Laurence," he said quietly. "I haven't been sleeping well."
Laurence nodded. "I have scarcely slept myself. It is to be expected, I think, at this transitional stage in our lives."
The sun was bright over the woods surrounding Yharnam's outskirts. Such beautiful days were as rare as stardust in Gehrman's time as a Byrgenwerth scholar, but now, perhaps with such an abundance of the latter to be expected, he could expect more of the former as well. Certainly, it seemed a good omen for his nomadic future.
"I assume Maria will be joining us shortly," Laurence remarked. He seemed strangely energetic for a man carrying years of research on his back, leaving behind the only life he had known for nearly ten years.
"She was hesitant, but I have been able to persuade her," Gehrman replied. "She knows there is nothing further to be gained from this place. Or from Willem."
"And Caryll?" Laurence added, almost as an afterthought.
Gehrman shook his head. "He remains loyal to Willem. As does Rom, strangely enough."
"A shame," Laurence said quietly. "Although his visions were unpredictable, and becoming fewer with every day. We will find better emissaries in time."
"Of course."
Gehrman reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the roll of cloth he had packed inside just a few hours before. Its weight comforted him, and with such encouragement, he replaced it quickly, before he could be questioned by Laurence.
"Tis a fine day for a cosmic expedition!" a cheery, aged voice called. Laurence's face physically fell a few inches at the indication of Archibald's arrival.
As could be expected, Paarl accompanied him, together with a large bundle of research papers, as well as a thin man with brown hair that Gehrman only vaguely recognised.
Laurence noticed the man too, and he crossed his arms in anticipation.
"Micolash, I am surprised to see you here," he said. "I know you have your doubts."
The memory came back to Gehrman like a rush of blood to the head. It was the man from Laurence's address who had spoken out against Rom - and was duly reprimanded for doing so.
Micolash's response was just as frigid was one might expect. "I still do. But you opened my eyes to something that night, sire. I have been unable to drive away visions of greater planes of thought. New ideas come to me in my dreams. I feel that I must chase them - for better or worse."
Laurence clasped Micolash hand in his own and shook it. "I can respect a man with divided ideals. I am but such a man myself. Welcome."
Gehrman looked out over Byrgenwerth's grounds. The expansive, medieval stone building that clung to the side of a vast lake, surrounded by dense green woods. It was like a fairy tale.
"Indeed, I am all the more sorry to go," Gehrman thought.
Master Willem had not turned out to bid them farewell. According to Laurence, he was caught up in his own affairs now - the obsession of blindness and sight. All the more reason for them to leave, it seemed.
Perhaps there was no more learning to be had at Byrgenwerth.
"Gehrman!"
The scholar was whisked away from dreamland as Maria came running down the path, steering two heavy cases on her back.
"Maria, have you enough luggage there?" Laurence asked, smirking.
Maria ignored his jab. "All of my research papers, my laboratory equipment, my robes-"
"Seems the only thing you left behind are your sunflowers," Gehrman laughed.
Maria smiled. "Perhaps their light might chase away the gloom in that place. Come now, let us leave."
"Aye," Gehrman chimed in. "We have a large distance to cover to reach Yharnam before sundown."
Laurence took one last look at Byrgenwerth's lofty towers. He saw the window to Willem's study, and the faint outline of a seated figure looking out.
But then he looked away. Away from what he knew, and towards what he didn't.
"Onwards," he said. "To the next world."
(-)
The 'next world' was not quite as anyone had expected.
"Is this it?" Gehrman asked. "Our home?"
The rustic shack of a house that stood before them seemed hardly fitting as a base of operations for heralds of a new age. With its wicked and spiteful architecture - towering metal windows, winding stone steps - it seemed more like a child's nightmare than anything regal.
"We have very little coin between us," Laurence explained. "And this building has been cheap on the market since... well..."
"Since its previous owners were all brutally mutilated and buried in the garden?" Maria offered.
Laurence grit his teeth. "Not quite. There was a scandal involving two politicians and a... how do I say... lady of the night..."
"So, not a murder house?" Gehrman asked, smiling nervously.
"No," Laurence replied. "But that doesn't mean that it has a clean reputation. It'll have to do."
A vortex of dust swept through the double doors of the house as Laurence slowly edged them open. An old smell wafted into the group's nostrils - the scent of rot, decay; unpleasantries.
"Are you sure this isn't a murder house?" Maria asked, nervously eying every darkened corner in the house's main hallway.
"Absolutely," Laurence affirmed. "Soon it will be the home of the most respected organisation in Yharnam!"
Gehrman shared a quizzical look with Maria, before directing it straight at Laurence. "And what would that be?"
Laurence looked back at Gehrman with a twinkle in his eye.
"The Healing Church!"
(-)
- One Year Later -
There was a loud knock on Laurence's door. The vicar, somewhat startled, dropped a stack of research papers, which then flew through the air like autumnal leaves in a draft of wind.
"Come in!"
The man who entered instantly gained Laurence's dislike. He wore a tight blue jacket buttoned together with steel fasteners, with long, black trousers. Almost immediately, Laurence knew him to be a constable of one of the surrounding towns, but held his tongue so as to appear less fearful than he already did.
The constable cast a fleeting look at the descending papers for which he was responsible, before striding up to Laurence's desk and laying his hands on the table.
"Vicar Laurence?" he asked, waiting for Laurence to nod before pressing on. "I'm sergeant Clifford - a member of Valtr's constabulary over in Whiteroth. I need to confront you about something... very peculiar."
Laurence's hackles rose at the drop of words such as 'Confront' and 'Peculiar', but still he kept his composure, and simply responded. "Go on."
Clifford held up a large brown sack and started rummaging inside. "My men and I were following up on a strange lead. One of the local farmers reported half his sheep herd gone missing in the night. Most peculiar. And some of the other villagers became convinced that they could hear snarling and howling - like some big dog - at night outside of their houses."
Laurence snorted, completely indignant. "I hardly see how you can relate any of this to the work we do in the Healing Church..."
Clifford's hand stopped moving inside the sack. He looked up at Laurence, a grave expression on his face.
"This... this 'thing' killed three of my men before we were able to put it down. Turns out, whatever this thing was, it had started out as a human being. Saint... Trolius...? I suppose you are familiar with the name?"
Laurence twitched slightly in his seat. "Of course. Trolius was my representative for the church in the eastern villages. Are you actually trying to convince me that this man transformed into a beas-"
Clifford withdrew his hand from the sack, and slammed the contents down hard on Laurence's desk. The vicar froze, paralysed at the very sight.
"But... but that's real... it can't be..."
But it was. The fresh blood dripping from beneath was simply too authentic to be replicated by any fabrication.
"I want you to explain this to me," Clifford said, voice cold and dark now. "A man consumed by his passion for blood... A man of your faith... Turned into a monster."
(-)
- 2000ft Beneath the Ground -
Gehrman had to pause for a moment to wipe his brow. The ruins of Ailing Loran were not cold, damp or earthy like one would expect of a maze of catacombs. The air was muggy, a hot breeze wafting through the caves at all times. Each breath was a vexing effort, a battle between his lungs and the humidity of the air.
As he started to walk again, he crossed straight through a tangle of tropic vines, and after a brief struggle, quickly became entangled within them.
Maria let out a chuckle which he half-heartedly attempted to hide with her hand. Her joy only seemed to infuriate Gehrman more.
"Blasted things!" he snarled, wriggling frantically.
"I don't think your cut out to be an explorer, my friend," Maria laughed, crossing the way to free her companion.
"No need," Gehrman said, as he drew out a long, scythe-like blade from a sheathe upon his back and freed himself with a spinning slash. Maria watched the severed vines drop to the floor, and the twinkle of the blade's metal edge as it briefly caught the light of the cave.
Instinctively, she folded her arms.
"Siderite," she said, almost accusing. "That blade is made of siderite. I've seen enough of the stuff to know it anywhere."
Gehrman smiled in the half-light of the cavern, replacing the blade on his back. "I figured that it would pay to come prepared after... the last expedition."
Maria shut her eyes quickly as images of Laurence's mangled, bloodied body rushed back to her. Only pressing her fingers hard to her temples was enough to blot them out again.
"Indeed," she said quietly.
Gehrman looked at her for a while, saying nothing. Finally, he spoke, in a soft, almost unnatural voice.
"Maria, maybe you shouldn't have come. For your own good."
Maria shook her head wildly. "No, I'm fine. I could say the sane of you... But here you are. I won't let you down."
"Who cares if you let me down?" Gehrman offered, putting his hand gently on her arm. "This isn't about me. I've had my share of nightmares. As have you. But I'm not afraid to relive them. Are you?"
"No," Maria replied, a little too quickly. She did not make any attempt to shake Gehrman's arm.
"Maria," Gehrman said quietly. "I'm only saying these things because I care about you. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself."
Maria shook her head, almost disgusted with the idea of Gehrman as a fatherly influence. "I don't need to be protected from anything. This is my life, and I can look after myself. But, thank you."
Gehrman's arm dropped limply to his side. Maria lifted her torch, casting its luminous gaze down the cavern.
"What's that?" she whispered, eyes narrowing feet and already closing the distance towards it.
Gehrman peered out. "What?"
"Those markings on the wall," Maria replied, continuing to inch forward. "They look like... They were scrawled in a hurry."
The scholar gasped as she drew in close, shining her lantern across the stone face.
"Oh my... Gehrman, you must see this for yourself!"
The prospector ran forwards, only slightly careful not to trip on his own feet. The closer he got to the stone wall, the more he saw of the gigantic message that was scrawled across its surface, and the deeper the unease that had sunk into his gut grew.
"TURN BACK. BAD BLOOD."
Gehrman read the enormous message aloud, noting the way each letter was scrawled - sideways and untidily - and the blood-red colour of the dye that had inked them.
"What does it mean?" he asked, looking to Maria for her two cents. However, it seemed her attention was elsewhere, her gaze following a trail of discarded and broken vials that led around the corner. Crusted, hard-dried red filled some of them, whilst also lining the floors and walls nearby.
"We don't have to keep going," Gehrman pressed. "No amount of wealth can make this worthwhile."
Maria stooped down and picked up one of the fallen vials. She raised the bloodied rim to her nostrils. Immediately, she recoiled, throwing the glass against a wall.
As the broken shards rained down onto the ground, Gehrman crossed the cave to reach her, taking her firmly by the shoulder.
"Come on, let's just go!" he cried, tugging harder than he really should have.
Maria shook him off, turning to face him with a glare more fierce than a cobra's.
"And what will we tell them?" she snapped. "That we ran away because of a scary message on the wall?"
"We don't have to tell them anything!" Gehrman insisted. "Say we found nothing!"
"I won't lie," Maria retorted. "You can go back. But I have to see this for myself."
The trail of bloodied vials led for at least half a mile. The further that the pair walked, the stronger the musky scent in the air grew, to the point that Gehrman could no longer bare to breath for his nose. Quickly, he took a rolled handkerchief and pressed it to his nose.
'Morgues smell less pungently of blood than this tunnel,' Gehrman thought, his eyes watering at the corners.
Eventually, the tunnel opened out into a much larger cavern. From the appearance of the room, filled with tall wooden shelves and cupboards lined with multicoloured jars and tubes, it was something of an apothecary. The sheer volume of medicinal product that was in the room - overturned, empty or otherwise - was alarming, and most likely would have prompted discussion from Maria.
That is, if her attention was not focused solely on the sight at the centre of the cavern.
Lying on the stone floor, surrounded by blue and red vials and darkened stains, was a monster.
(-)
Laurence reached out, tentatively, to prod the creature's head. It's glassy, empty eyes seemed to bore into him as he watched it, fearful of the slightest movement. The curved fangs that protruded from its mouth were stained in blood that was clearly not its own.
"I've never seen a wolf so big," Laurence whispered. It was a feeble remark, and he instantly resented it, but he had so few words left that it was all that came out.
"This is not a wolf," Clifford said, folding his hands out on the table. "This is Saint Trolius. Or what is left of him."
"How do you expect me to believe that?" Laurence retorted. "What evidence have you of any of this?"
"The monster broke through the back of Trolius' house," Clifford replied. "And it was wearing tatters of his clothes. He had been struck down by illness. Nobody had seen him for weeks. But you know how he was, Laurence. The man was a wreck, drinking himself to death between services. Townsfolk had assumed he was dead by his own hand - drowned by the bottle. But it was not to be."
Laurence felt cold. But not like any cold he had ever experienced before. It was his insides, not outsides, that seemed to freeze, a frigid flush starting in his stomach and spreading outwards like the roots of a plant. He barely managed a response. "I still... don't see how this relates to me... Or the Church..."
"Well, the Constabulary have never exactly been fans of your mystical blood treatment, Vicar..." Clifford said. "In my mind, what you've brought out is a terrible thing for the world. A substance more addictive and controlling than opium or alcohol... Except, this IS something new. All your talk about Great Ones and the ascension of humanity... You're a cult, a group of fanatics- and you've stumbled across a contaminant... Your 'Cure for All Ills... Something dangerous that should never have been distributed to the public."
"I'm hearing a lot of spite, but not a lot of evidence," Laurence shot back.
"Trolius was addicted to your 'blood'," Clifford replied. "He was a pitiful sight. Knocking back vial after vial, even injecting himself... Seems to me that his addiction triggered a reaction. I'm no doctor, or researcher, but I've seen what opium can do to your mind... Is it so out of all possibility that your magic blood did this to him?"
Laurence shook his head limply. "No, not possible. We ensured the safety of taking the blood. Treatment with quicksilver means that transfusion is as simple as taking a sip of water!"
Clifford sat back in his chair. His expression was dark.
"I have a warrant for your arrest, Vicar. And the Constabulary is prepared to conduct a full investigation into your... 'church.'"
"I'm afraid I won't be coming with you, Constable," Laurence said quietly, head bowed.
"You have no choice," Clifford asserted, pulling out a revolver and pointing it straight at Laurence's forehead.
Laurence looked up as he heard the clink of the firearm. There was no panic in his eyes, however. All of the nerves that had plagued him were gone now, replaced by a cooly demeanour that could've been mistaken for resignation.
"Kill him," he whispered.
Clifford's eyebrows shot up as he realised, spinning around just in time to see the cloaked figure behind him before they had plunged their enormous blade straight through him. The constable spluttered great volumes of blood, but it was over very quickly. The life left his body faster than a bullet leaving a chamber as the body of the greatsword glimmered with a faint green hue, before the whole blade was withdrawn with great force.
Laurence uncorked a bottle of red wine and started to pour into two glasses. He looked up briefly as Clifford's body clattered to the ground, and as droplets of his blood were sent soaring across his office.
"Thank you, Ludwig," he said quietly, as the figure stooped low to the ground, and gently shut Clifford's open and lifeless eyes.
"Of course, Master Laurence," they replied.
"Will you have a drink with me?"
Ludwig lowered his hood and smiled at Laurence, his wavy hair spattered with streaks of red.
"It would be a pleasure."
(-)
Maria went quite still, her breath catching in her throat. The torch in her hand fell to the cavern floor, sizzling out with a wet thud as it hit the sodden cavern floor.
Gehrman was beside her in an instant, his siderite-borne blade at his side.
The beast that lay on the floor was unlike anything either prospector had ever seen. It was humanoid - which immediately put Gehrman at great unease - but cloaked with a shaggy silver mane. It's face was a contortion; a mockery of human form? yet still recognisable as such. Nouns like 'Yeti' and 'Ghoul' leapt out at Gehrman as he laid his gaze on the creature's ape-like head.
It was also dead. Long dead. Not that the pair could have known this in that instant. Next to Ebrietas, this was the closest thing they had seen that bordered on inexplicable. Except that the cluttered mess of a grave that the creature inhabited told an unpleasant, yet believable story.
"Is this the price of dabbling with the old blood?" Maria whispered, summarising Gehrman's own thoughts. "Is this what felled Loran?"
Gehrman never had the chance to answer, for it was at that moment that a deep, feral roar exploded through the cavern. Maria, jolted as though zapped by a current, leapt against the back wall as another silver beast, this one very much alive, bounded into the room, arboreal claws unfurling at the sight of a new prey.
"Get behind me, Maria!" Gehrman shouted, trying to attract the gaze of the beast before it could fall on his companion.
The beast rose onto its hind legs, all but realising Gehrman's fears about its origin. Snarling with a register that sounded eerily like that of a cat, it started to cross the room.
Maria started to edge along the back wall, but a misplaced foot drew the creature's gaze, and it started to lunge at her. Gehrman was faster though, and was able to take a sidelong swipe at the beast just before it made its impact.
The siderite blade parted the beast's flesh like paper, and a stream of blackened guts spilled out from the wound as it started to bleed profusely onto the ground. The beast let out one last hiss before falling flat onto its back.
Gehrman returned his gaze to his companion, only to find her own occupied by a sight over his shoulder. Alarmed, she let out a cry. "Over there!"
A low growl from behind sent shivers all the way down Gehrman's spine. It was swiftly accompanied by another. And another.
Three silver beasts now stood between the duo and freedom, their malformed shadows cast long across the cavern's dimly-lit floor. As Gehrman readied his blade again, the first two charged forwards, claws extended.
Gehrman lashed out at his attackers, but was knocked aside before he could even register the effect of his blow. Slamming hard against the wall, siderite blade slipping from his hand, the prospector saw stars, the world around him spinning like a kaleidoscope.
Maria could only gasp as her companion was thrown across the cavern like a ragdoll. The silver beast responsible had taken a deep cut across its eyes, and promptly fell onto the ground, but its companion grabbed her forcefully with two misshapen claws and dragged her off of her feet.
As she squirmed, the creature drew her in close, jaws prying open with a hiss to reveal a combine harvester of curved fangs, eager to tear her to ribbons.
Gehrman stumbled to his feet, seeing the third silver beast drawing close to him, and knelt for his blade. His movements were sluggish, limbs like rubber. It was not like before. When he had fought Ebrietas. There was no will to fight. No primal instincts kicking in to energise him. As the silver beast grabbed him by the throat with its claw, sinking its maw into his shoulder, he barely registered the pain, his body seemingly numbed and resigned to its fate.
The world darkened.
But then there was the blood. Gehrman opened his eyes, vision flooding back to him like a flash of lightning, and he was covered in it.
His breaths were like spasms, coming unnaturally fast and with very little input from his lungs.
He was standing upright. The agony that had seared his left side and triggered his blackout, was gone. Every beast in the room lay dead, hacked to pieces by his blade - some so viciously they appeared to have been blown apart by explosives. Maria sat in the corner, her eyes wide like saucers, fixed on Gehrman. She was quivering like a leaf, but was visibly unharmed.
"Did... did I do this?" Gehrman spluttered, gazing about himself at the massacre that had unfolded.
Maria did not reply. Her gaze was fixed on something else now. The empty vial that lay at Gehrman's feet, crushed as he had landed on top of it in the scuffle.
Shaking hard and unable to process what had just happened, Gehrman let his blade fall to the ground with a crash. He soon followed suit, his legs giving out beneath him.
"What... have I become...?" he whispered, raising his bloodstained hands to cup his face.
(-)
Rom opened his eyes.
It was evening now. The moon illuminated his bed covers through the open window. He must have drifted off.
He climbed out from under his covers quickly, throwing on a gown like his very life depended on it. Flinging open his bedroom door, he sailed through the hallway, past a bewildered scholar in a nightcap, and straight into Willem's quarters.
As expected, Byrgenwerth's master was not asleep, and was sat rocking in his chair as usual. He looked up as Rom burst into the room, apparently having been drawn out of a deep meditation.
"Master Willem!" the flustered scholar cried. "I must speak with you at once!"
