The Pre-Uni episode didn't happen, and I'm sorry. Though hopefully by the time I upload this I can compensate for my absence. I have been trying to catch up with my other story, so I'll use this as an excuse. That said, Let me see what I can do.
Six
The Hunter managed to push the worn out iron gate open just enough for him to squeeze himself through, and then mustered the rest of his wavering energy to close and lock the gate. Every step caused steady blood loss after his two consecutive fights with Gascoigne and his partner. Even the healing blood worked at a slow pace due to the severity of the wounds. Eileen being a former doctor had given a fair assessment.
"Your right arm would be gone without the healing blood, three of your ribs are fractured. I'm fairly sure that your knee is dislocated, and it appears that there are bits of wood lodged in your sternum. Lucky to be alive" she chuckled as she popped his knee into place. She may have been a cold murderer, but she made for an excellent field surgeon. She had a sewing kit on hand, and was quick to bandage, seal, and excavate any wounds that required attention. He had slept on a bench after the fact, unwilling to return to the dream before he saw the condition of the chapel. Before he slept, he liberally fed syringes of blood into his chest and arm. Making sure that his sleep would be a healing one.
The chapel, or cathedral depending on the yahrnamite in question, was empty in the archives. The Hunter affirmed this when he was greeted by the stench of musty paper and the silence that comes from a space left uninhabited. He searched around for any notable literature he could bring back to the workshop. Maybe there was something the Doll would like to read? He stopped and considered this thought. Did she enjoy reading? Rather, what should he bring her? The Hunter chuckled to himself, here he was, out in a nightmare slaughtering beasts and his fellow man, and he was wondering what he would bring his missus back from shop. Missus? I mean she was more of a housekeeper, but that sounded impersonal. Companion would work, if she actually went with him anywhere. He shrugs and climbs the stairs.
He climbs the stairs to the absolute most pungent odour he had yet experienced. It wasn't particularly bad, but powerful. He heard church bells as he ascended to the foyer of the church, and the scent of an entire burning florist assaulted him. The Hunter reached for his collar to pull up his handkerchief when a meek elderly voice said "You'll get used to it eventually, it keeps the beasts out. Sorry bout' the stench though". The Hunter was taken aback by the creature's appearance. It was a mummified woman wrapped in a red cloth, her hands were tipped in claws, which was only her skeletally thin hands. She altogether frightened him, and put him at ease. There was nothing untrustworthy of her. "Tea's on, I haven't had a visitor in quite some time". He sits, curiosity piqued as she seemingly slithers across the floor to a kettle. The smell of incense was fading to the periphery of his sensations, and the new smell of tea becoming pervasive in the room.
"Here you go dear" the creature smiles, handing a small china cup to the Hunter. He removes his gauntlets and sips from the cup. This is bizarre. Nothing is trying to kill him, he is in the nightmare and a totally sane creature is serving him afternoon tea in a church free of any plague. The Hunter glanced around him to see if there was any trap or murderous beast hiding in the shadows. "The incense keeps the beasts out, might I ask your name?"
He doesn't hear the question. His wounds still cause him great discomfort, and there are still wounds held closed visible on his arms. "My goodness! we must get you healed up immediately!" The creature cries out as she shuffles down to a small chest. Her hands fumble for a minute before giving the seated man a generous number of blood vials. "One is from the clinic back in town, there are very few still in circulation". She smiles through seemingly aged teeth. Not outside his dream has the Hunter experienced generosity.
"Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry for intruding, or even taking any of your supplies. In such times it is so very refreshing to see something out and about not after my life. I must ask though, may I take some of the scripts from the archives down below? You see, I need to return to my home an-"
"Darling you've made my year just be stumbling in, if you find anyone else in need of safe refuge, please tell them about this place. It's been so long since I've had company. Off with you now! Hunters have their duty" The Hunter pulls his face covering down and offers a smile and bow before activating the lantern in the room and phasing under the grasp of the messengers. "Do stay safe my friend".
He felt mildly guilty about already taking the books from the library, but he was not aware the church was inhabited at all. However, he was a little guarded about this new stranger. (S)he didn't seem human, but she was friendly. Perhaps the inhabitants of the dream were not all limited to mindless violence? Either way, he should take the precaution to learn if she was trustworthy or not before sending anyone into potential trouble. In great need of a distraction from this, he looked into a small sack he had tied at his waist. Usually he had blood vials neatly arranged in the sack, though with none on hand, he used it as a bookcase. In it was The Regional Flavours of Yarnham, first edition, The Iconography of the Healing Church and Appropriated Weapons, The Complete Revised Study of Cainhurst Blood Ministration, and finally The Moon's Lover a popular serialisation put together in a tome. Perhaps the Doll would like this? He heard it was quite popular when he last spoke with Gilbert back in the main city. Written by an old scholar simply penned "M". Regardless of popularity, it was a topic of conversation.
Arriving back in the garden of the Workshop was always a bit of a stomach churning experience. While he seemingly walked forward out of the tombstone at the base of the Workshop, there was a feeling of gravity slowly returning, which signaled his presence in the Hunter's Dream. He always wanted tea after returning. The Doll always obliged. He always accepted. With the thought of hot tea for his uneasy constitution in mind, he crossed the threshold of the Workshop, (taking care to wipe his boots upon the bottom step) and looked about for the Doll. He wanted to give her the book, and then perhaps toil with his weapons while the water boils. There upon the upholstered chest was a rumpled heap of cloth strongly resembling the Doll's dress. Without a word he walked over to the ruffled dress and put the book down at her feet on top of some old newspapers she must have been reading. He had left a single note labelled "Doll".
-I'm out in the garden, the book is for you, tea will be on in about half an hour
That done he stoked the hearth for a moment and threw some new fuel on, placed the kettle over the flame, and slowly walked out of the workshop without so much as a creak in the floor. He inhaled deeply the scent of the ever-blooming lumenflowers, and sat by a hedge in the back garden with a manual on fencing and swordplay. He read over the techniques meticulously, before noticing a soft breathing coming from the corner of the garden wall, by the fence. He stood up, brushed the dew off his coat and breathed aloud the word "Elders". Not to the surprise of the Hunter (if the Hunter could be surprised anymore) was a slumbering Gehrman. The old man was sitting in his chair with his head hung in such an angle that caused soft snoring, though he would frequently move his head or grimace, suggesting a nightmare. The Hunter placed a hand on the man's shoulder and gently shook the appendage whispering "On for tea?".
The Hunter could indeed be surprised. Not a moment after the first syllable, there was a small knife to his chin, and Gehrman looked up, alert, but then at ease. "You really shouldn't sneak up on your elders, it's impolite" he said softly and simply, tucking the knife back into his coat sleeve. "What did you ask my boy?". The Hunter regained his composure, the moment he felt the knife his pistol was raised to the back of the chair. "I wanted to ask if you wanted tea or perhaps something to eat?". The old man was taken aback, not only was there tea suddenly here, but food as well? He nodded, expecting himself dreaming, and was soon surprised to be holding a small cup of hot tea and a biscuit. "Why thank you" he muttered, tucking into the beverage. The Hunter chuckled, "I had brought it back from a house in the city, the residents were long gone. "Dead likely". "We can only hope otherwise". Gerhman chucked aloud, this one still hasn't had the optimism chewed out of him. He gratefully drank the tea though, and they discussed his hunt. Gehrman even had a technique to teach the young man. "You're tall, and strong no doubt, but hunting is about striking fast. The beasts will always be stronger and bigger, rely on speed. With your long arms, I would bet that you could extend that cane of yours and still wield it as one would a smaller blade. That way the flogger would extend longer as well". Such an idea never really crossed the Hunter's mind. Sure he could harden the blade, and sharpen it as well, maybe even make the transitory action smoother, but change the weapon specifications? He would have to look at the spare parts. The Hunter asked if he had any other remarks that would help. "Hundreds my boy, but for now we shouldn't talk business, drink up before it gets cold".
An evening went that way, and soon Gehrman was softly snoring once more under the giant moon. The Hunter took the kitchenwares and placed them back into the Workshop. The Doll had not moved. Now he was concerned. He walked over to her slowly, afraid for a moment of the weapons she may be concealing under the dress. Before hearing her mutter something about "Hunter….lost…..old item….waking..my….Hunter". He reached out and touched her knee. She gasped and out of reflex reached to grab his arm. He looked down to see that the pure porcelain of which her arm was constituted was old and cracked, the paint chipping and dust floating. Only for a moment before he looked back down and all was normal. "Good Hunter, you surprised me". The Hunter wanted to seem casual about what he had seen so he laughed "It appears that I did". The Doll smiled, though she seemed troubled.
"I brought you a book from a church on the outside, I remember you would read those serials in the old papers". He reached for the book, but she had already done so and he had reached out and grabbed her hand. He almost jumped back at the indecorum of it all. She paused for a moment, eyes fixed on him analytically. She almost seemed to flush slightly. "Thank you, you needed not do anything for me" she said simply, badly hiding her obviously flustered visage. He sighed for a moment knowing he had not committed a faux pas, and excused himself from the room to walk on the lawn.
It was there that the Hunter fell asleep under a tree, he badly needed the rest. He had a restful, dreamless sleep, but awoke covered in the morning dew. It always seemed to be dawn here, and a little darkness in his sleep would be appreciated. He walked into the workshop to see what he could do about his cane, and found the Doll sitting in a chair by the altar a good hundred pages through. "What is the novel about friend?" he asked whilst sitting down at his workspace, picking out different segments of blade for his modification. "It is a story of a man who covets the love of the moon, and tries to contact it through the Moon's cousin the Cosm. Hardly the Hunter's idea of a great tale, but it is quaint". The Hunter considered the story, though not his usual reading material, but it was not training specifications or weapon plans, so it was a welcome change in pace.
They exchanged words back and forth for a few hours, he fixed new blades onto his whip, and she fixed new sentences to memory. Eventually he finished and spoke aloud "I forgot, I have an excess of strength that needs channeling. Would you be so obliged?". The Doll pulled up her sleeve and reached for him. His warm, bare hand was placed in her tiny palm, and she savored the small sensation of his rough hands on hers before the memories were channeled. She saw great tragedy as he went toe to toe with another man. He was by far greater, but not as broad, and his arms swung about a lethal looking halberd. The Hunter was skilled though, and managed to work harder. Eventually the familiarity of the figure dawned on her, he was one who visited the workshop in the old days. She remembered a man of the church with a beautiful young woman walking to speak with Gehrman when his hair had just started to grey. She remembered a yellow garbed man, silently walking behind them as they left. The man smiled back at the workshop.
Gascoigne was laying in a hair covered heap on the ground, bloodied and battered, with the Hunter limping away from him. She saw every cut and every frenzied thought in Gascoigne's head. She heard his confusion and rage and fear all scattered within a deep inky void of bloodlust and mindlessness. She understood. Then she saw a woman dressed as a great raven slashing fruitlessly against the yellow-garbed hunter. He was slower, but much more resourceful as he would swing his blade about and slash with smaller knives. She watched as her Hunter crept up behind the assailant and thrust his blade through his back. She heard the familiar voice of the old Yarnhamite doctor who used to be a consultant for the Workshop and the Church. A mere killer now? Perhaps times have truly changed since she was young.
The sudden flow of nostalgia almost had the meek and mild mannered Doll in tears as she saw old friends of her creator put down. When her hand was vacant once more, her shoulder was held softly by the Hunter. "It had to be done, they rest easy now in the waking world". The Doll looked up, and asked for a moment. The Hunter sat down on the steps, while the Doll walked out to the Garden to wake Gehrman. "Master, I need to tell you that Gascoigne and his Partner are gone". Gehrman looked up for a moment and muttered soft prayers of freedom, and then spoke fondly of the two men. The Doll felt heat flood her chest, and pressure build behind her eyes, but she held such pressure in. Not now. She was the Doll, the keeper of the dream and a thing. Humanity was not her function. Yet she read and took tea with the Hunter and sat with him as a friend. It was too confusing a situation for her, so she simply went back to the workshop and read.
The Hunter was waiting by the doorway. His time in the workshop was short, and he needed to return to work. His blade was longer, and it looked as though it's base had saw teeth. Truly the Hunter had been busy. How long had she been reading? He looked at her, before taking off his spectacles and telling her "I won't be leaving anytime soon, so don't worry yourself". He walked off into the mist, and the Doll thought "My Hunter".
I'm so sorry that this took so long to put out. University has been really interesting to acclimate to, so I'm just a tad overwhelmed. I did start up some old hobbies though, so that has been helping my process. I finished the chapter around fifteen past midnight today, and honestly I kind of like my lore-building chapters. No lit references that I consciously made this time. But as always, I love your criticism and well wishes. The community is half the reason I do this. Check out my other story if you have a chance. Until then.