The Sun was setting, and he did not know what manner of beasts plagued this land. The hunter brushed off the tricorne, and fitted it onto his head. Of all his belongings, this tricorne was the last thing he had of the place where his journey began - the wretched city of Yharnam. Most importantly, the crow feathers that adorned it were unscathed, to his relief. Three sides, as a tricorne should, the leather was peeling a tad, but it could be fixed. He gratefully accepted his missing effect, and took a once over, checking its condition. There were four of them, pale and thin, holding up his hunter's tricorne.Ī smile broke across his face, "Thank you, little ones." Miraculously, he heard the familiar laughing of Messengers as the pale creatures broke through the ground. Though, at least his bandana was still securely wrapped around his neck.Īs he was in the midst of pondering the viability of wandering the beach in futile search of his hat, the crunching of sand at his feet drew his attention. Of course, he lamented, he should've invested in a strap of some kind. There was nothing but the constant crashing of clear blue waves, and the calls of sea bird overhead. Panic rose inside him, and he swivelled around the long sandy shored in search of his missing belonging. The Lost Hunter patted the top of his head, to find it devoid of a hat. Until he had the chance to create more blood vials, Cainhurst's famed red liquor would have to do. What was most important, however, was his stash of fine Vileblood Wine. It appears the he has lost his sachet of quicksilver bullets, but it was of no issue, he could always create more. There was of course his trusted Evelyn by his side, the fine pistol in ever the perfect state, a testament to its fine construction. By the time he left, all that was left of it were the manners of beasts and Pthumerians haunting its streets. He had acquired these from Veildernam, a magnificent city built upon a great bay of water. Though, it would be hard to tell their splendour now, stained and dirtied as they were. Of course, there was his fine silk tunic, duster and cravat. It had served him well in the vast deserts of Loran and it would continue to do so. Light and airy, once the colour of pale beige now darkened by blood and water. Reaching for his back, he felt his rough woolen cloak draped over him. He took his time to ensure all his effects were on his person, a hunter must not be lost on his tools, after all. Indeed, compared to the ever present gloom and rain of the Singing Sea, the warmth of the Sun was a pleasant change. He breathed in the pleasant breeze, feeling better than he had in many moons, despite being just spat ashore by the ocean. Pale white sand was hot beneath his feet as he lifted himself up, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. The Lost Hunter blearily opened sand-crusted eyes to the brightness of day and the scorching heat of Summer's Sun. As such, credit goes to all those artists. Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is directly inspired and mentions places and people from the works featured in VaatiVidya's 'Imagining Bloodborne 2' art competition.
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