Bloodborne: The Last Hunter

Notes: I need a name for the good doll, and I want it to be age appropriate for Victorian England let me know any recs for it.

Gehrman's teachings were spartan. In his time teaching, he'd said he'd found experience to be the best learning tool and so fought his final student with blade and blunderbuss under the moonless sky, atop an island of stone in a world of clouds.

"You have no real talent with anything. No true sword sits right against your palm. No gun. No tool. Your bare hands will save no one though. The only thing you can do is get back up and try again. At least you can handle the cane. Hmmm… give me a moment, if you will… here. it's a rough model, from when we first started hunting… It's called the beast cutter… its design is quite rough, those Keg's always were, however it will serve its purpose to teach you. Hmmm… a bit bulky for your hands, I'll need to slim it down quite a bit for your use… perhaps a cane as the base?… What are you doing, arms at the ready!? Never relax your guard! All it takes is one moment to bring your end."

"Quickening is an art that can be picked up by anyone, one way or another. Some use an artifact to accomplish the deed in exchange for some quicksilver or blood, leaving behind a white cloud of mist in their wake. Others, however, take to the art as soon as they're introduced to it, only giving up bits of their own stamina to move like the wind. You however, have taken to it as if you were born to ride its currents. When I was in my prime, I could dash through bars and small holes to reach my destination, however the more I practiced the art of quickening, the darker the cloud I left behind. I could even leave a trail of gray mist with every swing of my Burial Blade that extended my reach. I have reached the limit of what I could use from this art and made it my own, now it is time for you to do the same. Come, we shall practice until your every step is silent and dark as the abyss itself!"

The lessons were brutal. The endless practice with the clunky and slow butchering tool only became harder as his teacher went faster and faster with every bout they had. Every swing of the sword sent his body reeling, his hands numb, and his legs trembling under their weight. Each strike that slipped past his clumsy guard sent him flying into the dirt. But never for more than a moment as the student threw himself off the ground, slipping into his amateurish stance with the slow weapon that best suited him. Each time accompanied by the bark off his teacher's voice as he described, in excruciating detail, exactly what he was doing wrong.

"Congratulations. I did not think it was possible for someone's aim to be so bad, their bullets became capable of ricocheting off multiple targets to hit someone standing right next to you. It would seem this ragged cape must suffer one more hole… distance will not be your friend in your hunts, it would seem young man. Therefore, this gun shall be used not to keep your enemies away, but to finish those within grabbing reach. You cannot hit the broadside of a barn door so your blade must keep the beasts away from you as your bullets punch through skulls. Set aside your beast cutter, and take out all of your bullets, this session only ends when you have stepped into my guard and put the barrel to my skull one hundred times without getting hit once. Every time you are hit, we shall restart the counter."

Short breaks were called by the old hunter, once in an eternity, to offer advice on different beasts that could be encountered. Wolves, brain suckers, beastmen, fattened ravens, and ravenous dogs; all were dissected at length in an attempt to give the young hunter-in-training guidelines to follow. Never allow an enemy to grab hold of you, never turn your back or take your focus off your opponent, and never put your back to a wall or allow your enemies to group up. Always do your best to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. And most importantly of all, respect your prey, for they at one point or another were men and women just like him.

"Do not trust the church and their blood ministration. Blood is the source of all beasts, and the church is the source of all blood. It took some time for me to see into the truth of the organization I once championed in the night. Do not fall for their honeyed words of holy crusade and cooperation. They are all mad, one way or another. Look deep into their eyes, past the logic, past the facade, and see the terrible truth within."

The First Hunter had been friends with the man who started the Healing Church; from when they were both studying together, however they had split when the man, Laurence, had sealed Gehrman's workshop away and disbanded his hunters for church clergymen and executioners who wrought carnage onto others in the name of humanities ascension under the guise of healing and experimentation. The young hunter to be soaked in as much insight his teacher could offer about the place he had found himself in as he swung his beast cutter in proper form again and again, doing battle with an invisible foe as he trained hard under the moonless, his teacher now using their breaks to barricade himself inside the workshop, clanging noises reverberating through the small island as Jack swung his old but well maintained whip sword, unaware of the gentle gaze that had followed him since he'd awoken and spoken with Gehrman.

"The hunt is long and arduous. The beasts leave naught but scraps from their kills. It is rare for a hunter to find survivors… rare but not impossible. If you wish for them to survive, a safe haven must be found, if not built to house them. The helpers shall provide you with materials if you have need of them, however the most important thing they require besides sturdy walls are incense. It wards off the beasts and parasites for the most part… though if it makes its way past that, the shelter won't make much of a difference… However to defend against those beings who have ascended to different planes of existence, something deeper is needed. Inscribe our rune into the shelter in your blood and offer a prayer for their safety… It matters not the words, nor who you pray to, simply that the desire is true."

For someone who fashioned himself as a huntsman, the older man knew plenty about carpentry and fortification. Plans for fortified housing were shown and explained as the first hunter solemnly focused on teaching Jack how he should shelter innocents against the beasts and the night. However, having no experience in prayer that he could recall, nor expressing genuine desire for himself let alone others, Jack struggled greatly with the protection rune. Gehrman was forced to put the rest of his training and focus completely on it. After dozens of rather… explosive… failures, of which Gehrman's utterly gobsmacked face revealed had never happened before. When both hunters were covered in minor burns and soot, did the first hunter finally break.

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"Enough.", the old man called from his slightly scorched wheelchair. The young man covered in small burns and ash snapped his head up, his bleeding finger still in his mouth from where he'd cut it repeatedly in his attempts to get the rune and prayer just right for him. "You may rest, for now. Go to the gravestones, and speak to the doll. When you are done, and have resolved this issue, meet me in the workshop, I'll have something ready for you.", he finished, Jack not failing to notice how the arms creaked under the pressure of the first hunter's grip as he nearly spat out the word. "Your progress has been nothing short of astounding.", Gehrman allowed a small encouraging smile to tug at this lip under his student's disbelieving stare, allowing himself to relax back into his chair and unclench his whitened knuckles. "When we first began, you could not hold your weapon steady, you resorted to using its weight for momentum rather than your own body's strength, and your weapon could never suit you; too large, too wasteful. Now, the weapon still does match you, you require something different, and it shall be provided.", Jack tried to open his mouth to ask any number of questions, however the first hunter simply continued on.

"I've never seen someone move so far through quickening, and never have I seen someone leave a trail so dark. The only way you can improve further now is through experience; mine and your own. All you require now is to unearth your resolve… and she is the only one here who can… embolden your sickly spirit…", and with that final mysterious message, the old man turned his unneeded wheelchair around and entered the workshop, closing the doors behind him. Jack sighed to himself as he stared at the workshop, finally allowing his weary body to drop its guard for a moment. There was a terrace near the doors, he noticed dimly as he swayed side to side. His mind finally allowed rest from the hundreds of duels, and the countless lessons imparted onto the student by the master swam through his muddy mind.

Ultimately deciding to follow his teachers orders, the young hunter trudged up to the doll in half hearted confusion; after all, how could dolls talk. Well, that's what his mind, barren of memories, told him, and then it paused and went on break as the doll opened her eyes to meet his, green meeting unnaturally pale white as she yawned, sending alarm bells ringing through his empty head. "Good hunter. My apologies. I had not meant to fall asleep.", her soft voice was as soothing as it was grating, a contradiction that both lulled and disturbed, however he was already adapting, finding himself almost getting lost in the gentle melody as she stared into his eyes.

"Come good hunter, you are weary… your spirit is strong, but unrefined… tell me what ails you dear hunter…", she whispered, voice quiet and husky, smooth and warm, as she gently guided him to sit next to her on a small terrace by the door to the workshop. Before he knew what was happening, his head was gently pressed against her shoulder as she held him firmly against her side. She hummed low in her throat, some song or lullaby his fuzzy head provided. He began to talk about anything and everything that he had come to know since he'd woken up to a wolf monster trying to eat him. He spoke of what he'd come to learn, of the blade he'd set across their laps, of how confusing the world around him was. He spoke of his training and the lessons he'd learned from the old hunter. He spoke of his failures at great length, and only told of his successes when the doll ran smooth hands into soothing circles against his tense back, he began to drift off.

"Your spirit is not sickly, like the countless others I have emboldened, so I cannot grant you strength through the echoes as I did for them… the most I can do is be here for you, good hunter… I apologize for my shortcomings…", the heartbreak in her soft voice was enough to rouse Jack from the beginning of slumber, pulling him away enough to bury his head into her warm shoulder long enough to call out to her.

"It's enough…", he whispered as he stared at the innumerable gravestones surrounding them through half lidded eyes. "It'll always be enough…".

"Good hunter…", her wobbly voice rasped slightly as she held him tighter against her.

She hasn't asked for a name yet, and neither has he. It could come later, this moment was pure, it did not require complicated things like goals nor dreams; all that was required was the desire to be warm, he realized. To be safe from beasts and cold nights with companions… something clicked distantly in the back of his mind, and he knew he could perform the Hunter's Protection Rune even in his sleep…

Why did she call him good? She said it so reverently, however the tone she spoke of his predecessors was vastly different, as if speaking of old friends who had fallen out of touch with. What made him different? She spoke as if all she needed was one good hunter, one decent man to be content. As if she'd fulfilled her entire life's purpose simply by holding him.

She asked him again and again to be safe and to learn all he could from Gehrman. She begged him to hold onto his humanity with all his heart and soul as he drifted off. This warmth… this gentle love, offered, freely… it made him wonder who was the lifeless doll, and who was the human between the two. He resolved himself to be good, to be a kind man as he hunted, to protect all he could reach from the beast plague simply because this doll had called you good with all her artificial soul… he did not notice the small creatures finding perches on top of his worn trousers, nor the gentle ceramic hand that curled into his hair, to bury him further into the doll's chest. He simply allowed his body to rest as it so craved, in a world of clouds and gravestones.

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The Doll cradled her Hunter to her bosom, trying and failing to drag him closer still without dislodging the little one's who napped in his lap. She pressed her artificial lips to his temple and asked him a simple question, to resolve the last issue with his training before he could begin hunting as he must. "Would you like to hear my own prayer, Dear Hunter?", she whispered as he softly nodded in his sleep deprived state. "It's not much, I have no basis for it, however I hold it near to my being…".

"Then it'll be perfect no matter what.", the new hunter, The Good Hunter who she so desperately prayed to meet one day, the one to set the realms and its people free from the great ones and their kin, croaked out as he drifted off. The warmth inside of her fake breast reached an inferno as she closed her eyes, shedding two crystal tears that fell onto her hand, gently set aside as she muffled a confused cry before it could escape her throat. 'How confusing.', the doll noted as she prepared to gift her only possession to the hunter she so valued. As she began, she turned to meet the eyes of her creator, the disgust and disappointment as obvious in his gaze as ever, however the approval that shone dimly as he turned back into the shop was like electricity to her soul, her creator… her father had finally given some measure of approval for her actions. She settled back against the cobblestone and drifted off herself as she gave her dearest possession to her Good Hunter.

"O Flora, of the moon, of the dream...oh fleeting will of the Ancients. Let the hunter be safe, let him find comfort, and let this dream his captor foretell a pleasant awakening."