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originally posted in:The New Dojo
Edited by Xeno:
12/28/2017 7:04:14 PM
1
The man was tall, taller than her. His concealing helmet was a polished iron, with swirling engravings spanning the material. Three claw marks marred the symmetry of the designs; though the gnashes were not deep enough to compromise the piece as protection from attacks. The helm also acted as a statement of status: he was, or had been, a knight of Cainhurst.
His neck was completely covered; not smidgen of skin was showing. White, wispy strands of fine hair was sprawled across his shoulders. A fine collar was propped up to frame the sides of his neck, coming from a black double-breasted coat with two lines of silver buttons clamping it shut.
A brown leather cloak overlapped the coat. Leather flaps draped his shoulders and ended just below his shoulder blades. From then on, it was a cape of crow feathers. The feathers shifted softly, despite there being no wind to carry them. They seemed almost alive, drifting rhythmically like ebony leaves. The tail of the double-breasted coat rested behind and upon his legs, their ends frayed and tattered.
Plain - though no less pristine trousers rested on his legs. His boots were the same polished iron as his helm, as was his gauntlets. It was then that Irina made the connection. Not only was he a Vileblood of Cainhurst, but this lithe man’s attire was identical to the revered [url=http://bloodborne.wiki.fextralife.com/file/Bloodborne/maxresdefault.jpg]Bloody Crow of Cainhurst[/url].
The final, and most minute detail Irina gleaned from the man was a small silver bell. This bell was worn around his neck in the form of a necklace. The use of bells in Yharnam was forgotten long ago. Now, the pendant only seemed to serve as a small echo of its once grand purpose.
It was hard to make much else of the man’s bodily structure beyond his height and apparent thinness. It also did not help that he showed no skin whatsoever. Though his eyes were not visible through his helm, Irina could feel the preternatural sensation of being watched by a fellow Hunter. He felt the same when her eyes met him.
He thought he was the only one of his ilk to survive the terrible Hunts of Yharnam. Clearly, he was mistaken.
When she began the mantra, the man’s entire body tensed. He remembered his amiable Queen, wearing a dress of shadows and a helm that almost mimicked his. His mouth moved before he could think.
“…I prithee partake of my rotted blood.”
English
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[i]There was a soft remembrance, of that Bloody Crow so long ago. Irina would consider herself one of the younger Vilebloods of her age, she had thought pf herself, this Crow, and Annalise as the only survivors of such a.. a blessing, or curse, whatever one would call the dark blood that coursed throughout her veins, and this Hunter before her.[/i] "I thought I was the last, and yet.. here you are." [i]The female Vileblood spoke, underneath her chilly breath, as she would push herself off of the crimson, wooden wall that she had leaned against. Soft footsteps would ring through the quiet winter air as Irina approached her fellow, the glistening icy pupils looking up at the shining iron helmet that he bore, studying each engraving and marking that swirled and contorted throughout it's base.[/i] [i]The past really had caught up to her, after all of this time. It had been a year, since she had seen Lothran. That old Hunter of Hunters. Even as they longed to kill each other, and even as he was supposedly killed by some Dojoite.. she still took her damned vengeance: that was her enemy to fight, not some damned wannabe god nor a magic soldier.[/i] [i]And even as she thought that she was one of the last Hunters, she was proven wrong, at this sight.[/i] [i]Her right hand would trail up, until it was held out for this new Crow to take and to hold. A handshake, not an offering of corrupted blood from a Queen in her frozen seat, though this chilly hand was seemingly no different: even as Irina held it out in a peaceful manner, it was frozen into place, as if she was motionless, moveless, and yet awaiting this Crow more than anything else.[/i]
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The Crow remained equally motionless, his feathered cape still barely fluttering, as if crows wished to birth forth from the inky, protean sea. As Irina removed herself from her post and began to approach him, the Crow would begin to observe his fellow Vileblood. To put it blunt, she was beautiful. Many other thoughts began to wrap around his head, those that often coincide with the instigator of a beautiful woman. The Crow would retain his composure, however. He put all that he had learned to work. As Irina inched closer to him, she could easily make out her own reflection in his helm. Albeit it was distorted by the curvature of the helm and the intricate designs that laid it. When Irina raised her hand, the Crow first took to observe it. It was like the skin of a fine porcelain doll. He remembered a doll, once. Once, within a dream. The Crow then took upon his second action. He undid the leather straps of his right gauntlet to reveal a forearm just as wan as her own skin. The Crow kneeled, placing his gauntlet aside. He took Irina‘s hand within his own, raising it slightly. He then looked to the ground, and spoke. “My lady, I am Ashley Damascus Monroe, a Knight of Castle Cainhurst.” He released her hand gradually, rose up, and fastened his gauntlet. Normally, he would have kissed her hand. Though, he did not want to remove his helm for reasons he would keep to himself. After the exchange was well and done, he spoke once more. “I apologize if I may be too gallant.” He spoke quick and with brevity in mind.
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[i]As Ashley would grip the female's snowy white hand, he would find it to be.. cold. Inhumanely cold, as if her fingers were icicles, shelled by the cover of skin and muscle over them. Though even then, a certain aura of heat radiate from her being. Not all of this Vileblood was as cold as the reaches of Cainhurst.[/i] "Gallant.. You have nothing to apologize for, Sir Monroe." [i]The Vileblood woman's pale face would allow a thin, though respectful grin to be exposed, as she would bow her head towards the taller Knight of Cainhurst. The woman's body would arch in a bow of her own, as she pressed her right arm over her chest, her fist placed over her beating heart. A heart of black and corruption, yet, but a heart nonetheless.[/i] "I am Irina Scarlette Elizia - one of Queen Annalise's later subjects, I would presume. I have never had the fortune of greeting another Vileblood, other than Queen Annalise and the Crow.. on better terms, anyhow. Though.. I am glad to meet you, Sir Monroe. You do not have to refer to my being as lady, though.. I fear that the things that I have done are not befitting of a title as that." [i]Irina's.. past, perhaps one could say, had molded her into something different, something that she wouldn't wish to pursue with a complete stranger. Though she would remind herself, mentally: this one was no stranger. He was practically kin - another Vileblood. That made four that she knew, at least four living ones.[/i] [i]Herself, the Queen, the child, and him.[/i]
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Edited by Xeno: 12/29/2017 4:35:42 AM“As you wish, Miss Elizia. Or, Irina - if you would prefer. Terribly sorry.” Ashley seemed to be quite the apologetic type, as he just spoke quickly and in an almost rushed manner. It was a mannerism caused by his upbringing. A mother who desperately tried for a daughter and a father in the army who was... less than pleasant. Ashley tried not to dwell on his past often, but it often crept up on him like a bad dream or intrusive thought. Ashley cleared his throat, signaling that he would begin speaking. “Are there other of our ilk among this establishment?” Ashley was eager. He had not been in the presence of another Vileblood in over fifty years, and in those years he was a pariah of society. Hence, he never stayed anywhere for long. He had been a mercenary of sorts. Though, there was something else that made him eager to meet others of his kind. It stemmed from a pit that formed within his bosom so many years ago. He had kept his nature and thoughts to himself for so long, perhaps he wanted to meet other Vilebloods so he could unload the baggage he was carrying. That he had been for so long. Even then, what would they believe? What would they think of him? Hell, would it be even of himself to communicate outwards what he felt? He was overthinking, and as such another mannerism of his manifested. With his right hand, he clutched his silver bell necklace and began to caress it with a finger. It may have seemed odd, but he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
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[i]Irina couldn't help but study the small bell, with those freezing blue eyes, her gaze going still as she looked upon the metal shine of the silver bell. She was familiar with such things, emphasis on the word "was". It had been years since she had heard that jingle, whether relieving or foreboding.[/i] "There is.. another. Just one." [i]Irina would admit that, for one. There was indeed another one of their ilk, but not one that had descended into the darkness that was Yharnam and returned as a predator of the night. This one was still prey - for a time.[/i] "A little girl. She took the corrupted blood, not from the Queen, but.. from my being. She would not receive the blood from the proper source, but she is one of us, still." [i]One of us. The words rang in Irina's ears as she spoke them. How odd it was, to hear such a thing, and be conflicted between feeling joy or be overcome with dread. Her hands would tighten a little as the thought, kept at her sides, her fingers digging into their frozen palms.[/i]
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“Whether from the Queen or another, this... condition is still bloodborne. This little girl is kin to us now.” ‘Condition’ was the best word he could call the corruption without sounding too derogatory, though it still held a negative connotation in his mind, as did it in Irina’s, most likely. He held Irina’s gaze towards his bell, thus noticing him groping it. Immediately his hand retracted and sunk back into the abyssal folds of his cloak. Next, he noticed her apparent unease at mentioning that she had turned another to their kind. He saw the tightness form in her hands. He would do his best to comfort her. “Shall we walk, Irina? You leading the way, of course. I am not familiar with large, populated centers such as this Dojo. Nor.. am I particularly fond of them.” Ashley seemed to murmur the last sentence, feeling ever so slightly disconcerted at him admitting his social awkwardness. Obviously, he had manners, but never the courage or wit to properly strike up colloquial conversation. The sounds of battle and sparring broke the spell of silence. “We could also train, if you wish. I haven’t put these old bones to work in many years.” He laughed softly to himself. What was strange however, was his voice gave the impression he was a man of his twenties or thirties. Perhaps the Old Blood was counteractive to the afflictions of aging, as well.
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"...I wouldn't be much of an adversary. And if I was, in training.. enhancements over time would make combat unfair." [i]Irina sighed drearily at the thought of herself having a fair, almost balanced fight with another Hunter: it had been too long since she had swung her Rakuyo's sharpened blade, or fired her Evelyn, though she kept both tools in a stable condition yet. They were of her past, and such things were to be kept in pristine condition.[/i] [i]She would hold out her hand for Ashley to see, as she would tighten her fist, until it was as if her hand and arm had become steel. There, Ashley could almost hear it: the brief, quiet sound of metallic muscles shifting and moving, nanite flesh flexing to the movements.[/i] "I am no longer human. And yet, I doubt I would even be considered Vileblood at this rate - a mixture of a machine, and the blood." [i]Irina would say, as a sudden *shink!* would whistle through Ashley's ears. A two foot long, metallic blade slid out from the woman's right hand, before as if willing it to move, would return into her arm once more, folding back into the forearm as if it was bone.[/i]
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“This place is quite beyond me... quite beyond the means of a Hunt.” Ashley couldn’t tear his eyes off of Irina’s cybernetics, as it was the first time he had seen such a thing. He had an urge to touch the metal skin, to caress the cold steel that was once porcelain flesh. He remained still, however. “I fear my paraphernalia is inert in such a place of advancement.” He let out the same quiet laugh to himself as before, yet it almost seemed sad. Self-deprecating, even. Irina still had not seen Ashley’s weapons, though he was bound to have some. His sides were still consumed by his tenebrous cloak. Then, as if almost on queue, Ashley pushed his cloak back with his hands to reveal two weapons resting at his hips. The venerable Chikage, a Katana/Saber hybrid that used the blood of its user to empower itself. Then, the repeating pistol: an advanced weapon utilized by the Hunters of the Healing Church. It could fire two shots in quick succession, at the cost of being a ravenous consumer of quicksilver ammunition. “As you can glean, my weapons mirrors that of the Crow, too.”
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"A Chikage.. and oh, one of the Church's repeating pistols?" [i]Irina was a heavy weapons enthusiast herself: although she was more satisfied and such by a blade rather than a ridiculous firearm, there was an obvious respect in her expression at the sight of two unique, familiar tools that she had once faced or fought alongside, though never with.[/i] "...Though you will have to look at receiving more modernized gear. The inhabitants of this place are.. I'll be rather blunt: awful." [i]At the mention of "the inhabitants of this place", likely the Dojo and those that resided within it's stone walls, Irina seemed to have a swelling disdain, steadily growing for this Dojo. A disrespect, or just a general dislike, for it's methods.[/i]
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Edited by Xeno: 12/31/2017 6:03:59 PM“Modernize? Oh, dear...” Ashley worried audibly and allowed his cloak to overlap his sides once more. He mused for a long while on how these Dojoians could be ‘awful’. He was a firm believer that everyone was redeemable, and all deserve the same respect. Whether or not his good-mannered self would be in for a rude awakening, is yet to be seen. He laughed. “What esoteric weapons does this place utilize? If these awful people have access to powerful gear, color me a worried man. However these people may be, I can trust you to be respectable, my lady Irina.” He choked on his words as soon as they came out; realizing he had called Irina “my lady” once more, he had to apologize. “I am terribly sorry, Irina. My manners escape me.” He was fidgeting now ever so slightly, shifting his weight from boot to boot.
