Welcome home, good hunter

The cobblestones of the alley where Eleanor stood were cracked and uneven, and behind her, where she had come from they were slick with the fresh blood of beasts. Now she leaned against the side of the alley, hanging back from the street it opened onto, waiting and watching the house across the street.

She had not seen her yet, but she had heard of her, of course, in her recent days in Yharnam. That familiar doll, that now wandered lost in Yharnam, freed–or severed–from its dream. Eleanor’s own curiosity was aroused, but her queen was very interested in meeting her.

She had it on word she trusted that the doll was residing here, at least for the moment, but so far the street was quiet. Eleanor would rather find her alone than enter the house–whose other occupants she knew little of–but to be honest she had grown tired of waiting. She was almost ready to cross the street and try the door when it swung open gently, and the doll slipped from inside, closing it behind her. The porcelain girl looked quickly up and down the street before settling down on the step.

Eleanor checked again that she was presentable–her long blonde hair tied up neatly, her sword cleaned and sheathed, nothing out of place on the elegant regalia that identified her as a Knight of Cainhurst. She did not wish to present herself as a threat. She stepped out of the shadows and crossed the street, her steps measured and even. The doll was quick to notice her, and Eleanor brought her arm to her chest and bowed slightly as she approached. “Apologies.” She smiled charmingly as she stopped in front of the doll. “I do not mean to accost you so suddenly, but my queen would extend you an invitation.”

Several weeks have passed since the Doll was severed from the Dream. She had adjusted quite well to her new life, and had even managed to find a temporary home in a kind hunters apartment. She still frequently worried about why she had been severed from the Dream, and if Gehrman had done it knowingly, but other than that life in Yharnam wasn’t too terrible. The beasts in the city didn’t seem too interested in her, so she often spent time wandering the streets, exploring her new home, or sitting somewhere under the moonlight.

Tonight, she was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic within the four walls of the apartment, so she opted to sit outside under the strange Yharnam sky and count the beasts that she saw. However, only seconds after she had stepped out of the door she was approached by a figure in the recognizable armor of a Knight of Cainhurst.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She drew her weapons and stepped out into the workshop’s yard. “Who is there? Make your presence known if you mean no harm.”

Behind the Curtain:  I’d like to learn about your writing process.

* Oh hmm. I’ll be honest, I don’t think I actually have a serious writing process (and maybe it shows through my writing >>). I just kind of sit down and try to imagine the scene in my head, and then describe what I saw. There’s usually music playing in the background but that’s just because I always have music playing.

Through the Bushes:  I actually track one of your threads with someone else because I love it that much.

A pale hand reaches out from the rags and grabs her wrist, as Lothric attempts to wriggle himself free of the wrappings. “Please, help… Where are we?” It had been the dead of night when he’d tried to teleport them both to safety, but now the sky was pale and cloudy, the moon hanging like a stage decoration in the sky so that the clouds passed behind it.

“…is this a dream?” he asks the strange woman. Her skin is cold and smooth like glass. His last dream encounter had ended terribly, with him murdering that man wearing a cage, but this woman seemed like she was trying to help. Lothric grasps for a vial but it slips out of his slimy palms and clatters to the cobblestone.

The Doll gave a startled gasp at the cold hand that clutches her wrist. She stared down at the strange being peaking out of the rags. “We are in the Hunter’s Dream” she tells him, “It is a place of refuge.” However it was not standard procedure for hunters to appear in the dream injured. The Doll returned her attention to the injured man.

She slipped her hand away to pick up one of the remaining blood vials. “Do you know how to use this? Is he supposed to drink it?” she asked, holding it up for the strange boy to see.

He shifted his weight, legitimately about to lunge and attack, but he froze, and did no such thing, when a decidedly human voice spoke to him. Not a rude nor aggressive voice- a frightened voice, a gentle voice, a woman’s voice.

The Father lowered his arms to his side, straightened his shoulders, and resumed a slow approach.

“Do you hide from them, the beasts?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Beasts?” The Dolls eyes widened, something must have gone horribly wrong. She clutched her disjointed arm close to her chest as the realization dawned on her. The sky, the buildings, the smell, beasts? Something must have stripped her from the Dream somehow and left her in Yharnam. Had Gehrman decided he didn’t need her anymore? The thought brought tears to her eyes.

She shuffled forward towards the voice--there was a familiarity in it that put her slightly at ease. “I think perhaps I am lost...” she started as she moved out of the alleyway. As she came into the moonlight her misty eyes fell on a familiar figure.