The Beast Within - A Bloodborne Short Fanfiction

Chapter 1: The Gravedigger

My Dearest Friend, I hope this letter finds you well. I just received your letter and must vehemently apologise for writing to you so late. Let me first congratulate you on your retirement, although I will admit that I was surprised and a little bit sad when I read about it. Even Master Gehrman would have been greatly disappointed if he had found out about your retirement. He always spoke well about you as a Hunter. Nevertheless, I wish for you to enjoy your retired life and that we remain friends and continue to write to each other. As for me, you will be glad to know that I have become a priest for the Healing Church and will be responsible for the ministrations of the Yharnam blood for the needy. I never was good at being a Hunter but at least I would be able to help against the beast plague in a more suitable way. I must apologise again for writing back to you so late but there is a reason. I will soon be joining a group of priests to visit a small village outside of Yharnam called Baghead. I have never heard of this small village before but I have heard rumours that the beast plague is spreading and that village would be the first infected by it. The Healing Church are sending us there as a way to stop the plague. I will be leaving for Baghead tomorrow morning hence why I am writing to you now. I will write more and will keep you informed. Let us hope that the beast plague has not reached that village. Very Truly Yours, Fitzgerald

***

“Whoa there!” Bartholomew yelped as he pulled onto the reins tightly as he sat on the box seat of the stagecoach. The two black carriage horses, Harriet and Felix, felt the sharp pull on their bits and slowly stopped galloping. The stagecoach slowly came to a stop, just a few feet from a crudely lit small lamp post at the dead end of the country road. Bartholomew slowly loosened his grip on the reins. His gloved hands were shaking after driving the stagecoach for a couple of hours through the cold, bitter wind. He could still feel the chill through his heavy black overcoat. The fire in his oil lantern, though weak, was still burning. Bartholomew whispered a little grateful prayer under the red scarf that covered the lower part of his face. Although the little flame did not provide him the warmth he needed, he would have been lost in the darkness without it. Or worse, ambushed by ravaging beasts. Bartholomew gave a quick glance at Harriet and Felix. Both carriage horses were whinnying and snorting even as they stood still. After several years as a coachman, Bartholomew knew their signs of nervousness. “We arrive!” he yelled as he thumped his shaking gloved hand on to the roof of the stagecoach. Immediately, the side door of the carriage opened. Bartholomew couldn’t help but crinkle his nose as a familiar queer scent invaded his nostrils through his scarf as the passenger exited the stagecoach. He had a tattered black tricorn hat on and was wearing a long grey duster coat. Along his forearms were a black gauntlet with faded ornaments. “Tis’ far as I goes, Hunter,” Bartholomew shouted curtly as he lowered his scarf, “Yer best find another way to get to where yer goin’.” The Hunter glanced at the coachman. Even with the lower half of his face covered by a brown bandana, Bartholomew could see there was something behind the Hunter’s pale grey eyes. He couldn’t help but feel disgust. “Right, pony up and git yer things,” Bartholomew yelled, “Me horses getting jumpy.” The Hunter gave a small nod as he retrieved his belongings from the stagecoach undercarriage. Bartholomew watched as the Hunter holstered an ornate-looking flintlock pistol and slung what looked like a massive saw blade attached to a long curved handle across his back. Old, worn bandages were wrapped around the huge weapon and Bartholomew could see engraved runes at the base of the blade. The Hunter then took out a pouch from his duster coat and picked out a few coins before handing it to him. Bartholomew winced as he felt his gloved hand touch the Hunter’s glove and began counting. Satisfied, he placed the coins into his overcoat pocket and flicked the reins. Harriet and Felix gave out a loud neigh and immediately started galloping; turning the stagecoach round. Bartholomew was now back on the country road to Yharnam; relieved that he had gotten rid of his passenger. He never liked Hunters.

***

The Hunter watched as the stagecoach melted into the shadows; leaving him alone in the darkness. He then made his way to the lamp post. As he got closer, he found a small path leading into the dark forest behind it. A dead medium-sized wooden branch lay around the lamp post. The Hunter picked it up and placed its tip it into the lamp post. With a lit torch in his hand, the Hunter entered the path into the dark forest. There were no signs or posts as the Hunter walked through the pathway. Worse, the torch could only provide so much illumination and only allowed the Hunter to see just a few metres ahead. The Hunter unslung his Saw Cleaver and continued through the pathway; his pale grey eyes looking around his surroundings. His experience had taught him that a beast ambush was still possible even with a torch in his hands. As the Hunter continued walking cautiously through the pathway, he saw another lamp post just a few feet ahead of him. Warily, the Hunter approached and found himself in what appeared to be a small graveyard with several headstones. He walked through the graveyard; looking at each headstones with the lighting provided by his torch. Each headstones were crudely made out of wood with some of them rotting and decaying. A few headstones had names crudely written on them and were unintelligible. As the Hunter walked further down the graveyard, he heard a sound. The sound of metal hitting the ground. With his weapon at ready, the Hunter searched through the graveyard for the source of the digging sound. Just a few distance away, a strange figure wearing a hooded white cloak was digging an open grave with a makeshift shovel. Next to it was a large pile of mangled corpses. The Hunter crept towards the strange figure; Saw Cleaver at ready. As he got closer, the figure suddenly stopped digging. “I recognise that scent.” the figure uttered and immediately turned around. From the flickering of the torch’s flame, the strange figure was barefoot; wearing a white robe under the hooded cloak. A white cloth was wrapped around his eyes, effectively making him blind. Except for the pale grey skin and the scars on his arms and face, the strange figure looked human. “You’re a Hunter, aren’t you?” the strange figure asked with a courteous tone, “You’re far from Yharnam.” The Hunter remained silent. His Saw Cleaver was still primed for an attack. “You remain quiet, Hunter,” the pale figure continued to speak, “Do not worry. I am no beast. Merely a gravedigger for these poor souls.” He motioned his hand to the stinking pile of bodies next to him. “I can also feel you staring at me,” he said as he placed one of his hands on one of his scars, “Don’t mind the markings. They are of my own making. It is expected of a worshipper of Oedon.” On closer inspection, the Hunter recognised the markings on the strange person’s arms and face. They resembled the ‘Floating Oedon’ and the ‘Oedon Writhe’ Caryll runes. Slowly, he slung his Saw Cleaver to his back. “My name is Diggory. Diggory Graves,” the gravedigger continued, “A rather fitting name for a grave digger, don’t you think?” The Hunter gave a nod. Somehow, Diggory was able to hear it. “Forgive me but I am curious,” he spoke with an inquisitive tone, “Not many Hunters come to this place. May I ask what brought you here?” The Hunter stood; pondering in thought. Then, he reached into the left pocket of his coat and pulled out a small piece of paper. On the paper was a crudely scribbled symbol. The Hunter then placed the piece of paper in Diggory’s right hand and watched as the blindfolded gravedigger glided his left fingers across the paper. “I know this symbol,” he exclaimed, “This is the symbol of the Baghead village. It was my home until I was exiled for my appearance.” Diggory handed back the piece of paper as he began to talk about the village while describing his childhood memories. “Ever since the beast scourge, however,” he said with sorrow, “They have changed completely. Isolating themselves from the outside and attacking anyone who would dare to enter the village.” Diggory motioned to the pile of bodies next to him once again. “I found these bodies outside the village walls; mangled. Perhaps these poor souls thought it would be wise to escape the beast scourge by entering the village; only to suffer a far more grim fate. I felt it was my responsibility to give them a proper burial.” He then turned to the Hunter. “You’re not thinking of going to Baghead, are you?” he asked, sounding worried. The Hunter gave another nod. “I see,” Diggory said with an understanding tone, “Then, I will not ask anymore. Allow me to show you the way.” With the makeshift shovel as a blindman’s stick, Diggory guided the Hunter through the graveyard; showing his experience and knowledge as he easily maneuvered around the wooden headstones. They continued walking until they stood between two large ash trees. “Beyond here is where you will find Baghead,” Diggory explained as he pointed his makeshift shovel towards the dark forest, “There you will find a well-trodden path that leads to the village.” The Hunter gave another nod and was about to head into the forest when he felt Diggory’s grip on his left arm. “A warning, good Hunter,” Diggory said, his words heavy, “Sometimes I hear loud roaring from the village. I fear that there is a beast hiding in the village somewhere. Be careful.” Again, the Hunter gave a nod before making his way into the dark forest and saw the well-trodden path. The Hunter then took a last look at Diggory only to find the blindfolded gravedigger standing still with his hands clasped together. “I will pray for you, good Hunter,” he bellowed, “May Oedon protect and guide you.” The Hunter gave a short nod before following the path into the forest once more.