The Beast Within - A Bloodborne Short Fanfiction

Chapter 2: Baghead

My Dearest Friend, It has been three days since I arrived in Baghead and I must say that the village is rather peculiar. It looks like a fortress; with village houses surrounded by a huge wall with only one gate entrance. Even more peculiar were the villagers themselves. Each of them were wearing burlap sacks around their heads. We managed to meet the head of the village, a man named Finis who was also wearing a burlap sack around his head. Unlike the rest of the villages, his burlap sack had the village’s symbol drawn crudely across its surface. He gave us a brief history of the village and explained why the ‘Bagheadians’ were dressed that way. It was their method of prevention as they were afraid of the upcoming beast plague. He also warned us that the villagers can be hostile to us since we were outsiders. I suppose living confined within these tall walls would cause something like this. Corbin Baucom, one of the White Church priests, was able to convince Finis to allow us to treat the villagers through blood ministration and gave him the assurance that it would prevent the beast plague from spreading through the village. The village head was kind enough to offer us accommodation at their local chapel. As we made our way to the chapel, I noticed the village centre had a fountain. I think there was a statue on it but I can’t remember now. How strange. When we reached the chapel, we were shocked to find it derelict and left unkempt. Finis didn’t even mention it had been abandoned. Nonetheless, it took us a whole day to tidy up the chapel, just enough to give us priests a temporary but adequate living quarters. The next day, our attempt to approach the villagers was unsuccessful as they would flee from us, with some even violently lashing out at us like wild dogs. Sister Elsie almost had her head smashed when one of the villagers swung a pitchfork at her. Finis had to intervene and reassure the disgruntled villagers that we meant no harm. Thanks to his efforts, we were able to minister blood to a small number of Bagheadians. Those treated villagers must have spread the word as we had more requests for the blood ministration. As I am writing this, almost every Bagheadians has been treated with the Yharnam blood. I believe I have found my calling and I can actually help them more against the beast plague than what I could have as a Hunter. I will write to you more on our progress. Perhaps we have found a way to prevent the beast plague from spreading. Very Truly Yours, Fitzgerald

***

The Hunter was breathing heavily; his body covered in black blood. It appears age had finally caught up to him. Once, he was able to slay seven or eight beasts easily. Now, he struggled against five. Slowly, he grabbed the handle of his extended Saw Cleaver and pulled it out of one of the dead beast’s chest. The torch lay on the forest ground, the fire extinguished. Fortunately, the moon was high in the sky and some of its light was shining through the tree branches; enough to allow him to see the pathway he was on. The Hunter swung his Saw Cleaver, removing any beast blood that clung to the cleaver blade before transforming it back into its saw form. He had thought about slinging it back on his back but decided not to in case of another beast ambush. The Hunter Pistol remained in his holster. He didn’t had the chance to use it during the ambush and aiming it in the dark was pointless. He kept it where it was as he continued down the path. After a while, the pathway started to meld with the ground. Soon, the well-trodden path was gone; swallowed into the earth. All that was left was grass and mud. The Hunter looked around. No signs or any landmarks to determine his location. His grip tightened on his Saw Cleaver handle. He was lost. Quickly, he knelt to the ground; his free gauntleted hand scouring through the grass. The blind gravedigger had been able to travel to Baghead without the pathway. He must have left something. Then, the Hunter felt something. Something that felt like a footprint in the mud. Still kneeling, he crept forward until he found another footprint. And then another. And another. Slowly, he followed the footprint trail while keeping alert and watching his surroundings. Then he noticed a large silhouette in front on him; growing bigger as he approached closer. Soon, he could see what appeared to be a stretch of a tall wall. A familiar stench penetrated his nostrils. The smell of decaying corpses. Piles of bodies lay around the wall; bodies that were eviscerated and mangled beyond recognition. The Hunter could not help but look at the massacre before him. Those poor souls. Placing his hand on the wall, the Hunter could feel its age. Made of stones that were covered in green algae and moss, the wall must have been built ages ago. The Hunter walked alongside the wall, his hand still gliding across its surface. Soon, he felt a small raise. He turned to find a decaying wooden sign. On it, written in crude fashion, was a single word:

‘Baghead’

Next to the decaying sign was a large opening with two huge wooden doors; closed. The Hunter removed his hand from the wall and placed it onto one of the doors. Although there were signs of decay, the wood was still strong. Slinging his Saw Cleaver to his back, the Hunter placed his hands on each of the doors and gave a push. Nothing happened. He tried again. The doors remained shut. The Hunter growled in annoyance as he removed his hands. He would have to find another way to enter the village. Placing his hand on the wall again, he continued walking alongside it. After going around the entire wall, he found nothing. He then walked back to the gate. He would have to try again. Placing his hands on the wooden doors again, he gave it a big push. The doors did not budge. The Hunter tried again, his feet now digging deep into the earth. Then he heard a loud creaking and grinding sound as the wooden doors slowly gave way. Taking big steps, he continued to push forward. The wooden entrance doors were slowly opening and there was enough space for the Hunter to slip through. Stepping in between the two wooden doors, he could finally have a glimpse of the village inside. Village houses lay along the cobbled streets; some left in terrible dilapidated conditions. The streets itself was dirty; filled with rubbish and decaying corpses of animals. A foul stench of stale urine, blood and excrements filled the air. Further down the street, the Hunter could see a large chapel. Quickly, he unslung his Saw Cleaver and unholstered his Hunter Pistol. Aside from the foul stench and the decrepit village houses, the village was strangely empty; devoid of its villagers. Walking towards the chapel through the main street, he could see the alleys and small pathways appearing between the village houses. For a brief moment, he thought he saw movement in one of the alleys. He stopped; the Hunter Pistol pointed into the alleyway. A small, emaciated rat scurried out from the back of one of the village houses, took a quick look at the Hunter and immediately ran further down the alley. The Hunter gave a sigh, lowered his pistol and continued walking towards the chapel. Soon, he was in the centre of the village where a fountain stood; unattended and in a state of decay. On top of the fountain was a small statue. At first the Hunter thought it was a statue of a Bagheadian. However, as he got closer, the statue was slowly transforming; becoming less human and more grotesque. The Hunter could feel his head pounding as he stood in front of the fountain. The grotesque idol now looked alien with appendages positioned in strange positions. Its head was covered in slits of half-opened eyes and what appeared to be a proboscis. The more the Hunter looked at the idol, the more sickened he felt. Unable to look at it longer, he closed his eyes and turned away. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was not alone.