Bloodborne The Old Hunters: Origins

{*~A Hellish Nightmare, Reborn~*}

Embers. The remnants of once strong flames, now only settled into subtle piles of ash, burned out and exhausted through the lanes of Yharnam. The year is 1837, A Dark Victorian Era looms over the world of Yharnam, a quaint but interesting city full of mystery and lore. Some seek fame and fortune, others seek guidance in this once peaceful land, now ravaged by Ghouls and Archdemons from Maker-Knows-What. A faint tick awoke a young, scraggly hunter. His vision coming back to him cautiously as he managed to gather a bit of his surroundings. A ravaged bookshelf with old copies, torn out or burnt pages laid waste in their respected linings.

Small drops of discolored blood trickled down the wall, sluggishly working their way down to the creaks of the wooden flooring. Deceased corpses of crows, werewolves and other creatures of the abyss filled the air with a brisk stench that even the ghouls of Yharnam feared. Luckily, Damien, although born a paleblood, was blessed with the senses of a Hunter. The blood of a hunter makes all horrid stenches seem like its normal, but to others, toxic.

Across from him stood another hunter of his potential, sharpening his latest prize from the mongrels and arch-demons of Yharnam, Ludwig's Holy Blade. Only the truly insane and psychopathic hunters could achieve such a prize-worthy trophy of a weapon. The torchlight near the cell entrance illuminated what seemed to be a temporary living quarter for Damien, the young apprentice of Gerhman.

"I see you've finally awoken, young paleblood. Welcome to your new home, well...until we can figure out how to deal with that thing out there." The voice belonged to Gerhman Nighthawke, The First Hunter, and Damien's biological father. Gerhman was an elite hunter, given the title "Bloodborne" long ago for his courageous acts against the Archdemon, Darkbeast Paarl and it's soul-wretching planes of the Abyss.

He still carries it around to this day. He pointed off into the distance what seemed to be a disfigured embodiment of a Gryphon mixed with the horrid nature of Paarl, and maker-knows-what. Damien let himself drift into a deep sea of thought as he attempted to rekindle a small bonfire in the corner of the stonewalled cell, their temporary home. Albeit, a rather uncomfortable fathom of events to end up here, Damien and his stepfather rather settle here than the retched streets and alleyways of Yharnam.

"Alright, since you've been locked in this hellhole with me, there's no other better thing to do than train. Luckily, while you were tossing and turning like a distressed demon baby in its sleep, I took the liberty upon myself to create an underground training sector just for you, paleblood." He gave a cheekish grin towards his son, his canines glaring slightly towards the young hunter in training.

"Alright, father. let's..." Damien grabbed his mother's old hunter coat, passed down to him by Eileen, The First Crow. "Go..." A saddened look and brief flashback flooded the young hunter's mind. Eileen. Damien never knew his mother. He never got the chance to spend his childhood with her. Every second that passed, he would always wait for her to return...but those chances never shone through. She stood apart from the other women in Yharnam both physically and spiritually. Gerhman and Eileen were considerably noticed as an elite pair as "Hunter & Huntress of Yharnam".

Although their love was strong and the bond between them could never be broken, it came to an abrupt and tragic end.
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Yharnam; 1832. 5 years prior to the "Birth" of Damien Tevinter.

There was a rumor about a mystical amulet that granted two lovers an eternity of bliss and peace throught their lives, little did they know about the dangers that lurked below, a dark and gruesome abyss. Damien was just a newborn, being watched over at the local Yharnam Institutional Paleblood Orphanage . His mother was only 21 when she gave birth to the young and vibrant soul. His heart beat so gently, the gusts of wind outside the house silenced a portion of his aching lungs, spurting out his first words, "mama..." silence followed shortly after; another short phrase "...papa..." those were the only two words before he was taken outside into the eerie cold of night, left only in the care of the Orphanage for the time being.