【⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏THE HUNTER⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏】⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⸺⸺⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏HE⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏ 〳⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏THEY
2500 YEARS⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏﹕⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏
13 JULY⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏〜⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏FRIDAY
CHRONICALLY ILL⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏w/⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏1⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏﹢⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏2⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏﹢⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏3
There is a reason why Yharnam’s gates are sealed.
Beyond the Healing Church, beyond the Yharnamites,
beyond the Amygdala or their orphaned kin, there is
a reason why you never, ever, cross the river to find
that city of ruin:
It has a knack for taking souvenirs.
The Lone Survivor of a Lost Hamlet.
When The Hunter first began his journey,
nothing more than a sickly traveller who
vowed to leave their bedridden spells behind,
it was by straying from a loving hamlet and
a troubled family in pursuit of a blood–bound
cure.
Hearing word of the Healing Church through
town after town, theocratic overseers of the
so-called Blood Ministration of Yharnam, his
beliefs turned to obsession in the wake of one
miraculous thing:
PALEBLOOD.
Perhaps it was this that could save them from
their inevitable demise; and so, mistaking the
Blood Minister’s transfusion as an end–all to
their suffering, they signed a contract that
would ask for one cost in return: an eye for
an eye in the wake of the moon.
What had fallen in a dark veil across
Yharnam’s Dreams became uncovered
with the death of Rom.
For better or for worse.
CHIVALROUS⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏﹠⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏MAVERICK
SANGFROID⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏﹠⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏SUPERSTITIOUS
A PHILOSOPHIST TURNED REALIST
⋞⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏HOME⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⠀͏͏͏͏͏͏⋟