Bloodborne - 187 Executioners

“Visitor… I claim no subjects, but here lieth Our throne. Kneel afore us… …or get thee gone.” The queen sat on her throne, eyeing Francis behind an iron mask. Francis couldn’t see her face, he only heard her sweet melodious voice as she addressed him.

The Crown of Illusions had revealed the queen’s secret location to Francis. When he approached the towering building, dread filled his heart. He found himself doubting everything he’d done so far. Was he here for the right reasons? Or was it because of that recurring dream? By the time he finally decided to climb up the stairs, frost had already covered his cape.

Kings and queens, carved in stone, followed him as he climbed the tall stairs. Most women had their right breast bare, perhaps as an old Cainhurst custom. Francis listened to his beating heart as he climbed the stairs, begged it to calm down.

‘Nameless obviously worked for the queen,’ he thought. ‘He killed Karla and slaughtered us in cold blood. Am I certain I want to work for his queen?’

Those thoughts immediately vanished when he emerged into the throne room however. The roomy audience room felt surprisingly suffocating. Statues littered the place, all of them similar to each other.

There was one of a man, raising his hand to the sky as though he was conversing. The other was of a curvy woman, her left breast lay bare, perfectly carved in stone. Perfect replicas of the same statues stood right next to each other. Only the red carpet that led to the thrones remained clear.

Francis walked closer to the queen then knelt. No matter his initial doubts, he’d decided to climb those stairs. There was no more time to hesitate. The queen seemed to have approved of Francis’s gesture. She nodded then spoke.

“Moon-scented hunter…” she said in a tone that befits a queen. “I am Annalise, Queen of Castle Cainhurst. Ruler of the Vilebloods, and sworn enemy of the church. Yet, Our people are murdered, and We are prisoner to this wretched mask. What is it thou’rt in search of?”

“My queen,” Francis ceremoniously said. “The church hid its gruesome ways from the people. I’m in search of truth, nothing more.”

The queen nodded approvingly. “Well, well… An odd hunter thou art indeed… We’ve tired of these piteous nights… Share in Our plight, and take oath against the church. If thou wouldst this path walk… …I prithee partake of my rotted blood.”

Francis’s heart began racing. He’s grown strong faster than any hunter, or that’s what his nameless teacher told him. It was all thanks to the queen’s guidance. If he followed the Church, he’d probably be walking Surgit’s path right now. He took a deep breath then spoke.

“It would be an honor to pledge myself to you, my queen,” he said.

“Very well,” the queen replied. “Drink deep of our blood.” She produced a ceremonial knife from within her robes then slit her forearm. Blood, thick and dark of color, crawled out of the opening. It looked more like a dark crimson sludge than blood.

Francis stood and approached the queen’s extended hand. He pressed his lips against her forearm and sucked the blood in. His pupils immediately dilated. His muscles got tense, and his senses much sharper. He could smell blood from miles away. The queen’s scent became clearer to him, sweet and sour, like an expensive perfume.

He felt the liquid spread through his veins, ice cold. It burned, but also exhilarated him. “Feel the spreading corruption burn,” the queen said. “Now, thou’rt too a Vileblood.”

Francis knelt once more before his new queen. “I’m honored and humbled, your majesty.”

“We two, the very last on this earth. We await thy return. For the honor of Cainhurst.” The queen dismissed Francis then. No matter how many times he tried to question her about the last thing she said, she wouldn’t respond. The old man thought better of it later and left her alone.

‘The very last on this earth…’ Francis couldn’t stop thinking about what the queen said. That man clearly had an allegiance to Cainhurst. He wondered what Surgit was doing, and if he ever made it out of the Forbidden Woods.

In a sense, Surgit was the only sane human he could actually converse with. The man was a dimwit, sure, but in a sense, he was like him. He felt stupid and helpless in this city whose only currency is secrets.

Francis hadn’t realized that while he was daydreaming, he was walking around the throne room, slithering through the gaps between the tall statues. He’d reached a lone desk on a corner. His insight immediately brought his attention to a sealed letter. He picked it up and inspected it.

“Unopened summons,” he muttered. “I have no use for this now, do I?” He threw the letter back on the desk and headed for the exit. As he reached the queen once more, he noticed a lantern hiding between two statues. “I guess I’ll give it to that dimwit anyway…”

Once he came back to the dream, Francis got busy upgrading his weapon. The crow feather man was still lurking in Yharnam. He had to be ready in case he ambushed him once more. The queen had also taught him the Vileblood’s Symbol. He could craft it into a rune and inscribe into his mind.

While he was busy strengthening his skills, the old man heard a swooshing noise outside the workshop. He stopped everything he was doing, thinking it was Surgit, then headed for the door. He stopped right before leaving the workshop though. It didn’t smell like Surgit out there. Besides, he could hear two heartbeats.

“Do you think it’s this one?” a man asked. He had a gruff voice.

“We’ve been trying with the bell Gavril gave us,” another man replied. “He said it’d eventually work.” This one’s voice was coarse, almost a whisper.

“What do we do now?” the gruff man asked.

“Look around,” the other replied. “If that old man’s here, we’ll find him. Gavril says he’s got a treasure for us.”

“I don’t like this,” gruff man hissed. “We’re not supposed to make deals with Vilebloods. We simply obliterate them. Why are we trusting this Gavril?”

The other man let out an annoyed sigh. “He says the old man will get us the summons,” the man with the coarse voice replied. “If we don’t find him, then we go back to Gavril and make him pay. How does that sound?”

From the gruff man’s beating heart, Francis could tell he didn’t like the plan. What alarmed Francis most was the two men’s ability to get into the Hunter’s Dream without raising any alarms.

“Look at this doll!” Gruffy said. “I guess Gehrman really lost his mind, eh?”

“Let’s split up,” Croaky replied. “Find the old man and let’s get the hell outa here. This place gives me the creeps.”

Francis knew what to do then. He tiptoed back to the workshop’s backdoor and hid in the garden. Gruffy went toward the fences while Croaky got into the workshop. He looked around, started sniffing the air. He sniffed once more then screamed: “I think we got us a live one here Phil!”

Francis didn’t move. He crouched behind a fountain in the garden and waited, like a lion getting ready to jump at his prey. Croaky didn’t wait for Phil’s backup. He headed immediately toward the garden in the back. As soon as Francis caught sight of him, he dashed forward, his hand clutched around his sword’s hilt.

The Chikage landed on wood and chipped it. The hunter before Francis was holding a wooden wheel as big as his upper half. He had gigantic arms, and his face was filled with scars. He grinned at the old man. Only a few teeth remained, some were even broken.

“We’re Logarius’s Executioners,” Croaky told Francis. “Any last words?”