Time was a fickle thing for someone in the throws of bloodlust. Weeks felt like months, or sometimes hours and it was nearly impossible to keep track of the days. Once, during the early months of his arrival in the fated city, he found himself at the workshop thinking only a single night had passed, only to be informed that it had been two solid weeks since anyone had seen him last. The time gaps were not such great lengths anymore. His body could not survive without sustenance now, having forgotten the curse that made time immeasurable. Often he would come to himself suddenly, shaking and ravenous. It was only at times like these that real fear entranced him. The thought that one day his hunger would become insatiable. That it would wither his face, twist his bones and bloat his gut until he resembled just another monster to be dismembered, or dissected, or burned to ashes.<br/><br/><br/>Were it possible to stave off such a fate? It seemed unlikely... Separated from his Queen there was little hope for the future. He longed for her desperately, even now. As an outsider, a traitor and a coward; her corruption still crawled through him like a song. He was forever changed and knew his fate to be sealed on that day so long passed. As it was for all of his kin. Like rumors of madmen in the Hintertombs far below their feet, the land of his ancestors. All there was left to do was prepare and wait. For the day he became so addled within his own mind that he could no longer tell friend from foe and to partake of the Church’s self-righteous blood healing and play his part as a hunter of beasts in a city that was slowly dying from its own moral decay.<br/><br/><br/>At least until the blood vials started to run dry...<br/><br/><br/>In fact, vials from the church had been in short supply recently. Reallocated to local clinics to treat a rare sickness that had reared its ugly head in Old Yharnam. Ashen blood sickness, the doctors called it. A cruel and dangerous disease that affected the heart, blood and lungs and with a source that could not be determined. Why did it only infect the lower slums of Yharnam? Many thought it to be the refuse and run off from the city scape above them. The all consuming shadows of Central Yharnam and Cathedral Ward who let their sewers and drains spew all manner of filth onto the poor citizens below them. Cursed they were, and likely by the very Ministry that sought to treat them. It was no wonder the habit of beast blood had become a dangerous side effect. Desperate people in need of blood would take it in any form and scourge outbreaks were happening more and more frequently at an alarming rate.<br/><br/><br/>There were even rumors of beasthood in the upper city as well. Of course the Ministry denied this, but Theron slept little and that gave him plenty of time to snoop and to watch carefully. Black church hunters moving about in the dead of night during a waxing moon? What else could it have been? Of course he took all of his findings back with him to the workshop. Only ever entering through the cellar entrance at the back to avoid the old nun who ran the chapel. Rumor was that she had been a blood Saint once, perhaps one of the first. Cast away now like everything else the Chruch no longer had a use for. On occasion he would find her down there, in the shop, fingering over weapons both new and old. She was crooked with age and wore an eye patch over an empty left socket where a beast had gouged it out in her youth. A practical, stern woman, but both kind in heart and in nature. “Ah... young one.” She would say in her frail, wizened voice. Theron supposed everyone was young compared to her, but he knew that’s not what she meant by the words. “One hardly ever sees you boy... staying out of trouble I hope. Caught up in the misery of this blight against our great city.” She touched his chin gently, grazing a scar that ran vertically through the right corner of his mouth. Theron pulled away, taking both of her hands in his. “I am, Sister. Though I cannot simply let these beasts run rampant through our streets, maiming and killing where they please.”<br/><br/><br/>“I know, dear.” She sighed as she squeezed his fingers. “I thought I knew true horrors in my day. When this cursed plague was but a rumor on the wind. A morbid lullaby. But you and yours... you face a much greater burden than even I would have imagined.” Theron smiled to her. She was a sweet woman, and smelled sweeter still. Like ripe cherries, he thought as his eyes found the pulsing vein at her neck. “We face it together, Sister. I am here because I seek Lucius. Have you seen him?” He asked of the nun, attempting to distract himself with the task.<br/><br/><br/>Lucius was found deeper still within the confines of their underground retreat. Fastening the bolts of some new prototype on his workbench. “Preparing for the hunt?” Theron asked calmly, to announce his approach. Among the Powder Kegs, those boisterous fools, he was the lightest of step and quiet of tone. It was easy to startle them when they weren’t alert to their surroundings. Theron figured it must have been all of the explosions that dampened their sense of hearing, but perhaps he was as silent as they often exclaimed. Lucius, however, was not often off his guard. A more astute partner than Hamish, he was certain, but he lacked the same charisma as the brute.<br/><br/><br/>They spoke of the Church’s movements, and of added potential new dangers. One of their hunters had fallen to some strange beast and it was more than likely there could be more. On top of all of these threats, Sister Alderose felt a coming rain in her old bones. It was with this precognitive insight that Theron selected one of Ember’s discarded cloaks from a warehouse hook and took to the streets. Come sundown they had grown eerily quiet at the thought of an impending hunt. Still, Theron stuck to the shadows. If his instincts were correct, not only would he find more beasts this night, but also hunters from other factions, including the Church. A run in he was more than willing to avoid. He slipped down narrow alleys, climbing fences and barricades, just to stay off the main streets.<br/><br/><br/>When the rain finally started to fall, pattering softly at first against the tiled roofs, Theron pulled up his hood and stuck to the eaves when he was able. Glad not to be wearing a scarf this night; it would have been soaked so throughly as to be more of a hindrance than anything else. Rain was dangerous to a Powder Keg, in the sense that it forced them into more traditional means of disposal. Many of his brothers would be forced to re-evaluate their equipment and direction, though it would not halt any of them from participation. Many of their traps had still been set, with large tarps fastened over them or placed within carriages where their initial impact might outweigh the longevity of their flame. Theron, however, had slipped away during their meeting. Hamish had not shown face and as his established partner it was his duty to find him. He carried still his trusty spear, hardware wrapped in waxed cloth, but exchanged his long barreled rifle for a simple pistol with an affixed blood gem. The bloodtinge stone was a rarity in its own right, being a gift from his former home, and perhaps dangerous should too much attention be called to it. However, it was a risk he was willing to take over producing the infamous Evelyn were things to get out of hand. He ached for her in times like these, and had he perhaps chosen some far off land as his new home, she would not hide as she did underneath his floorboards along with all manner of forbidden items from Castle Cainhurst.<br/><br/><br/>Theron ascended a narrow set of stairs nestled between two buildings that led to a barren courtyard some way up. Even the plant life had withered almost to dust, as if they too were as sick as the people of Old Yharnam, eerie among a thick mist that had settled across the cobbles, weaving through wrought iron fences that encased the yard, broken and rusted now. It was the rake of claws against their metal that alerted him of a beast well before his eyes could find it through the haze. The hunter fell into his usual stance, weight on his back foot and spear tucked tightly between his ribs and elbow. The leather of his gloves groaned when he adjusted his grip on the pole. “My, you’re a big fellow. Sniffed me out through all this, did you?” He called out to the monstrosity as it emerged. Large and gray of fur, shambling on all fours. A wide maw full of razor sharp teeth caked in blood and a long slathering tongue.<br/><br/><br/>The beast wasted no time upon seeing him in the dark, launching itself forward with a great leap. Predictable, Theron thought as he quickstepped sideways, flesh rending claws catching on the ends of his tattered cloak. The tip of his spear slipped easily between the monster’s ribs, surely piercing it’s heart, yet the thing persisted. It roared loudly causing the hunter to fall back, dislodging his blade and when it swung again he deflected with the mass at the base of the spear head. The recoil made him pause, gritting his teeth as it reverberated down the length of his weapon before he could swing it in a wide arc at the beast’s throat, splitting it. Dark, rich blood sprayed his face as the beast crashed onto the pavement at his feet, legs still jerking and kicking as the life drained from it. It stunk, like wet animal and partially rotted flesh. This one had been feasting for days at least... “Surely the Church has forsaken us for you to have grown so large.” Perhaps things really were growing beyond their control.<br/><br/><br/>There was another growl from behind and Theron silently cursed himself for letting up his guard. The beast roar had called another. Only one if he were lucky but before he had a chance to properly engage, the bastard was on him. Enough time to turn and raise his spear was all he was afforded before it rammed him, smaller than the first but still with enough weight to sink down onto his blade and trip him over the corpse of it’s fallen brother. He lodged the pommel of his spear into the uneven stones before his back hit the ground, snagging the creature by its shoulder; bone crushing teeth snapping right before his nose. He screamed when a set of curved claws found his chest, slicing through cloak and coat and flesh. Pain danced like stars before his eyes and seared like hot coals as he felt his own essence pulsing from newly cut wounds.<br/><br/><br/>The beast paused, nostrils flaring at the smell of his fresh warm blood, its eyes rolling madly back into its skull. Theron took the only opportunity he would have before the beast was fully blood crazed, by ripping the waxed cloth from his spear and pulling the second trigger behind its guard. As the mechanism disengaged, it shifted with a wet squeal of metal against metal swiveling in his grip until the barrel of a rifle appeared and the spearhead slipped into its empty slot bringing the beast that much closer, within biting distance. Before it had a chance to realize just what had happened, Theron slipped his finger over the first trigger and pulled.<br/><br/><br/>Fire erupted from the gun with a muffled bang as quicksilver shot tore messily through the beast’s shoulder, shredding it and sending a bloom of blood into the shrouding mist. It was enough to stun the beast and for the hunter to shift its weight, sending it to the ground and himself scrambling across the cobblestones. Standing was difficult, but there was no time to recover with a vial. Emboldened by the scent of blood the creature found new strength, using three good limbs to circle him as the fourth drug limp and dead underneath. ‘Then we’ll just have to incapacitate the rest’, he thought as he held his rifle spear close to his wounded chest. When the beast pressed forward he jumped back, right up against one of the barred fences leaving only empty space for the animal to claim; dead in his sight.<br/><br/><br/>Theron pulled the trigger once more, preparing for the rifle’s push but instead of the familiar lurch there was only the gentle click of a failing hammer, a fizzling hiss and a paltry expulsion of feeble smoke from the rifle’s barrel. There was a moment, the briefest in which even the beast seemed to understand his mistake. The hunter cursed, loudly. He managed to throw up his weapon just in time for fangs to close around the pole, far enough back that he was able to hook it behind the back row leaving him in a check where all he could do was look down this beast’s great stinking gullet, flossed with gore and hope that he passed out from blood loss before it closed around him. It would not be long with his strength failing and his only thought after all of his years and everything endured was ‘Fucking rain...”