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Tales from Yharnam

Unearth the echoes of the inhabitants of Yharnam as they encounter the mysterious artifact known as the 'PC'. The 'Tales from Yharnam' are woven from the threads of fiction and fancy, steeped in the mystique of Bloodborne's characters. These stories invite you into a speculative journey where our beloved characters, from the Doll to Micolash, dare to imagine a world beyond their own. A world where the Hunt unfolds not in the shadowy streets of Yharnam, but within the boundless cosmos of the PC. So, dear reader, step into this grand theatre of the arcane, and explore how the denizens of Yharnam would react to the unheard-of concept of a PC version of their world.

Father Gascoigne's Dilemma

Father Gascoigne

The nights were long and the blood was plenty. Yharnam, a city bound by its grotesque grandeur, echoed with the harrowing roars of beasts and the tolling of distant bells. Yet amidst the cacophony, nestled within the shadowy depths of the Tomb of Oedon, a soft murmuring was audible, a discourse most peculiar.

There sat Father Gascoigne, a grizzled veteran of the Hunt. His face, worn from the countless nights of carnage, was unusually calm. Around him, his old trinkets - a handful of blood vials, his faithful Hunter Axe, and the Music Box, a keepsake from his daughters, the melody of which tethered him to his fading humanity.

But tonight, a new artifact had piqued his interest. It was a strange device, a box of blackened metal and glowing runes, murmuring softly. A'PC', it was called, a creation far removed from his blood-soaked reality.

"Imagine, Gascoigne," he heard a Hunter once say, "Our grand Hunt, echoed not just in our reality, but also within this box's endless cosmos. Every slash, every echo, every beast, reborn in this strange new world."

Father Gascoigne grumbled, casting a wary eye at the alien device. His fingers, stained with the crimson hue of the old blood, danced over the peculiar keys. Each letter, each symbol, a puzzle piece in the cosmic ballet of this new 'PC' realm.

"Does the old blood flow in this realm too?" He mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will the beastly screech of the Cleric Beast echo in this boxed cosmos, the horrors of the Hunt mirrored in its darkened void?" The notion was as bewildering as the eldritch truths of Yharnam, a city built on secrets and half-truths.

As he contemplated the strange, new potential of the Hunt, his grip tightened around the Music Box. Its melancholic tune began to play, an echo of the life he once knew. He was a Hunter, a bringer of death to the beasts that plagued Yharnam. But in this new world, this 'PC'cosmos, what would he become?

The night was still young and the Hunt was far from over. As the ethereal tunes of the Music Box filled the crypt, Father Gascoigne returned his gaze to the PC. And so, beneath the Paleblood moon, the Hunter waited, his thoughts a swirling vortex of anticipation and dread, a reflection of the city he called home.

The Doll's Dream

The Doll watching the Hunters Dream

In the ethereal tranquility of the Hunter's Dream, amid the otherworldly whispers and wind's soft murmur, stood the Doll. Her porcelain eyes, portals to endless patience and comfort, focused on a peculiar object foreign to her realm - a 'PC'.

"What a curious contraption," she uttered in her soft, melodious voice. Her slender fingers brushed against its cold surface, the glow of the runes reflecting in her eyes. "Does it dream, I wonder? Does it feel the weight of the waking world, as we do?"

She remembered a Hunter's tale, one of endless realms within this'PC', of Yharnam's Hunt recreated, echoing in a thousand variations. "A new dream within a dream," she mused, her gaze lost in the PC's enigmatic abyss.

And so she imagined, in her quiet, caring way, the Hunters within this new world. Would they seek comfort in her words as the Hunters of her realm do? Would they, too, desire to seek their worth in the waking world? The echoes of a possible future danced within her mind, a gentle waltz of uncertainty and hope.

"Dream on, dear PC," she whispered, her words carried by the breeze to the corners of the Hunter's Dream. "And should the echoes of Yharnam reach your realm, know you're not alone. For in dreams, we are ever-connected."

Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

The Host of the Nightmare

Deep within the Nightmare of Mensis, Micolash, host of the nightmare, brooded over the enigma of the 'PC'. His madness-tinged voice echoed through the labyrinthine halls, his soliloquy a mad symphony that reverberated off the age-old stones.

"Oh, Kos... or some say Kosm," he pondered, cradling the PC within his trembling hands. "Can you hear our prayers? Will the dream of the PC cosmos be answered?"

His thoughts spiraled into the abyss, into the incomprehensible vastness of the cosmos. "To commune with the Great Ones within this realm... to witness the Hunt unfold in the myriad echoes of the PC cosmos... Oh, the euphoria!"

The very notion invigorated him, fueling his mad ambition. The PC, an artifact of reality brought into the dream, a chance to birth a new nightmare, a new Yharnam within its depths.

"Grant us eyes, grant us eyes," he chanted, his words a plea to the cosmos. "Eyes to see the birth of Yharnam within this PC nightmare."And with his maddened laughter echoing through the halls, Micolash plunged deeper into his PC-driven delusion, a scholar lost in his own mad dreams.