Information


Damaris has a minion!

Yharnam the Carnage




Damaris
Legacy Name: Damaris


The Bloodred Yaherra
Owner: Tribe

Age: 8 years, 8 months, 4 days

Born: July 24th, 2015

Adopted: 8 years, 8 months, 4 days ago

Adopted: July 24th, 2015

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics


  • Level: 265
     
  • Strength: 662
     
  • Defense: 664
     
  • Speed: 661
     
  • Health: 661
     
  • HP: 602/661
     
  • Intelligence: 269
     
  • Books Read: 269
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Unemployed


CREDITS

profile template (c) helix (get it)
template edited by Tribe with tips from spacemage, Gyarbear
story by Tribe
inspired by Bloodborne's Plain Doll
interaction voice lines from Bloodborne game
Plain Doll chibi by the wonderful Ravel!
background courtesy of Unsplash user Dayne Topkin

Open your eyes to the eldritch insight

What they found at the fishing hamlet was peculiar indeed.

The investigating Hunters waged cruel atrocity against its residents, prying at knowledge they had no right to, that they were not prepared for.

They marveled at the pale body on the beach, of the dying Great One belaboring on the shore, her body round with child.

Their ambition, their greed, their folly--

They sparked these cursed dreams, these nightmares fettering every human that dare set foot on Yharnam soil.

-

Byrgenwerth's adage has long been "Fear the Old Blood."

The institution's scholars were among the first to study Great Ones, cultivating cerebral eyes in the pursuit of higher knowledge. They tread cautiously, yet tenuously hope that they can unlock the secrets to ascending to the caliber of the Great Ones, to become gods in their own right. Though blind in their prideful aspirations, they scratch at whatever remnants of eldritch insight come within reach, enacting painfully mutilating and horrific experiments in the name of this supposed advancement.

In contrast, the closing of the Healing Church's prayer reads: "Seek the Old Blood, but beware the frailty of men."

Their clerics are reckless in their dispensing of the Great Ones' blood. The founding Vicar is naive and foolish, blind to the horrors they have unleashed unto an unprepared society; his young successor, the sweet maiden Amelia--as gifted as she is--is even more so. Yes. the Healing Church does work miracles, but few know the true cost of blood ministrations: one trades their physical ailments for the monstrous transformation beneath the Blood Moon, roaming the cobbled streets with nary a shred of humanity.

The truth is that Yharnamites live in a night of their own making.

The Hunters of the Church prowl to keep their so-called holy secrets.

Is the Church's grace truly worth that silence?

-

"Hunters have told me about the Church, about the Gods and their love. But, do the Gods love their creations? I am a doll created by you humans, would you ever think to love me? Of course, I do love you, isn't that how you've made me?"

-

You believe that the gods are merciful, that they would tarry their hands in your affairs if you reached out for their affections.

You believe their ascendant wisdoms are yours to grasp, that they would favor you in an instant.

But, to you, I am an afterthought... To you, I am a means to an end.

Gehrman crafted me, yet was just as quick to discard me once I failed to meet his twisted attentions with the Maria he so desired.

I am not her. I am but a neutered imagining of who she was, all resistant agency ripped away.

I must live with his choices, knowing my creator made me a plaything. Do you not understand the burden of knowing this visceral horror of my femininity, that there was no other choice for me?

Try as I may, does any and all reclamation of this predestined meekness ring hollow? Is there any way that these attributes are truly mine, rather than designation selected by my origin?

This origin is all but a damnnation forged in fire by the founding Hunter, and still yet, I care deeply about their order, the courageous few who do battle with the night. There are many good souls among you; you are not infallible, but I trust your sword will strike true with the morals in your heart.

But tell me, did I have a choice in this love? I know it may not stir the same kindness in your heart, so I ask: is this affectionate loyalty mine or merely a specified compulsion? Is my kindness to you an empty one, one wholly taken for granted?

Hunter, do... do you feel any sense of obligation--any reciprocation--in return?

-

Lady Maria: vileblood descendant of Cainhurst royalty, gifted Hunter of the Church.

She is fearsome and ambitious, but measured: a controlled burn of ferocity and skill. She wields her rakuyo with ease and grace, the trick blade making full use of her swiftness and dexterity. She is stubborn and fiery-tempered, savvy and clever.

She is no saint; she waged atrocity at the fishing hamlet. Though she tries to atone for the burden on her conscience, she is complicit with the Church's experimentations, their celestial dabbling in mutations and monstrosities.

I see her pass through the Hunter's Dream: it feels eerie, so discomfiting to see someone with the same face, same stature, same voice.

Not mine. This image of self is not mine.

I am in violation of hers.

Gehrman desires her--

And I am the product of his manic sense of care, his twisted urges.

I do pity her, knowing that my existence is a screaming exemplification of their bond corrupted.

She is a hunter and he, her mentor. Her admiration for him was pure and good-hearted and he...

He made it about his desire, his lust, his want for control.

If she was a butterfly, then I am his attempt to catch her between crude fingers, a frail reimagining of if she was his.

... A crushed specimen cast off once he realized his replication was hollow, that it lacked the fiery, independent spirit of the living original.

-

What… what is this? I-I can’t remember, not a thing..only… I feel… A yearning…Something I’ve never felt before… What’s happening to me? Ahh… Tell me hunter, could this be joy? Ahh…

-

You press this ornate hair instrument into my hand?

I remember this trinket dearly. It truly is beautiful, isn't it? It does look quite suited to my silvered hair, a fine adornment for a good lady.

It comes from a time of blissfully ignorance; it is a sweet gift from a younger Maria, one who was still a stranger to Gehrman's desires, A token of gratitude, you see, from student to her mentor; there is kind and true goodness in her heart, one that seeks to shine even as the Church compels her to diminish it. It bears a sweet sentimentality, one that innocently treads on soon-dangerous territory.

There... there is yet joy in this damnation; thank you for granting it to me. Oh, I'm getting teary-eyed. Dolls cry as much as they are wont to bleed: not at all...

And yet--I shed this crystalline tear at this newfound joy. Take it, this tear stone with its glimmer of red; mayhap this joy of mine can serve you well.

-

Good hunter. This may sound strange, but... Have I somehow changed? Moments ago, from some place, perhaps deep within, I sensed a liberation from heavy shackles. Not that I would know... How passing strange...

-

I felt a kind of flitting in my chest, one awash with a sense of relief. It was one that finally lept free after the long tumult of an inner death, troubled with a single thought: a corpse should be left well alone.

I cannot say I know what transpired, but I feel much more at ease that this spirit has been laid to rest. It was a long-wearied one, one kept in nightmarish flux long past their due. I heard the tormenting toll of a grand clocktower, one that rung beyond this realm itself, keeping time in harrowing fashion.

But I celebrate their triumph with them, whoever they are. I dearly hope they find the peace and rest they have long deserved.

-

But still, the nightmare remains ever-renewed. The sins of Yharnam are not purged by the cease of its greatest nightmares; aberrations still run rampant among these long-harried streets.

Let me channel the Blood Echoes to you, fledgling Hunter; you will need whatever edge you can attain against the prowling beasts.

The Nightmare is dark and grim--

... ready yourself to ward off what terrors lie in the moonlit night.

Pet Treasure


Glass Jellyfish Sculpture

Ominous Grave Markers

Thatched House Playset

Delish Silence Candle

Mourning Sentinel

Grave Reminder

Gouged Mahar Eyes

Broken Occult Sculpture

Shrouded Demon Glass

Tripedal Crow

Symphoni Nacht Bloody Sunday Blood Spray

Snow Dusted Bloodred Apple

Filigree Iron Bell

Devil Salt

Demonhide Tome

Miss Nanny Scarf

Carolers Bonnet

Black Winters Cloak

Elegant Casablanca Cameo

Pearly Partycrasher Whirl

Gray Galaxy Keychain

Smoke-Filled Pocket Watch

Old Lock and Rusted Chain

Elegant Comb

Immortal Jelly Stone

Pet Friends