Scaramouche, Scaramouche

(I still don't know what the frickass is going on here lol shut up Dracula stop trolling ur buddy Death)



She has broken the game, and it is glorious.

The Dragonson Scion grins at Death, fangs pearly and eyes carnelian-red in the candlelight.

I know not what you expected of them both, when you sent her to undergo the trials and set her brother to watch--and I care not what you expected. She has broken every rule, and done so with such audacity...surely you knew this might happen? Surely you knew she and her brother could not be lost in nightmare until your war was over. Surely you knew it could not keep them.

He chuckles, a low sound like thunder; mirthful--truly mirthful, for the first time in many years.

Do you see what has become of that bitter blood-feud between the disgraced noble house and the church's assassins, because of these crow-children? What tragedy no longer befalls the foreign preacher and his kin? What distance is no longer between my own emissary and his pupil so long-lost?

His smile broadens, wolfish now.

They broke the game. Isn't it wonderful? I am a man of my word, so now...she and her brother have my blessing, and allies in this dream. I do not think this was what you expected, but you should have expected it could never possibly be what you expected. After all--I am Chaos.

LORE: THE DREAM OF THE SCION OF CHAOS

[or: Yukie just stuck Bloodborne in Castlevania in Kupopolis, and made a Goth Sandwich. WTF Yukie.]

"The lie of dichotomy's done more to wound the mortal races than most other tainted doctrines. Emotion and reason, body and mind, subconscious and conscious--all are one, really, but misunderstandings of old and cultivated falsehoods sowed in the name of conquering have made this truth obscure at best and a heresy at worst. Only recently have we put aside these misconceptions and sought what's true...well, most of us. Some would rather cling to old lies--and inevitably be crushed to death when the weight of truth comes crashing down."

**

This dreaming-realm is, in a word, weird. No surprise there, given the dreamer. It manifests as a sprawling Gothic city, all spires and wrought-iron and cobblestone and beauty in decay. Something terrible has happened here; it's up to the visiting dreamer to sound the depths of the mystery and hopefully emerge unscathed.

We don't know where he got the name "Yharnam" from. Or "Yahar'gul" or "Ihyll Phthumeru" or anything else. Probably the language of Void and Chaos. Maybe it means something? The syllables put some linguists in mind of extremely old fae and youma Hierachoral--the sung language of magic.

Many of the denizens of this dream are humans, all tainted by the calamity that's befallen the city. They don't like outsiders; they want your blood. This is the dreamer's experience of how humans simply are. Don't be too offended by it, no one said he was a reliable narrator.

Certain prominent denizens are echoes of the Dreamer's past. Not all, of course, but some. Eileen, Djura, Arianna, and Maria (among others) have a certain gravity to them that other dream-peoples lack. Conversely, Gehrman feels curiously hollow. He may be a facet of the Dreamer.

In the deepest fathoms of the Dream, the natural denizens of the realm have free reign and influence The Dreamer has no fear of them, but visitors who fancy themselves innately "rational" may be stunned or traumatised by facing such things. They're inclined to think too hard about things, and try to apply human reason to beings that have no use for such.

Those with a deeper sense of whimsy can make contact with these denizens, and even commune with them, gaining powerful allies. This has the effect of making the Dream even weirder, and the Dreamer more inclined to consciously pit himself against the visitor. Think of it like a game of chess, but in four dimensions and upside-down.

The Son of Dragons is weird.

If yo should make your way to the end of the Dream and see the story to its end, he will grant you his boon as the Scion of Chaos.

Few have managed this.

Dear tentacle vine things in my garden,

I understem that you only want to be frondly with me, offer me a little tendril loving care...

...But...do not want, guys. I'll get to the root of the issue: my fear of tentacular things has its roots in Northrend, where Yoggy tried to caress me with his noodly appendages. A lot.

I've been jumpy about anything calamari-esque ever since. And you guys are doing a very good elmpression of calamari!

So kindly leaf me alone, tentacle vine things in my garden. I only wanted to spruce up my digs a bit; now thanks to you, I just want to take two aspens and go to bed.

SEVEN out of sixteen spots full of tentacle things--seriously, you guys, this is getting out of hand.

Blargh,
-Ishandarr