#sigiltower

[gideon-half-knowing]

Revelation of Kos (bloodborne fanfic)

Summary: The vital piece of Bloodborne's backstory includes the horrific events wrought upon the Fishing Hamlet by Master Willem and his students from Byrgenwerth. This piece aims to explore that lore from the lens of a story based around the cosmic horror stories that inspired Bloodborne to begin with.

Word Count: 11k

Rating/CW: Teen+ with themes of gore and birth (cuz it's bloodborne)

Excerpt:

“And then you’ll let us see your god?” asked the professor.

The shaman of the hamlet chose not to immediately answer, he instead clutched his staff tighter and peered at the students assembled behind the professor of natural philosophies. They wore a traditional scholar's garb that stood out against the simple clothing he and the hamlet folk often wore. He had heard little of the academy from the mainland that they hailed from, but he knew that the professor was master at their college, that many great discoveries were attributed to his name, but he did not trust this mystic who came bearing gifts.

“Our ways are old, older than you know, you will respect the proper path,” intoned the shaman.

“Are we in agreement?”

“No outsider has ever stood within the holy presence,” the shaman replied.

The shaman did not sweat for his skin was not human but instead a mucous membrane similar to that of a fish, nonetheless it prickled under the gaze of this foreign professor. For many years the hamlet had prospered under their secret god, they dedicated their lives to her, gave their dead to the sea for her to claim, they even ascended within her presence. He remembered the day he had been chosen and idly scratched at the barnacles growing from his own flesh.

The professor was impatient but he did not show it to his credit, “rumor has spread far and wide, we are the first but we will not be the last visitors. The days of your little hamlet being nought but a backwater will end. But worry not, we bring the gifts of our civilization with us.”

“More of what your envoy brought?” asked the shaman, a faint smile betraying his eagerness.

“Yes, and purer too, what you tasted before was the most basic of concoctions,” the professor beckoned towards his assembled students, “Lawrence! Bring forward the tabernacle.”

Behind the professor, the crowd of students parted letting a procession of four servants bearing a litter pass through. Leading them was a blonde haired man clad in the typical uniform of their college, Byrgenwerth, but over his shoulders was a crimson sash marking his recent graduation from student to professor. He carried himself proudly and when close, the shaman could smell a hint of flowers covering a deeper, sickly sweet, scent beneath.

The man led his procession before the shaman of the hamlet and bowed but the shaman had eyes only for the ornate tabernacle the four students carried between them upon their litter. It was an old relic with craftsmanship not seen in the modern cities. Painted glass doors displayed the holy chalice secured inside. The base of the relic sat wide enough to hold the chalice within and seemed to have been created with the chalice in mind for it was of a matching height. At the peak, the gold casing transformed into a glass display crafted in the shape of a star, jewels of ruby and sapphire were inlaid at each point of the star and glittered in the morning light.

“Tell me, Belenus, have you heard of blood ministration?” Lawrence asked the shaman.

“Our village had not heard of the practice in the past,” answered Belenus the Shaman.

“Then allow me to elucidate. Blood ministration is the art of communion, we drink of the blood of the covenant to make pact with those within the beyond. Through the echoes of their will, our own willpower is enhanced, the will of our blood. And thus our earthly vigor is increased.”

Lawrence worked while he spoke. His movements were quick and precise. They belied a certain fervor for this holy practice. First he took a case from the satchel he wore at his side, within were phials of blood arrayed alongside a multitude of mixing utensils and other, stranger devices. Then he opened the tabernacle with utmost care, making certain as to pay the gilded container proper reverence. Inside was a wide-brimmed chalice with two ornate handles on either end, inlaid around the cup were designs of thorns and other swirling patterns that lured the eye into endless circles. Lawrence put on thin white gloves before he handled the cup. He placed it upon the litter’s velvet top and mixed a brew of blood within.

“Your envoy did not speak of such bondage. We of the hamlet are already pact-bound with our own god, will this violate our sacred trust?”

Belenus squinted at the mystic who spoke of holy communion. He wondered if the foreigner understood what it truly meant to accept the will of the gods into your flesh.

“This communion lasts for but a moment before the echoes of strength become your own, there is no danger. Come, drink from the holy chalice.”

Behind Belenus, a crowd of the hamlet folk had gathered to peer at the party of foreigners. When their envoy had come weeks ago, news had spread like wildfire through the small village, the taste of the few phials of blood even more. They wanted a taste of that blood now, most of them at least, there were still a few who clung to more ancient ways.

Belenus wondered if he could back out now, if he could refuse and move on. It felt too late. He stamped his staff into the ground and faint electricity kindled in the lamp affixed to the top, “we are in agreement.”

Knowing the example he set, he knelt before the mystic proselytizing blood communion.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45277873