Another evening, another foot sunk deep into the murky uncertainty that is Bloodborne. During my last adventure, Abraham Lincoln had been driven to gory despair at the hands of an interminably confusing yet napperly-dressed populace.
Seemingly in a state of civil unrest over the correct method of werewolf extermination (public barbecue seems to have won that debate), the citizens of Yharnam roamed the streets with pitchforks, torches, cleavers, hatchets, rifles and laughable wooden shields in hand ready to slaughter any American presidents who came to quash their right to civil disobedience.
After a second session of Abraham Lincoln: Political Activist Hunter, I’ve realized that my rampant speculation may not have been that far off. Here’s what I learned:
1.) The “Night of the Hunt” is on, news at 11.
Abraham Lincoln has apparently arrived on Yharnam’s sanguinary Cinco de Mayo, a night of torturous revelry and fear-mongering for the whole family to enjoy! Townsfolk have largely barricaded themselves indoors and slaughter-proofed their porches in preparation for the bombastic bonfires in the streets.
Abe decided to give new meaning to the phrase “fireside chat” and began knocking on doors in search of answers. Several curses, epithets and one brilliantly cockney “trot along now, will ya” later, and I’d begun to feel about as sour towards Yharnamites as they do about all manners of beastly, long-legged creatures. Hey, wait a second…
2.) My arms are reaaaally long…
Now, Abraham Lincoln was a tall drink of water, sittin’ pert near 6’4” on a cold Kentucky morn. As much as I took that image to heart during the character creation process, I don’t recall amputating the appendages off of Yao Ming and Frankenstein-ing them on.
While most of the game’s creatures appear to be distant relatives of Lanky Kong, it took me a bit to catch on this genetic relation to Bloodborne’s humans. Heck, some of the Yharnamites are literal knuckle-draggers, with forearms rivaling the very spider-legged werewolves they’re burni— oh. Well. We may be getting somewhere.
3.) I am the night.
So, apparently, we’re all turning bit-by-bit into werewolves. If anything, this answers more questions about Abraham Lincoln than it does the city of Yharnam. With this new information in tow, I felt significantly less tormented about the moral quandaries of forcefully silencing protesters, and quickly turned inadvertent disembowelments into very purposeful disembowelments (this game has many opportunities for disembowelment). I fully embraced the title the stowed-away townsfolk had given me: “Hunter.”
I’m not yet certain if the targets of Abe’s artful axe-wielding are the ‘good guys’ or ‘innocents’ of this particular tale (in Dark Souls, many enemies were “Hollowed” adventurers just like you who had succumbed to despair), but I know as I lure a lone, tophat-rocking sentry into a dank alley of the treacherous city that I am the “Hunter” and he is the— Dangit, a guy with a meat cleaver just snuck up and killed me.