The Hunter flips through yet another tome,

sighing. Decades of eldritch knowledge at his fingertips, yet none of it gives him what he wants. He can shoot slugs from his hand, though. Why would anyone would spend time developing that?

He angrily slams the book shut, turning to look at the skull on his desk. It pulses with inhuman knowledge, the very kind that drives men mad. Using it is gambling with one's sanity.

An image of the Doll flashes in his mind, and without hesitation, he smashes the skull with one hand. For a split second, the Hunter sees a swirling, pulsing eye on the dried husk that was once a brain. The next moment, it is gone.

All is still for a moment. Suddenly, the workshop is replaced by the cosmos, swirling and churning around the Hunter. Long, invisible fingers grasp his skull, and a portion of the swirling cosmos detaches and flows into him. Inhuman whispers drill insight into his skull, granting him visions of massive Cyclopean superstructures, hideous creatures, and abominations of nature that defy explanation.

Then, as quickly as the vision camr, it is gone. Shards of bone clatter to the desk, and the crackling of the fire is there once more. The Hunter smiles. It was a risk worth taking, indeed.

He grabs a satchel full of skulls and heads off to Yharnam.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Darling, stop! I haven't even put my clothes away!"

A newly married couple stumble through the doorway of their stone and wood home, for the first time in weeks. To put it more accurately, the bride did, while the groom hangs from her neck, kissing it. "You can't fool me. You're just as exited as I am; see, your tail is curling up!"

Crossbreed Priscilla yelps, drawing her tail under her dress while her face goes red. Her husband hops down, chasing after it and snatching it, rubbing it sensually. Priscilla growls. "Sær! At least let me bathe first!"

Sær gives a groan of complaint. "You smell lovely! Besides, you bathed this morning!"

She looks away. "Are you still embarrassed?" He asks.

"I can't help it," Priscilla mumbles, pouting. "My fur is growing back unevenly. It looks strange."

Sær frowns. Walking forward, he pinches her foot. Yelping, she lifts it, and he pulls on her tail, sending her toppling onto the bed. In an instant, he is on top of her. "You should know by know that that doesn't bother me." He kisses the patches of fur that are thicker than the layer covering the rest of her body. After peppering most of her torso with kisses, he moves down to her tummy.

The last of Priscilla's restraint snaps, and soon the house is filled with the sounds of ardent love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ashen One, why have we stopped?"

The Firekeeper stands still, her silk robes swaying in the breeze. Pump-A-Rum flutters overhead, gliding against the wind.

"We are here," the Ashen One responds. "The canopy of the Arch Trees."

Pump-A-Rum flies down, skittering to a halt, her talons digging into the dirt. "Pump-A-Rum's nest tree! Nest! Nest! Nest!" She hops up and down, frantically pointing at one of the treetops. The trunk spirals down for miles, disappearing behind a cloud bank.

The Firekeeper walks towards the edge. "Your sister fell from the nest, did she not? We are by the trunks, so she should be around HEEEEEEEE!"

She steps right off the ledge, plummeting down like a gorgeous brick. "MAMA!" Pump-A-Rum dives down after her, and after a moments hesitation, the Ashen One follows.

The sound of rushing air and flapping fabric fills his ears as he falls, gaining speed. The Firekeeper is still far down, caught in an uncontrollable spin. Angling his body, the Ashen One dives towards her. He passes Pump-A-Rum, seizing her by the middle with one arm and the Firekeeper with the other.

"Why would you do that?!" The Ashen One yells.

"You said that we were by the Arch Trees! Trees are supposed to be in the ground!"

She shrieks, bashing the heel of her palm against his face in an angry panic.

"My love!" The Ashen One shouts.

"What?!"

He smiles. "I think I'm falling for you!"

The Firekeeper stares in his direction in disbelief. Her face twisted in anger, she reels back, and with all her might she slams her shin up between his legs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Hunter gently lays the inanimate doll across the workbench, cringing at what he has to do. Taking a small ceramic saw, he sets to work carefully cutting around the hairline. Once the two lines meet he carefully removes the top of the 'skull', setting it on the table.

Opening the bag on the floor, the Hunter carefully removes a dirty, brittle skull, criss-crossed with dozens of cracks. A deep but silent bass emanates from it, and spots of cosmic blue energy pop and fizzle in and out of existence. He carefully cracks the skull, prying off the peices and gently lifting the brain inside. It is withered to the size of a fist, as expected of something that had rested in the Hintertombs for æons. On the brain, however...

Dozens of eyes of all sizes litter every inch of the brain, all as intact and moist as living ones. They swivel and rotate, greedily taking in every bit of their surroundings.

The Hunter places it into the empty cavity of the inanimate doll's head, replacing the porcelain dome that holds her hair. Checking the fit, he removes it once more, lining the edges with ceramic glue and fitting it back on. He covers the seam with yet another coat of glue, the white paint, and finally, a reflective coat of gloss. The empty doll pulses with knowledge of the Great Ones, and the Hunter can already feel himself drawn to the knowledge inside, like a blood addict staring at a vial. Just as planned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A pair of ecstatic screams echo through the house as Sær spends himself inside his beautiful bride, her own peak having sent him over the edge. Still riding high on the afterglow, he goes limp, laying on top of her as they both pant heavily.

Sær is affectionately nuzzling her breasts when a small squeak emits from the corner of the room. The two lover's head's snap towards the noise, resting on a blonde, timid house-sitter holding a broom and looking terrified and very, very uncomfortable.

"Ah, um," Anastacia stutters. "I watered the plants."

Priscilla's head flops back down on the pillow, fainting from embarrassment.

Sær quickly pulls the covers over his wife and himself to cover their immodesty, his face growing red. "Anastacia! What the hell are you doing?!"

The woman hunches her shoulders and crouches to the ground. "I-I-I didn't want to interrupt and I tried to sneak away but I spent so long in that cage that my legs are weak and it's very hard to move quickly and quietly so I had to move slow and avoid the furniture so I had to feel around and by the time I had walked over her you had-"

"Okay okay okay!" Sær yells quickly. "It's fine, just-"

"Sær!"

Rosabeth bursts through the door, her eyes widening as she processes what had just happened. Shaking her head, she composes herself. "Sær, help! Vengarl has been kidnapped!"

In a flash, Sær throws the sheet of of himself, modesty forgotten. He throws on his clothes, unaware of the two drooling women staring at him. Quickly shaking Priscilla awake and breifing her, they both speed out the door in search of their friend.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The trio skid to a stop at the bank of Ash Lake, scanning the sky by the Arch Trees.

Suddenly, feathers and the sound of rushing wind fill the air, and a massive crow flies overhead, clutching a dog's head helm in it's talons.

Vengarl (for indeed it is him) curses loudly at the creature. "Unhand me posthaste, thou winged creature of incestous parentage! SÆR, STRIKE DOWN THIS FEATHERED BASTARD!"

His voice rapidly grows faint, the Priscilla-sized crow zooming towards the clouds.

With no hesitation, Priscilla snatches up Sær, placing him upon her back and diving into the water, her arm wings propelling her through the water at top speed. As the two aproach an Arch Tree, it strikes them how truly massive they truly are. The trunk is easily twelve Priscillas wide, peppered with small branches the width of wagons.

Gritting her teeth in determination, Priscilla grasps a branch and launches herself from the water, dashing up the tree as Sær holds on for dear life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If Priscilla wasn't such an unstoppable force of fluff, Vengarl would likely be stuffed in a crow gizzard.

After a half day of furious climbing, the curvaceous crossbreed scrabbles onto a rocky outcropping, the Arch Tree ending and supporting a small hunk of rock. Her face appears over the ledge, red faced and panting. Sær hops off of her back, petting her leg and exspressing his pride in her.

The two look around slowly. "What the hell?" Sær breathes. The top of the outcropping is lush, with grass and pale flowers littering a stone path lined with gravestones. Most peculiar of all, however, is the presence of a small house of oaken wood sitting atop the hill. The couple walk down the cobblestone path, mouths open in awe.

Priscilla suddenly breaks the silence. "...Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She frowns. "It sounds like... Screaming..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Ashen One yawns, still clinging two his two companions. The first hour of their plummet had been terrifying. The second, exhilarating. The third, mind numbingly boring.

Suddenly, the Firekeeper shreiks, desperately clinging to the Ashen One. "Ground! Ground!"

Instantly the other two are alert. "Pump-A-Rum! Just like we planned!" The Ashen One yells. She salutes, then hooks her legs under the Firekeeper's arms. She then does the same to the Ashen One. "Get ready!" He yells. "Sneak!" A blue light envelopes the trio, slowing their fall slightly. Pump-A-Rum furiously flaps her wings, slowing them down further.

Their hearts beating furiously, the three let out primal screams of terror as they near the ground.

"It sounds like... Screaming..."

"Priscilla, look out!"

The world explodes in a flurry of fur, feathers, and fluff, with the falling trio landing square on Priscilla, who topples onto Sær.

The door to the house on the hill opens, and the Doll and the Hunter rush out, staring in awe at the pile of people.

Those in the pile moan, bruised and aching, but very much alive.

"Well..." The Doll says hesitantly. "Who wants tea?"

A.N. Lore? What's that?