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Well, it's been a while. We all probably remeber when this wiki was a lot more active. But that happens when a game is out for a while. Eventually, there are no more secrets to find. Of course, I feel like some of us led a rebirthal of sorts when we were all actively making fanfictions. Those were some of the funnest days of my life so far.

Now, don't go thinking that I'm leaving or anything. I'm just setting the stage for this poem I've written in order to pay homage to all of our greatest stories, as well as serve as an introduction for a new story Plague Before Yharnam, which will begin publication after I finish The Blackthorn Incident. I hope you all enjoy it, and expect the next chapter very soon. Comments are welcome, as always.

Ode To Yharnam

We’ve all heard of Yharnam,

Whose streets are dark and and its Gothic spires tall.

And we’ve heard the tale of the hunt,

When the spirit of the Beast lets loose a deadly call.

There are many stories in horrid Yharnam,

And while most tell of blood and madness,

There arise certain tales,

Which possess sorrow and even gladness.



We’ve heard the story of a certain hero,

For although he’s not pure of word,

We all know Harold Jenkins,

And that his voice is always heard.

There are many a monster or villain he’s slain,

But even he is subjected to man’s greatest bane.

For while he has his strong will,

Which many will agree is one of the best,

He carries the fate of many,

And he carries his victims pain on his chest

It is sad that he will fall victim,

To the seductive words of anything with two breasts,

But then again, it must be known,

I jokingly digress.



And who could forget, the tale of the great Pale?

And how she swept into Yharnam, bringing a storm worse than any hale.

She purged every street and cleansed any tomb,

For the sole purpose of escaping the eldritch child within her womb.

It twisted and churned inside her,

Feeling like a shot from a bow.

But she carried onwards bravely,

If not to fight the words of an imaginary crow.

Finally, after much fighting, she was able to start anew.

For she had finally won against the bill that had come due.

And now she lives in an old workshop,

In the lower parts of the city.

And from there she supports her many friends,

With the strength of her compassion and pity.



One of the oldest tales in all of Yharnam,

Is one that involves giant tuna.

It is, of course, none other than,

That of the eldritch scholar Luna.

When she came to Yharnam she was appalled,

At all she saw from her perch.

And armed with some loyal friends,

She bravely fought against the Church.

But she failed in her valiant efforts,

And her last sight was that of a smoking gun.

And so then she strayed through endless days,

In a land where there was no sun.

She awoke in a village of strange people,

And found out she was near a coast.

Her assailants returned,

And her new friends helped her to toss ‘em.

And so the sweet and brave Luna finally found peace,

In the arms of Mother Kosm.



These are all great legends,

But do you know of the one that sits at the peak?

He wears a cloak of darkness,

And wears a bird’s beak.

All who look through every one of these tales,

Would know of him, for he is a legend.

But have you ever wondered,

Of where in this world he hails?

Maybe you do,

Perhaps you do not.

But if you belong to the former,

I invite you to sit down,

And I’ll tell you all I’ve got.



Far North of Yharnam,

Past the Cainhurst Castle

Through the frozen plains,

Which’ll give you quite a hassle.

You go over the Aquilon Mountains,

And arrive at a place meant only for a few men.

You go down the Shire Road,

Where candles line the snow.

And you’ll end up in Darkshire,

Where very few men go.

It is a dark place,

And rightfully so,

For it is at the center of the Forest of Solitas

The resting place of lost souls.

It is here that the Yuletide has started,

A time of light and gin.

And it is during this festive time,

That our tale shall begin.

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