The man was tall, taller than her. His concealing helmet was a polished iron, with swirling engravings spanning the material. Three claw marks marred the symmetry of the designs; though the gnashes were not deep enough to compromise the piece as protection from attacks. The helm also acted as a statement of status: he was, or had been, a knight of Cainhurst. His neck was completely covered; not smidgen of skin was showing. White, wispy strands of fine hair was sprawled across his shoulders. A fine collar was propped up to frame the sides of his neck, coming from a black double-breasted coat with two lines of silver buttons clamping it shut. A brown leather cloak overlapped the coat. Leather flaps draped his shoulders and ended just below his shoulder blades. From then on, it was a cape of crow feathers. The feathers shifted softly, despite there being no wind to carry them. They seemed almost alive, drifting rhythmically like ebony leaves. The tail of the double-breasted coat rested behind and upon his legs, their ends frayed and tattered. Plain - though no less pristine trousers rested on his legs. His boots were the same polished iron as his helm, as was his gauntlets. It was then that Irina made the connection. Not only was he a Vileblood of Cainhurst, but this lithe man’s attire was identical to the revered [url=http://bloodborne.wiki.fextralife.com/file/Bloodborne/maxresdefault.jpg]Bloody Crow of Cainhurst[/url]. The final, and most minute detail Irina gleaned from the man was a small silver bell. This bell was worn around his neck in the form of a necklace. The use of bells in Yharnam was forgotten long ago. Now, the pendant only seemed to serve as a small echo of its once grand purpose. It was hard to make much else of the man’s bodily structure beyond his height and apparent thinness. It also did not help that he showed no skin whatsoever. Though his eyes were not visible through his helm, Irina could feel the preternatural sensation of being watched by a fellow Hunter. He felt the same when her eyes met him. He thought he was the only one of his ilk to survive the terrible Hunts of Yharnam. Clearly, he was mistaken. When she began the mantra, the man’s entire body tensed. He remembered his amiable Queen, wearing a dress of shadows and a helm that almost mimicked his. His mouth moved before he could think. “…I prithee partake of my rotted blood.”