The Old Hunter waits beneath the awning of a great tree, resting in the light of that eternal moon. A small field of lilies sways in a gentle breeze before him as he rests in anticipation for the arrival of another. It is only a matter of time. It would be the closing of another night for waking world, like many before it. Another nightmare vanquished and the dream sustained by necessity if only to repel its recurring darkness once more.

Yet he could not help but feel weary of the thought.

His gaze lifts toward the outer edges of the field, noting the numerous gravestones surrounding the field; a testament of fulfilled tasks. The names inscribed on those stones remain prominent after so long, yet their faces have long since faded: another night, another handful of hunters, another name to carve down from the surviving few. He sighs, knowing the cycle is far from any ending, far from breaking away from his pledge to watch over the dream for it. "How long has it been?" he wondered. From the beginning, their numbers had been few in their search for the cure of the ashen blood. Only when they discovered the depths beneath Yharnam, its blood rituals and secrets, did they have a need to form their workshops. Therebetween had been their beginning, and ironically enough their impending end. If only they hadn't discovered those lower labyrinths and tainted blood. If only they hadn't decide to pursue the study of blood or knowledge hidden in the cosmos. If only they didn't have to hunt down the victims afflicted with the scourge of the beast and be exposed otherwise.

But those musings bring no comfort for him now. How long has the Old Hunter watched over the dream since its conception? How long must he continue to do so, before the longing turns to madness? How much longer must he suffer?

"Gehrman." a voice calls out.

The Old Hunter turns to face the approaching figure, his only "companion" per se. The Doll stands before him, her eyes vacant yet expectant, as her hands fold into one another. She has been the only other constant aside from him, the dream, and the presence in the moon. Always dutiful in serving the many hunters who have come, channeling their acquired blood echoes into their strength. Always faithful in providing a brief respite away from the waking world, her presence a soothing calm. The Doll bows her head slightly to him, and the Hunter knows.

"It is time." She speaks softly yet her face betrays no emotion.

Gehrman nods, sensing the coming dawn about to breach. Countless years of service had given him personal insight when the cycle comes full circle, only to begin again. He sighs once more. "When the young hunter arrives, send him my way," he says with a slight wave of his hand. The Doll bows once more and turns to make her way out of the field of lilies to await the incoming hunter. Gehrman returns to his own thoughts, most notably the hunter of this particular night. It has proven to be odd how young the hunter was when he arrived in the dream. While it wasn't unusual for Gehrman to meet with hunters whom the dream calls, it was much to his surprise that this particular hunter came of his own volition. Gehrman turns to look at the moon looming over the sky, contemplating the nature behind this hunter's arrival. Many have sought the dream for their own purposes before, their nature often dubious. But this one… this hunter seems driven by something else. Not of ambition or power but of some form of fulfillment. He didn't know the young hunter's full story but Gehrman's eyes caught a glint of… something; a longing for purpose, a means to exist. Gehrman had felt that the young man before must have suffered something terrible to turn to hunting in the night. A troubled childhood haunting those eyes perhaps…

And Gehrman understood those feelings well, as he himself felt the same long ago. So he mentored the young hunter, threw him to the wolves when necessary and imparted the wisdom he knew to better his apprentice's chances. Gehrman had one other apprentice in a time before and could see the resemblance between the two. They were eager yet cautious, taking his words and the waking world on with a vigilant mind.

Gehrman hears the soft footfalls approach him once more.

He turns to face the youthful hunter before him, cleansed of any blood or gore he may have encountered on his way back to the dream. His face hidden behind a leather face wrap and tucked under a tri-fold hat with its back torn and bearing that familiar wolfish accent. Gehrman notes the young hunter's weapons: a sheathed katana rests at his side and the hilt of a pistol peeks out from within his coat. His grey trench coat, worn yet still serviceable, hugs a sturdy but lithe frame whose shoulders were upright. "Always attentive and on the alert, aren't you?" Gehrman thought to himself before speaking to the young hunter.

"Good Hunter, you've done well, the night is near its end. Now I will show you mercy. You will die, forget this dream, and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed from this terrible Hunter's Dream."

Gehrman had repeated these very words over and over to many a hunter, and those he spoke them too were often relieved at their escape. Oh, how the Old Hunter longed to be freed as well. But the eyes of the young hunter before him were not of relief, but of sadness. A misplaced grief, Gehrman felt, that would do no good for either of them.

"You must accept your death, be freed from the night," Gehrman had stated with authority. He understood his apprentice's feelings, the hunt and the dream being the only things possibly left and wholly discarded on the young hunter's return to the waking world. But Gehrman remained firm, if only for his apprentice. He watched as the young hunter lowered his head, maybe out of disappointment or sadness. He then nodded to Gehrman, turned, and knelt before the lilies in front of them. It is then Gehrman stood from his chair, readying his blade: a vicious looking scythe that had severed many hunters from the dream and will continue to do so, forever. Gehrman raises his weapon, poised to strike down his apprentice.

"It will be alright, good hunter," he says softly as he brings down his blade.

It would end, just like the others.

And the hunter would be cut away from the hunter's dream for good…

Was it not for the unmistakable sound of a shriek tearing across the skies, just stopping Gehrman's blade before the young hunter's neck. Both, alerted by the unusual circumstances of the dream, turn to face the looming moon were the scream had come from. Both had watched as some shadow, some thing began to overtake it in its shroud. On the moon's face, images of some unknown town, a city perhaps, was being over run by beasts. It was the very same beasts which had plagued Yharnam. Constantly cutting back to a peaceful scene before switching to the bloodied horror, Gehrman felt a chill run through his old bones as some unknown fear began to overwhelm him. This static omen foretold the beginning of another plague, in a place unknown to their plight. His eyes turned back to the shadow enshrouding the moon, and the scream rang out once more. Both Gehrman and the young hunter were forced to cover their ears, as the shriek continued. Then both heard the sound of something cracking, like a stone under great pressure. Gehrman looked up and could only watch as the darkness, with its now apparent glowing red eyes, surrounding the moon, smothering it in complete darkness before a resounding crunch had left shattered.

Then the shadow turned towards him, and the place of the dream.

"Go. Now." Gehrman could only say as he readied his weapon, eyes never leaving the encroaching shadow. But he did not hear the sounds of footfalls leaving him be, and from a quick glance, saw his apprentice stand beside him with both weapons drawn; loyal to the end. But Gehrman knew they would not survive, he would not survive. In all his time spent in service of the dream, in service to the presence that resides within the moon, he had protected and carried on the dream, even against his will. But his virtue as a hunter urges him on, to stand his ground and fight. But he could not do so in vain. Gehrman knew that the images they had learned were omens, of another town to be stricken with the plague and ignorant of it drastic nature. There was no way he could leave the dream, to warn them of the impending darkness, to avert the dangers he wished Yharnam had the foresight to do. He could do nothing to help. But the young hunter could.

"You must leave this place, now!" Gehrman shouted to the young hunter beside him. He had turned to look at Gehrman, confused as to why he would take on the threat alone.

"There's no chance of you surviving this encounter. You must leave to that place shown to us and put a stop to the plague before it begins." Gehrman had stated once more. But his apprentice, though loyal to a fault, had shown hesitation in following the orders of the Old… no, of the First Hunter and faltered in his steps backward. Gehrman turns his head slightly, keeping the young hunter in the corner of his eye but never leaving the shadow.

"You must find that place, and, on your honor as a hunter, protect them from what I could not. Do I have your word, young hunter?" he asked.

The young hunter's eyes met with his master, his mentor, and saw a determination ignite in that old frame. It burned fiercely and for a moment, he could not help but see Gehrman true to his form, a hunter of beasts. The young hunter nodded, but before he could leave he had heard what could be his master's last words: "Do what I could not Sibyll… And remember, to fear the old blood."

The young hunter turned, and ran back out of the small field, towards the Doll which beckoned him to follow. Gehrman turned his full attention back to the shadow closing the distance between the sky and the place of the dream. All he could do was buy time for the young hunter, and allow the Doll to guide him to the foreseen place. Gehrman would have liked to leave the dream and finally put himself at rest. But he knew. He knew a hunter's work was never finished until every single beast had met his blade. He smiled at the irony: a hunter longing for release, for death, but not this way. Not in this manner.

"Tonight, Gehrman joins the hunt."

The young hunter ran into the workshop with the Doll in tow. He lifted the lid of the storage casket, and began throwing as many books and texts as he could into its confines. He was unsure if it would do any good to protect all the data and information gathered from those before him, but he would certainly try. Along with it, some small supplies and tools necessary for a hunter's work, but he had down well to keep it well stocked should the situation arise for its use. That last and most important piece he safely stowed away were his notes, taken down religiously during his travel. It held all he had learned, from the town's discoveries and methods to besting the beasts he had encountered.

"Good Hunter, we must hurry," the Doll spoke lacking the tone of urgency but he could feel it. He nodded to her, closed the lid shut, and began to follow her out of the workshop, looking briefly back to see the workshop burn but never charring the building itself.

The young hunter followed her to one of the dream's cliff sides and she had beckoned him to stand at its edge. He was understandably hesitant, never truly discovering what lay beneath the cloudscape. "It will be alright, good Hunter." The Doll does her best calm the young hunter's nerves, placing her cold hand upon his face. He leaned into it on instinct, remembering a forgotten warmth. Her hand slowly pulls away, just as a resounding crash is heard in the field Gehrman stood his ground. The Doll turns back to the young hunter and places something in his hand.

"You will still be tied to this place dear hunter, but your means of leaving it is nontraditional. Some things may be lost or forgotten, but I will always remain with you." The Doll clasps her hands over the young hunter's. "The messengers will do their best to support you. Fulfill your role," the Doll pushes the young hunter over the edge, "and may you find your worth in the waking world."

As he plummeted to the cloudscape below him, the young hunter watched as the Doll raised her hand to her hair, to the silver comb he had given her when he chanced upon the original workshop. It was there he discovered the basis for the dream and found her body, unmoving and lifeless in the waking world. With it a silver comb he brought back and gifted to her, as he felt rightfully so. The wind whipped all around him and his gaze turned back to the mysterious object in his hand. He opened it carefully and saw a sparkling, silver stone it his grasp, a tear stone. The young hunter closed his hand around the stone, and held it close to his chest, finding the familiar warmth the Doll provided. He hoped he would be okay as he disappeared into the clouds below and his consciousness slipped into darkness.

Somewhere on the Outskirts and Beneath Vale

Bodies moved quickly about the caverns below, bringing materials to and forth to the once silent place. Their bodies garbed in black in white, faces concealed behind a white mask and cowl. Crates of dust and other supplies being stockpiled and tents erected about for various purposes: communication, medical bay, war room, the canteen for the members of the White Fang to rest and take turns in their shift. On a cliff above them, another young man watches, vigilant over his brother and sisters. His dark, sleek clothing gives him the cover he needs to overseer the operations, his red hair the only color sticking out of the darkness if one were to look hard enough. Though this particular faunus had his own reservations about the whole operation. He was leader, a figurehead to his subordinates, yet he was working with and taking orders from a human. Were they not trying to work for the same cause, Adam Taurus would have made short work of Cinder Fall's life considering what had happened during the brief attack on Vale.

While Roman was the one who prematurely initiated that stage of their plans, it made a statement of Vale's vulnerability. The mighty and prestigious kingdom was not as invincible as the populous believed and the White Fang were not to be trifled with. But that statement had cost them the element of surprise and the lives of other White Fang members who were trapped in Mountain Glenn's cavern. It sickened Adam of the nonchalance his "partners" had over the victims of that brief attack. But he was forced to swallow his anger under orders of the higher ups, to simply turn the other cheek and think of those lost lives as valiant sacrifices.

Sacrifices…

A word which does nothing but slander the efforts of those victims, but Adam had kept his silence. His attention however had turn back to the wall this base of operations was being established: grand and vast depictions were carved into the rock face he couldn't discern, let alone the strange inscriptions of a language long gone. Adam didn't understand what Cinder's purpose was for establishing a base here or what those depictions were, but he felt a strange apprehension looking at it. For some strange reason, Adam Taurus felt wary of what the wall possibly forewarned.

A buzzing of his scroll brought his attention back and he had answered the secured line.

"How is the operation faring?" a sultry voice asked over the scroll.

"The base is just about ready for full function," he replied. The shorter the time spent speaking with Cinder the better. Adam was ordered to lend her and her group their numbers but he didn't fully trust her.

"And the dust supplies Roman acquired for you?"

"Here and numbering just as he promised. The bastard surprisingly held up his end before the arrest," Adam said bitterly.

"Try not to be so ornery Adam," Cinder had chided over the call. "Our plans will be complete soon and the whole of Remnant will understand the full might of the White Fang. That is if you hold onto your end of course."

Adam scoffed over the call. "What else is necessary for this base?"

"Prepare some of the dust to be used as explosives. Small ones so the force of the explosions can be controlled. Other than that, await further orders."

Adam turned his attention back to the wall, still feeling that sense of apprehension. Why the need for explosions? If anything, numerous small explosions could cause an underground collapse. If she intended to use them on the wall…

"If there's nothing else to report, I'll leave to the rest to you," Cinder had said and about to end their call.

"Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you choose this place specifically?" Adam had asked. The cavern itself wasn't as close to the kingdom of Vale as Mountain Glenn was, nor was it near surface level to provide any serious damage. If anything, Adam noted, the base was a ways off from the kingdom and deeper beneath the surface than expected. He voiced his musing to her, and there was a brief silence over the phone.

"That would be on a need to know basis Taurus, which you don't fulfill."

Adam gritted his teeth, trying to control the anger in next words spoken. "I believe I'm owed answers for incident at Mountain Glenn. I brought back the White Fang's morale over their losses. Without me, you wouldn't have the numbers and man power for your little scheme. So talk, witch."

He wouldn't have needed to be in her presence, but Adam could feel Cinder's displeasure over his tone and address to her. Not that it mattered, but Adam felt the need to remind her who she had decided to work with, manipulation or otherwise.

"If you feel so inclined to know Taurus, then I'll consent. But I doubt you'd believe me."

"Humor me."

He heard a brief sigh on her end.

"We don't have enough power to truly bring Remnant to its knees," Cinder simply states.

Adam furrows his brow at her statement.

"With the amount of Paladins Torchwick stole and the dust—"

"It's not the dust I'm after."

Adam remained silent.

"We may have enough dust, men, and machines to make Vale fall, but not the four kingdoms as a whole. Given the tenacity of hunters and huntresses in Vale, they're going to put up a fight. Knowing Ozpin, he'll be preparing his own counter-measures for when the city is forced to surrender at our will. But the arrival of the other three kingdoms would have us cornered, despite our agents within them. We simply don't have enough to stand to the full might of Remnant."

"And the cave?"

"That is where we find our ace. You and your members blow a hole in that door, and victory is but a trigger away."

He snorts in disbelief.

"Whether you believe it or not, our victory is beyond those walls," Cinder replies. "And it is an ancient power which can guarantee a reminder of why the faunus are more superior than the humans who hate them."

Adam turns back to the wall once more. "A door huh?"

"If that is all Taurus, then I leave the rest of the work to you. Do try your best."

With that the call ends and Adam is left to watch he the finalization of the base. Yet even after that call, even after being shared a portion of her scheme, Adam can still feel that sense of wariness when looking at the wall. Its warped curves and protrusions, carved with such skill as if it could reach out on its own. But if that wall is truly the door, he muses, then what is just beyond the threshold?

A/N: The first fan fiction I've written (and it's a cross fiction at that) and I find myself in anticipation for the reviews and feedback. Why did I choose to start out writing a cross fiction between RWBY and Bloodborne? I just found the premise of it interesting. Please feel free to let me know what your thoughts are. If there was something you liked about the prologue, let me know! Same goes for any you found to be negative or in need of improvement. I will be sure to do my best in uploading each chapter and learning from your feedback. Until next time everyone.