Under Yharnam's dawn shadow is Yorra, a hunter half sick with the madness of beasts. Her sickle and half-glaive still bloody at her side, she eyes the breaking dawn as its light filters into the dark and damp streets. "The beasts this night have been bested," she says, turning to you. "But I've this inkling, don't you too? That perhaps the morning carries a new kind of beast."