Arcturus stayed behind, now accompanied only by the sleeping Hunters in the back room and dozens of Messengers all eagerly watching him and occasionally trying to direct his attention to themselves or, more helpfully, to something they thought he might be interesting. A full, detailed examination of the reception would take a little while, though ironically it would be hastened somewhat by the devastation wrought on its furniture, as there were no closets or drawers left to open and almost everything was scattered on the floor and, at most, buried under debris. All in all only about fifteen minutes passed before Arcturus felt fairly confident that he had found everything there was to be found in the room.

Rummaging through the shattered glass and splintered wood of some of the smashed and knocked-over cabinets revealed the remains of numerous only somewhat recognizable destroyed blood vials. The glass of most of these was either shattered on impact with the floor or crushed under a boot, with their precious contents spilling onto the floor and being contaminated by glass and dirt. Not all shards were equally small, however, and some of the vials, being eagerly pointed out by Messengers, appeared to have been only partially destroyed, with an intact part – bottom or top – retaining some of the blood they normally held, seemingly still pure. If he was to retrieve all of these partially broken vials and combine their contents in another container, as was found in the back room, he would be able to recover the equivalent of a little over one blood vial among these remains.
Among the debris in another place, several meters from where Victor had discovered and been examining the box he had taken with him, Arcturus also discovered a small, unusually finely crafted ornate silver key. The head of the key was especially well-decorated, with one side being engraved with a symbol of an eye inside a pentagram, and the other a symbol that Arcturus, despite having most likely never seen it before, instinctively knew meant “Hunter”. Looking at the latter symbol of the key made Arcturus head itch for some reason.
Aside from that, there was very little to be found in the reception; while there were still the weapons left behind by the huntsmen from earlier, as well as the staff dropped by the dead Pthumerian, almost everything else appeared to have been destroyed by those same huntsmen during the attack. He found a few scattered papers near one end of the room, all of which were mercifully almost entirely intact and required only to flatten those that had been somewhat crumpled. Looking at them revealed that these papers did indeed appear to serve the purpose of contracts with would-be Hunters, but that these ones were all unfilled templates. His contract and those of the other Hunters being made this night were nowhere to be found.

Well, if these Yharnamites didn't know how to build to impress! Cathedral Ward was, without a doubt, designed with shock in mind. Tall spires and grand windows of stained glass adorn the palace-sized churches and chapels, many times the height and width of the men who laid them in their place. The many roads of the city stretch out from this quarter, like the many arms of an octo-pod creature. It was obviously purpose built to serve as the nexus for the Yharnamite society, and hold the splendor of the Healing Church. There was certainly no shortage of that here, where even the cobblestones beneath have been cut and arranged into patterns. Dustless and solid they were, her boots made solid clops and taps as she stepped over them, which bounced off the stone walls around and resonated throughout the entire vicinity. Walking here was going to be a nightmare for certain.

Every street was flanked by those pale Church agents. Hard, blackened eyes followed Victor as he led Morgaine past them. Were they plotting something, these unscrupulous creatures? The Church had a reputation about it, for grim pragmatism and a very heavy-handed approach to slighting. If Victor had made some sort of transgression, the Churchmen would no doubt ambush him at any corner and have his head. It looked almost like the two hunters were being sized up somehow, or perhaps measured for a silver platter. Maybe it was simply the inhuman nature of the Chruch agents leading Morgaine's mind to playing tricks on itself. Nonetheless, she decided to stick a bit closer to Victor, and pull the hood over her eyes. She didn't need to look at them if she didn't want to.

The White Church Workshop was a bit of an odd duck, squatted among the chapels like a stone toad. It was large and grandiose, certainly, but lacking in the ornate nature of its surrounding buildings. Indeed, it was the only structure in the quarter, perhaps, that didn't look as if it would topple over at the mere push of Morgaine's hand. The clip-clopping of boots was more pronounced here, as hunters of the Church went about their business, milling about with weapons and blood vials in hand. That could be expected, she supposed. This was a bastion against the beasts, and every night it went to war until the sun returned in the morning. Weapons and armour she would certainly not refuse.

"So, when I see this 'Dietrich', how am I to know him?" She said, passing up from behind Victor to stand aside him as they approached. "He tall? Short? One-legged? Does he have a walking stick, or wear a feather cap?"

Morgraine's question prompted a barely suppressed snort of laughter from Victor before he shook his head, smirking with mild amusement.
“Well, I'm going in there too and will point him out if need be, but...” He paused, simply walking the path closer to the workshop for a moment while idly tapping the blade of his small sword in his right hand against the side of the ornate box he carried in his left one. “I want to say that you'll know when you see him. Wears a foreign uniform, uses a unique sword that is his alone, looks like your typical fairy-tale prince... His full name and title is 'Dietrich of the Shining Wing, First Hunter of the white Healing Church.' A figurehead as far as I'm concerned, there to make humans fear Hunters less. Never seen him fight, but he seems to lead well.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Morgraine, evidently unworried by the other Hunters, church servants and giants around. “Anything else before we head in?”

"Right . . . let's go see your prince," Morgaine said, as they approached the building. The doors were built of wood, but braced with steel like a cage, and so very tall. One of the larger Church agents needn't even have to duck much to enter through. Fortunately for the pair, it was already open. No doubt to operate the door would take a team of five at the very least, or perhaps some sort of lever and pulley system . . .

Walking through the doors into the workshop lead Victor and Morgraine into a large, quite well-lit room with brass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and braziers standing in the corners, which also meant that the area was a lot warmer than the outside. The room itself was even bigger than the back room of the clinic Morgraine had awoken as a Hunter in, seeming to be a bit more than thirty by thirty meters (about a hundred by a hundred feet) with a tall ceiling three meters (ten feet) over their heads, making the room seem almost cavernous compared to the tight, intricate spaces that typically made up residential and administrative buildings in Yharnam. The floor and walls, the latter of which had only a couple of small, barred and shuttered windows on the side from which they entered and the opposite, was all built from hefty blocks of granite. Even the ceiling, with four joists extending from one side of the room to the other, each of which was further supported by three wooden pillars, was made from slabs of some kind of soot-covered stone.
To Morgraine and Victor's right were four normal-looking wooden doors, whereas there was only two doors to their left, spaced much further from each other and each reinforced with iron bands. Also to their right, distributed around those two doors, were seven tables, each seemingly attended by somewhat harried-looking in white church garb, many of which were frantically consulting sheets of paper or notebooks or running from their table to the furthest of the two reinforced doors, only to return moments later with armfuls of supplies to their tables.
The purpose of these tables was likely quite easy to determine even at a glance, simply due to the objects laid out on or around them. Five of the tables were free-standing, further away from the walls. One of these was filled with preserved foods fit for quick consumption, like jerky, crackers and the like, another table was filled with bottles of water and other, somewhat colored liquids that were less immediately identifiable. A table had neatly arranged rows of boxes, each filled with blood vials, while another was much less neatly bulging with pouches. The last free-standing table, meanwhile, just had piles and piles of two identical sets of clothes: the male and female variants of the white church garb, which seemed to be what nearly everyone around here was wearing.
The two last tables were up against the wall, sat between the two reinforced doors, and used not only the tables, but also mounts on the wall behind them to array the items available in a manner that was easy to peruse. The left of the two offered a selection of trick weapons, the preferred arms of Hunters, and showed off Kirkhammers, threaded canes, Holy Blades, church picks, rifle spears and Bulwarks. The table to the right of that had a similarly laid-out selection of firearms, ranging from pistols and blunderbusses made to be used in one hand, to more powerful rifles meant to be braced and fired with both hands.

The inside of the workshop was actually surprisingly deserted compared to the outside, with the few Hunters present simply entering, getting what they needed and immediately leaving again to resume their work on this Night of the Hunt. On a normal night, or day for that matter, this workshop would doubtlessly have been far more populated than it was currently, but tonight more than any other time Hunters were needed out and about in Yharnam, purging the beasts as they poured out from whatever recesses they normally hid away in.
Aside from the clerics attending the tables with supplies, the only constant presence in the room was a stately man in a white set of foreign, military uniform, only with a longer cape that was parted down the middle and embroidered with silver thread so that each half of the cape visibly symbolized a feathered wing. Almost bizarrely well-groomed for such a chaotic night, the man was clean-shaven, his blonde hair in a shortish ponytail and with eyes of such a pale blue hue that it was almost white. He carried a large sword with a two-handed grip and a blade that looked like smooth silver, polished to an almost mirror-like sheen. He held the handle with his right hand, resting the blade on his shoulder, while occasionally gesturing with his left hand to direct clerics and Hunters as necessary.

When he finally noticed Victor and Morgraine, he smiled at them broadly, flashing a set of blindingly white teeth, and approached them eagerly.
“Finally! I was so worried!” he exclaimed, his voice both smooth and confident. “When the bells rang I feared the worst! Although...” He turned his piercing gaze at Victor, who very pointedly looked anywhere but at the man. “Where is Adelicia?”
“I left her at a shelter,” Victor grumbled in return, clearly uncomfortable. “Figured it'd be safer there than dragging her across Yharnam to get here.”
“I see.” The man nodded to himself thoughtfully, rubbing his defined, masculine jaw with soft, well-groomed fingers. He turned to Morgraine, his eyes shifting momentarily between her and Victor before settling on her. He smiled even more broadly than before, the very image of charm.
“Pleasant evening to you, m'lady,” he greeted her with a small but elegant bow, a hint of amusement in his eye betraying his awareness of how inappropriately formal such a welcome was on a night such as this one. “I am Dietrich, First Hunter of the White Church. And you are...?”

"I call me Morgaine, sir of the Church," Morgaine responded, mimicking his bow with one of her own and grinning widely up at him. "I suppose I'm a hunter now, as you. As 'First Hunter', would that make you my chief?" Victor was right about him, she had to admit. He didn't wear the hooded robe of the other churchmen, instead dressing in a sort of military-esque uniform, glistening with silk and silver, his shoulders looking for all the world like they've a pair of feathery wings hanging off them. What a sight he was, a nobleman among his peasants. This Dietrich did have a bonny look about him, a fine mix of chivalrous and roguish that Morgaine must admit caught her eye rather well. Did these churchmen swear themselves to asceticism? An impious thing to consider, she admitted.

"I suppose that means I'm to be having one of these," she said, gesturing to the pile of Church uniforms. None of them looked likely to fit her snug and proper. They were all woven with Yharnamites in mind, tall and lanky as strings. The men of this city shoot straight up from the ground towards the sky, with hardly enough room side to side as to keep them from swaying in the breeze. It's no wonder the entire city was built to match. She strode purposefully over to it to consider them closer, pulling one out that looked almost right, turning it this way and that, and setting it back down with a huff. "Perhaps later, then," she muttered to herself.

Dietrich glanced sharply at Victor when Morgraine declared herself to be “a Hunter now, as you,” though Victor was decidedly looking in the opposite direction as if being incredibly preoccupied with examining the walls of the barracks. The First Hunter's attention returned to Morgraine instantly, however, his smile unfaltering, and followed her with his back straight and his gait soft and calm, yet confident and without hesitation.
“I am the one who leads the Hunters of the white Healing Church, yes,” he confirmed, straightforward and matter-of-factly, opting against false modesty and pride alike. “A new Hunter, on this night... I suppose –” He paused for just a second, blinking his eyes rapidly several times before he regained his composure. “– Victor retrieved you during his mission with Adelicia.”
He once again looked to Victor, who – now meticulously studying a nearby pillar – eagerly nodded his head at the question. Then Dietrich was back to Morgraine.

“You are not obliged to do so,” he assured her when she commented on the white church garbs, “but if you would like some, we do have tailors at hand to ensure a perfect fit. It would be a terrible shame for a Hunter to get themselves killed because their garb was too tight or too loose.” He laughed; a bright, almost melodious sound.

"That's right," Morgaine said, eyeing up the weapons with a curious eye. "Your man there, he picked us up. A couple of others too, but we can't say where they've gone. Must've just wandered off to somewhere we couldn't follow or . . s" she trailed off at the end. There were certainly a variety of weapons. Huge heavy swords like the one Victor's got, and massive hammers cut from stone, and that spear the other churchman was holding before he died. "You don't mind if I-" she said, reaching out and pulling a modest looking thing from the box. It slid out with a hiss of metal on metal, revealing a sort of walking cane with a sharpened edge. Almost a sword in disguise, by the feel of it. "Err, I suppose there's space." She took a few experimental swings at the empty air, getting a feel for the weight. This wasn't a harvesting scythe by any measure, nor a wooden club with which to chase foxes. This was a proper weapon, made to draw blood and kill. She obviously demonstrated little knowledge in its application. "Sorry . . . it's the being a hunter. New to all this, you see." She set the weapon down on the table sheepishly, before returning to the piles of clothes.

"I don't suppose the two of you gentlemen would know where someone is to get a bit of privacy," Morgaine said, finally settling on a set of clothes. It was certainly the widest option she'd seen from here, a bit more so in the shoulders than the waistline. These Yharnamites, they must worship the slender physique, but this one'll do, at least far more than any of the others. "Am I supposed to be following you about now, Sir Dietrich?" Not the worst way to spend her night, if she discovers she has the stomach for the spilling of blood. "Or would you have me stay with your lad?" She made a head gesture to Victor, her hands occupied by the clothing.

“Others, you say? Huh.” Dietrich's comment on this part of Morgraine's report was delivered in an off-handed manner, as if it was only half a step more interesting than the weather, but it prompted another brief look at Victor before his attention refocused on her.

“Worry not, you will learn and adapt quickly,” he responded to Morgraine's apology regarding her handling of the cane she had just been trying out. He retrieved the cane she had just put back onto the table with his left hand, since his right was still holding his own majestic sword, and deftly twirled the light weapon between his fingers. “The threaded cane, huh? You're more dexterously inclined then, or so I would presume. A fine weapon, very sophisticated.”
He held up the weapon so that Morgraine could see, specifically presenting her with its handle. “In case you were unaware, Hunters use trick weapons, which all have the namesake 'trick' to them. If you press this button on one of these canes...”
Turning the cane so that its cutting edge was turned toward himself, Dietrich somewhat awkwardly managed to move his left thumb to the button placed right between the end of the handle and the start of the blade of the weapon despite the right-handed grip of the weapon. With a press of the thumb, the cane gave a sharp, metallic noise as the blade transformed into its whip-form.
“It's a very technical weapon, possibly one of the hardest to use.” He twirled it in his hand again until the now-segmented blade pointed to the floor, before he thrust it down, prompting another metallic snap as it switched back into its cane-form. “But very rewarding.”
He placed it back onto the table carefully, almost with reverence. His right hand, remarkably, never left the hilt of his sword through the entire process of handling the cane.

“The four rooms over there are freely available for Hunters to use,” he replied to her request for privacy, pointing to the side of the room to the right of the entrance. “The two on the right are common rooms for socializing and gambling and what have you, whereas the two on the left are for resting, with beds for napping. The leftmost one (T/U 2/3 intersection) has a latch on the inside for privacy. I think they're all empty, so you can use them as you desire.”

“As intriguing as spending the night with you sounds, I am afraid there are other plans... though there is something important about you that you must know first that I suspect Victor would not have told you.” He sighed, his smile faltering for just a second before being restored to its full charming, shining intensity. “You're immortal.”

Morgaine stepped back in shock as Dietrich opened up the cane into its whip form, caught dumb as he whirled the loose blade around before returning it to his original state, and all with his left hand besides. Obviously, the man had notable expertise in the craft of beast hunting. The cane arced majestically, twirling like a dancer's soul. Morgaine knew one some primal level that the cane was meant for her. It looked so intuitive, now thinking about it. She could learn to pick up this whip thing. It certainly looked more manageable than the other objects on display. Was it even humanly possible for her to lift that huge hammer, or that sword the length of her entire body? Her hands idly played with the cloth uniform, smooth as silk but somehow incredibly heavy like hardened leather. Could a beast even pierce it with its claws? That was likely, she supposed. A beast's claws could rend armour like paper, after all.

“As intriguing as spending the night with you sounds . . ." well, he was a charmer after all! Morgaine glanced up at his eyes, noting their constancy. He was an inscrutable man, no doubt about it. His eyes guarded his intentions dutifully. Did he even have a soul behind them? His main hand gripped his weapon tightly, as if the two were fused together into a single body. Maybe it was the case; he couldn't drop the weapon if he wanted to. That would make some activities . . . decidedly awkward. She bit her own tongue, wincing but not yelping. Hardly the time nor place.

"Immortal? Me?" Morgaine said with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't help bark a laugh at his last comment. "Well, I haven't died yet."

Dietrich nodded his head slowly at Morgraine's response, maintaining his smile but tilting his head a little to one side as if pondering her words. Then he looked to Victor, openly this time, though the other Hunter still had his back turned and persistently made sure not to look anywhere near the direction of Dietrich.
“How much did you tell her already?” the First Hunter asked softly.
“Only that she's special, 'cause she can see stuff we can't,” Victor hurriedly explained, “since they said there were little men all over the clinic and stuff...”
Again Dietrich nodded his head slowly, though his smile finally faded and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared at Victor, his head slowly tilting the other way than it had before. Though it was merely a change in expression, the difference in impression it made was remarkable: without his bright, almost innocent-looking smile he somehow looked older and stronger, as if dropping the smile allowed the depth of his experience to shine through. He still looked like the young man he was, of course, but the way he now looked at Victor suggested that he had seen and done more in his short life than most did throughout a lifetime.

Seemingly deciding against addressing Victor further for the moment, Dietrich turned back to Morgraine, smiling once again, though the smile this time was nowhere as jovial as before, but rather with a note of sadness or regret.
“I may not be the one best suited to explain this... it may have been better to let the vicar tell you this, but you deserve to know. The affliction you came here to be saved from was a rare and unique one, which has great significance once you become a Hunter. I do not jest, miss Morgraine; you cannot currently die. If you are killed, you will simply awaken elsewhere as if your death was but a bad dream. The others from the clinic were the same way... which is why you are very valuable to us. And why the vicar wants to speak to you personally.”

"Well . . . don't go testing it," Morgaine said, stumbling over her own words. Her gut twisted. She couldn't make sense of what they were saying. Was this some sort of prank? Something they'd say to get the new people maimed so they'd learn a lesson of some kind? She wouldn't be surprised if this were all some elaborate in-joke within the higher circles of the Church hunters. She didn't suppose she would one day be laughing about it with them in some distant later night. "Well," she began, changing the subject. It wasn't her favourite thing, being the centre of the conversation. "If the vicar wants to see me, he'll have to wait a minute or two." She held up her church garb for effect, and strode off towards the private room, leaving the two men behind.

How was this ever supposed to stay clean? The whole thing was the same off-white all over, but most importantly, not the slightest bit red. Did their seamstress never consider that hunters would get blood on their clothes? Would be a nightmare to wash it all off, only to get it all bloodied up again. Morgaine shuddered at the thought. Not even ermine capes were this pale. It was so white it seemed to reflect light almost like a mirror. Well, there was nothing for it. This was a hunter's outfit. It'll serve her better now than her village garb. Slowly, she unbuttoned her vest, dropping it on the ground, and her shirt followed soon after, exposing her back to the cool evening air. It was rather chilly now, even more so in here than outside. They must preserve fruit in here when it's not being used by people. She was glad to have finally shimmied into her new clothes, warm and snug under all that silk. Although she could do without the hood, she already had one of her own. Wrapping her cloak about her shoulders and fastening the pin. Now she was truly safe. Brushing down all the wrinkles around the skirts with her left hand, she placed her right on the door before unlocking and opening it.

"Well boys? Fair enough for the ball, you wager?" She asked, putting a hand on her hip and striking a mock-pose.

Dietrich's only response to Morgraine's evident disbelief of her own immortality was a shrug, his smile turning a little apologetic headed off to change her clothes. As she went, however, she would be able to hear the First Hunter address Victor once more in a concerned tone of voice.
“What is wrong, Victor? You have been acting very strangely since returning. I think we need to debrief you properly sooner rather than –”

The voices of the two other Hunters were cut off very effectively when Morgraine closed the surprisingly heavy door to the private room behind her, however, leaving her in stunning silence, erasing not only the sounds from the main room of conversations and clerics preparing supplies, but even the noises of the night outside; indeed, the only sounds left were the ones she was making herself. The relative chill of the room even compared to the area she had just been in was most likely a result of efforts to soundproof it.
The room she found herself in was generally quite unusual. Despite being quite large for a bedroom at twenty by eight meters and likely more suited for use as a barracks than anything else, there was only a single, very large bed at the far end of the room, spanning almost from one side of the room to the other and thus having enough space for quite a few people at the same time. It was not any kind of ornate, but seemingly built solely with durability in mind. Its sheet and half a dozen pillows seemed relatively fresh, being mostly clean off-white, and the bundle of blankets at the foot of the bed appeared actually unused. The room itself was also remarkably clean for most part, with the only traces of dirt being left in patterns that seemed in accordance with someone dragging it in under their boots.
The bed and room was only almost fresh, however, as it was evident at a glance that it had been used since last being cleaned. Aside from the little bits of dirt on the floor, the sheet and pillows on the bed were ruffled and disorderly, with a few faint stains of indeterminate nature intermingled with what appeared to be much more readily recognizable bloodstains, some small and others quite large. Further investigation would reveal several discarded empty blood vials in the corner. There was also a series of five small wash basins with water along the wall to the left after entering, each with a towel beside it, of which two had clean water and neatly folded towels, and the last three had towels that had been messily discarded beside the basins and water that was slightly murky, with the contents of two of them having been dyed faintly red.

The room allowed her perfect privacy for changing her clothes, however, and she did so without interruption. It would likely be quite shocking to reopen the door, allowing the sounds of the outside to rush back after the overwhelming silence she had been left in since closing it. One of the first sounds that met her upon doing so was Dietrich's voice, raised and with a tinge of panic.
“– is obviously very wrong! Look at me, Victor! Show me your...”
Victor had at this point retreated to the corner of the room directly to the left of Morgraine as she exited the bedroom (T16), facing the corner and thus having his back turned to the rest of the room, with Dietrich right behind him.
The First Hunter stopped mid-sentence when he registered that Morgraine returned and spun around to face her. He obviously tried his best to resume the charming and carefree demeanor she had witnessed earlier, smiling at her and relaxing his body, though his eyes remained wide with agitation and his smile was shaky.
Victor's huddled form, meanwhile, was visibly trembling.
“Yes, very nice indeed, miss Morgraine,” Dietrich chimed, though even his voice seemed a little different from before with an edge of intense negative emotion to it. He glanced once more at Victor before refocusing on her. “Was there anything else, or would you like to see Vicar Harold now?”

Morgaine pretended not to notice the little interaction between Dietrich and Victor as she re-entered the larger room. It was humourous, admittedly, to see the big gruff churchman get gently scolded like a child, but it told her that there was something going on. At least, something going on that the two men very much didn't want her to know about. This annoyed her greatly. She wasn't the sort who enjoyed being kept in the dark. Was Dietrich's eye twitching? Something has gotten him unsettled, no doubt about that, and if she had to guess, it had something to do with her and her supposed "immortality".

"Right, let's go see your vicar," she finally said, after giving the two churchmen each an awkward glance. "I don't suppose I'd recognize a vicar were I to see one. What do they look like?" Really, was there truly a possibility in which all the men of the Healing Church were moulded of wax? Admittedly, the white church clothes weighed down on her shoulders far more than her normal clothes did. A snug fit they were, and to be quite honest, not nearly as tight as she had predicted. Certainly good for this dratted weather.

“Vicar Harold is a nice old man. We can trust him,” Dietrich replied immediately and matter-of-factly to Morgraine's request of a description of the vicar, seemingly completely satisfied with it himself despite him not actually having mentioned any visible qualities about him besides him being an old man. “You'll definitely know him when you see him.”

He took a brisk step toward the middle of the room, seemingly intending to accompany Morgraine to wherever she would find the vicar, but then slowed his next stride significantly before stopping completely. His expression had turned to one of worry as he looked first to Morgraine, then to Victor, then back to Morgraine again.
“Actually, before you go,” he began nervously, “could I bother you for your account of what has happened this evening? Something is obviously wrong with Victor; he blatantly refuses to look at me and was unusually vague about what happened at the clinic. He's obviously hiding something, though I don't know what.”

Morgaine couldn't help but spare a look at Victor while Dietrich talked. He was still shaken, an his sentiment was reinforced every time Dietrich thought to give him a glance. Something about the way Dietrich asked the question put her off, as if Victor were a defendant at court and her testimony could decide his hanging. Besides, she didn't want to be a part of the Church's little game of shadows. No good could come from the two of them ending up at each other's throats, especially not so early in their acquaintance. She took a deep breath, and set her heart to steel. Lying was never one of her talents.

"Well, I don't know what to say about that," Morgaine began. "I wasn't paying much attention to our journey's path." She stroked her chin, pretending to recall. "Well, it was chilly. Remarkable chilly, at that. I wouldn't be going outside without this robe you were so generous to lend me. We crossed through the wider road, memory serves me, into a big courtyard overlooking a sunken portion of the city. There was beasts down there, no doubt about it. Big, formless things. We could only catch their shadows and hear their endless howling. A disturbing sight, it must be said. Beyond that . . . I can't imagine much out of the ordinary. Not that I'd know much of ordinary here in Yharnam." She exhaled, slowly. "That's all I can say. Mayhaps the woman with us, Adelicia the blood giver, might know something more. If you can find her out and about at night, that is."

Dietrich slowly nodded his head with a serious mien, listening attentively to Morgraine's selective recounting of her experiences with Victor.
“I see,” he mused once she finished talking, lowering his gaze and cupping his chin with his left hand in thought. “I imagine the fighting he must have done was before then, from your retelling of events.” He looked at Victor. “I am still convinced that something is wrong since you refuse to look at me... and I am curious how you managed to get so thoroughly soaked in blood with such little damage to your garb...”

A full twelve seconds passed of silence, with Victor remaining in the corner and stubbornly staring at the wall, while the First Hunter deliberated on the information available to him. Dietrich looked first at Victor, then at Morgraine, at the door to the outside and finally back to Victor again, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper the longer he thought. This was clearly a decision he was taking very seriously and wanted to be sure to consider carefully before committing.
Finally, right before he spoke his decision, Dietrich's eyes fell on the ornate box in Victor's left hand, barely visible from behind since he was clutching it to his abdomen. Coincidentally or not, that appeared to be the moment he made his decision.
“Well, it is a Night of the Hunt, and we do need all the Hunters we can manage out there dealing with the beasts. Whatever might be wrong, I suppose that as long as you can hunt, we still need you out there in the streets.” He sighed. “Clean yourself up, get a fresh uniform, resupply and get back out there, Victor; for as long as this night lasts, Yharnam needs all the protection she can get.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “The most urgent need at the moment would be reinforcements for northern Central Yharnam, near the edge of Old Yharnam; a lot of beasts seem to be appearing there, including novel types we've never seen before.”
“Yes, sir,” Victor agreed without looking away from the corner. “At once.”
“Oh,” Dietrich added as he turned away, in a way that seemed almost deliberately disinterested, “and you can leave that box here with the clerics. I will have someone put it somewhere safe.”

“Shall we?” he asked rhetorically, making a sweeping open-handed gesture with his left hand inviting Morgraine to follow him. The instant he had dismissed Victor, Dietrich's smile, charm and almost boyish cheerfulness all seemed to return in full force, as if nothing had happened. He started walking without waiting for her agreement, moving diagonally across the room toward the opposite corner, leaving Victor behind without so much as another glance.
Dietrich approached the rightmost of the two solid doors on the wall to the left of the entrance (D/E 6). He produced a small iron key with his left hand and quickly unlocked it, before throwing it open and inviting Morgraine into the room beyond.
What was revealed past the door was a fairly spacious, if somewhat spartan office-space. Immediately inside the door and to the left were a pair of mostly empty tables, occupied only by a couple of errant sheets of paper, a quill and an inkwell, with a small brass sconce on the wall behind them. To the right, at the center of the room, was a slightly bigger table with a chair on either side, all of which were rather plain aside from some slight bits of ornamental carving into the edge of the tabletop and on the backs of the chairs. This central table appeared to function as a desk to whoever was assigned to it, as it bore a surprisingly tall, neat pile of papers, another set of quill and inkwell, a plain brass candle holder and a small, nondescript brown-covered book of some kind.
All the furniture in here was wooden and all three potential light sources, with a second sconce opposite of the first, next to a door in the far right end of the room, were currently unlit, giving the room an almost abandoned feel to it.
The most extravagant and decorative thing in the entire room was a narrow, elongated wall banner hanging behind the desk. It was made from white cloth with intricate gold and black trimmings, and bore two prominent symbols one above the other, each stitched in red thread. The upper image was one frequently used to represent the Healing Church, though this might have been the first time Morgraine encountered it, whereas the lower symbol – despite being just as new to her as the former – somehow immediately managed to convey its meaning to her: “Hunter”. Looking at it made something behind her forehead itch.

“This is my office,” Dietrich explained once Morgraine entered. “If I can't be found in the main room or here, it means my presence was required for a hunt, but I am never gone for too long at a time. Feel free to come by anytime. I could really use someone...” He seemed to stop himself mid-sentence, grinning. “I could use the help. But the vicar takes priority.”
He pointed to the only other door in the room besides the one they had entered through. “There is an elevator past there that will take us to the heart of the Upper Cathedral Ward. Vicar Harold is but a short walk from the top of it.”

After making sure that Morgraine had no interjections due to what had just transpired and the reveal of his modest office, Dietrich gestured for her to continue following him and crossed the room to the door he had indicated as the way to the vicar before. Once more the First Hunter produced a key from his pocket to unlock the door, revealing that it, too, had been locked, before crossing the threshold.
Beyond the door they were met by a very tight space, with maybe two meters of floor straight ahead from the door before they were met by a sturdy metal mesh blocking off access to the remaining six by six meter shaft before them. Like the workshop and the office of the First Hunter, the walls and floor here was all stone, though the elevator shaft before them did have tiny windows in the wall opposite of where they entered, all centered along the width of the wall and evenly spaced vertically, one above the other, allowing a little of the pale light of the night outside to spill into the otherwise dark room.
The shaft was currently empty, but Dietrich turned to their left and pulled a floor-mounted lever there, which immediately prompted the now-familiar sound of an elevator approaching them, though this time it came from above and was lowering toward them. Only once the elevator had reached the bottom did the metal mesh slide aside, folding at the sides, to allow them access to the metal platform beyond.

The ride was not dissimilar from the one Morgraine had been on earlier in the evening with Victor, except that this time she ascended an almost completely sealed-off elevator shaft rather than descending one that allowed one to view the outside. The only hints of the outside visible here were the swiftly passing windows, each no larger than a human hand. Watching through those windows would reveal that they were ascending high above the rooftops of all the surrounding buildings; indeed, it seemed as though they were leaving most of the entirety of Yharnam behind and rising to the heavens, or at least the tallest structure that Yharnam had to offer.
“I don't like it up here,” Dietrich entrusted Morgraine during the ascent. “I prefer staying below, with everyone else. The Upper Cathedral Ward feels so distant... and lonely, somehow. But the vicar rarely comes down, so I have to come up here to see him. Ah, and here we are.”
And indeed, even as Dietrich spoke those words they would be able to feel the elevator slowing down, and within moments they arrived before a metal mesh similar to the one that had met them at the bottom. Once again the mesh folded to the side once the elevator had fully arrived, allowing Dietrich and Morgraine to disembark unimpeded.

Outside the elevator they were met by a long, vacant hallway, spanning six meters in width but stretching out what seemed like eighty meters or so in length, giving an intimidating sense of isolation and scale. The walls, floor and ceiling were all once again stone, only this time completely unbroken until a doorway at the far end of it.
The walls on either side bore lit, gilded sconces fashioned to look like robed and hooded women leaning out of the wall, hands clasped in prayer with white candles clutched between their arms. This posture also meant that they were effectively burying their faces in the candles, and the melting wax of the candles was slowly running down to cover their heads and backs as the wicks burned, casting their flickering light.
Other than those, the only thing that broke the monotony of the closed-off hallway was a thick, soft red carpet running from one end of the hallway to the other, placed in the middle but spanning only about half its width. The carpet bore extravagant golden embroidery along its entire length, drawing strange shapes seemingly at random, with no apparent pattern or meaning to their design. It looked strangely alien, almost, compared to what one would normally see of such decorations.
Dietrich was silent for the entirety of the walk down this long, eerie passage, drawing further attention to just how silent it was up here, so far removed from the world below. Morgraine might also notice something else: as they walked down the hallway, coming closer and closer to the end, the chill in the air slowly abated and finally gave way to a comfortable warmth, as if they were in a room with a hearth to heat it, though no such thing was in sight.

Finally at the end, Dietrich got a key from his pocket for the third time on this little trip and unlocked the big, heavy, iron-banded double-doors spanning nearly half of the sixth meter width of the hallway. He unlocked it and gave it a push, only for the doors to swing open easily and lightly as if they were weightless.
What awaited them on the other side of the doors, however, seemed like a completely different world than where they had just come from. The door opened onto a stone walkway running left and right before them, about as wide as the hallway behind them, with a small drop to the side opposite of them. The stone walkway reached a dead end at a wall to their left, whereas to their right it made a left-turn, following what seemed like the top of the actual Grand Cathedral, with part of the wall there being an actual mosaic window beyond which the cathedral interior could faintly be seen. At the opposite end the walkway made another turn, this time to the left, forming a sharp U-shape around the central area below the walkway, reachable by several sets of stairs, one of which was right in front of them.
Above was some kind of structure held up by four massive, solid marble columns, partially blotting out the night's sky... but whatever light the stars or moon might have cast on this place would have seemed insignificant compared to the magnificent, pale brilliance flowing from the garden below the walkway. There, a field of large, white and luminous sunflower-like blossoms illuminated the area as if it had been under a full moon... and, amidst these otherworldly flowers, standing beside one particularly tall flower, a single figure turned to face them.

It was a nice old man. Morgraine could trust him.

The elderly-looking yet dignified and well-groomed man down smiled at them as they stepped onto the walkway, and moved to meet them. He wore a strange garb of white-and-black flowing robes and appeared to be unarmed as he approached.
Morgraine would be stricken with how apt Dietrich's earlier description of Vicar Harold had been. He really was a nice old man. They really could trust him.

“Welcome, Morgraine Geiradot,” Vicar Harold greeted her merrily, throwing his arms wide as if inviting her to embrace him. “I am so happy you're here.”

More Yharnam elevators. Morgaine couldn't bear the weight of the world pressing down on her as she ascended further. Although she couldn't really see outside of the vertical tube through which they traveled, she could certainly feel the sensation. Her body knew that she was being lifted, and knew that it was wrong. As swiftly as they went, it was hard even to keep standing. She instinctively went down to a crouch, before realizing how absurd she looked and standing straight back up. Dietrich mumbled something to her, but through the din of the gears scraping together she could barely hear it, only getting the impression that he is somehow displeased. Not peculiar, she supposed, nodding in response and pretending not to be confused. He hasn't been pleased at all since they arrived at this place. Now thinking about it, he hasn't been pleased at all at any time in which she knew of him. What a sad existence that must be. Not that she couldn't sympathize, trapped in here watching tiny flashes of light zip past them, disappearing below the floor after the brief seconds in which they arrived.

Eventually, the ride ended and the pair of them stepped out into a grand and amazingly long hall. Amazing was certainly the right word for it; all of this replaced the austerity of a church for the opulence of a palace. Red velvet carpets, beautiful statues wrought into the shapes of tortured people, and everything in between gilded in gold and glittering in the faint moonlight that entered in from above somewhere. The light itself seemed to bend and twist unnaturally, or at least, not by any metric of nature that Morgaine had come to know. It was even warm in here, the first time she'd felt some actual warm air since she'd stepped foot into the city. Is this the only pleasant spot in Yharnam?

"Oedon, look at this," she drawled, doing a full turn around to look at everything. Would that she could stay longer, but alas. Dietrich led her purposefully across the hall, not even taking a second to admire their surroundings. All business as usual, she supposed. Mayhaps he'd seen it all before.

Through twists and turns they traveled, in grey stone walkways leading this way and that, barely illuminated unlike the previous hall. Finally, they emerged, into a beautiful field of flowers. They swayed gently, despite the presence of any wind, but strangely, that didn't seem strange to her. In the midst stood a frail old man, dressed in a more accented white garb than the monochromatic white of the Churchmen. Morgaine was struck by how apt Dietrich's earlier description of Vicar Harold had been. He was a nice old man, and she could trust him.

"Err, good day. Master Vicar, sir," she called out to him from her place on the walkway. Her voice carried over in a soft echo that emanated through the walls itself, it seemed. "I'm happy enough to be as well. This here is lovely, your garden. Do you grow these yourself?" She felt like she could talk to him, more than she could talk to anyone else. Even her provincial accent came through stronger.

Vicar Harold smiled warmly at Morgraine's words as he continued his approach, arms slowly lowering back into a resting position. His light-brown eyes had a kind, almost loving expression that spoke of the sheer depth of the devotion this man felt for her, and indeed, all of his subjects. This was the highest-ranking official in all of Yharnam, the de facto ruler of not only the city, but the surrounding lands as well, and it was not surprising that he had been chosen; the sheer intensity of his charisma made his presence almost overwhelming.

Beside Morgraine, Dietrich lowered his head as he moved his sword from its perch atop his shoulder, placing it tip-down into the floor in front of himself and gripping it with both hands before lowering himself to one knee, effectively offering his sword to the vicar in a tremendous show of respect and submission.
Harold quickly and dismissively waved a hand at Dietrich, barely even looking at the First Hunter, as he kept smiling at Morgraine.
“I do not, no,” he responded to her question as to whether he had grown the garden himself. The flowers, all of their blossoms facing their side of the garden, seemed to shine even more brilliantly than before with an almost silver-like sheen, like an entire field of small full moons. “These were left behind by the old Healing Church five years ago, and grew and survived long before I came to Yharnam. They are called lumenflowers. You are fortunate in your timing; they only bloom at night, and are the most beautiful when there is no moon.” He smiled softly. “This is my favorite place in the city. I like to be here, speaking to the lumenflowers. They are so... understanding.”
His gaze lowered in thought for a moment before shaking his head, chuckling to himself. “Ah, but I am too used to talking to plants, I suppose. You have better things to do than listening to me chat about my hobbies. Tell me, Morgraine: what do you think about me?”

Through it all, Morgraine has a very faint sense that there is something strange about this place, though the feeling is so fleeting that it could easily be dismissed without a second thought. Perhaps if she was more insightful about the secrets of the world, she would be able to interpret what she feels more accurately.