[h3]The Hunter's Dream[/h3]
As Farren and Ophelia went to examine dreamscape construct that was reportedly a reproduction of the first Hunter Workshop, Torquil hesitated – looking back and forth between his companions and their hosts in the Dream – before finally following, but in so doing he witnessed yet another thing he had not expected. As the last of the Hunters started ascending the stair toward the house on the hill, the Shopkeeper quite simply just stood up from their wheelchair and started to follow. Their footfalls were light and silent, their movements precise and graceful, in a way that quite clearly suggested that this person had never actually needed the wheelchair.
That part confused Torquil, but so did everything he had experienced since the Mad One had bashed his head into mush. He thought wheelchairs were for people who could not walk, or at least had difficulty walking... and how did this person see while blindfolded like that? What was this place, really? And then all the things they had talked about, with nightmares, gods and worlds, and books disappearing into the ground. Torquil did not understand any of it, which frustrated him a little, but he ignored it and told himself to just be happy he had companions who seemed to understand.

Inside the small, quite homely little workshop clearly not meant for more than several people at most, the Hunters found an arsenal of Hunter weapons big enough to equip a small army. Powerful, unique weapons hang on the largest unbroken wall, one large chest was full of more mundane Hunter weapons and yet another was full to the brim of different garbs meant to provide protection during the Hunt without slowing the wearer down. Again Torquil was overwhelmed, faced with a huge number of implements of death he had never seen before and had no idea how worked or how to use.

But Ophelia did not pause at this sight. She immediately recognized the Caryll Rune tools she had used while working in Hemwick, only for those tools to have disappeared when she returned after the Night of the Blood Moon. A small piece of something familiar in this alien place, a fragment of a past she might have thought lost.
And then her attention turned to one of the swords mounted on the wall; a sword positively radiating eldritch power to her senses, attuned to the arcane as they were. She went to it and retrieved it, and though she might try to focus her senses on it, she would find that doing so was not necessary, for simply touching it was enough.
[I]“Huntress... Heroine... Wielder...”[/I] Ideas whispered in her mind; they were not words, nor even sounds, but something strange and otherworldly. Whatever this was, it was not something the senses of a regular human could normally detect, nor their brains comprehend. [I]“It has dwelled... It has waited... It has languished... No more... A new wielder... Feel its holy power... Let it calm your mind... Listen, always... Stroke its blade, and listen to the guiding moonlight...”[/I]