The doll looked to the Shopkeeper, then back to Ophelia. “The Shopkeeper is aware of the other Hunters you speak of, though their nature confuses them greatly. Not only has there never been this many Hunters bound to the Dream at once, – even the four we have now is more than I have ever seen – but something also seems to be awry with many of those currently undergoing metamorphosis. A process that should have been a guaranteed success has turned unreliable, and several among the marked have perished before they could even complete their transformation. And many of those who have yet to awaken – if not all of them – may never wake at all. It is most perplexing and unnerving.”
Again the doll paused, seemingly listening to something only she could hear. “While it is true that they witnessed the old Healing Church at their worst, good Hunter, the same could be said for all the factions of Yharnam. On that dreadful night, nigh all who strayed anywhere near the city were driven mad or became beasts. But it is true that the Shopkeeper also found evidence of the wickedness of the Healing Church that far predated the Blood Moon. They were a vile, ruthless institution, and they do not lament their downfall.
They are not certain whether the new Healing Church is any better or worse than the old one, however. From what they know, the new Church are much more cautious with their experimentation, at least, though they seem even more reckless with their reliance on the Old Blood than the old one. All they know for certain is that the White Church seems quite hostile toward them, though they have done nothing to deserve such enmity. They have also not heard anything about the Church having found a way to link to the Dream, and none of the Church have come here as of yet... though it would not surprise them if they were trying to achieve such a thing.”

To Ophelia's last request, the doll bowed yet again, the Shopkeeper merely offered a curt nod of their head whereas Torquil immediately and awkwardly started shuffling toward the door. Ultimately, though, all three of them left and headed back outside and down the stairs there, past the tall headstones the doll had previously mentioned.
Now that the doll had called attention to it, Torquil noticed lines of letters carved into each of these headstones, most of which glittered with a silver sheen, but a couple of which had a golden hue, too. On the last headstone, lowest on the slope, he also spotted the glowing spot the doll had mentioned, waiting for one of them to give it a name.

Though some part of Ophelia wished to continue the conversation, she waited for the others to leave so she could get herself properly dressed in gear that'd at least give her a fighting chance against the terrors that awaited in the waking world. She combed through the chest for a couple of moments before pulling out a selection of garments - the red dress and shoes from the female knight's set, the white overcoat of the Choir set, and the hat from the Bone Ash set. She waited a quick moment, catching her breath and composing herself, before undressing. She took a moment while naked to move back over to the tools that were so familiar to her, and she rested her right hand on them gently as she felt tears begin to well up in her eyes. She'd lost one set of parents when she was young--they'd left one day and simply never returned, and she'd had to fend for herself... until she was taken in by the witches, who'd looked after her as though she were a wayward daughter of their own. She'd never let herself grieve the loss of her adopted parents, but touching their brand again broke the floodgates that she'd been damming for many years and she permitted herself a moment of bawling to commemorate and remember them. She whispered her final goodbyes, hoping their spirits had found solace in the embrace of the realms of Nightmare, and wiped her tears dry as she dressed herself in her new garb.

She took the time to craft for herself a little holster for her beloved Moonlight Sword, that she could snap the sword away from in times of emergency, as well as procuring a number of other items before passing them off to the Messengers to carry for her. The Rosmarinus sang to her in forgotten songs, touching the very edges of her mind, and so she handed that off to the little ones--and she also took the Kos Parasite in its bowl, gently placing it down in the awaiting arms of the Messengers. She offered them a curtsy and a thank you for their service before finally picking up the Holy Moonlight Sword and cradling it in her arms. It could not be a parent to her, but she no longer needed a parent--its guidance was more than enough. She let it rest against her clavicle as she had before, her silvery braid once again wrapping around the sword and little motes of guiding moonlight began to flow across her ornate tresses as she stepped back outside into the waiting moonlight to find where the others had gone.

_Farren

absorbed as much as he could of what was said, and what was going on, but ultimately he found himself relieved when Ophelia asked for some privacy. As the others took their leave, Farren bowed his head to Ophelia in a brief show of respect, “No shame in it,” he said simply, then he took his leave as well, his mind wandering back to the pool overflowing with Messengers as he departed the building.

Shifting his destination with that in mind, the azure-eyed hunter passed Torquil in the others, his stride purposeful as he walked over to the pool. Idly he reached down to the Messengers…and swiftly found that they reached toward him, showing him what they had to offer. “Hmm…” he murmured with a slow exhale as he considered the various items. He saw some things that perhaps Ophelia would be more interested in, but he left those well alone instead eyeing the Quicksilver bullets and the strange hourglass. Ultimately, he decided to abstain from the serpent’s temptation, perhaps he might obtain it later, but for now he’d rather have a series of other more standard, essential tools.

Feeling out the ethereal research that clung to the veins beneath his flesh, Farren made clear his intent, focusing his mind as he willed the blood echoes to transfer to the little eyeless Messengers that clamoured within the pool. In a moment he felt, then saw, the manifestation of what he’d given them leave to conjure via the power of the echoes that had lay within his blood.

Hand outstretched, Farren watched as the withered helpers deposited items into his hand as they faded into existence–or perhaps were pulled from some other realm? He didn’t know, and did away with the thought a moment later, finding either possibility rather disquieting. Eventually, seven(7) vials of pristine blood had formed and were deposited upon his palm. As they came into being, Farren stowed them away safely. The vials were swiftly followed by quicksilver bullets, for which he proffered the container he’d been given by the Blood Moon Hunter. Rather than quicksilver bullets manifesting individually, the Messengers seemed to graze their clambering little digits repeatedly over the glass. Each point of contact seemed to cause more shimmering metallic liquid to spontaneously fill the interior. When he was satisfied he had enough for at least ten(10) Quicksilver bullets, he stopped and refocused even as he stowed the tube away. Reaching out a final time, Farren received nine(9) Lead bullets from the messengers and then stowed them away. Satisfied, Farren turned away from the pool, still feeling at least a third of those strange writhing echoes shifting about his body, almost–but not quite–in sync with the beat of his heart.

As he looked, he saw that Ophelia had not yet joined them outside. He supposed it hadn’t taken him particularly long, so he headed for the Doll to make good on the remaining power latent within him. He eyed her as he approached, stepping in slightly closer than was perhaps polite, before he met her blank-artificial gaze. Farren wondered, as he looked upon her, how much of a mind she truly had, how much will. However, as with many things before, he cast the thought aside and addressed her, though it felt strange to do so.

“I…need more stamina. Can these…echoes serve that purpose?” His bright eyes watched her, almost shining in concert with the moonlight. Then, he watched as the Doll nodded her head. "Indeed. Let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close." She reached to take Farren's hand in her own. "Now shut your eyes…” and he did, though only after a brief hesitation and a look of slight discomfort.

Immediately, Farren felt the vague, ephemeral presence that had been clinging to him begin to drain. As the power that the deaths of Pallid and his ilk back in the clinic was siphoned away into the doll...Farren felt strangely bereft. A faint pang of Hunger beat through him in concert with his heart, but the impression was swiftly scattered as an entirely different power flowed in reverse–pouring back into his person. Something warm and pleasant radiated from the cool porcelain of the doll-hand that held his. It felt like it was pressing itself into his very veins, following the current of his blood as it rapidly circulated throughout his body. Eventually, the feeling diminished, leaving him feeling…normal, yet different somehow. Farren took a deep breath, and his lungs felt larger? No, that wasn’t quite right. Stronger perhaps? It was hard to say, strange as the feeling was. It seemed that the very pathways of his blood and the bellows in his chest had spontaneously improved.

Farren opened his eyes and his hand fell from the Doll’s grasp as he glanced down at himself. He didn’t look any diff–no, his skin, it seemed more lively somehow. It was like the vigor within him had brought new color to his complexion, new energy to his frame. He couldn’t help but smile, “Miraculous…” he whispered, a quiet awe in his voice.

After a moment’s quiet, the revelation began to fade, taking that strange new awe with it, and the Azure-eyed hunter gave the Doll a respectful nod. Whether she were truly alive or not, she had done them many services and he appreciated greatly her contributions towards their betterment. “Blessings, miss,” Farren said softly. Delicately, he brought her hand–with his own–to his lips and lightly ghosted a kiss upon the porcelain that served as her skin. The warmth of before was largely gone and he did not linger, letting the Doll’s hand go before he turned and walked towards Torquil.

He hoped they could depart soon, for the Hunger in his blood quietly itched to find more beasts….

Torquil mostly just stood there for a while, looking at Farren first pulling objects out of the birdbath and then holding hands with the living doll, and wondered if the world used to make sense or if it had always been utter nonsense like this. People getting killed but not dying, waking up on an island in the clouds with a sky that decided to just spontaneously switch time of day... People talking to glowing, magical swords, and passing entire arsenals to little bony men that lived in the ground...
Sighing to himself, Torquil shook his head in resignation and wondered if things really made more sense to the others, or if they were just more comfortable being confused. He longed for that place he had seen flashes of in his memories, that nice, cozy little cabin in the woods... remote, quiet and simple. Lonely, but predictable, understandable. He would even prefer being back in the city of Yharnam and embroiled in some frantic fight to the death with a beast hoarse men, where none of the weirdness mattered and all he had to do was to hit the ones that wanted to hurt him really, really hard.
So weird...

Not sure what to do with himself while Farren did his thing and Ophelia changed, Torquil turned to have a closer look at the headstones that were apparently their means of returning to the “Waking World”, whatever that meant. The glowing spot on the last headstone he understood from the doll's explanation represented the lantern Farren had lit earlier, waiting to be given a name. It did not exactly “make sense,” but he understood the general concept, at least. He pondered a name for it for a moment, but could not come up with anything before his mind started to wander to other things...
Like the other things written on the headstones.

The one he was looking at had an inscription way up at the top, where it simply said “YHARNAM” in capital letters, but that was not all. Below that it had “West Blood Ministration Clinic”, “Great Bridge”, “Tomb of Oedon”, “Cathedral Ward”, “White Church Workshop”, “Upper Cathedral Ward”, “Lumenflower Gardens”, “Old Yharnam” and “Black Church Workshop”.
The one next to it had the title “FRONTIER” and listed places such as “Hemwick Charnel Lane”, “Witch's Abode”, “Forbidden Woods” and “Immigrant Camps”.
Yet another had “UNSEEN” at the top, and “Outside Yahar'gul”, “Castle Cainhurst” and “Vileblood Queen's Chamber”.
And finally the last one was ominously marked “NIGHTMARE” and had just two items, “Halls of the Old Lords” and “Lair of the Wise Master”.
All of the lines that sounded vaguely like places gleamed like silver, except two; the letters of “Upper Cathedral Ward” and “Lumenflower Gardens” were gold instead of silver.

Torquil shrugged to himself. It was way too abstract for him to try to figure out what places these names referred to, especially when he was barely familiar with Yharnam in the first place. Hopefully the others would understand.

Ophelia exited the workshop to find Torquil wandering amongst the headstones, and Farren conversing with the doll. She strolled down the path at a somewhat leisurely pace, perusing the same headstones that Torquil was and coming to a much more profound realisation than he appeared to be capable of doing: these were all locations in Yharnam and its surrounds, as well as the various realms of the Nightmare if the headstones were to be believed--and if she had to guess, they referred to a lantern like the one that they'd used to enter into the Hunter's Dream. The ability to slip into another layer of reality to bridge the distances between locations in the Waking World... it boggled the mind, what awesome power that could enable a person to possess. It also made a lot of sense, in her mind, that the Shopkeeper had succeeded during the fabled Night of the Blood Moon. Immortality and the means to circumvent massive distances were boons few could hope to compete with... and it made sense why Mother Moira had gotten to wield such power and influence. As she scanned her moonlight-coloured eyes over the headstones she took notice of the flowers, and the light haze of mist in the air. She permitted herself to smell the flowers while she was here, and found them curiously moon-scented. It almost smelled less in their presence, compared to the powerful scent from the Shopkeeper (and less powerful scent from Torquil). She found the sensation oddly relaxing, as she basked in the light of the moon above and the shard of cosmic light that remained at her side.

"Does time flow differently in the realms of Nightmare, love?" Ophelia asked the doll, to be met with a response: "It does not, good Hunter. The time you spend here is the same as what passes in the Waking World, and in most of the Nightmare."

She nodded thoughtfully at that, a smile beginning to creep at the edges of her lips. Her left hand idly played with the brim of her hat, and her right stroked rhythmically to and fro along the gleaming blade of the Holy Moonlight Sword. That gave her ideas, a better sense of the scale of the board. Some part of her wondered if it was perhaps a test, then, by the White Church. The message on that chalkboard had been very clear: for the eyes of the First Hunter only. Each of these new revelations struck her mind refracted through the guiding prism of her sword, and she was certain of only one thing: there were layers of intrigue here, entire levels of a bigger picture that she simply did not have enough information to possibly parse. There was some small victory in becoming aware of those layers, however--she knew that she was free to follow her curiosity wherever it might lead. She turned to face the doll and posed another question, her expression having taken on a slight look of wonderment and awe similar to Farren's.

"You mentioned earlier that you could use these... echoes of blood to assist us, mm? I could perhaps do with a little more stamina, and my wasting sickness left me quite weak before the ministration. Could you perhaps help with that too?"

The doll nodded her head. "Very well. Let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close." She reached to take Ophelia's hand in hers. "Now shut your eyes..."

Immediately, Ophelia felt the vague, ephemeral presence that had been clinging to her since Pallid and his minions had died back in the clinic drain away, its power being siphoned away from her and into the doll... only to feel another kind of power to flow in reverse. Something warm and pleasant radiated from the cool porcelain of the doll-hand she was holding. It felt like it filled her veins, followed the current of her blood and rapidly circulated throughout her body, until the feeling eventually diminished, leaving her feeling as normal.

And yet not. Even just passively standing there, Ophelia would notice her breathing having gotten easier, as if her respiratory system had just been instantaneously improved... which it probably had.

She took in a hearty lungful of air and gave the doll a radiant smile after she exhaled joyfully, offering her another quick curtsy. Her flesh had taken on a lissom rosiness beyond even what the ministration had granted her, and she seemed to hold herself with a greater ease than before. Her movements were already graceful, but now they lacked a certain laboriousness they had previously and she seemed almost to glide as she moved to sidle next to Farren.

"You might want to check those gravestones over there with Torquil, love. Let me know what you think." she opined, before continuing on to the birdbath with the messengers as she moved there next. She perused its selection of items thoughtfully, eagerly craning to read the scrolls bearing descriptions where appropriate, until she settled on the Memory of Stars. She channelled that power in the closest approximation she could to how the doll had done it, manifesting the echoes and pushing them out towards the messengers to bridge the gap between worlds.

Upon retrieving the item Ophelia proceeded to use it immediately, eager to gain the insight therein.

Barely had Ophelia's fingers grasped the materialized skull before she felt the bone crumple, turning to dust at even a gentle touch... but the dust did not get fall to gravity or get carried away by the wind. The white mist-like cloud slipped through her fingers and traveled up her arm, slithering among the moon-motes that still danced before her eyes, up her shoulder and eventually seemed to simply fade away as it reached her head.
To the others, Ophelia looked like she fell into a trance, simply staring off into space. But to Ophelia...




“Look!” a woman in ragged clothes called out excitedly, pointing at a pile of refuse a short ways ahead of her group. Within the pile of trash something shone in the daylight with a metallic sheen, causing her to salivate as she hastened ahead. She narrowly avoided stepping on the partially buried and mostly decomposed head of an overlooked corpse as she ran over, only for her to temper her eagerness and cautiously sift through what she had found.
“Heh, almost stepped on one,” a similarly weathered man murmured as he and a second woman crouched down by the mostly buried corpse and started unearthing their find, eagerly checking the carcass for valuables. “There's so many 'round here.”
“I know, right?” the woman helping him loot the corpse chuckled. “Everyone's afraid of the place, but there's a bunch of dead people. It's a goldmine, ripe for the taking.”
Ahead of those two the first woman stood from her treasure, shoulders sagging and a sour mien on her face. “'Twas just an empty bowl. Nothin' good in here.”
“This fella's got a purse of coins,” the man announced, triumphantly raising the small, moldy bag he had just retrieved. “What'ya think, Ella? 'nough for a few vials?”
The woman helping with the corpse – Ella – deftly snatched the purse from her companion's hand and easily ripped the fabric apart, pouring a handful of intermingled silver and copper coins into her waiting hand. “Maybe a couple, if we get them cheap. Not enough for the good stuff.”
“Rats,” the man cursed, immediately getting back up and shading his eyes with his hand as he started looking intently ahead.

These three ratty individuals followed the outer wall bordering the dark, forbidden place called Yahar'gul, eagerly searching for any forgotten or discarded items that might have been left behind by those fleeing the hidden village, or the remains of any unfortunate soul that had fallen in their escape. They wrestled porcelain toys from the brittle hands of children, tore teeth of gold and silver from rotting skulls and dug through layers of maggots and other carrion insects in search of wayward jewelry. Coins were only the most direct source of profit; these looters seized any opportunity to take something of value, hoping against hope to find intact blood vials without even realizing that any such blood would surely have rotted by now.
“There's another one over there,” Ella called, the other woman darting ahead as soon as the words were spoken. “Clothes look fancy.”
The other woman threw herself to her knees before the corpse, immediately starting to rummage through its pockets. “Fancy's right! And fresh! This guy can't've been off'ed more than a few days ago.”
“Really?” Ella walked over there, and sure enough this corpse seemed much more recent than the others they had found, likely another looter that had been careless and gotten killed by a beast...
Or so Ella had presumed, until she took a closer look at the lifeless form before her, causing her to frown in confusion. He had relatively fancy clothes, yes, but not just any fancy clothes; the corpse wore a Black Church Hunter's garb! She reflexively sniffed the air, checking for the distinctive scent that perpetually surrounded Hunters, but whatever smell might have once hung over this body was obliterated by the thick stench of death and decay.
“Praise Oedon!” the other woman exclaimed, seemingly indifferent to the possible identity of the corpse she was looting. “Blood vials! There's like, eh... three, four... five? Five of them!”
“Seriously?” The man threw himself to the ground next to her, joining her in searching. “Gimme one! I haven't had a drink for days!”
“Find yer own!”
Ella remained standing as her fellows argued about ownership of their find, quite perturbed by the thought that this person, who was probably a Hunter for all they knew, had been killed here... recently. Hunters were monstrously powerful; so powerful, in fact, that Ella had never even considered the fact that they could die. More troubling still, the corpse seemed mostly intact. Had this guy been killed by a beast, surely it would have devoured him.
“I don't think...” she started, only to be distracted from what she was saying as her eyes fell on a second figure on the ground nearby. Though this one was in much plainer clothes, that corpse seemed much newer than the others they had found, too. And next to that body, a third. And a fourth. In fact now that she did not have tunnel vision on the prospective loot on the dead Hunter, Ella realized that this particular area seemed to have over a dozen more or less recent dead bodies scattered about, another several of which were also Hunters.

“We should leave. Now.” Ella took a step back, trembling despite her general indifference toward the dead her great desire for blood. “I don't like this. Something's not right.”
“But look at all this stuff!” the other woman cheered, either not noticing or not caring about the creeping dread in Ella's voice. “We'll be drinkin' for weeks with all this –”
There was a flash of red light from somewhere, though it was so blindingly bright that Ella was not even sure where it came from, causing her to close her eyes and shield them with her hands. The light was as brief as it was bright, however, and soon enough Ella was blinking away the shadows and dancing lights burned into her retinas.
“What was –” she started asking, only for her to choke on her words as her recovering gaze fell on her companions... or rather, on where her companions had been mere seconds earlier. All that remained of them and the dead Hunter they had been looting was a pile of dark-gray ash and three charred skeletons, two of which were sprawled on top of the third.

“Fascinating,” a female voice spoke to Ella's left, causing her to jump and recoil from the sound, whimpering in fear and confusion... both of which only intensified when she failed to identify the speaker anywhere near her, despite there being nowhere to hide. “Interesting. A rather small area of effect, but surprisingly effective, at least situationally.”
Before Ella's eyes the air in front of her started shimmering, the image of the background warping as though seen through curved glass in the shape of a humanoid figure, before the image of the ground and wall past this aberration was finally replaced by the fully fledged form of a person standing before her. The abruptly revealed woman wore strange clothes the like of which Ella had only seen on merchants and some of the fancy-pants that came here to study Yharnam, and carried an odd, fleshy lump in her left hand. The lump seemed to be slowly throbbing in her grasp as though with a steady heartbeat, and was giving off a soft glow the same color as the flash from before. In her other hand she held... something? A fish, maybe? It looked like a long, blue wiggling creature of some kind.
The strange woman did not seem to pay any mind to Ella, but was instead looking at the remains of her freshly obliterated friends, seeming entirely unmoved by the sight.
“The effect would probably not be as pronounced against something with a greater life force, like a live Hunter or beast, but it is certainly promising. It seems that increasing the ratio of mercury to blood by ten percent reduced the target area by twenty percent, but increased the heat generated by... ah, I suppose I will have to examine the remains, won't I?”
“Y-y-y-you...” Ella stumbled back, her eyes wide in terror at a danger she did not understand, her entire body trembling in dread. “P-please... don't...”
The woman turned to look at Ella, which finally gave voice to the scream that had been building in the ragged looter's throat. Her eyes were wrong; where there should have been scleras were instead a fathomless black void, stars glittering in an alien night's sky that should not exist, whereas iris and pupil had been replaced with a churning, swirling mass of tiny violet specks.
Ella fell on her hands and butt, screaming in abject horror as she tried desperately to scramble away, yet finding herself incapable of breaking eye-contact with this unnatural visage before her.
“Fear not,” the woman remarked softly, a smile creasing her mouth that might have seemed kind if not for her eyes, which expressed nothing but indifference, “for they, as all of us, will be reborn in the Nightmare. This life is but a test posed to us by the gods. Surely you do not doubt their boundless wisdom, little looter?”
She could not stop screaming. She could not speak, could not think, could barely even move; this was fear unlike anything Ella had ever experienced, so intense that it washed away everything else. The world itself seemed to shrink and fade away, until there was nothing but those eyes, swallowing her, consuming her, the starlit sky within surrounding her completely.
“Accept their love,” the woman sang, her voice hypnotic and hauntingly beautiful as the violet spheres floating amidst empty space grew more active, the movement of the life within growing suddenly frantic. “Embrace the gods... and allow them to embrace you.”
The mass of writhing motion abruptly pulsed, their centers folding away to reveal what resided within, revealing an insight beyond what any human could fathom, beyond what a mind could endure...

And the memory faded.