Ophelia took Dietrich's offered arm with a grateful smile, having to switch where the Holy Moonlight Sword was kept on her person to the right side as she linked her left arm with his. It rested in precisely the same spot, albeit on the opposite side, and her long and ornate silver-grey braid seemed to curl around it in just the same fashion as it had around the other side. Her eyes noticed the tiny speck of the Guidance sprite, and she stored that information away for later--something about the First Hunter had been marked by the realms of Nightmare. She would have to ask the Messengers about him when she returned to the Dream--as well as giving her report to the Shopkeeper. Between him and the Doll, they would be able to make more reaching and astute leaps of logic about the current goings-on of the Church with even the little bits of information that she'd picked up.

She took note of the mass of supplies in the hallway they passed, how much they had and where they kept it--and the things she knew they'd need but didn't see--before finding herself alone with Dietrich in his office. It was... well, she had expected something a little more, but its largely perfunctory nature spoke to something deeply pragmatic about him. Romanticism and Pragmatism were not often close allies, but if there was someone who could pull it off she supposed it would be Dietrich. She tried not to pay too much attention to the banner--every time her eyes flicked up to observe the symbol on the lower half she felt this awful itch come across her forehead, and it took a not insignificant amount of willpower to not feverishly scratch at it. She would never do so in Dietrich's presence, though, of course. She did not sit as Dietrich had not, but rested her free left hand upon the ornately carved top of one of the chairs and let her fingers gently trace over the whorls and ridges while she spoke.

"Perhaps I should explain from the beginning... I recently sought out blood ministration, and got it. I awoke in a small clinic on the other side of Yharnam, overlooking a similar cliff, alongside a number of other newly blooded Hunters and a number of corpses, whose eyes had frayed from the Scourge ravaging them..." she began, before reciting the message exactly as she'd seen it:



"... and then we were set upon by a strange and pallid man, and his beastman companion. We slew them, naturally, but not before he mentioned something about a "Soulkeeper" wanting to see us. The message was quite clear--the results are for your ears only. Well... here I am. A Paleblood Hunter, it'd seem, tied to the Hunter's Dream. Victor found us and helped dispatch the threat--there are others like me--but I saw the opportunity to come here and speak with you. The rest you are aware of." she finished, looking thoughtful. She stole occasional glances at her sword, and otherwise kept her gaze trailing the length and breadth of Dietrich's body. He would be forgiven for thinking her checking him out--and that was not entirely untrue--but she was really keeping an eye out for any more Guidance sprites.

Though Dietrich seemed entirely unsurprised and unconcerned about Ophelia revealing where she had received blood treatment, which she would probably assume revealed a great deal to him, the First Hunter reacted very strongly when she mentioned the corpses with scourge-ravaged eyes. His eyes widened and his smile, which had endured undaunted until then, vanished in an instant as the man's posture abruptly slouched. He raised both hands to his face and covered his mouth with them, looking deeply disturbed by what he had just heard.
The revelation of the message they had found on the blackboard prompted no reaction in him, though he still seemed troubled; he only collected himself and refocused when Ophelia moved on to mention the clinic coming under attack by Pallid and his minions. There was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth at the mention of Soulkeeper, but otherwise he did not seem to outwardly react to any of the rest she had to say, but rather spent the time recovering from what he had heard.

“I see,” he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I... I'm sorry, of course you would have questions and want answers after all that, though it seems you have figured out some of it already. I am very happy you came to me as soon as you did, Miss Ophelia, though...”
He sighed and shook his head despondently. “I wish these others you speak of had come too, and I will need to have the others at the clinic examined. We need to know what went wrong, why some didn't make it.” He let out a short, mirthless chuckle. “I suppose you must think me responsible for all of this due to this... 'message' you read. I didn't write it, but you are not wrong; I was supposed to oversee this little experiment, and I helped to arrange it. I will answer any of your questions that I can, but if you want to know everything there is to know, you will have to speak with the vicar.”

Paying close attention as she were, Ophelia would notice that the occurrence earlier at the entrance to the workshop had indeed not been a unique one. Every four or five seconds, even standing mostly still as he did now, a faint, weak little guidance sprite would appear somewhere near Dietrich, exist for half a second, then sputter and vanish.

Ophelia pondered Dietrich's reactions with an unnerving intensity, each microexpression a story of its own. Giving away too much of their information would not bode well for the trio, for the White Church were certainly not their allies, but she could intuit that they must have some knowledge of the Hunter's Dream. If not from their predecessors, from Gerlinde... though who could say what her relationship to them really was, beyond the fact that they had one and appeared to be allies. Working together, at the very least--whether that was under duress, convenience, or earnest loyalty was beyond her ability to glean.

"What do you know of Caryll runes, dear?"

Dietrich looked confused. "Caryll Runes? Not much, I suppose... They're symbols made my a runesmith named Caryll. Like those." He pointed to the banner.

"And what of the realms of Nightmare? Are you familiar with the Hunter's Dream, for instance?" Ophelia followed up, nodding thoughtfully at his answer.

"I know they exist, and that Paleblood Hunters can go there and we regular Hunters cannot. I also know that the Hunter's Dream is where the Moonborn Hunter lives."

"Mm, indeed... Now, this might be a strange request, but would you mind showing me your bare arms? I hope that you'll forgive my impertinence, love, but it will all make sense very soon. We find ourselves each in possession of information the other is not; together, we might gain understanding that would elude us alone." Ophelia asked, scanning his arms up and down. The little traces of energy upon him worried her--he could be subject to some malign influence, perhaps that queer gold outside... She'd very briefly thought perhaps a rune--though that would be branded in his mind, and she'd not seen any traces of the sprites around herself or the others after their branding.

She had thought, given the little context she had, that Dietrich was the mastermind behind this venture--but she found herself believing him when he professed that he did not know all of the specifics and that she would have to speak with the vicar. It made a certain degree of sense, of course, but she was wary nevertheless--she still did not have a good idea of the board and all its proverbial pieces, and that made knowing who to trust very difficult. Farren and Torquil, of course, went without saying--they were one and the same now. The Shopkeeper--who Dietrich had referred to as the 'Moonborn Hunter', which made sense given their Moonborn Bells--also seemed trustworthy to Ophelia's mind... and the Doll, too. Everyone else, however... Not so much. Dietrich's charm and appeal could very well be a smokescreen for more nefarious intent, but she did not permit herself to consider that yet.

“My arms?” he repeated, blinking his eyes several times quickly as he tried and failed to identify a reason for the request. “I suppose.”
Stepping behind his desk, Dietrich first pulled off his gloves and then proceeded to roll up first his left sleeve, then his right, all the way up to the shoulder so that both his arms and hands were fully exposed. He held them out for her to examine as she wished. He had nicely defined, but curiously understated muscles that spoke of strength without bulkiness, and his skin was clean, unmarked and faintly suntanned.
There was nothing of particular note about his arms, but she might notice another little guidance sprite appearing and disappearing again, though this time from near his thigh. She would probably be able to tell that the moon-sprites were not coming from any particular part of Dietrich, but just showed up in his vicinity every few seconds.

Ophelia studied him with the same rigour as she had before, though once the guidance sprite appeared around his thigh it became obvious that it was not bound to a singular location and that he was, generally, touched by the Nightmare in some way.

"Hm. Thank you--I awoke with a certain... sensitivity to the realms of Nightmare, you see, and I can sense their touch upon you. Feather-light, but consistent. Were you aware of this fact, dear?" Ophelia followed up, letting her gaze linger upon his arms a little longer than was necessary before she motioned with her free hand to indicate that her observation was complete. She gave him a warm and genuine smile as thanks for his compliance, and her brows furrowed with thought as she considered the many possibilities.

"Victor and the others were planning to make their way back here; once our business here is concluded, I intend to return to them and travel across Yharnam on foot to get back here. Would you like me to bring one of the cadavers for you to study?" She offered as an afterthought, trying not to end her stream of questions at any point on something negative or too prying.

“Touched by the Nightmare?” Dietrich laughed, a light and gentle sound, as he started to unroll his sleeves again. “I can't say that I'm aware of anything like that, no, but it does sound intriguing. I certainly hope it's not some manner of curse from the Followers waiting to hinder me in a critical moment.” He spoke the words with a mirthful smile, but his tone made it ambiguous whether he was jesting or actually concerned with what this Nightmarish presence might be.

“Bringing a cadaver here won't be necessary,” he told her, holding up a hand to halt and calm her. “On any other night I would have told you yes, but the bells have already rung once and will soon ring again with the moonrise, and the Night of the Hunt will really get started. The last thing you'd want when the beasts start coming out of their holes is to be carrying around a fresh body. No, the dead can wait for dawn.”
Pulling his gloves back on and taking great care to ensure that there were no creases in his freshly smoothed-out sleeves, the First Hunter bit his lip. “Tell me: your fellows from the clinic... they are not here, and you say they intend to come on foot. Does that mean that you are the only one of you bound to the Hunter's Dream?”

Ophelia tilted her head to the side slightly and squinted at Dietrich as he began to roll down his sleeves, though it was clear from her expression that her mind was briefly elsewhere. She turned to look at the Holy Moonlight Greatsword and stroked it tenderly, before angling the tip of the blade closer to her face so she could whisper directly to it. "Show me the truth, Mother Moon. Reveal what has been hidden." came out, grave-quiet, though as a Hunter she had no doubt Dietrich would hear it.

The reply came to her not in speech, but vibrations within the ocean of her mind. Ripples of arcane knowledge washing over her, whose patterns she could transliterate into speech: "Huntress... This man... The Nightmare is not on him... it is in him... in his blood... It is very faint... You feel the same... but stronger... His is but a hint of your glory..."

"... Ahhh, you are right, Mother Moon." Ophelia began, offering her blade the gentlest of strokes as thanks. "You are not simply touched by it, Dietrich, it is within you. These experiments, tying Hunters to the Dream... did you try them upon yourself at any point in the process of refinement? Perhaps you were you simply born of it? Nevertheless--there is a power within you, a cousin to that which resides in me. There are two others that awakened, also tied to the Dream with me. Gerlinde too, of course, though you must know that already. We've not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. I came ahead because of the message--I thought it must be left by you, and thus you would be the one to talk with. I cannot abide a mystery." Ophelia commented, relaxing somewhat from her tense and scrutinous posture. She felt like she could trust Dietrich, and though some small part of her rebelled against that it was quickly quashed by the warmth of his smile and the beauty of his eyes--she saw no reason not to divulge the Truths she saw to him, if he truly was akin to her.

Dietrich raised an eyebrow at Ophelia's mention of the Nightmare being in him rather than on him, and he raised the other eyebrow when she guessed he might have tried the experiments on himself. He seemed quite puzzled yet also mildly intrigued by her theories regarding this strange hint of something supernatural that clung to him, and a small, relieved smile appeared on his face when she confirmed that the others were bound to the Dream as well.
That smile grew strained with another twitch at the corner of his mouth, however, when Ophelia mentioned Gerlinde; a reaction that was surprisingly similar to when she had mentioned Soulkeeper.

“I don't know all the details, as I said,” Dietrich told her, “but I don't think any experiments have been conducted on me, no. Nor have they on you.”
Taking a deep breath, the First Hunter explained: “Paleblood, which makes Hunters able to bind themselves to the Dream and attain immortality, is a disease. The experiment, as I understand it, was to artificially induce that disease in people and then turn them into Hunters. All the others at the clinic where you awoke were part of the experiment; every last one of them. But not you. I recognized your name instantly when you told me; you are the one person out of that crowd to actually have Paleblood. You are the real thing. The others... well, the vicar will want to meet them and see the results for himself. If they are truly bound to the Dream, then at least some good came of this tragedy.”

_Farren

endured the strange, if brief, sensation of falling nearly into unconsciousness before rising once more. He took a single step forward, away from the lantern, looking mildly disoriented for a moment before his eyes focused. He scanned the room, noting the clean up job that Victor had done in their absence. Perhaps he’d simply grown bored. Perhaps it was functional for if they were able to escort a group back to take care of the patients in the other chamber. Once he’d taken things in, Farren stretched briefly, flexing his fingers and rolling his neck before he walked towards Victor and the exit. “Ophelia. She’ll join us later, said she had…other business,” Farren replied, his tone gruff, expression a bit dark, not unreadable but more like he didn’t want to discuss the matter further.

“Kept you waiting…your ally waiting longer. Lead the way?” While it was technically question–posed as Farren glanced at Victor and stopped a few feet ahead of him, thus further away from the door than Victor was–Farren’s inflection made it sound more like a statement–his mild irritation almost making it an order. Almost.

“Or is there something else we should do here…” he added, trailing off, clearly suggesting that there wasn’t jack shit else by the near deadpan on his face and the raspy sarcasm in his tone.

Though he seemed a little taken aback by Farren's tone, Victor seemed to deem it not worth commenting on. He did want one point elaborated on, however: “What do you mean, 'she'll join us later'? She'll come here?” He gestured vaguely in the area to the right of the lantern, once more making it clear that he had no idea where it even was.
“I planned on knocking over this pile of crap on our way out,” he explained, pointing his sword at the heap of furniture next to the exit, “to block the entrance. But if she's coming, too, and will need to leave after us, I guess I can't do that...” He grimaced. “Damn it, why did that stupid beast have to break the door so bad and make things all complicated?”

Ophelia took stock of the little twitch in Dietrich's mouth when she mentioned Gerlinde, very curious that it carried that same vague whiff of dignified disdain as when she'd mentioned "Soulkeeper" earlier. She added that little tidbit to her hoard of knowledge eagerly, though there was no outward reflection of that (or very little; Dietrich seemed perceptive enough to perhaps understand).

She reacted with unabated shock when he revealed what Paleblood really was, and a sudden look of rapturous epiphany came over her face. So that was what it was; she'd simply known it as a wasting sickness, with very little indication of the true nature of what ran through her veins... but it all made sense. The dreams, her uncanny insights, how she'd taken to the Witches' tutelage so immediately and adeptly. Another mystery crossed off of her list, though it made her wonder how she had never found the answer before.

"Ah, so that's what it is... That... answers a lot of questions I've had over the years. Thank you, Dietrich. The Vicar... would you like us to go and speak with him now? I admit, I feel a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving my companions to tread the breadth of our city on foot on a night like this. I would glean what answers I can, answer what questions of yours I can, and return to them as quickly as possible. I will return, of course, but... later. If it pleases you, I could simply refrain from meeting the vicar until we are all assembled; given that the others are the result of his experiments and I am not, I don't know whether it would be improper." Ophelia replied, giving him a grateful curtsey as she first began to speak.

Ophelia's last words managed to draw a rich, hearty laughter out of Dietrich. “Improper? Not at all! Vicar Harold would be delighted to meet with you, and I am sure you would love him as well. He's such a nice old man. But if you want to delay meeting him until your fellows are here, too, I won't stop you... nor am I able to, for that matter.” There was a hint of bitterness to those last words.
“Tell me, though: is there any reason that you could not simply fetch your companions and come back the way you just got here? If all of you can travel here through the Hunter's Dream, then surely there is no need for you to traverse moonlit Yharnam on a Night of the Hunt at all.”

Ophelia beamed at Dietrich's laughter, though her expression darkened slightly and her eyes narrowed just a hair at the hint of bitterness she detected. It could be many things, and Dietrich was a man she had just met--she made no judgements, simply filed it away in her hoard of information to be considered and perused like a precious jewel later on in the context of a collection. She adjusted the brim of her hat with her free hand, tilting it slightly back, and then fidgeted with her long and ornate braid as she spoke:

"Ahh, it most certainly would be improper to leave Victor to travel back here alone, no? He is running perilously low on blood vials, he said, and we can guarantee his safety in a way that no other Hunters can. He was a great help to us during our conflict with the pallid one and his filthy beastman; I most certainly owe him the courtesy of escorting him back. I think I would like to meet with the Vicar now, though, if you'll escort me? I would certainly find it impolite if a visitor with tidings such as mine visited my abode and spoke only to my second-in-command!"

Ophelia then squinted a little, tilting her head slightly to the right, before making a little tsk as she pondered something. She tried to call for the Messengers again, wondering if they would show up here inside the Workshop. If they did, she would ask Dietrich if she could scribe a letter quickly using the materials strewn about--and if not, she would extend her free arm out for Dietrich to take and lead her to the Vicar.

_Farren

saw Victor’s reaction, but as he didn’t make a big deal of it, Farren didn’t either. However, the other hunter began questioning Ophelia’s return and Farren sighed, rubbing at his temples, rethinking his attempt at moving on without explanation–and somewhat rudely at that. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Farren shook his head, “Won’t be an issue. The lantern we used to enter the Hunter’s Dream–as its hosts called it–will give her access to other avenues to join us.”

As he said it, Farren knelt down and silently beckoned the messengers, causing the crawling eyeless helpers to burgeon forth from the floorboards with a scrap of parchment in their tiny clutching fingers. Farren realized he didn’t have anything to write with however, the messengers seemed to respond even to that and as he focused on what he wanted to convey to Ophelia, the spindly digits of the little figures seemed to blur and scratch at the parchment, leaving behind pinkish-white lettering. Farren squinted at the message for a time, deciphering it before nodding in thanks to the little creatures.


The handwriting would be far more precise, clean, and practiced than Farren’s would have actually been, perhaps revealing that the messengers had written it for him. Admittedly he was grateful for that as it’d have taken him longer to write on his own. Pushing back to a standing position from where he’d crouched, the azure-eyed hunter met Victor’s gaze, knowing that his behavior would seem strange. “We were given means to send something like letters to eachother when separated,” Farren said as paltry explanation. “Ophelia will know she’ll have to find a different path to us,” the dreambound hunter added, an air of finality about his words before he glanced at Torquil and jerked his head to indicate the exit. Then he headed that way and–unless given reason to stop–would pass beyond the threshold, his senses once more attuned to the environment for any possible threats. After all, at times like these, the night was dark and full of terrors.

Dietrich shrugged at Ophelia's insistence on accompanying Victor back to the workshop, and though his left eye did slightly narrow at the claim that they could “guarantee his safety in a way that no other Hunter can,” he did not comment on it. He also cocked his head and furrowed his brow when she tried to call upon the Messengers again; he looked at her expectantly for a moment, waiting to see if her pretend-pondering resulted in any further questions, but seemed to disregard her behavior when that turned out not to be the case. The Messengers, even here away from the golden lantern, remained absent.
“As you wish,” he told her, offering her a quick, small bow before stepping forward and offering his arm once again. “You'll like Vicar Harold, I'm sure. Everyone likes him. He's such a nice old man.”

Once more regardless of whether she accepted his arm or not, Dietrich opened the door and led her back into the main room of the workshop, where everyone present appeared to have returned to their places and be hard at work with whatever they were doing. Hunter equipment were being carefully maintained by some of the civilians, with them sharpening and oiling blades, the switching springs and gears that allowed trick weapons to perform their transformations, disassembling, cleaning and reassembling guns... all while others kept bringing out more baskets of food and drink and more bundles of cloth. Ophelia might notice that three of the Hunters she had seen when she first entered had left and two new ones had arrived, one of whom was unarmed and watching one civilian grinding the small sword of a Holy Blade on a whetstone while another was examining its blade-scabbard.
“Nights of the Hunt are always hectic, no matter how many times they happen,” the First Hunter explained as they traversed the room. “It's a lot safer than it used to be just because we have more Hunters than the old Healing Church, but that also means a lot of work making sure our Hunters are well-equipped and cared for.”
Ophelia and Dietrich descended the central stairs back to the ground floor of the building, and as they did, one of the side doors in the hall furthest from the entrance – to their left as they descended the stairs – opened, and another two people in White Church Hunter garb emerged, a man and a woman. Both of these were unarmed and seemed to still be in the process of putting on their gloves, and seemed a fair bit less tense than the other Hunters. Then they spotted Dietrich, froze, and abruptly split up and hurried away.
Dietrich sighed. “No matter how much some pretend otherwise, deep down we're still human... with every base need and desire that entails.” He did not elaborate on what he meant.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and went back out the double doors Ophelia had entered through just a few minutes ago, close enough to where she had originally awakened in the Upper Cathedral Ward that she could actually see the golden lantern. Rather than going that way, however, Dietrich turned left before leaving the semicircular platform and toward a second stairway that went up into an enclosed passage rather than back outside.
This set of stairs was quite a bit longer than the one they had climbed to get to Dietrich's office, ascending toward a landing where the passage turned ninety degrees to the right and continued to rise. They climbed up toward an end of the passage where they could see the unobstructed night's sky.

When they finally arrived, the passage opened up into a huge, mostly open area. The part Ophelia and Dietrich were on was a stone walkway, raised a good three meters or so, that drew a horseshoe-shape clockwise around the area, with the two ends of it – the one they stood on and the one across from them – were under a canopy roof held up by a row of sturdy stone columns, but the central part was unroofed and open to the starry sky. To their left the pathway they were on lowered somewhat, and on the part at the very middle of the room it transitioned into a final stair that allowed one to reach the lowest part. Also to their left it would be almost impossible to miss the large, tall stained-glass window adorning a colossal building that took up that entire side of this room, and seemed to extend even beyond it. On this part, below the window but above the stair, she would spot another golden plinth with another lantern, identical to the one she had arrived through. This one, too, appeared to be already lit.
But all of that paled next to what one saw when glancing down from the pathway, into the lower part of the area. The ground down there appeared to be soil rather than stone, and that soil seemed to being used to grow an entire field of flowers unlike anything Ophelia had ever seen before. The stem of each flower looked to be easily as tall as her, most of them even taller, with large spade-formed leaves. Each flower was topped by a bud that looked to be larger than her torso, which looked as though they were just barely beginning to bloom, with the center of each bud just barely cracking open, revealing the very tips of petals that seemed to glow faintly with a silver light of their own, as if each of these flower-buds had captured and were now emanating the light of a currently absent moon. Though they were not spherical, those buds somehow reminded Ophelia of eyes, and she got the strangest sense that they were looking at her. The entire field down there, she would doubtlessly notice, was also positively swarming with guidance sprites.
And right there, kneeling amidst this field of huge flowers, seemingly in the process of weeding one of them, was the single human figure that seemed to live in this space: a feeble, elderly man that looked to be in his early fifties with short, light-gray hair. He stood and wiped his hands on a robe that looked a lot like the one Ophelia was wearing over her dress, staining the white cloth slightly with dirt and soil, before looking up at them and sending her a wide, thoroughly grandfatherly smile. Wrinkles and smile-lines marked the skin around his light-brown, heavy-lidded eyes. He was a nice old man.
The thought came to Ophelia unbidden, no matter whether it would be a natural observation for her to make or not. Due in part to her insight, but more so because of her affinity for the arcane and experience with one's perception being manipulated supernaturally, Ophelia would be quick to realize that something was influencing her mind here. Simply knowing was not enough to help her resist it, however, and though she could feel the Holy Moonlight Sword trying to help her power through, this influence was yet too strong.

“Ah, Ophelia!” the nice old man called to her, turning and climbing the stair to join her and Dietrich on the raised pathway. “Welcome! It's so good to finally meet you!”
Beside her, Dietrich released the straps attaching his greatsword to his back, only promptly move it in front of himself, tip down, as he lowered his head and knelt before this nice old man.
“I am Harold,” he told her cordially, still smiling, as he reached them. He offered her his hand.


“I... see,” Victor said, his eyes narrowing as he tried and failed to comprehend what Farren was doing and saying. Seeing this other Hunter being so confused by something Torquil actually understood – at least somewhat – brought a smile to his face behind the visor of his helmet. It felt nice not being the only one that was lost for once. “I suppose we can just get going, then.”
As the three of them exited the clinic where Torquil, Farren and Ophelia had first awoken as Hunters mere minutes ago – finding the corpses of the ones that had tried to abduct them messily disposed of on the ground – , Victor signaled for the others to wait while he returned to the ruined doorway. He transformed his sword into its giant form before thrusting its blade into a gap in the pile of furniture, lodging it in there, before using it for leverage to strenuously tip the heap until it eventually fell over with a deafening crash, mostly – but not completely – blocking the opening.
“It's obviously not hard to get through,” he told them, dislodging his sword and returning the blade-scabbard to his back, “but it only needs to slow anyone trying to enter down, not stop them. If a beast wanted to get through an obstacle, nothing would stop it.” He pointed with his weapon to the censer next to the doorway, which was now filling the air with a faint, misty smoke. “But as long as they have to pause here, even for a moment, the incense will stop them from going further. A Hunter or a human could get through no problem, but anything with the scourge is going to have a bad time getting in here now.”

With that business taken care of, Victor lead them down the plateau the way he had come, following this street sitting high above the landscape below as it stretched forth from the clinic. As they went, it would be difficult not to notice that the row of residences to their left and evenly spaced lampposts to their right continued unabated a hundred meters, then another, each house practically identical to the next, each one with dark windows and closed doors. The seemingly eerily endless, empty and repeating scenery was striking and felt weirdly unsettling to Torquil for reasons he did not understand, prompting him to focus more on the landscape to his right, which – though mostly the same, since it was the same landscape seen from a distance – at least changed slightly as their perspective shifted along this long, lonely street.
It took walking six hundred meters or so to reach the end of the street, where it was capped with another house identical to the rest. Here, however, they found that the metal handrail that had occupied the edge of the plateau all the way from the clinic finally gave way to a large framework of metal beams and plates, with some manner of arcane machinery on top from which a pair of thick, sturdy chains extended downward, toward the bottom. There was a good chance that Farren would recognize this construction, as it was something that could be found scattered about Yharnam in the strangest places despite it being an invention that was mostly unknown outside the city: an elevator. The cage one would use to travel up or down was not here currently, but seemed to be at the bottom.

The elevator itself was not the only notable thing in the area, though; the cobblestones in front of it were stained with what appeared to be somewhat fresh blood, with more spatters of blood scattered around the area suggesting that a fight had taken place here. And sure enough, just a few meters from the elevator lay the carcass of another beast-man not unlike the one that had accompanied Pallid and whose eyes Ophelia had claimed. Several deep cuts were carved into its body by bladed weapons and most of its fur looked like it had been burned off and skin charred by fire. Another several meters from it lay a discarded cavalry saber, its blade stained with blood.
“That thing was waiting for us when we got here,” Victor told them with a nod toward the beast as he went to the elevator, grabbed and pulled a hefty metal lever that stuck out of the ground there, upon which the machinery above them started whirring and the chains rattled and began to move. “It sat on top of the elevator and grabbed me as soon as I stepped out of it. Stabbed me through the chest, the plague-ridden rat. Good thing Stefan was here, or I would be dead and you guys probably abducted by the bloody Harrow.”

Ophelia caught the strange turn of phrase having been repeated by Dietrich--that the Vicar was a nice old man--in exactly the same way, almost down to the very same tone and intonation. It immediately struck her as peculiar, almost... forced, but also very clearly not--Dietrich's affection seemed entirely legitimate and genuine, and she did trust him... But she could not quite cross the bridge into automatically extending that trust to the Vicar, given the peculiarity of the golden lantern and its haunting plinth. She eagerly took his offered arm and walked with him, a little disappointed that they did not pass by the Hunters who'd accosted her earlier to rub it into their belligerent faces again. She made sure to observe the goings-on of the workshop, filing away little nuggets of information about the state of the White Church's supplies and the amount of people working there, in between coy glances at Dietrich. She could not help but feel a little trill of affection blossoming within her, quite amazed that the stories about him were not only true but that the truth very much exceeded them... at least in respect to his gallantry and easy personability... and his physical appearance, too.

It had been such a long time since Ophelia had felt anything remotely carnal in nature--the Paleblood had robbed her of all of that in her teens, just as she'd been growing into it. Following the disappearance of her parents and her being taken in by the Witches, there had simply never been the time nor the inclination--and her body had constantly betrayed her, so she had instead broadened the horizons of her mind. Since the ministration, and the Doll's channelling of blood echoes, she finally had begun to feel like her body was not just a prison for her mind but an integral and real part of her--and part of that was an awakening of desires that had slumbered so deeply within her that she'd forgotten they even existed. By the time she returned from her brief reverie of musing they'd just passed by the two Hunters getting dressed, and Dietrich had made his comment.

"Ahh, the depths of carnal pleasures are too vast to be ignored, hmm? I suppose it is no wonder, for nothing creates bonds like the thrill of danger. I imagine many of them look upon you with such lusts, no? You're so gallant and strong, so full of the vim and vigour of life... I think it would be very easy indeed to fall for you." Ophelia replied to his comment, a soft and musical titter following as she looked him up and down while commenting upon his appearance.

"Your eyes... Oh, they are among the most enchanting I've ever seen. I think I could gaze into them for hours..." she added, almost an afterthought, like thinking aloud.

Dietrich smiled at her, unperturbed by her words and charming as ever. "I would a fool to deny that I am quite blessed indeed, Miss Ophelia. But I must remind myself that the gods gave me these gifts for a greater purpose, lest I risk losing myself in arrogance and narcissism. As the First Hunter, I must be above such things, a symbol of aspiration. Still..." He paused, and his smile somehow managed to get even more charming. "We are allowed to dream."

"That we are, Dietrich, that we are... I slumbered for so long with the Paleblood, dreaming of things that might have been. Take it from me, dear, that dreams sometimes do come true. In realms beyond... we are beyond the laws and strictures that bind."

Ophelia continued to walk with him, though something in her demeanour changed subtly as she suddenly realised that they were heading out towards the entrance again. Her jaw tensed a little and she took a sharp intake of breath through her nose before exhaling just as quickly, though the cadence of her breathing returned to normal immediately thereafter, and she looked over to Dietrich as they were passing the golden plinth and its lantern.

"... can you see that, over there, the golden lantern and plinth?" Ophelia asked suddenly, nodding in the direction of the eerie gold.

"What gold?"

Ophelia blinked once, and then again. "I had expected you not to see the lanterns--they only seem to appear to those of us tied to the Dream, but... It's right there, all of it. A staggering--awesome, even--amount of gold in the form of a plinth beneath the lantern... Maybe a meter high, adorned with eyes, and naked figures striding into the ocean. You... you really can't see it?"

Dietrich stared at her blankly. "No?"

"... Something is very wrong here, Dietrich. One such as you should see... something, have any kind of intuition or sense. I hope that the Vicar can explain it, or... at least make me feel a little less like I'm going mad." Ophelia replied with a nervous chuckle at the end, though it was clear that she looked very deeply unsettled.

Dietrich shrugged. "I'm sorry?"

"Forgive a newly blooded Hunter her rambling... I've seen much in the past hour, and perhaps I'm just a little overwhelmed. Mother Moon above..." she sighed, her voice shakier than it had been mere seconds ago. She shook her head and gave Dietrich a soft smile before turning ahead to continue on towards their destination.

Ophelia audibly gasped when she saw the lumenflowers, instantly and immediately struck by not only their profound beauty, but the tremendous amount of guidance sprites dancing around them.

"Oh, how beautiful... look at how they sparkle, like they each have a beam of Moonlight at their core..." she mused, and as they got closer to them she realised just how much the buds looked like eyes, of all things--and all of them looked like they were looking at her. Most would find the sensation alarming, she thought, but she drew a tremendous amount of comfort from it--as though her Mother Moon was gazing down upon her, communing with her, whispering on rays of light that she was seen and enveloped and embraced. She looked towards the Holy Moonlight Greatsword and placed the gentlest of kisses upon its gleaming form in rapturous appreciation.

When she finally caught sight of the Vicar, she found herself suddenly on guard--the peculiarity of Dietrich's speech earlier came once again to the forefront of her mind, and she found herself filled with both curiosity and wariness... but he was such a nice old man. She blinked to herself, very keenly aware that that thought was most definitively not hers--but amidst her skeptical consideration of it, she found that it had crashed against the ocean of her mind like a rogue wave. She felt the pull of the Holy Moonlight Sword again, as strongly as she had earlier when it had calmed her in the Hunter's Dream, but even its glorious refulgence could not prevent the thought from settling deep into the recesses of her skull. She felt her skepticism melting away into a gentle admiration, and her heart fluttering with affection, and she knew that it was all right. He was just a nice old man, that's what it was.

"Oh, Harold, I'm surprised you know my name! How awfully nice; it's such a pleasure to meet you too, my dear." She replied warmly, taking his hand with her now-free hand after Dietrich's prostration and curtseying regally. She found herself oddly concerned despite the ripples of warmth suffusing themselves throughout her body, though it was at Dietrich's sudden display of submission and nothing to do with Vicar Harold. How could she think ill of such a nice old man?

"Dietrich said that you would want to speak with me before I left, and... well, who could refuse Dietrich of the Shining Wing? I'm so glad that I came--these flowers are almost as beautiful as you are gracious." She replied, smiling warmly at the Vicar.

The smile did not leave Harold's face, though his voice did assume a more serious tone when Ophelia voiced her appreciation of him knowing her name. “I make it a point to memorize the names and faces of every single person with the heart to receive the mantle of Hunter, dear girl, and I made doubly sure that I would remember those who were turned today. When lives are at risk, the least you can do is ensure that their memory lives on.”

A moment later, when Ophelia remarked on the beauty of the flowers, the vicar's smile broadened enough to show just a hint of somewhat yellowed teeth past his pale lips and neatly trimmed beard. “Indeed. I like to spend a lot time here in the garden, among the lumenflowers. Ever since I first came to Yharnam and found them, I have been enchanted by them, and find myself talking to them when I am alone. And somehow, they make me feel like they understand. Magnificent things, they are.” He turned his head to look out across the field of flower-buds, and the flowers returned his gaze attentively. “You should come here in a few hours, when the moon is high in the sky. As the moon rises the lumenflowers will bloom, and on a full moon like tonight is when they are at their most beautiful. Ah, but you did not come here to discuss botany, I'm sure. You'll have to forgive an eccentric old man his quirks.”
Gesturing at Dietrich to rise without looking at him, Harold's gaze remained fixed on Ophelia. “So, how did the others fare? I hope you are not the only Hunter to have awoken on this fine night.”

_Farren

followed, along with Torquil, taking in what Victor said as he did so, first at the door outside the clinic, and then again once they’d arrived at the elevator. In the intervening minutes he’d taken in their environs, his eyes peeled for any sign of a trap or ambush. None came, and nothing else of great significance stood out to him. No conspicuously lit lanterns past closed windows or beneath fastened doors, no scents of living, breathing beasts. If there had been any, likely Victor would have had to dispatch them to get to them. However, as he considered that, he had to wonder…why had Victor been headed this way. He had not seemed to be aware of the various latent hunters in the Clinic when they’d spoken of them, nor had he reacted with any sense of familiarity with the fact of Pallid and his ilk being present at the Clinic when he’d hailed the man. Odd.

As they came upon the elevator, Farren took in the remnants of Victor and his yet unseen companion’s fight. Stefan, apparently. Farren grunted slightly in response to Victor’s initial words, but as the man finished pulling the lever to call the lift, continuing his story, Farren’s eyes narrowed fractionally. Almost immediately he schooled his expression, asking a follow up question, “The Harrow? How do you figure?”

He tilted his head slightly in question, keeping the suspicion entirely out of his voice and expression. They’d never mentioned the Harrow to Victor, and it was odd that he was here to begin with…so how did he know the beastman–and the others–had been affiliated with them?

Victor turned back to Farren at his question and leaned casually on the lever he had just pulled, seemingly unbothered by the question. “I obviously didn't suspect it was the Harrow when we fought this guy –” He pointed with his sword at the half-burned beast-man. “– but then there was a Pthumerian at the clinic with the other one, and I sort of filled in the blanks. Those bastards usually stay in the labyrinth, but I've heard there are some with the Harrow. I guess technically I still don't know it was the Harrow, but it seems like a good guess.”
With a loud clatter of chains and a screeching, grinding noise, the elevator cage – luckily empty – arrived at the top, and the folding doors slid open. Victor gestured for them to enter. “Careful when you walk in, for whatever reason the genius that designed these things decided passengers should operate it by stepping on a button. So don't step on the big metal plate in the middle until we're all on board, okay?” Then he, careful to step to the side as soon as he got through the door, stepped on board and waited for the others to follow.

"Oh, dearest, it isn't just you--they really do understand you. I can see it: the touch of the Nightmare is strong upon them. I'm so very glad they have such a nice old man to look after them. I could while away many hours discussing their beauty with you... but I'm afraid we do not currently have that sort of time. When Mother Moon looks down upon them, though... I will most certainly find a way to join you then, no matter what it takes." She began, letting her gaze sweep over the gardens as a wide and almost dopey grin settled across her face.

"Indeed so, there were others--though according to Dietrich here, I cannot really be counted in the same way that they can. I alone was the bearer of true Paleblood. There are a few, but the rest... I do not think any of them will awaken. Look here..." Ophelia began, reaching over to grab the glass jar of eyes that she had on her person. She held it up to the incandescent light of the Lumenflowers, certain their eyes would want to look at it too, and motioned with her head towards the frayed, scourge-ridden eyes of the failed Paleblood Hunter, with just a hint of the black ichor clinging to them.

"The scourge seems to have taken some of them before they ever had a chance, maybe four or five, and the rest remain sleeping but... I don't understand how that could be the case?" Ophelia began, her brows furrowing and eyes narrowing in confusion. She shifted the Holy Moonlight Greatsword uncomfortably about her person, causing her braid to glitter and glimmer in the last dregs of sunlight as the dying light hit it. "I won't claim to know what goes into making a Hunter, but... surely it can't be something that would turn them into beasts, of all things?"