The vicar, smiling kindly through it all, cocked his head curiously when Ophelia spoke of seeing the touch of the Nightmare upon the lumenflowers, and his eyes moved to glance briefly at the Holy Moonlight Sword when she invoked the name “Mother Moon”. He did not comment on either thing, but it seemed as though he took note of each mention when they occurred.
But once the subject turned to the others who had undergone metamorphosis along with her, Harold's expression turned serious and attentive, with furrows and creases spreading across his face as he adopted a mien that told of undivided focus. Beyond paying close attention to her words, however, he did not outwardly react to any of what she said until she had finished speaking. Even her showing him the jar of eyes did not so much as make him flinch.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harold turned from Ophelia and looked out over the garden, crossing his arms and slowly tapping his right index-finger on his left elbow in thought. “All creatures have the potential to become beasts,” he told her grimly after a moment's silence. “Even Hunters, though it is rare, and entirely unheard of among Paleblood Hunters. And for someone to become a beast while becoming Hunters...” He shook his head. “What a failure this has been. How many did these beasts kill? You say that some will not awaken, so I suppose some must still be sleeping; did you and these 'few' others slay the beasts? What kind of beasts did they become? Did they awaken after you or before?”

Ophelia, as before, continued to file away the little things that she noticed about the vicar--his eyes told her stories about what he recognised, as did his posture and his expression. The feeling of unease that she'd started experiencing on the walk over with Dietrich had only grown in the intervening time, and the tightening of an unseen knot in her stomach warned her to be very careful indeed about what she said. It was very important indeed that she arouse no suspicion--for the cost of giving information away to the vicar was very low indeed, and the reward for leaving without tipping her hand was great. She'd already told Dietrich all of the relevant details anyway, so they'd get back to Harold either way--letting it come from her lips willingly would likely mean something.

"Thankfully, none were killed by the beasts--a Hunter by the name of Victor showed up, as I told Dietrich, and helped us fight off those who assaulted us. That said... they asked us to help move the bodies so they could abduct them. They seemed to have no interest in killing the sleeping ones, just in taking them... and there was a strange, Pallid man who said something about a "Soulkeeper" wanting them. We killed him and his pet beastman, of course... but it was like they knew what to expect there. I... I'm sorry to say it, Vicar Harold, but I can't help but wonder if there isn't someone in your church whose loyalties do not lie with you. It could be a coincidence, of course... but what are the chances of that?" Ophelia replied, pointing to various other eyes in her little jar when she spoke about people they'd slaughtered.

This time Harold's expression told much more of his reaction to Ophelia's words than with her initial report, as he looked obviously more and more confused as her tale progressed. “I... Abduct... Soulkeeper... What?!” Seemingly completely bewildered, the vicar turned to his First Hunter, who was already stepping forward with a small bow of his head.
“Excuse me, but I think I can dispel some of the confusion,” Dietrich interjected. “When Miss Ophelia said some were 'taken by the scourge' earlier, she meant that they had died and were showing signs of the scourge. The nascent Hunters did not turn into beasts and attack the sleepers. The ones she speak of that attacked them were intruders from the outside.”
“Oooh!” Harold actually let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Yes, I see now, that makes more sense.” Then his expression turned serious again. “Still, these are truly dire news, though I am glad to hear that the survivors were not lost to the clutches of the Harrow. Who can say what foul things those people could have done to their helpless victims. And these others who awoke with you, are they...”
“She already said that they are bound to the Dream,” Dietrich offered, “though they opted to come here on foot.”
The vicar nodded his head slowly with a thoughtful mien. “I see, I see... a partial success, then, at least. Now...” He turned back to Ophelia. “You did well to come here as soon as you did. Is there anything the Healing Church can offer to aid you and the others? You seem quite well-equipped already –” He gestured to the Holy Moonlight Sword. “– but if you need anything else, I shall muster all that I can to help.”

Ophelia's face fell for a moment at Harold's incredulous confusion, and she opened her mouth to begin speaking to try and understand what had happened but was beaten to it by Dietrich, who offered an explanation that reconciled events into a more understandable flow. She let out a similar laugh to Harold's not long after he did, and then turned to Dietrich and offered him a grateful smile and a curtsey.

"Ah, thank you, dear--I'm afraid I haven't been the clearest. It's been..." Ophelia began, letting out a shuddering breath, "... a very challenging hour. Yes, darling Dietrich is quite right." A sheepish but mirthful laugh left her as a look of relief came over her face, and she turned back to Harold. She smiled warmly at his mention that she'd done well, and she raised her left eyebrow slightly as he offered to avail her of supplies. The tiniest flash of defensiveness came over her as he gestured at the Holy Moonlight Sword, though it was dismissed immediately and replaced with gratitude at the offer of assistance.

"Something so important simply couldn't wait, as time is of the essence. Night will soon be upon us, after all... Though... that does make me wonder: did you not have someone stationed there to be with us when we were to awaken? We didn't see any representatives of the church there--other than Victor, of course, but he came after. As for supplies... Victor is running low on blood vials, and I would like to replenish his stock--he'll need it for the journey back, and I would feel dreadful if I left him without after he was so instrumental in turning the tide of the fight. If you could provide them I'd be ever so grateful. You know, I was almost planning to return to them without having spoken to you! Oh, I'm so glad that I did--you're such a nice old man, and you've been so generous with your time and knowledge. If we can spare the time later, I'd simply love to discuss the lumenflowers with you."

Harold slowly nodded his head in thought at Ophelia's question of whether there had been anyone assigned to watch over the clinic, but rather than offer an answer he simply turned wordlessly to Dietrich and looked at him expectantly.
“There were supposed to be people there, yes,” Dietrich reported, and for the first time a note of anger sneaked its way into his voice. “Two blood ministers and four helpers were supposed to be there, but I suppose the cowards must have panicked and run off when the first bells tolled. They're probably cowering in a shelter somewhere right now... and from the sound of it –” He glanced at Ophelia for confirmation. “– they didn't even light the censer at the door before running.”
“I see, I see...” Harold nodded his head again, more firmly this time. “See to it that they are reprimanded in the morning.”
“It shall be done.”
Nodding his head resolutely, Harold continued: “With that out of the way, you heard her; make sure she gets a batch of blood vials to take with her.”
But Dietrich winced at this. “Ah, yes, of course... but Victor is –”
“No buts!” The vicar waved an admonishing finger at his First Hunter. “They need blood vials, so they get blood vials! A full bag of Hunter-grade ones; that should be plenty to get back here for another resupply.”
Dietrich sighed. “Yes, Lord Vicar.”

Ophelia confirmed Dietrich's suspicions with a gentle nod--and though her mind was immediately drawn back to the idea that there were perhaps malicious agents of other factions embedded within the church she did not mention it again. She gave Harold a warm smile and a curtsey as a goodbye, alongside a profuse offering of thanks, and turned around as if to go the way they came, though she turned her head towards Dietrich again and awaited his customary offering of his arm. She waited until they were comfortably out of sight and earshot before she spoke what was on her mind to the First Hunter.

"I sense there are things I don't know about Victor, dear? I would like to hear your concerns, if you have them--I know that overindulgence is another base desire it is very hard for we Hunters to suppress..." Ophelia asked, her face creasing a little in concern. "I don't mean to instigate any conflict or tension between you and vicar Harold--and if my ignorance has touched a nerve, I hope you'll let me correct it."

"Not at all." Dietrich hesitated, biting his lip, before saying: "As you say, Victor has a tendency of overindulgence. As far as I understand he had something of a habit with spirits before coming to Yharnam, and after he became a Hunter he has taken a similar liking to blood. That is no surprise, of course; consuming blood is rather euphoric to even the most virtuous Hunter, but Victor has shown a lack of restraint. That is why I sent him out so early, before we started bringing out supplies for the Night of the Hunt, and with Stefan, who is a disciplined and dependable man. That is all."

"Ah, I see--I'm grateful for your telling me, love. Well... I think it sounds wise for me to only give him the one and replenish it only when necessary, if he is in mortal danger. I'm glad you have such concern for the Hunters who serve under you--he should be very grateful to have someone as honourable and thoughtful as you to look out for his best interests." Ophelia replied, her inflection gentle and warm. She squeezed Dietrich's arm with her hand lightly and turned her head to smile at him for just a moment before returning to facing forwards.

Dietrich laughed heartily. "Oh please, mercy! You'll inflate my ego even more than it already is! But truly, what is the purpose of the First Hunter if not to look after his Hunters?"

For some reason, Ophelia would abruptly feel as though someone was watching her very intently, though looking around she would find no one paying her any special attention. The feeling lasted for just several seconds, then dissipated as spontaneously as it had begun.

Ophelia shuddered at the feeling, and whispered "Mother Moon above..." to herself. She looked very quickly for an obvious source of eyes but found herself unable to find one, and her lips settled into a thin line. She was entirely unsure of what that had been, and she could see none of the guidance sprites that would indicate something touched by the realms of Nightmare.

"How uncomfortable... do you ever feel like you're being watched here, Dietrich? I just had the most uncanny sense of it..." Ophelia asked, her expression suddenly quite worried. She nervously chewed at her lip for a second before rapidly shaking her head and exhaling through her nose sharply.

Dietrich's eyes widened. "You, too? I felt it just now as well, but I don't think I've experienced something quite like that before. Quite unpleasant."

Ophelia's expression of worry only intensified. "That means it wasn't just nothing... Do be careful, dear. I was raised to always trust my intuition with these things; it's never failed me yet."

She continued to look around nervously for a second, and cradled her head against the tip of the Holy Moonlight Sword next to her. Am I safe here? Is there something here even your glorious light cannot reveal? she thought to herself, letting her mind wander somewhat as Dietrich led them both back towards the entrance of the workshop. She would stay with him for the entire duration of their journey--a mental map of what the interior of the workshop looked like could not possibly be a bad thing to have.

The trip back down the stairs and back to the busy main hall of the workshop was short enough that their conversation took up pretty much the entire duration. Dietrich was back to smiling and carrying himself with the elegance and confidence that was typical of him, but someone paying close attention might notice that his gaze flickered more than before, as if looking for something.
“If you would please lend me your vial-bag and wait here a moment, I will go fill it for you,” he told her, indicating a door furthest back and to the right below the stairs. Ophelia gave it to him, and he – assuring that he would be right back – left to get what she needed.

“Something here watches and listens... even to its whispers...” the ephemeral voice of the Holy Moonlight Sword conveyed into Ophelia's mind, seemingly sensing her worry. “Something very powerful resides here... Something ancient touched the Huntress' mind... It could not stop it... It is not enough...”

A few seconds later Dietrich came back and, true to his word, returned a bag that was now much fuller and heavier than before; opening it and looking inside would reveal that every single one of the twenty padded slots inside it was now occupied by a pristine blood vial. The cap of every vial was marked by the same symbol she had seen on the banner in Dietrich's office.
“There you go,” he told her with a smile. “I do hope you and your companions make it back here safely. Even setting aside my personal feelings on the matter, I do have some matters I could use some help with, and I know the same is true for the vicar.”

_Farren

regarded Victor as he leaned on the lever, explaining what had brought him to his conclusion. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded, followed by a small rumble of agreement in his throat after Victor had explained the function of the elevator. The explanation was plausible, likely even, and given that the man was marked a White Church hunter by his garb it made sense that he’d be able to put the pieces together. Still, something in him writhed subtly, faintly, a quiet paranoia that was hard to quell with simple logic.

Rather than focus on it, Farren stepped forward and joined Victor in the cage, sure not to step on the center plate. He didn’t beckon Torquil, figuring the man would follow. “Admittedly, the…Pthumerian, as you called him, mentioned ‘Soulkeeper,’ so I’d figured they’d be affiliated with that sort.” Farren replied once Torquil had joined them and the elevator had begun its uncanny descent. Farren kept Victor right in his periphery, close enough to his more precise central cone of vision that he could read his expressions…without it being obvious that he was focused on the man.

“Well, that settles it,” Victor nodded approvingly. “Soulkeeper is the Harrow's boss, so it's definitely them.”
Torquil awkwardly shuffled onto the elevator as the last of them, making excessively sure to inch along the outer frame of the cage to stay as far away from the button in the middle as possible. At that point there was no reason to avoid the button, of course, so Victor just sighed, leaned over and stomped one foot on the plate, prompting the sounds of chains and machinery to start back up again and they began to descend.
“Stefan is waiting at the bottom,” the White Church Hunter told the others while they waited. “The top was more defensible, of course, but we got lucky and found a giant sleeping down here. So if something happened, Stefan could just wake... up the... giant...”

Victor's voice gradually faltered as he looked out the folding doors of the elevator – the ones on the opposite side from where they had entered – at the streets of the city coming up toward them. He sounded surprised and frightened, and as they reached the end of their descent it became clear why.
The cobbled street they found themselves in, with the elevator taking up a spot right in a T-intersection, bore the marks of a battlefield. Blood was spattered everywhere, numerous cobblestones were cracked, crushed or cleaved through in gashes, some of which were huge and clearly left by an enormous weapon while others seemed to be left by claws. Scattered around the area were a number of bodies, each with its own assortment of terrible wounds that could have, and likely had, caused their deaths.
Three of them would seem familiar to Farren, not just because their appearance bore a passing resemblance to Pallid with their large bodies, pale skin and black eyes, but because they were recognizably church servants. One of the servants in particular looked like he had been thoroughly maimed in horrid ways, with his limbs looking as though they had been clawed, twisted and stretched far beyond what was healthy, suggesting that the creature had been viciously tortured. The two other church servants each had a cane lying on the ground near them, but there was no weapon near the maimed one; either he had been unarmed, or something had happened to his weapon.
A short distance from where the servants were found, an even larger form lay inanimate across the street. The church giant's arms and legs were sprawled out to the sides as it lay face-down in an immense puddle of blood, with an axe too large for any ordinary human to lift, let alone wield, sat lodged into the cobblestone next to it.
And another several meters away still, further past the dead giant, they were just barely able to make out the form of a still form of a human-sized and -shaped figure, wearing what looked like a bloodstained White Church Hunter garb.

Ophelia took the proffered bag back, smiling widely upon first feeling its renewed heft in her hands. She moved to return it to whence she'd gotten it from, and with that done she tilted her head to the side for a half-second before speaking.

"Thank you, dear--though... I must admit, I was only really thinking of my social obligations when I mentioned the blood vials. It occurs to me that... I don't really know very much about being a Hunter. Is there anything else that you think we should have, as a group? I... I don't wish for us to be caught unawares on a night of the hunt. Ah--and might you have a map of Yharnam that I could use? In the Hunter's Dream, you see, there are a number of locations that we can travel to--that's how I was able to make it here to the workshop so quickly. I've lived in Yharnam all my life, but... mostly Hemwick, so there are plenty of places that I find myself completely unaware of. Having a map to draw out where precisely we can go... that sounds very useful indeed; I'd be happy to provide you with a copy too, my dear. I'd be delighted to offer you my assistance, and knowing the breadth of our ability to travel would be helpful in making sure we can go where we are most needed, mm?" Ophelia asked, the worry persistently still upon her features joined by the faintest of reddish tinges in her cheeks as she remembered that she had obligations beyond just politeness.

"Truth be told, love... I'd briefly forgotten that I'm a Hunter now. Some direction from the First Hunter is, I hope, not too much to ask." she added hastily, looking into Dietrich's eyes as she spoke. There was no doubt in her mind, given the perceptiveness and shrewdness he'd displayed already, that it was quite obvious she found herself rather enamoured with him. The ministration and her newly acquired vigour conspired together to awaken things in her that the Paleblood had simply never permitted her to feel before--and she felt an odd moment of kinship suddenly with those Hunters who'd sheepishly fled from Dietrich and her earlier. She realised at that moment that she very much did not like being here, at the White Church's workshop... something about this entire place was frightfully queer, and not in the usual ways that were familiar to her. She was not used to not knowing, and she was beginning to realise just how vast the depths of her dislike for that state of being were.