“You are free to come and go as you desire, as are your fellows on the other side of Yharnam,” Dietrich declared, loudly enough that the others in the hall could hear him. Then he lowered his voice once more to normal speaking volume: “As I said, unless I am needed for a hunt, you can find me here.”

With that and a final, elegant bow, Dietrich turned and started climbing the stairs, heading back to his office and returning to his duties as First Hunter, leaving Ophelia to her victorious exit from the White Church Workshop under the envious glares of men and women of the church alike. But though she still garnered some attention, she could see and hear business in the workshop resume its normal pace even as she left, and by the time she had returned to the golden lantern the sounds that reached her from there were practically indistinguishable from when she had first arrived. Despite all that had happened, it seemed that the machinery that was the workshop, and perhaps the White Healing Church as a whole, kept churning just the same.
Though the golden lantern was obviously different from the one she had used at the clinic on Rebirth's Rise, it proved to function exactly the same as it, in spite of the lack of Messengers. She looked into the light and felt herself rapidly growing drowsy, then fell asleep and awoke back in the Dream.


She found herself in the exact same place she had awoken the first time she had come here, and the Dream itself seemingly unchanged. The doll and the Shopkeeper stood idly by the side of the gravel path leading up to this much smaller workshop, and the birdbath remained sprawling with numerous Messengers.
Immediately upon awakening in the Dream, two Messengers emerged from the ground at Ophelia's feet and urgently unfurled and held up a scroll for her to read:

“Victor’s blocking the Clinic door on our way out. You’ll need another lantern to rejoin us.” - Farren

"Ahh, Mother Moon, what a blessing to be beneath your gaze once more..." Ophelia sighed reverently, looking up at the refulgence of the moon with adoration plain across her face. She turned her gaze down to the Messengers once they appeared, and she laughed softly and sweetly and placed her free hand to her breast with another sigh, this one filled with relief. She read the scroll eagerly before asking the little ones to scribe a message for her in return.

"Understood. Just returned to Dream - no little ones in White Church. Discovered a lot. Got supplies for us all. Joining you as soon as I can."

That done she sent them away with a grateful nod, and she strode over to the Shopkeeper and Doll with a clear sense of urgency.

"... I think we have a problem, love. The gold markers--there are lanterns much like this one, albeit with gold instead of silver... and they rest upon these golden plinths--a meter tall, decorated with eyes and figures bathing in the ocean. None of the little ones appear near them. Whatever it is... I know that this gold is from the realms of Nightmare, but... There is something... very off about it. To say nothing of Vicar Harold," Ophelia began, visibly shuddering as she mentioned the vicar's name. Here in the Dream, where she knew beyond knowledge that she was safe, even thinking about the queer compulsion that she'd only barely and partly resisted made her feel as though her skin was crawling.

"He has them all under some sort of thrall--they all call him a nice old man, with that exact phrasing, and as soon as I laid eyes upon him that thought snaked its way into my mind before I even realised what was happening. If not for Mother Moon and her glorious light, who knows if I'd have been able to resist it? They know of your presence, too, Shopkeeper--it seems Gerlinde has found herself an ersatz home there." Ophelia finished, hurriedly speaking the words. She felt a sense of urgency to rejoin her fellows, after Farren's note, but more than that... She simply felt nauseous, and violated in a way that she was not sure she could articulate, and deeply worried for Dietrich, if he'd fallen under the same spell.

The doll listened intently, and one might assume the Shopkeeper did the same though it was difficult to ascertain without seeing their face. In the end, after Ophelia had given her urgent report on what she had discovered, the doll looked at the caretaker of the Dream for a moment before turning back to Ophelia.
“Troubling though this is to hear, good Hunter, I fear we cannot claim that this is the first we have heard of it. Moira and Gerlinde both spoke of something similar, though you seem to have discerned considerably more than either. We cannot even begin to fathom what manner of power could successfully ward against the little ones...”
She bowed her head submissively before continuing: “As far as Gerlinde is concerned, I think you may be mistaken. Gerlinde is quite aware of something untoward residing at the workshop of the White Healing Church, and though we have seen her return to the markers there occasionally, she has shown no particular affinity for them. Perhaps when she returns to the Dream you can speak to her yourself, to allay or confirm your fears?”

_Farren

heard Victor’s words and couldn’t help but think the man naive, for while Farren was new as a hunter, something about the White Church’s assumption just struck him as utterly foolish. Nights like these were inherently dangerous, often fatal, for those caught ought beneath the fell light of the moon. Farren had a sense that he’d once seen true horrors on such nights, or perhaps on some assignment earlier on. He had a flash of memory from when starvation had been a real concern, earlier during his time in the city, seeing something truly…monstrous.

Beastmen and such were one thing, those recently having succumbed to the scourge even moreso, but something that could do this sort of damage that a civilian might survive an encounter with was…well, something else entirely. Yet, he had the sense that he had encountered such things before, had a feeling that such encounters were part of why he had such a pragmatic outlook even after the amnesia that his metamorphosis had caused. That intuition, he supposed he had to call it, had Farren questioning Victor’s competence: after all, he couldn’t truly know if the man was simply naive, inexperienced, or gods forbid, incompetent.

“Never seen anything like this?” Farren asked, his voice relatively quiet, but not so faint that Torquil or Victor would fail to hear him. As he spoke, Farren kept his eyes wide–his stance similar–as he moved forwards, leading at a measured, cautious pace. One eye twitching slightly as he stepped around a spatter of blood and pebbles, Farren’s left hand closed around one of the pistols at his belt, and he drew it, not taking his eyes off his surroundings for even a moment as he did so.

“Have I seen anything like it?” Victor exclaimed incredulously, though he was wary enough to not raise his voice while doing so. “I don't think you understand; giants are what keep beasts away from the Cathedral Ward. Even cleric beasts are scared of them, and even Hunters are scared of cleric beasts! And this...”
He stepped closer to the motionless giant and found numerous clawmarks on its body... but not of the enormous kind left by the likes of cleric beasts. The wounds were clearly left by bestial claws, but whatever had done it had not been significantly larger than human-sized judging by the wounds. And despite the small size, it looked as though whatever had done this had been powerful enough to downright tear chunks of meat out of the poor, simple-minded creature. Examining its corpse, it looked as though something had first thoroughly maimed the church giant's legs, only to then rip out its throat. It did not seem to have any other significant wounds on its back, and it was much too heavy for them to try to turn over to examine its front.
Moving on past the giant, Victor went to his fellow White Church Hunter, who was quite clearly dead, lying face-down in a puddle of his own blood. Not only that, but the back of his coat looked as though it had been cut open and moved aside to bare his back, after which someone appeared to have skinned the entire area from Stefan's neck to his waist, leaving nothing but naked, bloody flesh.
“A beast didn't do this.”

_Farren

took in Victor’s explanation and suddenly a terrible possibility entered his mind, one that had the potential to be far worse than facing some unknown beast. Farren glanced at one of the bodies–finding similar marks to what the Church Hunter had–and his mind brought to bear a solitary image. A pair of almost cobbled together weapons consisting of two jagged, unnaturally long talons that had likely been torn from some massive beast. All wrapped together crudely with cloth, though perhaps they’d been horns or antlers of some sort, Farren considered–not that it mattered in the moment. The real issue was what that might mean, “Beast Claws…” he muttered grimly, glancing Victor’s way for the briefest moment to meet his eyes before he swept his gaze back around them.

The question was, if it were a Hunter–or if it once had been one–where was it?

Trying to shrink down and hide behind his shield as best as he could, Torquil moved very slowly to follow Victor, his axe always at the ready. He kept focusing down first one open, empty street of the T-intersection, then the next, then the first, looking frantically for movement or anything that stood out... and, in particular, anything that was coming toward them. Like someone coming to kill them. Which would be bad, at least in his humble opinion.

Meanwhile Victor's hands were trembling as he licked his lips and swallowed, his eyes scanning rapidly up and down the corpse of the man who used to be his companion. He hesitantly crouched and, without letting go of his sword, rolled the body onto its back to reveal a person who was just barely recognizable as Stefan. His jaw appeared to have been shattered, and Victor only now noticed that not only did Stefan's weapon – a church pick – lie broken and discarded a couple of meters from the body, but the street was also strewn with bloody, broken teeth. The sight brought back recent memories of the beast-man slashing Victor in the face, though Stefan appeared have been hit even harder, and with blunt force rather than a sharp instrument.
Even more noticeable, however, was the fact that – aside from miscellaneous other small bloody tears in his garb – there was a sizable hole right through the front of Stefan's coat and into his belly, with his intestines hanging out for the world to see.
“Visceral attack,” Victor muttered with a nod of his head. “A Hunter definitely did this. I've heard of this guy. They call him Skinner, because he always takes a patch of skin from his victims. He's a mad Hunter that's been killing everyone, beasts, Hunters and humans alike, for months. I had heard he was really dangerous, but this... is worse than I'd imagined.”
While he spoke, Victor's hand went to check the corpse's bag of blood vials.

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully as the Doll relayed information about Gerlinde, and Ophelia's face softened somewhat and a gentle smile revealed just a hint of her teeth.

"Ah--having never spoken with her, I'm simply scrambling to put bits of information together. I'm relieved to hear that she sees it too, and that Moira did in her time here. I thank you both for your wisdom, loves. Now... I have a little request: the runebrand, might I take it into the waking world for a brief time? I wish to mark those Hunters who'd fight beside us with what protection I can offer, and... Well, I know it sounds silly, but some time I'd like to take it back to Hemwick. Just for a moment, just for myself, to... I don't know, really. Honour the Witches' memory? Something like that; it would... comfort me, I think." Ophelia spoke, the smile not leaving her face but a mournful twinkle sparking within her eyes.

"I... Suppose I should take a gun, too... Do you have a recommendation, Shopkeeper? I find myself quite unfamiliar with them, and would appreciate your sage guidance." Ophelia added, blinking twice in rapid succession as the wistfulness left her and was replaced with determined grit. While she waited for them to speak their piece in return she idly fidgeted with the mercury-filled canister that Dietrich had filled for her, taking it from its resting place and popping the cap open. She ran her finger delicately along the sharpened edge of the Holy Moonlight Sword to draw blood, though the wound healed nearly instananeously, and let the few drops of blood that emerged beforehand to drip gently into the phial.

_Farren

grimaced at Victor’s explanation, grateful for his having narrowed the possibilities down, but not at all pleased that the assailant had been a Hunter. “Shame about Stefan,” he said, his tone grim as he glanced back at the corpse as Victor rifled through its belongings. He understood that mentality, made sense to take of the dead, even if some thought it wrong. The dead couldn’t use tools or clothes or other such things, so there was no need for them to keep them. Better that they were put to some use.

Farren cast his gaze to the rooftops, trying to see if he could catch sight of anything out of place–even recently disturbed grout or shingles or other material could be helpful details. Once his scan there was done, he’d redirect his attention to the path of viscera and teeth that led to Stefan’s body. The man hadn’t just been torn apart, he’d clearly been struck by something either massive or unbelievably dense…and with incredible force at that. Farren’s gaze would follow that trail from Stefan’s body forth, trying to track where it may have started. That could indicate something. All the while he kept his ears peeled and his awareness stretched to its limits. Farren walked backwards, treading back to the giant’s body, and crouched slightly, keeping his eyes on their surroundings as he let his knuckles brush against its pale flesh. He was wondering if it was still warm.

“The Hunter's Dream and everything in it, myself included, belongs to you, for you to do with as you please,” the doll informed Ophelia in response to her query about bringing the rune workshop tool with her outside the Dream. She glanced at the silent figure next to her, then added: “The Shopkeeper has also given their consent, though they request that you either bring them back when you are done or leave them somewhere a future Hunter of the Dream can find them.”

Again the doll looked to the Shopkeeper when Ophelia asked for recommendations for guns, before conveying their advice: “The Shopkeeper wants to let you know that you already took the Rosmarinus, which draws its power from quicksilver bullets, and that your chosen weapon – the Holy Moonlight Sword – can likewise empower itself when fed with quicksilver, both of which would be quite potent with your affinity for the arcane. But given that they also sense a somewhat powerful bloodtinge in you, if you did want a firearm, they recommend an Evelyn.”
The Shopkeeper held out their right hand with the palm upturned, only to grasp at the air and, with a subtle bluish pulse of light, summoning an unusually long, sleek and elegant pistol into its grip.

At the same time as the doll told her this, droplets of blood hit the mercury on Ophelia's person, turning it into quicksilver. As soon as this happened, the whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword entered her mind as well: “Huntress... You possess quicksilver... which can unleash the power of your blood... Give quicksilver to the sword... and swing... and it will project its holy light at a distance... or thrust... and its cleansing radiance will drive back anything near you...”


Left to his own devices, Victor quickly found that Stefan did indeed have a couple of blood vials left, one of which the shaking White Church Hunter immediately pulled from his fallen comrades bag, unscrewed the lid of and moved it to his lips. He drank its contents greedily, his eyes closed in bliss, and stopped trembling. In fact he seemed to calm down quite significantly after imbibing the blood, and calmly transferred the other blood vials from Stefan's bag to his own... revealing in the process to anyone paying attention that his bag now contained no less than five filled vials.

Farren's examination of the area around where Stefan and the giant had fallen was not overly easy, as this had obviously been the site of an intense battle that had scattered what seemed like obscene quantities of blood all over the cobblestone. The teeth did not seem to make any particular pattern either, seeming to have just been either flung or have slipped out past Stefan's broken and slack jaw after whatever impact had hit it. The guts hanging out of him, too, seemed to simply have been left where they fell, suggesting that they had not been extracted for any other purpose than to do damage to the Hunter.
Spending a minute or so looking around, as Victor finished looting his comrade and Torquil nervously kept spinning in place, trying to keep an eye on all three streets at the same time, Farren would eventually notice something. Past all the high-impact bloodspatter in the area from the battle, there was a faint trail of low-impact droplets as well that would have come not from combat, but someone passively dripping blood. Following that trail, Farren would find that it lead to the door of the nearest residence with a lit censer and light behind their windows.

Touching the massive, surprisingly firm and muscular form of the church giant, Farren would find that its corpse was indeed still warm.

_Farren

narrowed his eyes as he realized where the trail was leading, and how it grew more diffuse the further it got from the carnage. Yet, he didn’t rise from the giant’s body, instead, he moved in a low crouch and traced his fingertips through some of the blood a few feet from the pale church giant.

Cold, almost as cold as the cobblestones of the street. Still…that discrepancy was significant and even if his body was a far cry from any sort of proper measurement, this much let him surmise that this had happened within the last thirty or so minutes. Farren slowly rose to his full height again.

“Probably went that way,” Farren said quietly, gesturing towards the door that he’d been able to track the blood trail back to. He holstered his pistol, sheathed the blade of Mercy, and then pulled the Piercing Rifle from his back instead.

“This is recent, bodies are still warm, blood’s not fully cooled yet,”Farren added, his tone gruff and more level, “...this is very likely an ambush waiting to be sprung,” he added, training the rifle at the door as he scanned the building, noting the censer and the light inside.

If Skinner had gone that way, then this wasn’t a Hunter turned beast like some of the dead patients back in the Rise’s Clinic, in some ways that was a relief. In others however, it made Skinner far more dangerous, for a Hunter not so far gone to be a Beast was far more dangerous. Still, Farren didn’t like the idea of leaving things as they were even if it meant they could escape without a fight.

After all, it would only mean that this Skinner would likely have their scent, and that would mean that any moment they let their guard down could well be their last. “Victor…Torquil. If this…Skinner is still here, we need to kill ‘em. Otherwise, there’ll be no resting until we’re back at the White Church Workshop.” He didn’t even bother mentioning the fact that if Skinner followed them, they could ambush them when they were tired right after fighting something else…or even in the middle of a melee.

The reality of things was clear to him, if they didn’t become the Hunter now and eliminate the murderous bastard, they were likely to fall prey to them sooner or later when they were less prepared and more vulnerable. With that in mind, Farren glanced at Torquil, recalling how Ophelia had given him orders or guided him to take action previously. “Torquil, can you position yourself slightly to my left between me and that door?” he asked, raising the rifle somewhat.

Torquil moved to follow Farren's instructions without hesitation and was now focusing all of his attention on the house Farren had pointed out, shield and axe raised and ready for battle... or at least as ready as someone who had only been in one fight could be. The house seemed rather still, with just a bit of flickering of the light suggesting an airflow that disturbed the lantern, candle or fireplace lighting the interior.

Victor, however, actually started backing away from the house and took a couple of steps down the street leading south. “No way,” he declared firmly. His voice was no longer trembling and he did not sound particularly frightened, just resolutely opposed to Farren's plan of action. “If this is really the Skinner, he's supposed to be incredibly dangerous. Our orders if we encounter him are to retreat and alert the workshop so the First Hunter can go kill him. You might be immortal, but I'm not! I'm not going to throw my life away fighting a Hunter-killer like that!”

_Farren

didn't bother turning to look at Victor as he heard the man begin to back away. “You ever try to run away from a predator, Victor?” He asked, his tone grim. As he spoke he checked the chamber of his rifle, confirming that it was properly loaded with a silver bullet.

"I have, lots of times. It's really effective when you have somewhere to run to."

Farren chuckled, “Good luck making it all the way back to Cathedral Ward before he tracks you down. That's to say nothing of the obstacles between here and there--beasts included.” As he said the words, Farren aimed down the barrel of the rifle, before he thought better of it and unholstered his pistol again and aimed at the dark top floor window. He kept the rifle in his right hand though, ready to drop the pistol so he could properly aim it.

Victor simply stared at Farren and Torquil incredulously for a second, then turned and ran south without looking back.

For a brief instant, Farren visualized turning and firing the pistol at Victor instead, but after the impulse passed he decided against it.

“Idiot,” Farren muttered, even though he fully understood why the man had run. Still, to steal supplies from his dead comrade’s body–which was practical enough–and then abandon his two newfound comrades at the first sign of true adversity, well…it didn’t really matter if this ‘Skinner’ was as dangerous as Victor said. That in mind, Farren steeled himself…and then fired the pistol into the dark window on the second floor.

The gunshot from Farren's pistol cut through the otherwise disturbingly quiet evening air with a sharp bang that echoed loudly through the empty street. It was so loud, in fact, that they could barely even hear the bullet hit the window... which did significantly less damage than one might expect. The small, high-speed projectile did not shatter the glass as a rock with far less force would have, but merely punched a tiny hole through it and continued through into the darkness within.
Torquil jumped at the sound and took a second to gather himself after, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, but otherwise the bang of the pistol died out and left nothing but silence. To the south, Victor sped up from a jog into a sprint at the sound of the gunshot, putting more and more distance between himself and what they presumed was an imminent danger.

Just a couple of seconds after firing his pistol, two Messengers emerged from the ground next to Farren, eagerly unrolled a scroll and showed him its contents:

“Understood. Just returned to Dream - no little ones in White Church. Discovered a lot. Got supplies for us all. Joining you as soon as I can.”

_Farren

gritted his teeth as nothing seemed to happen, the only sound that drew him out of his focus was that of the Messengers rising from the ground near his feet. The azure-eyed Hunter knelt, keeping his eyes on the dark window and silently noting how no movement on the floor below seemed to occur.

With his left hand, Farren holstered the pistol and placed that same hand on the blunderbuss as he set the rifle down and used the subtle noises of the Messengers to get his hand on their offered scroll. He brought the item in front of him and for a moment lowered his eyes to read it–squinting a bit in focus. After a moment he finished reading it, turned it about and handed it back with a push of intent. Letters practically scrawled themselves onto the parchment’s back as the Messenger’s touched it and in moments he’d sent back a message in response.


That done, Farren wrapped his fingers back around the piercing rifle and pulled to his feet, eyes already back on the building.

“Ophelia’s back in the Dream,” Farren explained to Torquil, “If Skinner’s in there, they’re laying low. Probably expect to be followed, deal with us in an enclosed space we’re unfamiliar with.”

Farren gritted his teeth and glanced down one of the streets with his peripheral vision, noting that Victor had made quite a bit of headway. “Don’t fancy dying,” Farren commented, “...but rather hate surprises too. Let’s back up…towards the elevator cage, we’ll wait for Ophelia.”

Ophelia took the offered gun with a grateful curtsey, before using that same motion to crouch down and beckon the little ones--only to find them already clamouring at her feet with a scroll. She found herself unable to concentrate on it initially, for the Holy Moonlight Sword's whispers had resonated sonorously with her mind and informed her of its extended arcane abilities. She blinked a couple of times rapidly and shook her head, taking a deep breath in, and refocused on the scroll from the Messengers as she exhaled slowly and methodically.

She nodded her head and bade the little ones reply once more: "Going to break barricade. We're in only entrance. Got to protect sleepers from 'Skinner'."

Ophelia then turned to the Doll and the Shopkeeper once more, eyes wide and bright and filled with curiosity that sparkled like moonlit dew.

"The bells you gave us, to summon you into the waking world... Do you enjoy the fight, Shopkeeper? Is it... a boon that we can grant you, to live again outside this Dream, or a failsafe to be used only in moments of direst need? What do you have to say, little ones?" Ophelia asked, first to the Shopkeeper (and Doll), and then down to the little ones that would no doubt come as soon as her intentions were made clear.

Torquil listened to Farren's explanation and instructions, and offered a firm nod in response. Indeed, if there was a sentiment he could get behind, it was to make an effort not to die. Again.
He backed up toward the elevator without taking his eyes off the house Farren had pointed out to him and without dropping his guard for even a second. But even with all the noise they had just made and the bullet they had sent through the upstairs window, the interior of the residence remained completely still. Even the curtains were perfectly motionless, not shifting even slightly to betray the presence of breath or movement within.

Just a couple of seconds after Farren had sent his own message, another pair of Messengers came to deliver another one for him:

“Going to break barricade. We're in only entrance. Got to protect sleepers from 'Skinner'.”

“Both,” the doll conveyed on behalf of the caretaker of the Dream. “The Shopkeeper yet longs to hunt, but the bells are meant for you to use any time you need them. They leave it to your judgment how often that is.”

Consulting the Messengers and showing them the silver bell she had received from the Shopkeeper, the little creatures presented her with a scroll on the subject:

Moonborn Bell
A small silver bell created by the Moonborn of the Hunter's Dream.
Its ring resonates across worlds to call its creator, who will be summoned to the user's side, no matter where they are.
Though their own hunt has passed, the Moonborn still yearns for strong prey. Hunters of the Dream can summon them freely, but they should be aware that the Moonborn is their ally, not their servant.
It will be a long hunt tonight. It would be a shame if they missed it.

Ophelia giggled softly at the explanation, nodding her head towards the Shopkeeper. "Whenever we face an exceptional foe, I shall summon you. If it is within my grasp to help you achieve your desires, I would be honoured to repay your kindness. It would indeed be a shame to miss the Hunt, wouldn't it? And don't worry about the runebrand, love, I'll bring it back safe and sound. There's a power in these rituals, sentimental and foolish though they seem." Ophelia spoke and then quickly darted up into the small workshop to grab the rune workshop tool, immediately bending down to call forth the messengers in the same movement.

"Look after this for me, please, little ones--keep it safe."

Then Ophelia rushed down to the headstone that they'd all used to leave earlier, gave the Doll a grateful curtsey, and pressed a spindly finger to Rebirth's Rise. She felt the sleep overtaking her again, and she took one long last look at her Mother Moon in the sky before slipping into the depths of slumber to awaken in the waking world. Upon waking she loped quickly over to the entrance and its makeshift barricade, before using a quicksilver bullet like the Holy Moonlight Sword had whispered to her earlier. She bade its light come forth to cleanse the mundane dross of the waking world that stood between her and her goal, thrusting the heft of the blade forward directly into the a gap towards the top right corner of the pile. She didn't know how big this explosion would be, yet, and thought it prudent to learn--she studied it eagerly, awaiting the rapturous sight of the cosmos gracing her once more with feverish desire.