Moira did not return Ophelia's curtsy in any measure, but simply remained standing straight and stiff, her eyes staring at the Paleblood Hunter with blazing intensity as she listened to what she had to say. It was clear that though there was no hostility between them and her Impaler remained lowered into a passive position, Moira was watching and listening very intently.
The first and only time her expression changed was when Ophelia retrieved the rune tool from the Messengers, which prompted her to raise one eyebrow for a second before resuming her normal blank expression.
“You brought the brand with you,” she remarked, and though her tone conveyed mild surprise, her intonation also made it clear that it was a statement rather than a question. “Premonition? Lake Rune. Useful.” She looked to the three Black Church Hunters behind her. “Will improve chances of survival. Accept.”
While Moira's three subordinates started crowding around Ophelia to receive their runes – with Victor somewhat hesitantly coming over and accepting the offer only after the first Black Church Hunter had been branded – the First Hunter and Vicar of the Black Healing Church continued: “I have a rune. Metamorphosis. Makes you stronger. I can teach you if you don't know it. Need to be quick. We're on a hunt. Join if you want to talk. Talk while moving. More efficient.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Haven't heard of you. New Hunters? First Night of the Hunt?”

_Farren

listened intently, his initial responses boiling down to a grunt of acknowledgement and a slight nod of respect towards Moira. He only paid Victor a brief moment’s attention to make it clear he’d heard him. The man’s explanation was reasonable enough, and Farren supposed the man would have been throwing away his life by facing Skinner–whereas they had many chances and in a way access to potentially greater resources. When Moira explained away the supposed ‘presence’ that Ophelia had picked up on as an ‘Amygdala,’ Farren’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t otherwise comment. He’d heard the word before, but had no idea what it was, so they’d just have to trust that Moira had a better sense of things then they did.

Silently, perhaps as hawkishly observant as Moira herself–though a bit less stiff–Farren watched as the other hunters were branded in turn, noting Victor’s choice of going second. The man was cautious…not too trusting, but it was a near thing…the line between cowardice and reasonable caution. Victor was toeing it far too often for his liking.

“Take any advantage,” Farren replied as Moira essentially offered to teach them her Rune–the words sounding almost more like a mantra of sorts rather than a normal reply. If she looked to him, he’d hold her gaze unerringly and either way as she mentioned joining them–and asked questions regarding their identities he’d nod. “Indeed we are. Where’re you headed?”

His expression remained stoic and largely unreadable, his speech not clipped in the way Moira’s was, but similarly economical. “Farren, by the by,” he offered as a paltry pleasantry, an introduction of sorts. He’d gladly join their number if they were headed in the right direction–or at least something approximating it, especially since their arrival had saved them precious time and effort tracking Victor.

Ophelia branded each of the Hunters dutifully, though only Victor did she give a small and wan smile to. As she performed the work she spoke back to Moira, offering a quick glance to Farren as he spoke but otherwise remaining trained on what she was doing.

"It is mine, after all, since the Witches are gone. They would want me to protect Hemwick, but... my Hemwick is gone. So I turn to you, my new brothers and sisters, and offer you what protection I can. Take any advantage indeed." Ophelia spoke, though her voice was soft and rueful. Memories flitted across her mind's eye like little sprites, happy ones and sad ones, filled with love and grief and light and dark in equal measure--but she did not let herself reminisce about what was. It was gone, now, and there was no bringing it back--there was only this new life that she'd been suddenly thrust into. Practically everyone she'd ever cared about was dead now, dead or... something worse. The Blood Moon had taken so much from her, and even as she avoided letting the memories engulf her she saw the pattern in their traces--that night, years ago, would play out again tonight. She was certain of it, thanks to the little hints offered by the Messengers, and a feeling of almost-deja vu that she couldn't quite shake.

"Ah, I am Ophelia. I had wondered if Victor had shared our names already, but I suppose it's just polite to introduce ourselves either way. We'd be happy to join you on your hunt, love, if you'll have us... green as we are. Freshly turned tonight, and reeling from the magnitude of it all. All that I would ask in return is for a few motes of your guidance, you who have trodden this path before. Shall we move?" Ophelia finished, a sudden sharpness and clarity coming over her as she processed her feelings and let her mind return to the state of sharpness that it required for the task ahead.

“I'm Torquil,” the third member of the Paleblood trio offered when he realized they were making introductions.
“Moira,” Moira automatically and entirely unnecessarily reiterated her name. “He didn't. Wouldn't have made sense to either. Unnecessary formality. Waste of time. Didn't need your names. Stopping Skinner was urgent. Now it isn't.”

The three Black Church Hunters also offered their names: the one with the Beasthunter Saif introduced himself as Liam, the one with the Boom Hammer was Birk, and the female Hunter with the rifle spear was Myrna. All three of them received their Caryll Runes quite stoically, only flinching a little at the intense pain of the phantom branding they endured, but the real surprise was likely Victor, who did not so much as bat an eye at the experience. Even as he looked into the projection-case and Ophelia pressed the brand to his skin, not a single muscle so much as twitched despite the pain all of them knew receiving a rune entailed.
Once all the Church Hunters had received their runes, Moira walked up and took the projection-case and turned it to Ophelia so that she could use it to easily convey her Caryll Rune to her. She did not use the brand, of course; she was just teaching Ophelia the rune so she could memorize it later, or help someone else memorize it.

Ophelia has obtained the Metamorphosis Caryll Rune. While branded onto a Hunter's mind, this rune increases their physical prowess. This effect can most accurately be described as them receiving an increase to their strength, endurance and vitality.

“We're going south,” Moira declared, seemingly content to speak while they finished up the branding. “Hunting a powerful beast. Heard it wailing earlier. Tricky prey. Strong and agile.” She turned to Victor. “You coming?”
“Ah, no,” Victor declined with a nervous chuckle. “I still need to get back and report what has happened to the Fi-, eh, to Dietrich.”
Moira nodded her head once. “Can't spare anyone to escort you. Be careful. It's a Night of the Hunt. Beasts are going to start swarming soon.”
With that, Moira turned around and started walking southward down the street, gesturing vaguely for those so inclined to follow her. “Come if you want. Ask questions if you want, but you'll be disappointed if you think I have all the answers. I'm just a Hunter.”

Ophelia pondered thoughtfully at the dilemma presented when Victor made it known his intention was to go back immediately to Upper Cathedral Ward, and she turned her head to look at him even as she knelt down and passed the runebrand back to the Messengers for safe keeping.

"... Your report is of little use if you die alone out there, Victor. Come with us, please? Your skills will improve everyone's chances of survival, and then we can return to Dietrich together to deliver the report. He'd want you to be safe and prudent, I'm sure of it, and that means travelling in numbers--even if that involves a small delay."

Victor frowned. "I'm pretty sure I have much better chances sneaking back to the Ward on my own than I do intentionally seeking out an especially dangerous beast."

Ophelia laughed gently. "In the presence of Moira, Liam, Myrna, Birk, and we three Paleblood Hunters? Do you believe your stealth more reliable than our combined might? To say nothing of the fact that we may summon the Moonborn Hunter to aid us. There are no dangers greater than isolation on a Night of the Hunt--they send you out in multiples for a reason, love. I just want to you to be safe."

By then Farren had crossed his arms as Ophelia attempted to convince Victor. “She's right. Running about alone is one thing before the sun has fallen, but now? The moon will rise soon and these streets are dark with bloodstarved beasts waiting for a victim.”

Victor threw up his hands with a groan of frustration. "Yeah, because you, who have been Hunters for a whole hour or so, are perfectly suited to tell me, who have been a Hunter for four years, how to survive a Night of the Hunt. I've seen the kind of thing they're after before, okay? And yes, I absolutely will take my chances alone against whatever rabble comes across me on my way back rather than go up against that!"

Looking back with an expression that was hard to see through the visor of her helmet at this distance, Moira remarked: "You don't have to fight. None of you do. We can handle the beast ourselves."

"Fine!" Victor spat angrily. "If you're so determined to bring me along, I'll go! But don't count on me throwing myself at some giant monster."

Moira nodded her head once. "Also: don't summon the Moonborn Hunter. Too unpredictable. Doesn't listen. Liable to kill people."

Ophelia's face suddenly turned cold as Victor vented the heat of his anger at them, and she blinked two times in quick succession before she affixed him with a piercing gaze. "You saw what happened to Stefan. Will you let the beast called pride take you too, all because you have some absurd idea that because we were only awakened as Hunters recently we don't have a lifetime of experience too? Have some respect and listen to a good idea when it's staring you in the bloody face, Victor." Ophelia retorted, her tone taking on the quality of equal parts chiding mother and dangerous witch. Her withering stare did not end when she finished speaking.

The impatient frustration intermingled with a hint of fear in Victor's expression likewise gave way to something colder and darker, as he looked at Ophelia with eyes smoldering with dull anger. Even though he had already agreed to come with them, at this point he simply turned around and started down the street to the west without another word.

"I guess he's not coming after all," Moira observed.

"Apparently not. Let him die alone, then, if that's what he wants." Ophelia shrugged, turning on her heel in equal measure and moving to follow Moira. She cast a sidelong glance at Farren and Torquil and the harshness on her features began to thaw, and she shot them each a questioning glance as she followed Moira and the other Black Church Hunters.

_Farren

raised a single brow in response to Victor's outburst, or should he call it a tantrum? He shrugged internally, but what really surprised him was when Ophelia responded with a far colder, far more vicious sort of air. He reassessed her--for while he'd known she was capable of incredible violence, even butchery, he found that to be true of all Hunters. This though? This was something else, a stirring of something in her that he had only seen small glimmers of prior.

Victor, it seemed, had had enough though, she'd pushed too hard and the man's pride had reared back up, stronger than his sense of social cohesion. “Viktor,” Farren said--his voice sharp and clear in the night air, only reaching the more seasoned hunter after he'd taken a few strides from them.

“...there should be a Kastavan at the workshop. Black hair, weathered and broad of shoulder. Goatee. Amber eyes.” Farren was frowning, focusing hard to pull up the recollection of details. He’d only gotten the name at first, but as he’d considered passing on a message, more had started to come to him. “Tell him I’m well and to pass on the message to anyone it might matter to. Ah, and don’t waste that vial,” Farren said, before he extracted one from his pouch and tossed it to Viktor.

Farren wasn’t sure if his family had been estranged or not…if they were even alive–not everyone lived long healthy lives after all–but if they were, if they cared at all, they’d want to know. Besides…for him to seek out blood ministration, he must have been desperate, he just didn’t remember why. Surely he’d have told them, through mail or maybe even a visit…wherever they were.

That done, Farren turned, glancing at Torquil before he nodded his head towards Ophelia and Moira’s group of hunters and then set to catching up with the others. As he sped up slightly, Farren patted the Blade of Mercy, then Bulwark, where he’d slid it into a leather loop that was part of the harness attached to his belt at his right hip, the inner ring of the loop reinforced with thin strips of driven in metal and denser material to resist a blade’s edge. He’d decided to keep it on hand as a backup close-range armament and while he didn’t have a proper sheath for it, this would do just fine.

Torquil watched and listened to first Ophelia, then Farren and finally even Moira, trying to convince Victor to come with them, and for once things seemed so nice and simple that even he thought he understood without having to expend more energy thinking about it than he wanted. Victor said he was to report back about his mission; nice and simple. Ophelia said it was too dangerous to go alone, and that it was better for Victor to stay with them. Also logical. Victor did not want to go with them because they were going with Moira, who was hunting an especially dangerous beast. Staying away from something like that made perfect sense to Torquil. Then Ophelia and Farren reiterated that it was going to be dangerous to go alone, and that he would be safer with a group.
To Torquil's simple mind, at least, Victor's hesitation made a lot of sense, to the point where Torquil himself started seriously wondering if going with Moira and her Hunters was really the right decision. By the sound of it Victor had been through a lot, and as someone who had just recently been through a traumatic event of his own, Torquil felt uniquely sympathetic toward that sentiment. He wondered to himself what he would do if they encountered another creature like the one that had killed him earlier, but shied away from the thought before it could reach completion. He did not even want to think about it. Would he rather have had to get through a dozen beast-men or one Mad One? And with Victor, there was not even any guarantee that he would have to fight. He might be able to sneak past them, or hide in a house with a censer at its entrance, or even sneak up on them and kill them easily. No, Torquil thought he understood him quite well.
It was not until Moira pointed out that Victor – and the rest of them – did not have to join the fighting that the White Church Hunter relented and agreed to come with them. Torquil was very happy with this; as far as he could see, this was an ideal outcome. Victor would have the safety of the group while not having to risk his life against whatever Moira was hunting, and as a bonus Torquil did not have to fight something big and scary either. Everybody was winning.

But apparently Ophelia was not happy with that, which surprised Torquil quite a bit, but not as much as the approach she decided to take to change Victor's mind. She said something he did not quite understand about pride, and made a remark about them still having a lifetime of experience even if they were new Hunters, which... confused Torquil a lot. Admittedly he remembered very little of his life from before tonight, but what little he did remember did not seem very applicable to knowing how to be a Hunter. As a regular human he had always just hid and stayed away from beasts, since that was all he could do to stay alive; to the old him, any old beast meant as certain death as any other. He did not know what lives Farren and Ophelia came from except that Ophelia had apparently been with some witches, but... yeah. Torquil had been a Hunter for less than an hour and had already died once, which was all it took for normal people; Victor had been a Hunter for four years, apparently, and was still alive. It seemed like he would probably know how to stay alive.
Ophelia told him to have respect and listen to a good idea... which actually made Torquil just entirely do a double take. Since Victor had already agreed to come with them, the thing she must have been arguing for now must have been that Victor should also help fight the beast. So the “good idea” was for Victor to help Moira and her Hunters fight? And the way she said it, calling Victor's stance “absurd,” telling him to have respect – despite Torquil not even having interpreted anything Victor had said as disrespectful – and all in a tone that seemed almost belittling and angry. Torquil rarely thought about things past the superficial, but this was so utterly nonsensical to him that he could not stop himself, and all he could come up with was that they had somehow fundamentally misunderstood each other.

Then Victor turned and started going down a different street, just like that, having changed his mind without uttering another word, and Torquil's brief moment of happiness turned to sadness, regret... and doubt. Especially with Ophelia's last comment about letting Victor die, Torquil felt something inside him wither and crumple. He just stood there, looking at Victor walking off down that street all alone, braving a Night of the Hunt alone rather than being forced into a fight that terrified him. And Ophelia glanced at him questioningly, expecting him to follow her and Moira to fight the thing Victor was so scared of while leaving Victor – the man who had come to their rescue after they first awakened, and who had risked his life and suffered grievous injuries for them, and given one of his last blood vials to save Farren – on his own. Alone.
Torquil swallowed, and realized that right now, he would rather go with Victor than with Ophelia.

But before Torquil could do anything to solidify that decision, Farren called out to Victor, told him about someone called Kastavan and threw him a blood vial. Victor stopped long enough to listen to the message and catch the vial thrown to him, only for him to spend several seconds just standing there with the vial in his hand, staring at it, before stowing it in his pack. Victor looked at Farren, seemingly in thinking about something hard, before ultimately just nodding his head firmly before turning around to continue leaving.
Torquil bit his lip, and realized that Farren was looking at him, only for Farren to nod toward Ophelia and Moira's group. Torquil felt his heart sink, and indecision tore at him. He watched Farren going with the others, together with Ophelia in their big group, headed off in pursuit of some terrible monster. He watched Victor walking alone down an empty street, toward the huge, imposing structure of the Grand Cathedral in the distance, towering over the rest of the city.
Ultimately, of course, Torquil was bad at taking decisions. He knew this; it was why he was so readily willing to just do whatever he was told. So with one last mournful and sympathetic glance at Victor, he hurried along to catch up to the group as they continued down the empty street toward the southern mountains of southern Yharnam.

Ophelia had meant to only spare Torquil and Farren a cursory glance, but something about the way that Torquil looked struck her like a dagger--like a rabbit who'd just realised he'd wandered into a trap. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning her head away from Torquil because she could not bear the shame of looking at him and realising that she was the one who'd made him feel like this with her own anger and pride. She was too proud to back down, she knew that, and she cradled her cheek against the Holy Moonlight Sword. While Farren spoke she let her mind and soul touch it, and she prayed in her heart of hearts to be worthy of its guidance, to let go of that beast within her and return to purity. To know that if she was tested and found wanting, she would earnestly try to be worthy of its blinding grace. There was no mote of pity in her heart for Victor, for she had truly gone out of her way to earnestly protect him as gratitude for what he'd done and what he'd given for them... but then she thought of Torquil's face, the way that his eyes flitted and his expression soured. She sighed softly and her stiffened posture relaxed into a defeated slump of her shoulders, and she knew that she couldn't leave things like this. Not only would it break her heart every time she looked at sweet, simple Torquil... she could not let him down. It made sense to her, in that moment, what Dietrich had said--his overindulgence... the way that he didn't even flinch at the brand... He truly must have lived through a lot, to make it four years as a Hunter. That was no excuse for his rudeness, but her reply to that had been far ruder than he had... and he had just seen his friend dead.

She thought about how scared and angry and sick she'd felt when Torquil had died and she didn't know that he was effectively immortal. How glad she'd been to find him returned hale and whole, what an incredible miracle Mother Moon had provided for them all. She would not get that if Victor died. He'd just be another corpse, another body hauled to her home on a cart that she'd prepare for burial, or for ritual, or for the dogs. She'd be no better than a beast in Torquil's eyes, and unlike almost everyone else in the entire world she was going to be with him for better or for worse. They could go their own separate ways somewhat, certainly, but they would run into one another--and if he looked at her like Victor had, like she had at him, she would not even be able to die from shame. She would have to live with that until... until she became like Moira, she supposed, freed from the Dream. Away from her Mother Moon.

She turned around, and saw Farren tossing a blood vial to Victor. She brought her hand down to her own pouch and felt it, feeling the weight of those extra vials, and she resolved to try and do the right thing.

"Victor... These blood vials are for you. I asked the Vicar to give me some blood vials, so you would have enough for the journey back. Take them, and... I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that, and... you've been very good to us." Ophelia spoke, tone remorseful and shameful, before quickstepping to catch up with him and offer him the five vials in her hand. Her eyes glistened with dew and were cast slightly downward, though she still focused on his person.

Victor turned to face her when Ophelia spoke his name again, a dark scowl already on his face in contrast to the relatively neutral expression he had worn when Farren had addressed him. His jaw-muscles worked visibly as he clenched his teeth, though his demeanor relaxed somewhat when he laid eyes on the blood vials Ophelia was offering him.
While Ophelia spoke, Victor's eyes moved slowly from her face to the blood vials in her hand, and back to her face. He was clearly conflicted, his mien shifting from furious to thoughtful, to worried and suspicious. His right hand gripped the handle of his sword tightly.

Finally, a couple of seconds after Ophelia had finished talking, he seemed to reach a decision, took the vials from her and stowed them in his satchel. As he did so, Ophelia might notice the small ornate metal case that Farren and Torquil had seen earlier, though now it was tucked into Victor's belt behind his blood vial pouch.
“You have a bloody strange way of showing it,” he said, the hint of a growl creeping into his voice. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to die alone now. Goodbye, Ophelia.”

_Farren

had been continuing his approach when Ophelia unexpectedly stopped in place, suddenly seeming in a silent, thoughtful repose, a complicated expression on her profile. Then, rather surprisingly, she turned and passed him, walking to Victor and offering some words of apology. The words of gratitude came too late, and the apology too soon–Farren reckoned. Perhaps the man might forgive, but not without time to soften the blow…to forget the sting of the cruel insult she had paid him.

Still, while it wasn’t the practical thing, her offering the vials she had apparently acquired for Victor’s sake was at least the right thing. Then Victor’s remark reached his ears and–as he’d turned to watch the exchange–Farren found himself taking a half step back toward the man, before stopping. Jaw squared, teeth grinding one moment, before he was again relaxed in the next, Farren offered some final words of parting. “See that you don’t, I’d share a drink with you on a finer night than this. Four years a hunter…I’m sure you’ve a story to tell,” Farren said, even as Victor began walking away, leaving Ophelia standing there, her eyes downcast.

For his part, Farren walked to her side and place a hand on her shoulder lightly. If she lifted her eyes to meet the piercing azure of his gaze, he’d match her stare for a moment with a strange–meaningful–intensity, then shake his head, before turning to follow Moira once more. He didn’t await Victor’s reply this time and some small part of him regretted giving him the extra vial. Then again…the hunter had given of his own supply to save his life, so it was only fair.

Ophelia stood for a few seconds more, almost watching Victor trudge off into the night, before raising her head to look at Farren as he put a hand on her shoulder. She returned his look, albeit hers was more defeated than practical and almost-encouraging like his, and turned to follow Moira and the others.
"Are you familiar with Gerlinde, Moira? We've never met ourselves, but the Doll told us a few things and I've worked a few more out--though I still don't know enough."

"Gerlinde? Paleblood Hunter. Undisciplined. Too curious for her own good. No sense of responsibility. Dangerous fascination with the arcane. I am familiar with her."

"Hm. I feel like you've mostly just described me too, minus the lack of responsibility. Okay... what about Vicar Harold? Him you must know, of course, but... do you find him as awful and unsettling as I do? He does something to the minds of everyone near him, they all call him..." Ophelia began, waiting to see if anyone would finish the sentence for her.

At this, Moira actually turned her attention from the road ahead to look at Ophelia. "You already met the Vicar and noticed something being off? Surprising. Yes, the 'nice old man'-thing. It was one of the reasons I distanced myself from the Healing Church. Disturbing. Not sure if it's him doing it, though; may be the flowers."

"The flowers?" Ophelia responded, looking at Moira thoughtfully as she kept walking. "They seem so beautiful, and they shine with Mother Moon's light... But the eyes... They are watching, yes, and they are aware. I hadn't even considered it might be them... but still, the way he holds them all in thrall... Did you notice the gold on the lanterns, and the little plinth, too?"

"Gold lanterns? Plinths?" Moira repeated, then lapsed into a couple of seconds' of thoughtful silence. "I have seen plinths, but none worthy of note. And no gold lanterns."

"Then it happened after you ceased to be a Paleblood Hunter. But... Harold was still like that beforehand? I'd assumed that it was the queer gold, but things go even deeper than that. Bloody hell, we're going to have a difficult time of working all of this out, aren't we? Did you know that the little ones who fetch our weapons and tools can't manifest in the Upper Cathedral Ward, or in the Lumenflower Gardens? It was remarkable--I couldn't even imagine a place the little ones can't go to. Not coincidentally, the relevant markers on the headstones in the Dream are also tinged gold." Ophelia replied, though some of her speech had that lilting and disconnected quality suggestive of merely vocalising thoughts than asking questions.

Again Moira was prompted to look back at Ophelia. "The little ones always came when I called, no matter where I was. Even came of their own accord. Seems a lot of things have changed since I was bound to the Dream."

"... I suppose I should inform you of what the White Church has been up to, then, shouldn't I? I spoke with Dietrich--he informed me that they had an experiment going on to... artificially induce Paleblood in people, and then awaken them as Hunters. I alone was the bearer of true Paleblood--Farren and Torquil here are a result of their experiment. There's an entire crop of nascent Hunters yet to awaken where we came from, and... it breaks my heart to even think about it, but... some of their eyes were frayed by the scourge of beasts before they could ever awaken. There was a strange pallid man with a bell and a beastman servant, too, who wanted us to round up the would-be Hunters and take them to a 'Soulkeeper'. We slaughtered them, of course, filthy beasts... Then Victor showed up." Ophelia began, though she suddenly got quiet at her mention of Victor and cast a quick sidelong glance towards Torquil before almost immediately switching her focus back to Moira.

"We're what?!" Torquil exclaimed, evidently too surprised at hearing that he and Farren were the product of some experiment by the White Healing Church to be particularly concerned with being reminded of Victor.
Moira, meanwhile, took the news calmly. "An attempt at manufacturing immortal Hunters. Makes sense. Wonder how they did it. Results sound less than ideal. Wonder if the Harrow knew your batch were special or were just after Hunters in general. Are the sleeping Hunters safe now?"

"They must've known that we were there, I think, though I'm not sure if they knew we were special--Dietrich also told me that he'd assigned several people to be there to watch over us, and all of them had fled when we awakened. It could've been an incredible stroke of luck, I suppose, for them to stumble across where we were and to find the guards dead--but I'm not particularly inclined to believe luck has much to do with anything, love. The Pallid one did threaten us with being hurt and possibly killed, which would strike me as... rather foolish, if they knew we were immortal. We certainly didn't know at the time, though, maybe they were banking on that if they did know? It all reeks of a bigger picture, doesn't it? The Hunters are... well, there's only the one entrance. The entrance was blockaded, but I had to dismantle it to get out and join the others in their fight against Skinner--so they're now only guarded by the secrecy of their location. I planned to return after we were done with this, though if you want to come along and inspect them you're more than welcome, dear."

"The Harrow idealize beasthood. Paleblood makes us immune to the scourge; we can't become beasts. Don't need to see for myself, but I might send some people."

"Protecting them... that isn't going to be easy, not if people already knew they were there. They're our brethren in blood too, now they're Hunters--even if they haven't awakened yet or might never awaken. They certainly aren't immune to beasthood, these... failed false Palebloods, look." Ophelia began, bringing up the little jar of eyes clipped to her belt on her left side and motioning with her head towards the frayed eye oozing black pus she'd procured from one of the slain would-be Hunters.

For a time, Farren listened quietly, finding additional information helpful in many circumstances. Though, as Ophelia mentioned that they were experiments--he and Torquil at least--Farren's eyes narrowed. “The experiment--you didn’t mention that,” he said, gruff, trailing beside Ophelia–though with a comfortable distance between them and his being ever-so-slightly back from where she walked.
Still, internally he let it go, though it did make him wonder what desperate situation he’d have had to be in to allow something like that to be done to him.

"Well, I did mention that it would be a good idea to have a discussion in the Dream--we just chose to go and confront Skinner before I could tell you both where prying eyes weren't peeking, love." Ophelia replied to Farren, and she also offered a quick smile to Torquil.

Farren seemed to consider that a moment then nodded, seeming to cede the point.

While Ophelia and Farren talked, Moira turned and exaimed the jar of eyes she had been presented with.
"You harvested their eyes," she remarked, a hint of surprise making its way into her voice. "Unusual. That might mean the others aren't immune either. Dangerous. I have some people I'd like to show those eyes to later."

"Well, it seemed the most sensible option... and it's quite normal where I come from. If you weren't in Yharnam before the Night of the Blood Moon, I suppose you wouldn't know much about the Hemwick of old. You might say I've got a little bit of a thing for eyes," Ophelia replied nonchalantly, laughing a little at her last statement. "I'll have to stick with you, then, dear--I don't let my collection out of my sight. A witch's habits die hard, I'm afraid, love. Not that I mind that at all--you've been marvellously helpful so far. I could also collect another sample, zip across the Dream, and deliver them to the Black Workshop if that suits you better?"

Moira actually spent a couple of seconds just staring blankly at Ophelia before turning back around and refocusing on the street that continued south into areas that seemed older the farther they went.
"We'll see. Eyes are just the readily available thing. Examining the entire body would be better. As I said, I will send some people." She paused for a second. "There may be something else you three can help with. Can the experiments access the Dream?"

Ophelia simply nodded in response, not wanting to speak for the others.

Farren's eye twitched a moment as he realized they were referring to any of the individuals..Torquil and him included. Still, since Moira wasn't looking to see Ophelia's non-verbal response, he spoke up. “Torquil and I can, if by 'experiments' you mean us as well,” he said, keeping most of the annoyance from his voice.

"I do," Moira confirmed. "Which means you do have the most important benefits of Paleblood Hunters: you are immortal, and you can cure yourselves of Ashen Blood. You can do what would be almost certain death to other Hunters." She looked back again, this time at Farren. "You can go to Old Yharnam."

Farren matched her gaze with his own unerring, difficult expression. “Pray tell...why would we want to go there of all places?”

"Lost part of the city. Packs of beasts emerge from there to roam. We keep killing them, and more keep coming out. We think we tracked down a source. Where they're all coming from. If we destroy it, we could reduce the number of beasts coming to Yharnam. By a lot."

"Do the Harrow have much presence there?" Ophelia asked in response, clipping the jar of eyes back on her belt as she spoke.

"Not as far as I know. Wouldn't make sense either. They're just as suspectible to Ashen Blood as we are."

"They're foolish enough to idolise beasts; if there's some source, I'd guess at their fingers being in that pie.... or at least wanting to be. Ah, it doesn't matter either way, beasts threatening the good people of Yharnam is a good enough reason for me to slaughter them. I would be happy to volunteer myself." Ophelia replied, casting a glance over her shoulder towards where she thought the approximate direction of Old Yharnam was.

Moira nodded her head. "Sounds good. Plenty of others probably have things they want you to do. Different factions, different goals. I don't care. I just want to purge beasts from Yharnam."

"That, love, is a goal I share. Poking around somewhere few others are able to reliably traverse is also sure to be lucrative, for those of us... less driven by principle." Ophelia replied, the smile on her face evident in her tone. She cast a glance towards Farren as she spoke the last part, though she wasn't quite sure why.

Farren saw her glance, but didn't look her way, frowning a bit, then laughing slightly despite himself. He supposed she wasn't wrong...it wasn't as if he felt some sort of duty to purge beasts from the city, especially if there was nothing in it for him beyond the increased security of the city. Though that certainly had its own value he supposed.... “...suppose a few less beasts on nights like these couldn't hurt,” Farren said by way of reply.

There was a somewhat lengthy pause of nothing but the sound of everyone's footfalls. The road ahead was starting to get enveloped in steadily denser fog as the architecture shifted quite noticeably from that of the new, hastily erected residences they had been passing so far and to older, mostly smaller and humbler structures. The air filled with the smell of burning coals, hot metal and a variety of unidentifiable chemicals as they entered the oft forgotten part of Yharnam to the south: the industrial district.
Then Moira abruptly asked: "Your story... were you made Hunters today?"

Farren nodded more out of habit than anything, following it up immediately with a response, “Correct.”

"Wait... You don't mean to say that Victor wasn't exaggerating? Did you actually awaken only an hour ago?"

Farren couldn't help but smile slightly and give Ophelia a brief sidelong glance, “You have the shape of things, it seems,” he replied, cracking his neck before rolling his shoulders slightly. He was surprised it had taken her this long to realize, but then it was absurd enough that he supposed it might have been dismissed without it even becoming a proper thought.

"One hour, and you already have Caryll Runes, have met with the Vicar, have learned about these experiments of the Healing Church, know enough to comment on how powerful the Shopkeeper is, you fought and killed Skinner..." Moira shook her head incredulously. "You've been busy."

Farren shrugged slightly, his clothes and gear shifting with the motion “In all fairness...the Shopkeeper did much of the work when it comes to Skinner. Though...we managed to at least not die before Ophelia arrived with him in tow--and she did not arrive right away. But yes, you could certainly say that.” he replied, cracking his neck before rolling his shoulders slightly. He was surprised it had taken her this long to realize, but then it was absurd enough that he supposed it might have been dismissed without it even becoming a proper thought. He chuckled to himself a bit, seeming amused by her assessment. It was a lot, when put out in the open all together like that.
“The existing markers in the Dream, did assist greatly in Ophelia meeting with the Vicar though...” he added, before falling back into silence. He was sure Ophelia would have her own piece to say as well, but Farren found that he was rather glad that Moira's accounting of their exploits thus far actually gave them credit. Whereas Victor had been rather dismissive simply because he was more seasoned than they. It was refreshing, but the azure-eyed hunter didn't let it go to his head.

"That and some prior knowledge. The Moonborn Hunter obtained the runebrand from my mentors, the Witches of Hemwick, on the Night of the Blood Moon. Before that it was ours, and I learned from them. It's odd--it doesn't really feel like an hour's passed at all, does it?" Ophelia opined, looking at Farren and Torquil both at her last statement.
"But yes, we have been rather busy. The circumstances in which we awoke were... honestly, pretty terrifying. Poor Torquil was killed by a Mad One before we knew we were immortal, and we all had to fight for our lives and freedom mere moments after awakening--everything after that... Well, it seemed easy by comparison, I suppose. They left us a single message up there at the Rise, that the results of what happened were for the First Hunter only... so we followed the trail from there, and now we're here. Perhaps our next hour will be less eventful, though... given what we're headed to do, I doubt it."

"You might be surprised. Tracking beasts can take a lot of time... especially ones like the one we're hunting now, capable of leaping dozens of meters and scaling the sides of buildings with ease. Our best hope is that it decides to make noise again."

"I certainly shan't complain at a relatively uneventful hour or more before we're back in the thick of it. You were born with Paleblood, then, Moira? One wouldn't think it at all to look at you now... Though I suppose one wouldn't think it to look at me either. I was almost wheelchair-bound hours ago, and now..." Ophelia began, trailing off at the end as she lost herself in some thought or another. She scanned the area around them while she listened out for Moira's response, eager to take in more information about the many parts of Yharnam she'd simply never been.

"I was, though I only learned so after coming to Yharnam. Didn't know Paleblood was a thing. Didn't know anything was wrong with me. For most of my life I was healthy. I used to be a soldier. Then I got weaker, very fast. In two months I was reduced from perfect health to verge of death."

"Hah, I didn't know that it was called Paleblood until today either--but I was never in perfect health. Always sickly, slowly deteriorating... this is a very welcome change of pace. Especially with the Doll's ability to channel power into us and make us stronger. It's the little things you miss, breathing without having to feel your ever-weaker muscles strain, walking, even standing some days... Ahh, there is a great deal of freedom in being a Hunter. A great deal of obligation, too. Please do call on me if there are things I can help with in the future, beyond Old Yharnam. You... you're what this city needs, I think. Someone who wants what's best for Yharnam's people and doesn't see everyone else as a pawn in a game."

Moira shrugged. "I am just a Hunter. Yharnam needs Hunters, but they are not all it needs. From experience, Dietrich handles logistics, stability and prosperity. Vicar Harold handles spiritual matters and arcane issues. The Vilebloods want to reform Yharnam under their own rule. But the Followers and Harrow are just insane. There are also the Fire Dancers, but I don't know much about them. Keep their distance. Steal our supplies. They're a problem, too."

At the mention of Dietrich Ophelia smiled broadly, though Moira wouldn't see it. "Ah, Dietrich is wonderful--he seems genuinely concerned for the welfare of those under him. I like him a lot, but... he's been taken in by what's happening with Harold too. I'm rather new to all of this, dear, and don't know if I am the one who should be making decisions about who runs what... I just want to protect my home and the people in it. Being a Hunter is a lot like being a weapon, isn't it? It's much easier to just be... pointed at something and set loose than make decisions that shape the lives of thousands. The Followers and Harrow, and perhaps the Fire Dancers... they are a tumour that needs to be cut out, that much is certain--if they're anything like the Harrow."

"We're not weapons. We're predators. We need someone to hold our leash, or we would destroy Yharnam ourselves."

"That's what we have community for, isn't it? Predators protecting the world from each other, heh. But I suppose that begs the question: who holds your leash? Who holds ours?"

"Community... yes." Moira looked back at Ophelia. "And no one holds my leash, nor yours. That's what makes us even more dangerous and valuable. Everyone will want to control you three. And if they can't, they will want to destroy you."

Farren grimaced a bit at that, but didn’t comment. He’d figured it would be something like that anyways, he’d make do.

"That's the problem with manufacturing immortal apex predators, isn't it? We don't go down easily." Ophelia grinned, looking at Moira. She then looked to both Farren and Torquil with a twinkle in her eyes, though slightly diminished from a pang of shame as she looked at Torquil.

"Indeed." Moira kept looking at Ophelia, the eyes behind her visor sharp and serious. "If I had been the one doing it, I would make sure to have a built-in means of control. Something to force compliance. Something to make them self-destruct, maybe." She glanced meaningfully toward where Ophelia had stowed her jar of eyes.

Ophelia raised her right eyebrow slightly at Moira's glance. "That would be something, eh? Alas--I fear they've toyed with things beyond their ken, and now the leash has slipped their hands. I suppose that means you're going to have to come up with some contingency for us... I'm still probably less hale than most hunters, but I pick things up quick. You'll have to be wily to trap me, if I ever go off the deep end."

“You’re likely the lesser risk, if beasthood’s the worry,” Farren commented, “…seeing as you’ve actually a touch of natural Paleblood to you.” He didn’t like that the differences between them were a mystery…that he had no idea whether his sanity or his body—now flush with the Old Blood—might betray him someday. He barely let it show though, only looking mildly thoughtful, rather than disturbed.

Ophelia barked out a laugh at that, shaking her head gently. "Me? A beast? No, love, madness is the worry. Madness like the Night of the Blood Moon..."

Farren raised his gaze, turning his head slightly to regard her. He didn’t find it to be much of a laughing matter, but he managed to crack a small smile anyways—if a dark one. “Yes…madness. Well, if it comes to it, I’d put you down myself,” his smile slowly slipped into a look of grave seriousness as he gave her a respectful nod. “I’d hate to see a mind like yours be turned against us, let alone the people.”

"I appreciate that, love. The same goes for you. You, too, Torquil: if... the unthinkable should happen, if I do go truly mad and become a danger, you must help stop me. I don't know if anyone else could stop us: we have to keep each other accountable."

"Not even you can stop each other while you are still bound to the Dream," Moira pointed out with a shrug. "But that connection doesn't last forever. Eventually you'll become mortal like the rest of us... once you've fulfilled your purpose. Whatever that might be."
Torquil just looked away from the group, pretending to pay attention to the workshops and foundries they were walking past. I'd rather they didn't promise something like that. Mad or not, I wanna live.

"Purpose... I... wonder if we have the same purpose? If you two have something different to me that might make sense, I suppose... Maybe we should ask the Shopkeeper. He might not have a straight answer, but... I don't get the sense that he'd manipulate us. How was your experience with him, Moira?"

"He? I see. You don't know yet." Moira shrugged. "You should ask the doll for information on the Shopkeeper. As for my experience... they don't interfere unless asked to. They don't tell us what to do. They don't lie. But when summoned, they don't care about anything besides hunting. And they won't let you tell them what they can or cannot hunt." She paused for a second, then added: "And as long as the Shopkeeper is summoned, no one gets blood echoes."

"Hm. I suppose it didn't really occur to me to ask, that seemed less pressing than all of the other mysteries at my fingertips. The Dream feels... so far away, so surreal... and there was so much going on here in the Waking World that we needed to do. No blood echoes... the power must be flowing into them--they positively reek of the Nightmare, even more than that... Amygdala you mentioned before. What... are those?"

"It. Not those. Amygdala is a Great One. A god. It has copies of itself all over Yharnam, watching its people. It is curious, but mostly harmless." There was a small pause. "Just take care to avoid it in the Nightmare. It is much more aggressive there."

"... A god, you say? A Great One... Yes, that makes sense." Ophelia replied, nodding her head thoughtfully. The topic brought a memory to her mind unbidden, of treading a treacherous forest path bearing an offering to something she used to think of as a god. "... I suppose anything with enough of the Nightmare on it could be a god... is the Shopkeeper? I wonder if... I'll have to go back, to the woods..." Ophelia added, beginning to mumble to herself as she found herself consumed by memories and wild theories. Almost absentmindedly her head tilted to rest gently upon the Holy Moonlight Sword as she pondered.

"I don't know much about that arcane stuff, only what I was told."

"Hm... That makes sense; I suppose I'm going to have to endure Vicar Harold to answer any more of my questions concerning the Arcane... I wonder if my Lake rune is not a bit of a paltry offering for your Hunters," Ophelia began, before motioning to the others with nods of her head for those that were looking. "I could always give them this Metamorphosis rune instead, if you think that'd be more helpful?"

Moira looked to the Black Church Hunters. "That's not my call. Do you want to switch?"
The three of them looked somewhat surprised to suddenly get dragged into the conversation.
"Would that be the same process as the first time?" Myrna asked, idly rubbing her arm where the brand had touched her earlier.
"Yes," Moira confirmed without hesitation.
"Then I'm good," Myrna declared.
"I think I'm fine with this one, too," Liam agreed.
Birk seemed to hesitate. "How much stronger does the Metamorphosis Rune make you?"
Moira shrugged. "A bit. Depends on how strong you already are. It'd be noticeable, but not a huge amount."
Nodding his head thoughtfully, Birk finally decided: "Premonitions about danger seems more useful than that."
"Then it's decided," Moira concluded. She looked at Ophelia. "I brought these three because they are among the newest of my Hunters. They could use some experience against a large beast... and the blood echoes."

"Ahh, I see! Well, it looks like we're in good company: I'd guess we three are even greener than you are--but immortality and exceptional armaments go a long way. If you'd like them to get some blood echoes, I don't mind stepping aside for the fight when it comes--though if someone is about to get hit by something horribly dangerous, I'll quickstep in and take the blow for them. No sense in losing people when all that'll happen to me is that I'll wake up safe and sound--if that sounds good to you, Moira? Or if you have any plans, I'm happy for you to direct me."

"Blood echoes aren't distributed like that. Anyone nearby gets them. As long as you rookies are nearby, you'll all get some."

"Power flows in mysterious ways, it seems we've much to learn about being Hunters. Hopefully this'll be a lesson for us all, hm?" Ophelia replied, seemingly content to cradle the Holy Moonlight Sword close to her and muse while she walked as her curiosity was, for the time being, spent.


By then their group of seven had ventured far into what Ophelia would find labeled as the “Industrial Ward” on the map she had gotten from Dietrich. It was a part of Yharnam that used to be mostly separated from the residential wards of the city, with the closest being Central Yharnam, and was where the lowest rung of their society – the laborers and the destitute, mostly – used to make their home before the Night of the Blood Moon. The street here was the same cobblestone as any other in Yharnam, but far more well-traveled, with distinct grooves where untold hundreds, if not thousands, of wheels of carts had worn the stone down. The air was thick with all manner of terrible scents associated with industry: the smoke and hot metal from the forges and foundries; the stench of tanneries; chemical smells associated with the refining of oils and the production of things like gunpowder.
Five years ago the Industrial Ward had likely been the area least affected by the disaster due to being out of range of the influence exerted by the eldritch powers that descended upon Yharnam on that night. While the more prosperous parts of Yharnam had been first laughing and partying behind locked doors and then gone mad from being touched by the Nightmare, the people of the Industrial Ward had spent the entire night huddled in shelters, waiting for it to pass, and most of them made it to sunrise with their lives and sanity intact. With the Healing Church and its Hunters all but obliterated, however, there were no one to save them from the enormous, unchecked surge of beasts that emerged from the city. The workers of the Industrial Ward was devastated... but the Ward itself survived all but intact, and was one of the first parts of the city to be manned and repopulated once Vicar Harold started reviving the city. Hundreds of immigrants – anyone unable to afford living in the better parts of Yharnam and unable or unwilling to make their way around to Hemwick – were directed here and assigned tasks to produce the numerous resources a society like Yharnam needed.
Whereas buildings on the street that had lead them here were mostly hastily erected residences that were all but identical, buildings here were each unique in both appearance and purpose. There were huge, dark structures made of stone and metal, with giant chimneys spewing forth columns of thick smoke, there were small, wooden workshops for making tool or furniture, and everything in-between. Even more so than Old Yharnam, despite still being populated by actual Yharnamites, the Industrial Ward was the forgotten part of the city.

It would be immediately noticeable to them that unlike the residences from earlier, almost every single structure in this part of the city was equipped with at least one lit censer, though it was hard to catch the smell of them behind all the other scents filling the air. They could still hear people hammering on metal and wood and heavy machinery running, as work here did not pause even on a Night of the Hunt.
Carts and carriages were parked at the sides of the road, though the animals used to draw them were nowhere to be seen and had likely been stowed in their stables for the night, at least. Even so this street was so broad that another two vehicles could comfortably have drive past the parked ones and each other. This was clearly a main road for moving resources to and from the Ward.
And right in the middle of that road – unnoticed by Moira and her Black Church Hunters – was the familiar sight of a little crooked, wooden post with an unlit lantern hanging from it.

Ophelia's senses were assaulted by the toxic airs and fumes of the industrial zone of Yharnam--but as one who spent her formative years at the very heart of Hemwick, she was more than used to the stench of death. The stench of the tanneries was fierce, especially now to her keener Hunter's senses, but a mere wrinkling of her nose was all that escaped her before she quickly became used to it. She spent her time looking around, observing details about this area of her city that she'd never been in before. The way the cobblestones had worn down, the wideness of the path compared to her memories of Hemwick Charnel Lane and dense forest paths and even the labyrinthine clusteredness of Central Yharnam. It took her a second to notice the lamp on its little wooden post, though she immediately pointed it out once she'd seen it.

"Ahh, look there loves. A lantern--how wonderful." She mused, speeding up to a jog and weaving her way dextrously through the four Hunters of Moira's party to meet the lantern. She expected the little ones there, crawling up and over each other to meet her and Torquil and Farren, and extended her free right hand out gently towards the lantern.

"Quite convenient. Let's hope the beast is somewhere around here."

“Huh.” Moira turned to look first at Ophelia running over to the lantern and then Farren coming over to light it, since he was the only out of the Paleblood Hunters that had seen how. “Can't say I ever came here while I was bound to the Dream. Don't know if there was a lantern here back then. Wonder how the Gatekeepers choose where to put them.”
She paused, looking skyward for a moment as if to confirm to herself that none of them could actually see the sky through the dense mist seemingly shrouding this entire area. “Actually haven't been here since I first got to Yharnam. No reason to. Beasts avoid the Industrial Ward. Probably the smell. Wonder what made this one come here now.”
Finally, Moira turned to her Black Church Hunters. “Spread out and search, but stay within shouting distance. Look for signs. Tracks. Report anything you find immediately.”

_Farren

briefly glanced in Moira’s direction as she gave out orders to her hunters–though her manner had her essentially imposing order upon him and his companions as well. Farren didn’t mind terribly, as unlike with Victor he had every confidence that this was a woman who knew precisely what she was about and what she was doing. Perhaps Victor was indeed a seasoned hunter, one skilled at surviving, but…surviving at any cost? At the cost of your fellow man, at the cost of innocents perhaps? Farren shook his head and stepped away from the lantern he’d snapped to light, demonstrating the act to both Ophelia and Torquil as a result.

Turning his gaze elsewhere, first Farren scanned the ground in an expanding spiral starting from the lantern and trailing outwards. He took his time even as others split up to search different areas. His first goal was to take stock of the space as a whole, scanning over the ground, then the front of buildings, then up to what he could see of rooftops and anything that hung overhead. Once he had the lay of things, Farren–regardless of whether another hunter had already checked an area–began to walk closer to doors and windows checking for scuffs, torn cloth, fur, blood, or anything else that might seem out of place.

As he searched, Farren found himself recalling this district, though to a rather limited degree. The smells–though far more crisp and offensive than perhaps they once had been–distinctly familiar. In the past, he must have worked here…though not recently, he felt. It was a more distant thing, and he felt as if he had not been welcome back then.

Their loss, he figured, shrugging off the burden of that memory, allowing it to fall to the wayside. Perhaps some other time it would bear some dwelling upon, but honestly he doubted it. He wasn’t that man anymore, likely hadn’t been even before he’d undergone his transformation.

After that, Farren’s mind quieted as he sank into a state of focus, his senses not zeroing in like some might, but expanding out even as he kept an eye out for details while looking around the area. At first he wouldn’t leave the area within eye-shot of the lantern, but if he found nothing after a thorough search therein in terms of signs of their target, then he’d have to decide where to look next.

Each thing in its own time, he figured.

"Sentiment, at a guess? Familiar to them before the change took them, perhaps... If I were to turn, I would think I'd go back to Hemwick--luckily that isn't possible!" Ophelia mused in response to Moira's last question, bending down to address the little ones as she did so. Once she finished speaking, she held a hand out gingerly and thought about something that Moira had mentioned earlier--that Gerlinde was both too curious and not prudent enough. She could remember being much the same way when she was first taken in by the Witches, eager to learn every secret under the sun without heed for how dangerous those secrets were and what knowing them could do. Their bodies might have been immortal, but their minds were more vulnerable than most. It was a tradition among witches to take apprentices--as had been done for her--and she figured that seeing as neither Farren or Torquil seemed overly invested in learning the secrets of the worlds beyond the waking one beyond what results they could achieve or obligations they could fulfil... Gerlinde, if she was willing and if she was worthy, could perhaps make a good student. She might be able to steer the mysterious fourth paleblood away from the madness that lurked at every corner, Mother Moon willing.

She extended her finger out and began to trace words over the proferred scroll, watching text suddenly appear on the immaterial canvas before her:

"Dear Gerlinde - I am Ophelia, another Paleblood Hunter recently bound to the Dream that we now share. Your name has come up a number of times during my travels across our city, and I hoped that we might meet to discuss our mutual interest of the Arcane. I am out on a Hunt at the moment, but if you wish to accept my little invitation please do write back and we can rendezvous in the Dream. I look forward to meeting another student of the mysteries of our world.

Mother Moon keep you,

Ophelia"

That done, she rose up to her full height and looked around--waiting for something to happen with the others searching for tracks of the beast. She had the most confidence in Farren and Moira's ability to track, so she kept an eye on the junior Hunters as best as she could and was ready to help if they called for it.

While Moira and the Black Church Hunters started spreading out and searching for any signs of a beast having come through the area and where it had gone, Farren began his own careful examination of his surroundings. It was more awkward than he might have expected, however, since just standing in one place and visually scanning the area around him turned out to be unfeasible at a certain point due to the mist and the darkness. Once he tried to look at the ground more than four meters away it became difficult to tell details from the contours, and eight meters away the world was completely swallowed by foul-smelling fog. Standing in the middle of the road he could just barely see the faces of the buildings nearest to him at ground level, but anything further away than that – their neighbors to the sides or the roofs above – was impossible to examine from afar.
Thus the initial bit of investigation proved quite unprofitable, as all he managed to do was confirm that the road immediately around him was indeed a road with no traces suggesting that something unusual had come through. As he moved on to the next phase and started walking around, thus shifting the sphere of reality that was perceptible to him, new areas became available for examination while others vanished into the gloom.

Moving between a parked carriage and a small cart, Farren approached the building on one side – a tall, dark-walled factory of some sort – and explored this new area. Quite surprisingly it did not take him long to find something once he got there, though it was not quite what he had expected. Rather than noticeable scuffs, cloth, fur or blood, he instead found feathers. The side of the street here was strewn with several dozen fairly large black feathers. Drawing on his experience, Farren would likely know this to be crow feathers, and that the way they were scattered suggested that the bird had been taken by a predator. The sheer amount of feathers suggested more than one bird, though. And whatever had caught them had either taken them all away somewhere else to eat them, or had eaten them without spilling so much as a single drop of blood.
Looking at the doors and windows, Farren would find that the people of the Industrial Ward had some rather unique decorations... though the way they were deployed made them come across much more as talismans. While each point of entry to a building did have a lit censer, it also had what appeared to be a crow's skull mounted on doors or hanging on a string in windows, each one with the same symbol drawn on its forehead.
Now closer to the buildings, Farren could also finally look up and pierce the mist far enough skyward to see the edge of the roof, only to find that he was being watched, too. Up there he saw a handful of crows – normal sized, flight-capable ones, not the swollen, deformed ones afflicted with the scourge of beasts – perched on the edge, staring at him with black, beady eyes.

_Farren

was initially frustrated with the low visibility, but soon moved past it as he continued his investigation of their environs. However, he was somewhat surprised when his search turned up details far more quickly than he’d expected. However, as he followed the trail of feathers to the facade of the large building, Farren felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he laid eyes upon the crow skull fetishes. Hearing the faint scratching of something against the material of the factory’s roof, the azure-eyed hunter trained his gaze further up only to lay his eyes upon the group of crows that watched him with silent interest.

A cold sensation slithered down his spine and he found himself slowly–quietly–drawing Bulwark carefully from the loop at his hip. However, he was no fool and didn’t try to approach one of the points of ingress that would grant access to the factory building’s innards. Instead, he slowly backed away from the factory until the fog mostly obscured its silhouette. Then, still staring in its direction, he waited several heartbeats, before turning and striding in the direction that he’d seen Moira go. He took a slightly circuitous path though, one that would take him past Ophelia, who he gestured to follow him. “Found something. Let’s get the others,” he commented. While what he’d found could be nothing, it could also be the beast they sought, or a den of some other form of monstrosity. Neither were things he had any intention of facing alone.

After all, Farren may have been immortal, but if he didn’t have to die to achieve something, why risk it?