Ophelia eagerly perused the descriptions of the items, and listened well to the soft whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword. To have the last remnant of a Great One was no small thing--the very last vestige of a god, and the endless motherly love that it represented. Ophelia looked at the teeming and wriggling thing, and wondered if she could herself feel love for such a being--and she found in her heart a well of tenderness but not one of love. Not truly. In the moment she, too, sought solace from the recent memory of her experience--but before she could get too far in that line of inquiry they'd all gathered by the birdbath and absorbed the memory. Ophelia hadn't even considered that they could share it, and shot Gerlinde a wide smile as she suggested it, eagerly nodding along.

Once they'd finished experiencing it, Ophelia found herself blinking, and looking deep into the azure-teal glow of the Holy Moonlight Sword. So that's where you come from... Where he found you, and was raised to glory. What was it about him that made you reveal yourself to him? To me? she thought, half-asking and half-not, and stood incredulous for a moment as her senses returned to reality. Skinner... Izzy. Ophelia suddenly felt very lucky indeed that she'd stayed in that elevator, hadn't revealed the Holy Moonlight Sword to him... though a part of her wished that she'd strode up to him and showed him its true glory, of which he'd only gotten the barest taste the last time. Such a strong desire to live, and such loyalty to his friend. But... even a glimpse of glory had caused Ludwig to betray Izzy, so thoroughly that it scared her. She... as much as she wanted to profess her loyalty to her newfound companions, she knew that if any of them showed a sign of the Scourge she'd have cut them down too, impaled them upon the holy blade and brought the full weight of the cosmos down upon them. She found herself empathising with Ludwig much more than she'd expected--though she found his betrayal profoundly distasteful, she understood. Viscerally. She thought about his age of light, and wondered how different it was from the world beneath Mother Moon's gaze that she envisioned and longed for... But then she snapped herself from her reverie, trying to shake those troublesome thoughts from her mind, and turned to Farren.

"Farren, love, could you show me the Hunger rune that you got from Skinner? You must take the projection case and align it, like so," Ophelia began, miming what to do and nodding over to Gerlinde, "and bring its knowledge to the forefront of your mind's eye. Visualise every detail, every stroke, every mote of knowledge. Your mind will swell, and the rune will be made known. I could do the same for you, if you like--the whispers of the gods impart knowledge beyond mere words, and surely this will serve you well against the foes we face?"

_Farren

sank into the memory and for its duration lost himself in the experiences of the man to whom it had belonged. No thoughts plagued his mind in those moments beyond the ones sourced from ‘Izzy’, and similarly none of his own emotions affected him for the duration. He’d expected it to be more like watching someone else from afar, an aloof sort of observer, but as Farren regained awareness of his own condition–the Memory fading into the past where it no longer captured the entirety of his attention–he found himself somewhat unmoored. Rather than having been an unseen, unfeeling observer to someone else’s experience, he felt strange in his own body. The strange phenomena allowed him some respite however, and the Memory a greater perspective than he’d had before. As frightening as some of the experiences had been while he was in them, now they only made some of his own problems feel small and far more tenable than before.

His heartbeat grew calmer and though that same thread of insidious ‘twisting’ gold remained, it did not seem nearly so bad as before–though indeed its intensity had not waned in the slightest. Straightening up from the position he’d had to take to share the Memory alongside the others, Farren glanced between them briefly, finding himself strangely grounded in that moment. Then he heard his name and so his eyes turned to Ophelia as she spoke, demonstrating how to show her–and perhaps the others–the rune that Skinner had given them.

‘So strange,’ he thought absently as he took in her words, ‘...that this is my life now….’ When she had finished explaining and demonstrating to the best of her ability, Farren simply nodded and took the projection case, aligning it as she had shown him. It didn’t take him long, but that was the easier component to the process.

For the rest, Farren closed his eyes and focused. At first all he felt was the rain and wind on his skin, his clothes and hair plastered against his body or hanging heavily from his form. However, as he recalled the moment that the rune had imprinted itself into his mind, Farren found those sensations fading. His thoughts shifted from a more natural quiet to something more clamorous and feverish. He gritted his teeth, then bared them without realizing. His brow screwed up in a frown and a low sound his throat–not quite a growl–became apparent, something like a rough humming noise. Farren’s feet shifted slightly and his muscles grew tense, then relaxed, then tensed again like those of a predator preparing to pounce. Finally he felt more than saw the rune manifest in his Mind’s Eye. It did not appear gradually, but instead all at once, as if it had been clawed into his brain by a series of clawed swipes from some unseen beastial entity tearing at his mind. Yet, it didn’t hurt, instead…he just felt a rumbling, vibrating heat and a pang of hunger roll through his body. In that same moment the rune would become visible to Ophelia and any others who were close enough to see.

Once he had held it for a few seconds–long enough for the others to learn it–Farren relaxed. For a moment he regarded the projector case. Something tickled at his mind…a curiosity that he’d been suppressing almost since he’d awoken some hours ago. If Ophelia moved to take the case from him, he would hand it to her–his attention seeming to be elsewhere for a moment before he answered an earlier question she had implied. “I’d gladly learn whatever you have to share. Such things are perhaps far more valuable than I had thought…” that said he fell silent again. If she chose to show him what Runes she had acquired, he would pay attention, allowing them to be imprinted on his mind, but as soon as that was done his attention would begin to drift once again.

Something was pulling on his attention….

Torquil stumbled back as soon as the Memory of Irreverence loosened its grip on his mind, utterly overwhelmed by not only the experience itself, but the sense of... newfound understanding? Some vague sense of familiarity with an aspect of reality he had only had the barest concept of before. He had never been a particularly knowledgeable or insightful person, but somehow he felt as though absorbing this memory – this insight – propelled him far ahead of where he had been before. The world, and the Hunter's Dream in particular, felt and looked slightly different to him now than before. The doll looked more lifelike, less like an animated toy and more like a person made of porcelain; the text on the smaller headstones stood out sharper and clearer, and he felt more aware of them; even the statues of former Paleblood Hunters seemed more real, as if each of them was liable to jump off its base and walk around like living people. He felt a very noticeable shift in his perception of all things, and it terrified him.
Discovering the story of the serial killer they had stopped earlier – this “Skinner” – also struck a cord in him. Part of Torquil felt an odd kinship with Skinner, equating he murderer's exile into the Old Labyrinth to his own sequestering to his cabin in the woods. Again that sense of loneliness rose to the surface, and despite everything that had happened and all that Skinner had done, he felt a strong sense of sympathy toward him. He wondered if things could have gone differently, what could have been, and what speaking to Skinner might have taught Torquil about himself.
Then all of it faded into the background, because he could not immediately and easily reach any useful conclusions regarding any of it. It all occurred to him for a moment, wafted through his mind like a passing sound or scent, and was promptly dismissed as requiring too much thought.

“Well now, that was quite something,” Gerlinde, who had never met Skinner before and had no idea who he was, said with a smile. “A memory of Irreverent Izzy about Ludwig, the Holy Blade.”
When Ophelia asked for the Hunger Rune, Gerlinde was also quick to join in: “Oh, another Caryll Rune? Can I learn it, too?”

Ophelia, Torquil and Gerlinde have obtained the Hunger Rune. While branded onto a Hunter's mind, devouring the flesh of a living or recently deceased creature restores regenerative potential, similar to how a blood vial would have. Additionally, after devouring part of a creature you gain a small measure of its power as long as you are near it or its remains. If used in conjunction with a living weapon, this rune allows that weapon to have a second awakening that lasts for 60 seconds, at the cost of permanently erasing the last currently active benefit from an eaten creature.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Metamorphosis 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.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Clawmark Rune, which allows the one who memorizes it to utilize their visceral attack-transformation at will and grow longer, sharper claws when they do so.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Communion Rune, which enhances the effect of blood vials for someone who has memorized it to also provide a minute-long effect boosting the imbiber's strength and stamina.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Deep Sea Rune, which fortifies the body of the one who memorizes it against disruptive effects like ashen blood and frenzy, greatly increasing their resistance to it.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Formless Oedon Rune, which empowers quicksilver bullets for the one who memorizes it, significantly increasing their power when shot from a firearm or fueling an eldritch object.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Heir Rune, which doubles the amount of blood echoes one who memorizes it obtains from those who die near them.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Dream Rune, which causes one to exist permanently in the Interstice. It allows one to see and interact with all entities of the Nightmare, for better or for worse.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Eye Rune, which causes one to perceive the hidden facets of reality that would normally require insight more easily, though it also increases the vulnerabilities insight cause.

And finally, after conferring with the whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword for permission, Ophelia shared a rune that not even Gerlinde knew yet:

Gerlinde, Farren and Torquil have obtained the Guidance Rune, which will sometimes reveal sprites of light that draw attention to powerful traces of the Nightmare. Its effect is enhanced while wielding the Holy Moonlight Sword.

"Skinner wanted nothing more than to live, and we put him down because he became nothing more than a rabid dog. Irreverent Izzy no longer, just his flesh inhabited by one who gave into Beasthood rather than die. But Ludwig... Ludwig was generations ago; how long did Izzy survive down there, in the Old Labyrinth, only for us to end him as the Skinner? Ah, but you have met him, I think, Gerlinde. He mentioned an immortal Hunter he couldn't kill that he found terribly tedious--I'd imagine that was you? I suppose it doesn't really matter, now, does it? He is dead, and we are not. Many more will suffer that fate, immortal as we are. Many more at Yahar'gul." Ophelia commented, looking at Gerlinde with a thoughtful expression as she spoke.

"Though I'm loathe to even embrace such a rune, there's something I feel impelled to try..." Ophelia said, requesting the runebrand and branding upon herself the Hunger rune. The phantom pain, much like Gerlinde and Victor before, did not cause her to so much as flinch--each note of discordant sensation was divine, and in that divinity there was knowledge. She listened to the sweet notes of it ring inside her mind, felt the rune take hold, and imagined for a moment what Skinner must have felt. She stepped away from the birdbath, taking at least six or seven steps back before she decided it was enough, and beckoned the Messengers forth to retrieve the Kos Parasite. She reached her hand into the bowl and gently caressed the thing within, offering it her communion. This, she reckoned, was the last chance to feel anything at all of Mother Kos. Ophelia had been immured in death for as long as she could remember; she reckoned, with all of that experience, that we all died two deaths--the first in flesh, and the second when the last being who remembered us forgot. In this way, Mother Kos was still alive--for Ophelia would nestle her love close, and beckon it forth, and let it into the deepest corners of her heart.

_Farren

felt his mind subtly expand with each Rune he obtained, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant all the way through. Like building muscle, it was sore and weak before it was strong again, but when it no longer hurt it was far stronger than before. After a brief time, really only a few moments, his mind settled, and with these new insights and experiences–the new perspective he’d gained and the grounding it offered him–Farren turned his attention inward once more. Rather...he would have, but instead he gestured to Ophelia for the brand once she had finished. Then, once he'd received it, he allowed himself a few moments of peace before he turned his mind to the strange task that he'd felt drawn to since the Memory had faded.

However, this was riskier, so heedless of how wet and miserable it was…Farren sat down on the cobbled path and closed his eyes as a took a deep breath, head tilted forward, chin slightly tucked to let the rain run off him without entering his nose or building up at his closed eyes. Slowly, as he reached inwards, the pitter-patter of the rain, the gentle wet slip of droplets across his body, and the clinging of his wet garments drifted away. Those physical sensations became distant and muted and somehow, in his Mind’s Eye he began to get a distinct sense for that strange thread of insidious influence that he’d apparently always had.

Farren didn’t know what it was, but to leave it nestled deep in his mind, to let it give rise to fear and dread and unease just felt…wrong. It felt like the remnant of an experience he no longer remembered, perhaps a trauma that now would only hamper him if he didn’t confront it.

Thus, as that pristine Golden thread grew closer, and brighter, in his awareness he sought it out rather than shying away. Though he moved not at all, he imagined reaching out to it with a steady careful hand and just once...'strumming' that Golden Thread inside him, perhaps to see how it would sing.

Gerlinde shrugged. “So Irreverent Izzy was the infamous Hunter-killer Skinner? Heh, seems likely, I guess. But I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting him. If he met an immortal Hunter, I'd imagine it was probably Moira.”

Farren, meanwhile, took the runebrand and went about exploring what he visualized as a “golden thread”; the traces of the mostly-forgotten madness that had been inflicted upon him by the golden halberd, which had eventually driven him to become a Hunter. Delving into that madness was doubtlessly very unpleasant, as the feelings lost to his amnesia were dredged from the murky depths of his consciousness, and the deeper he went, the more he felt it return and permeating his being. Just as when he had been exposed to Pallid's ominous bell he felt his paranoia growing as flecks of gold seemed to flicker in and out of existence; he felt as though there were someone watching him, figures lurking right at the edge of his vision, someone standing right behind him. He felt someone breathing on his neck, could vividly imagine a hand hovering a hair's breadth from his throat, fingers poised to grasp it and choke him.
But even more worrying, perhaps, was the fact that he felt like there was something inside him, too. Something observing him, listening through him, lazily writhing and slowly consuming him. Something curling around his spine, something crawling in his guts, something coiled around his heart, something looking through his eyes, something chewing on his brain. It was watching, and he got the sense that it knew he was aware of it. He sensed its amusement.
Refusing to shy away, however, Farren kept delving deeper, until he found something... else. Something tethered to the mental image of that golden halberd, and to the feeling of his fingers on its unnaturally warm metal. Something it had tried to teach him then, but his mind had not been ready to comprehend. But now, as a bearer of the Old Blood, he recalled it... and the projection-case of the runebrand flickered to life with a Caryll Rune none of them had ever seen before.

Farren has remembered the Sun Rune, which empowers Gold weapons with eldritch sunlight, causing them to burn with holy flame when striking and to obliterate bloodwraiths with ease.

And as this rune returned to him, he also felt a now-familiar tremor go through his blood... though it felt weaker than before.

_Farren

endured and where his past self clearly must not have had the resilience and insight to truly grasp more than the edges of the Gold, it seemed that the Azure-eyed Hunter he’d become was far better equipped for such things. Yet, it was of course not an easy thing, not even slightly pleasant, but he pushed and pushed and eventually broke through even as breathe heated his neck and an invasive force coiled about his very bones, invading his nerves even as it pressed in on his mind from every angle.

Though he was unaware of it, he’d begin to shake, first slight shivers here and there, then full body quakes that rocked through him. By the time he was nearly breaking through, nearly immersed in the expanding rays–the living tendrils of light that emanated from the brilliant core of the thread of Golden awareness deep in his mind…well, he was shaking almost violently as if he were nearly having some kind of fit or seizure. His body had leaned forward, fingers between the cobbles of the path, clawed deep into the mud wrought by the rain. Yet, his face would seem bizarrely serene, marred only by an expression of intense, shut-eyed focus.

Then it happened, the thread came into his mind and spoiled out, unraveling in a spiral until it was a solid circle–or a sphere…or a sphere within a sphere that was somehow still its own contiguous shape with no boundaries between the spheres as if the two were one and the same. Then it blossomed, like a flower…no, like a rising sun with its living rays spreading out in every direction. It glowed brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat of unearthly fire and radiance. Yet, it felt purifying, not sickly, holy rather than cloying even despite its touch–its breath, its clamorous voices–shifting all throughout his brain.

Finally with a final pulse Farren gasped, the projection of a new Rune manifested itself, and he opened his eyes all at once.

His mind felt clearer in that moment, brighter, and the sensations in his body began to fade even as he kept his focus on the Rune.

“Ophelia!” He called out after a too-quiet attempt at speech, the first having come out strange and garbled, his tongue and throat having somehow twisted in impossible directions.

Then, even as he held the Rune, Farren decided to try one other thing. He called upon the Messengers, willing them to try and interpret the Rune…perhaps to tell him what they could of its strange nature and the connections they could feel spilling off from its Golden Radiance and off distantly into some other realm of the Nightmare. Perhaps like with Memories and items and armaments they could give them some insight here as well.

When nothing happened, Ophelia was momentarily crushed--there was no love, no sensation, no communion. In that moment she remembered the nature of the Hunger rune, about what it was that she was trying to draw out of this creature, and realised that it was not Mother Kos at all. It was just a creature that had feasted upon her essence, and that her own communion would require her own feast. That was the knowledge the Hunger rune imparted, and it disgusted her. She wanted to be free of the gnawing sensation in her mind, the odd gurgles and rumbles of her stomach that had suddenly started--or that she'd imagined--and she instinctively reached for the runebrand before realising it was still with Farren.

"Not you? I struggle to imagine Moira struggling against Skinner... But I suppose knowing how long he lived and how little of his faculties must have remained, it could be true. Perhaps we ought have interrogated him more, but... I'd written his words off as the ravings of a beast-mad fool. I shan't make that mistake in the future--every scrap of knowledge will help us." She replied to Gerlinde, taking a few seconds to ponder.

"When we head to Yahar'gul, should I use the Dream rune too? I figure that if we both have it the creatures of Nightmare won't, at least, be exclusively targeting you--but if you're the only one with it, we could use you to corral them where we want them and slaughter them. Otherwise... I feel strange without the Guidance rune, and would return to it. Wait... Gerlinde, look!" She added, before catching Farren's sudden ordeal in her periphery. She watched the strange undulations of his body, as though gripped from within by some unseen force, and rushed over to him--keeping her distance by a good two metres and urging Gerlinde to come over and observe too, still emblazoned with the Dream Rune as she was. Ophelia observed with keen interest, both out of sheer curiosity and out of concern for her friend and companion, though she kept perfectly calm even as Farren began to almost-seize, or what looked like it. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn't worried for Farren's life, at least.

When the projection case glowed with a Rune entirely and utterly unfamiliar to Ophelia, even in terms of shape and size and other observable characteristics between the Caryll Runes she knew, her eyes widened and she turned to Gerlinde (assuming she'd followed) with a thoroughly bemused look. She pointed down at it incredulously, and got closer to try and observe Farren's face in more detail. When he called out to her she reached out her free hand and gripped his shoulder tightly.

"I'm here, love, what is it? What's happening? Are you okay?"

---

Both Gerlinde and Torquil reacted when Ophelia called attention to Farren's fitful meditation, with Torquil immediately donning an expression of worry and concern while Gerlinde's eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile broadened into a grin. Torquil - having no idea how to help or if such a thing was even possible - opted to just stay out of the way for the moment, whereas Gerlinde rushed to him alongside Ophelia.

"Well now," Gerlinde chuckled, glancing at the unfamiliar rune appearing in the projection case, "that's unusual."

"Shopkeeper, do you have any idea?" Ophelia called out, as loudly as she thought was necessary for them to hear, as she continued to observe the rune with morbid curiosity. Her gaze flitted between Farren, the projection case, and Gerlinde.

"You've the Dream rune right now, did you see anything at all?" She asked Gerlinde.

Farren's gaze shifted as well, moving to Gerlinde's visage, curious if she had been able to pick up on anything in particular. There was a look of focus in his gaze as he continued to hold the Rune in focus within the Projection Case.

"I saw him spasming, which I assume you saw you," Gerlinde shrugged. "Nothing else."
Meanwhile the doll and the Shopkeeper started making their way down the stairs toward the rest through the rain and wind.
"We sensed a faint disturbance in the Dream, good Hunter," the doll informed them, "but nothing else. We are not certain what, if anything, occurred."

Farren looked thoughtful for a moment, but before he could say anything further, a small group of Messengers emerged from the ground just right of his leg and hoisted up a scroll, unfurling it for him to read.

He turned his azure gaze to the parchment and--though slower than the others might have--began to read through its contents.


As he finished reading, his eyes grew wide and a spike of unease made him shift away from the Messengers even as he grew tense. Nervously, he wet his lips, “Well...that's...disconcerting,” he said, and though his voice wasn't shaky in the least, there was a quiet fear in his eyes before he managed to recapture his wits.

Ophelia read the scroll voraciously, her eyes widening in some mixture of dread and awe. She blinked, and then again, and then again. She inhaled through her nose shakily, and motioned with her head for the doll and Shopkeeper to read it.

"... Lost Isz had a king. A man who became a Great One, or at least kin to them... Possessed of such knowledge it can only be communicated as a rune, but... Gold. Ego. A portion of themselves divested... Mother Moon above..." she babbled, the words spilling from her mouth without her really even thinking about it as she struggled to process what was going on.

"Isz was a long time ago," Gerlinde pointed out, still smiling and seemingly completely unworried by everything that had happened. "Before Pthumeru, even. I've barely even heard mention of the name and don't really know anything about it besides that. Haven't heard of this 'Ego' either."

"I am afraid we are not familiar with this Golden One either, and know very little of Isz," the doll reported as the Shopkeeper leaned in to presumably take a closer look at the note. "But this is troubling indeed. We sense that the little ones are correct and that this creature is a Kin Great One, powerful enough to leave such a mark on the Nightmare that the little ones were compelled to convey its message... but it is unusual. Great Ones normally lose the ability to communicate as mortals do."

"Perhaps Ego has a doll, too. That's what's happening with you two, isn't it?" Ophelia replied, before crouching to get a better look at Farren. She squeezed his shoulder again and gave him a plaintive and worried look, as though urging him to tell her that he was okay.

"Ah, you misunderstand, good Hunter," the doll started explaining with an apologetic bow of her head. "I do not belong to the Shopkeeper, I belong to the Hunter's Dream. I serve you as much as I serve them."

Farren raised his empty left hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, glad to feel nothing there. He shook his head slightly and met Ophelia's gaze before reaching out, for once desiring a steadying hand to get up. Once on his feet, Farren would offer her the tool he'd borrowed. “'M alright, just...well, didn't expect that,” though truthfully he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He could tell that this 'little revelation' was actually far more meaningful than he'd have considered...so perhaps he ought to tell them what he could recall.

“I...after we returned from the Garden and...whatever influence was there, its serenity left me and...well, I could feel it.” He shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a slight headache building. “I hadn't noticed it before, but...there's a small thread of that thing's influence nestled in my skull. It wasn't the Garden...or anything else, it's been there since I woke in the clinic, I just hadn't noticed.”

He wanted to say more, but he paused there, shaking himself slightly, “Let's go inside...I hadn't really felt it before, but the rain's grating on my nerves.” That said he nodded toward the cottage atop the small hill and then led the way.

"Ah, I wasn't being so literal, love. Ego could have something like yourself, a translator... And the Shopkeeper is no mere mortal, but perhaps not a Great One, yes? Something betwixt; perhaps like Ego, albeit on a lesser scale? After Yahar'gul, we must go to the Old Labyrinth. To find the ruins of Isz, to get... something. Anything. Not knowing is the worst option, even if that influence taints us--Farren's already got the taint. We should try to avoid the grace of gold ourselves, of course, but... If we do not know, we are truly at their mercy. The Sun only blinds and burns, reveals too much. It is only moonlight that reveals just enough, that blurs the boundaries so we might know peace. But... yes, let's." Ophelia replied, helping Farren get up if he needed it before following. She hadn't even noticed the wind or the rain, as though her mind had stepped beyond the bounds of her body--but when Farren mentioned it, she felt it all at once and shivered.

"I translate into human speech, good Hunter, but I could never shape the Nightmare so that the little ones would find my words when seeking information about something," the doll explained as she, the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde all started walking along with everyone toward the workshop. Torquil had pretty much bolted ahead of everyone to get inside, quite frustrated not only with being wet, but with the incessant sound of rain hitting his metal armor.

"There is no doubt in our minds that those words were from a Great One, not an interpreter," the doll continued.

"I'm not sure why you think there are ruins of Isz in the Old Labyrinth," Gerlinde remarked, "but I haven't found any yet, and I've spent a fair bit of time in there already. I'm not sure just heading in there and hoping we stumble upon the right place is a good idea. The Old Labyrinth is huge!"

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, then, as they entered the cottage, he moved to the left side of the fireplace and took a seat to take advantage of the warmth. “I don't figure going there will do us much good either...just a hunch though,” Farren offered.

“That aside...I'm beginning to think that this 'Ego' or at least its blasted influence is why my past self submitted to Blood Ministration. When I focused on the feeling...the strange thread of Gold I can see if I really focus...well, I could tell it could see me too. More than that though...I felt it. Not just on my skin or in my mind...it was like it was in my body, coiled about my spine...strangling my heart,” an intense, full body shudder cut off his words there and he didn't start back up, shivering faintly--but not from the cold.

Gerlinde's eyes widened eagerly. "Should we open you up and check?"

"We haven't the instruments to detect the influences within him here... Maybe when we go to Byrgenwerth? Ego must be what's influencing Harold, if you saw a golden tentacle there observe us... And that must be what the message means. Paleblood... it's like the Dream, and the Great One it belongs to, marking us as its own. Whatever happened to Farren before... he must have been marked by Ego, no? If Ego was a king, once, does... he perhaps think Farren is his subject? His by divine right? Ah, but I always look to the distance when what we need, what we really need, is to see what's right in front of us. After we get some blood echoes and enhance ourselves we'll be in a better position. Gerlinde and I must achieve heights of the Arcane most mortals are incapable of--the only plan I sense any surety in is the one in which we gain insight." Ophelia mused, before requesting the runebrand from Farren so she could reapply the Guidance rune to herself. Once that was done, she posed the question to the Holy Moonlight Sword: What do you know of Ego? Of Gold?



"Mother Moon whispers to me, loves, listen close: Ego is the shepherd. The one tasked with guiding humanity when we discover the Old Blood, and the one tasked with taking the Old Blood back if we prove unworthy. Until recently it slept in the Old Labyrinth, but the slaying of Great Ones reawakened it." Ophelia recalled, speaking to everyone but specifically looking at the Doll and the Shopkeeper.

"Truly? Then it is unusually involved for a Great One," the doll mused, looking nervously to Farren. "We already knew that several slumbering Great Ones had awoken, but they rarely interact with humanity directly. It does make sense, though; the Great Ones are sympathetic in spirit, but their idea of what is helpful can vary greatly. It sounds as though Ego, too, desires to aid humanity in achieving evolution... or protect humanity from it if it is allowed to run amok."

Still not entirely used to Gerlinde's madness, Farren gave her a wary look when she mentioned 'opening him up,' but oddly he wasn't worried. If she had intended to do it, she likely would not have been asking so he didn't bother justifying her question with a response. Ophelia handled it well enough anyways. When she recited what the Moonlight Greatsword told her--something he still found strange...moreso after the Memory of Skinner--Farren frowned slightly. He rubbed his hands together before him, warming them by the fire.

The Doll's words didn't buoy him at all either, in fact the idea that their sympathy could take any form due to the inscrutable nature of the Great Ones just unsettled him further. Still, Farren shook his head slightly and tried to dismiss those thoughts. “Whatever foothold it has in me...it seems weaker after I harnessed its Rune,” Farren said, “...but despite that I think we either keep me from markers of its touch or...only allow me to investigate such things so that the rest of you can avoid falling beneath its purview. Perhaps...perhaps that way one of you might find a way to free me from its sway if things come to that.”

"I... don't know how to feel about this Ego, truth be told. If they are a shepherd, their intentions for us and our evolution might be benign and gracious; it isn't until we know what the shape of that evolution is that we can make that judgement. The sympathy of the Great Ones, as the Doll says, is often in a form that we struggle to connect to its true intention."

Gerlinde just stood there for a little while smiling at Farren, only to eventually look away once she determined that they were not, in fact, going to open up Farren. For a moment she pouted a bit, disappointed that she would not get to explore this mystery at the moment, but she quickly bounced back and brightened into a new smile.
"Well, I say we don't need a shepherd," she chirped. "Good intentions or not, I don't want some god wiping me from the face of the Earth because it's deemed us 'unworthy' of the Old Blood."

"The problem is, love, slaying Great Ones is both extremely difficult and terrible for reality itself. I have no doubt we could do it, immortal as we are, but the path of least resistance might be wisest. I certainly won't be letting some golden god destroy me... but on the face of it, it does seem like we have some of the same goals: evolution, transcendence, knowledge. You and I stand above regular mortals, though, Gerlinde--marked by Nightmare as we are, and not by the meddling of mortals. Well... I think, at least--you were born with Paleblood too, weren't you? I do not think what Ego wants for us is necessarily benign, at all, and I don't take kindly to the implicit threat... but we must take every advantage, mustn't we?" Ophelia countered, giving Farren a knowing look at her last statement.

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, though the gesture was somewhat subdued as he stared into the dancing flame of the hearth. His ears almost pricked up when Ophelia spoke those central words and he couldn't help but smile and while it was nothing like the dreamy-eyed serenity of the Lumenflower Garden, it was an honest thing with a note of satisfaction to it. “Stole the words right from under me,” Farren replied with a brief chuckle. He'd gotten his bearings once more and the strange experience he'd willingly leaned into now left him feeling somehow more himself.

“Since we've all traded Runes, knowledge, and hashed out the rough beginnings of a plan, I think the time for talking alone is done,” he said, his easy confidence coming back to him now that he'd recovered. Knowing they'd leave soon if the others agreed, Farren pushed himself to his feet and almost began brushing himself off, only to stop before disturbing his drenched clothes. It wouldn't do any good...and he'd be dry as soon as they returned to the Waking World. Taking account of his armaments, Farren noted each of his weapons and tools and even briefly shut his eyes to allow himself to 'feel' the strange imprint of the Heir Rune upon his mind. He felt far more grounded and prepared than he had before their meeting with the Vicar...though likely not at all because of any of the nice old man's actions.

Shuffling in through the door, trailing behind as usual, Torquil belatedly asked: "Hey, uh... should we go get the weapon Moira mentioned before going somewhere scary like that? Because that Harhar-place sounds kinda scary."

Farren glanced to the man and smiled, the look somewhere between mischief and cunning. “From the Black Church Workshop? I went and got it already. The Messengers are holding it for now,” he explained, “Why, did you want a look?”

Torquil shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know. I'm probably better off with just the axe."

Gerlinde's eyes widened with renewed interest. "What weapon are you talking about?"

Farren nodded, nearly disappointed, but as Gerlinde showed clear interest, his grin grew slightly. Kneeling down, Farren held his hand near the floor, murmuring a request as he'd taken to doing, beseeching the Messenger's retrieve Fulmen. After a brief moment, they rose, the handle slipping up from between them as they shifted it from wherever they kept it in the nightmare, bringing it back to him. Farren's azure eyes lit upon it and he grasped it firmly with both hands and stood, lifting it just above the Messengers. They retreated back into the nightmare and Farren let the great cube of the Voltaic Hammer come to rest with a thunk against the floor, his palm on the butt of its handle. “That'd be Fulmen. Builds Voltaic charge with each strike. Gets rather volatile quite fast though...liable to destroy its wielder after 10 or so hits when discharged...along with whatever is nearby. Apparently killed a Cleric Beast in a single discharge after building charge for 12 hits.”

Ophelia observed the weapon with clear interest as it was withdrawn from wherever the Messengers went to, though Farren had seen the look of true adulation and exaltation that she had when she looked upon the Holy Moonlight Sword--eerily similar to Ludwig's from the memory they'd just experienced--and it was most certainly not that... But it was a genuine sort of interest nevertheless. Perhaps more to do with how interested in it he was than interest in the weapon itself, but she gave him a warm smile nevertheless and expressed clear interest in its functionality.

"Fascinating... I think perhaps you should put it to the test in Yahar'gul, hmm? Let's really give them some data."

Farren nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he considered Ophelia's words. Then a slight smirk formed on his lips and he gave a more firm nod in confirmation, “I'll have to rearrange what I bring with me...but I think I just might.”

Ophelia turned to Gerlinde again, kindly smile still on her face, and reiterated her previous question: "Were you born with Paleblood, love? All I really know is that Farren delivered you to Byrgenwerth, and... Well, it might matter."

"Oh right, you asked about that," Gerlinde giggled. "I guess I was, yeah. Was always sort of weak and sickly before. I figure that's why Byrgenwerth wanted me in the first place; because they figured out I had Paleblood."

"Our minds and tongues move so quickly it's difficult to focus on the little things sometimes, isn't it? Yes... that makes sense. Ahh, to have another Sister 'neath Mother Moon's gaze... I'm very glad I reached out to you, Gerlinde. You're a wonder to behold, and we're enriched immensely by your presence. Now... let's go slaughter some Followers, and show them what the Glory of the cosmos truly looks like."

For his part, Farren nodded, his attention having shifted while the ladies spoke. It wasn't that he didn't care about the contents of their conversation, but rather that before they could leave he'd need to decide how to arrange his gear. It didn't take him long though, and by the time Ophelia finished speaking Farren had divested himself of the Beastflayer and Piercing Rifle (which he'd first unloaded), after which he carefully positioned something to hold Fulmen in place at his back. Farren then carefully slid the weapon into place at his back, the head of the hammer downward in something like a sling or cradle at his lower back, while the shaft extended upwards just above his shoulder. The shaft was kept in place by the tension of a hook as it tried to pull away from his body due to gravity. It was fairly secure there...and if he wanted to wield it, he could handily adjust the shaft's position out of the hook and then bring the hammer to bear in a single crushing swing.

Satisfied, Farren glanced up at the others, looking between them. If they all looked suitably ready to depart, he'd nod once and then turn towards the Headstones, intending to figure out which Lantern would be best for their excursion. While he walked, he loaded the Hunter's Pistol with a lead bullet.

After a quick stop at the Yharnam Headstone to label their until now unnamed marker “Industrial Ward Square” – earning a quick “Oh, so that's what that is,” from Gerlinde – the party of Hunters turned their attention to the Unseen Headstone. There, sitting just above the labels of “Castle Cainhurst” and “Vileblood Queen's Chamber”, they found the marker for “Outside Yahar'gul”. Armed with new insight, new knowledge, new runes (with Ophelia making one final switch to the Dream Rune as they were leaving) and new weapons, they underwent the usual process of traversing the headstones, leaving behind the wet and windy Dream for a more uncertain Waking World.

The place the four of them reawakened at this time, next to a regular post with a lantern manned by Gatekeeper Messengers, was quite different from any they had gone to until now. So far they had stayed within Yharnam itself, either the Upper Cathedral Ward built high above the ground at the heart of the Healing Church or in the eastern part of the city. The most they had had was a view to the mountains, hills and plains east of the city, and though Ophelia or Farren might have traveled Yahar'gul in their past lives, the area looked completely different now.
Ophelia had seen some of it before, in the Memory of Stars; a wide swath of wasteland surrounding a thirty meters tall, sheer wall of dark stone that towered over them to their west. The soil under their feet was dry and loose, more like dust than sand, with not so much as a single root, blade of grass or drop of moisture to bind it together, as if life itself had been drained from the area. It had not always looked like this, but had been surrounded by grassland, trees and even a river, but following the Night of the Blood Moon all of that seemed to have been lost to the horrors that taken the Unseen Village. Now this dark place simply stood as a monolith among the blasted earth, with the shifting dirt occasionally being broken by hints of mostly buried remains of carriages, animals and people, with who knows how much more lost beneath its surface.
To the north and east of them they would see the northern mountains bordering Yharnam cut off the land, much closer here than in the city, and to the south they could see the towering structures of the Cathedral Ward, and the rest of Yharnam beyond it. Though they could not see it from here, traveling further south would eventually reveal Hemwick and the Forbidden Woods beyond it to the southwest, and if they continued circling they would eventually see the sea to the west, in which the island crowned by Castle Cainhurst resided.
Looking along the wall north and south alike, it appeared flat and unbroken, with no gate or hole in sight.

Practically immediately upon arriving, Ophelia would feel noticeably different than she did normally when leaving the Hunter's Dream. Unlike the other times she had left when the very sense of the air around her gave her a palpable sensation of leaving the Nightmare and returning to the Waking World, she now found that the feeling of the Nightmare lingered... and here, she found, the Nightmare felt very different than in the Dream. The Dream felt safe and comfortable, if somewhat tinged with a profound sense of regret and sadness, but here... here the Nightmare was full of fear and agony. It felt almost like a song she could feel resonating with her very bones rather than hear, carried on the dry, dust-filled wind that glittered faintly in the moonlight; a baleful dirge, conveying the fate of those who once lived here... and any who might try to enter now.
She would likely also notice quite quickly that they, even immediately upon arriving, were being watched. Two giant creatures of some kind sat the top of the wall around Yahar'gul, one on top of the wall and the other clinging to the sheer side of it, and slowly turned their heads toward them. The impression that they were looking at her was only an impression, however, since their huge, bulbous heads looked more like tumors or hives of some manner of terrible insect than actual heads, with what appeared to be tentacles or roots sticking out of it this way and that. The bodies connected to the heads likewise deform, branching out into three pairs of obscenely long arms ending in massive six-fingered hands.
“Amygdala,” Gerlinde repeated the name they had heard once before from Moira, pointing to the creatures, though only Ophelia would be able to see them. “There are swarms of them here.”

Ophelia waited for that usual feeling of the Waking World to come back into being, like a heavy veil of unseen mist or a diaphanous sheet of silk being lifted gently away--only to find that the peaceful etherealness of the Dream was not the only mode of experience the Nightmare offered. She felt here the keening song of those whose desires had eclipsed their sense of humanity, their eagerness for insights beyond this world such that they felt it worthwhile to enact a calamity so profound its effects were still felt even now--she felt their loss and their rage, their fear and their dolour, all with a screeching overtone of an agony that could only be felt rather than understood. It did not rattle her, but surprised her deeply to transition from the closeness of her guiding moonlight's bright embrace to feeling its distance dim without the benefit of the Guidance rune... like she'd been before. It was close enough to Hemwick that it reminded her of there, and it felt in a bizzare way almost like home, but many times stronger than it had ever felt and without the kinship and warmth of her coven. She shuddered briefly, and looked around at the desolation that had been caused here at the epicentre of it all. Where she'd seen Naira utterly evaporate a scavenger and take notes on the results. Up at the Amygdala. She tilted her head curiously, bringing her right forefinger to her mouth as she observed them, and then pursed her lips as her hand returned to her side.

"So that's what they look like. Almost... insectoid? But... reminiscent of a tumour, or... or a tonsil, perhaps? Maybe even something of fungus? The beings of Nightmare must look at us with this same incredulity, this same lack of familiarity... I suppose we are to them what animals are to us? It's nice to see you for once, Amygdala." Ophelia mused, her voice that particular wavering tone that suggested she didn't know whether to laugh or cry... but it rang out clarion-clear, without any vacillation. She turned to Gerlinde, and smiled a very wan smile indeed.

"So this is how you experience the world... Does it hurt too much, to return to what it's like to be flesh and blood? Does the agony here resonate with yours? Oh, love..." Ophelia asked, eyes wide and almost sparkling from a hint of moisture. She quickly took the runebrand, visualised the Guidance rune, and pressed it to her skin. The phantom pain was something she never even flinched at, but here it seemed to resonate as though with the chimes of a bell. She still had Pallid's bell on her, she recalled, or with the Messengers perhaps, and she noted how each peal and clang's resonance had felt as it caused something dreadful within her to build. Only this time the climax was the rune taking hold, knowledge and understanding blossoming within her like a flower... and then the bliss of gentle moonlight once more, and the weak and distant light of her sword grown just as bright as it had felt in the dream.

"Ahh, that's better. I'm sorry, love, you'll have to bear the brunt of the creatures of Nightmare alone. I require the services of another rune--and between us, naught will escape our notice. Do you remember how we're supposed to... get in?"

The oppressive, almost stifling sense of the Nightmare – much more deserving of the name here than in the Hunter's Dream – swiftly waned once Ophelia replaced the Dream Rune, and the familiar feeling of returning fully to the Waking World returned to her. Over at the top of the wall of Yahar'gul the two Amygdalae quickly became host to swarms of Guidance sprites, swirling all around them... but perhaps surprisingly, Ophelia found that she could still see them even without the Dream Rune. Looking around, she would also notice a few of these sprites swirling around Farren and Torquil, and what looked like several dozen of them surrounding Gerlinde.

Gerlinde reacted with a couple of slow nods at Ophelia's observations and theories regarding beings of the Nightmare, and a raised eyebrow to her pondering of why Gerlinde used the Dream Rune. “I'm not sure what you're talking about,” she shrugged. “It's just useful; I can see and touch everything. It's so frustrating not to be sure whether you're missing something interesting.”
To Ophelia's last few sentences, Gerlinde replied: “I don't mind, I'm used to it. But I think I told you that I haven't managed to get in yet? I've circled the entire place several times already, but this wall goes all the way around without any openings.”
Notably, someone familiar with Yahar'gul would know that its main entrance was in the southwest.

_Farren

shifted between states, a process which had began to be familiar, and ‘came to’ along with the others outside the massive walls of Yahar’gul. It was quite the sight, he had to admit. However, he made sure to not fixate on the imposing structure, his gaze roving about briefly to take in the rest of the wasteland around them…and the distant landmarks of Yharnam proper. He frowned slightly for a moment, then shook his head, glad they hadn’t had to walk here…not wanting to know if anything hid in the wasteland between here and Yharnam…waiting to pounce. Directing his gaze back to the Hidden Village and its imposing barrier, he remained quiet while the two ladies spoke.

Only when they’d both finished did he find himself muttering something mostly to himself, “The wall’s bigger…” he murmured, his eyes narrowing somewhat to form his more familiar glower.

As his gaze shifted slowly over the black stone he felt something almost… scratch at the back of his mind when his gaze moved over certain areas. Given what Ophelia and Gerlinde had said, he had to wonder if he might be almost sensing whatever these ‘Amygdala’ were. He recalled Moira referring to them as some sort of Great One. Farren shivered slightly and averted his gaze from those spots, not wanting to think about it too hard for the moment.

Farren’s gaze shifted back to the group, though he kept his ears peeled in case anything tried to approach. He doubted it’d be able to move silently–not that there was anywhere for much of anything to hide in this place. “Well, either of you been here before?”

"No, dear, I never had the chance. Emissaries came from here to meet the Witches, not the other way around. I confess I had wild fantasies of following them back, sometimes, but I was never healthy enough to seriously consider the attempt. I could lead us to the place I saw here in the Memory of Stars, though, if you like? Where Naira found that poor scavenger..." Ophelia replied softly, much more relaxed and confident now that she'd returned to the Guidance rune.

"How did your new weapons feel? A far cry from when we had to fight that beastman with children's toys by comparison, I'm sure. I haven't gotten to actually use my blade yet, and... I find myself oddly eager to. Danger without the stench of fear is... oddly exhilarating, isn't it?" Ophelia mused as she led them south to where she'd seen the vision. She surveyed her surroundings with exacting detail, looking close for any of the little Guidance sprites that flitted about or anything that seemed out of place. Farren and Torquil emitted their usual amount, and Gerlinde was much more abuzz with them--which all made sense.

“It's only a matter of time before Followers start showing up,” Gerlinde told the others as they began walking south along the wall of Yahar'gul, “and then you can try out weapons all you like. Just be careful, though, 'cause some of them are way more dangerous than the others. Look for glowy bits; if it glows, it's most likely a problem.”

As Ophelia led the way toward the place she had seen in the Memory of Stars, all of them would continue to notice debris and corpses in various states of decomposition and degrees of being buried in the dust settled around the Unseen Village. Most of them looked quite old and were probably from the Night of the Blood Moon, and all of them – for reasons that had been clarified in the Memory of Stars – appeared to have already had their bags and pockets emptied and possessions liberated. More so than any other place in Yharnam, this place had obviously been desolated by the events five years ago... and yet they could all feel, however faintly, presences around them, even if not all of them could see them.
Ophelia, with her newfound insight, could see what Gerlinde had spoken of: there were Amygdalae everywhere. More and more of them came into view sitting on top of the wall or clinging to the side of it. One sat among a scattering of rocks they passed down on the ground, its long, thin limbs twisting and bending with too many inhuman joints that made it seem spider-like in a both unsettling and weirdly fascinating way. And all of them, however high or low they were, even if they had to peek over the top of the wall from the other side, followed the party with their heads.
Over time, Ophelia would likely also notice a phenomenon similar to what she had witnessed earlier with Dietrich in that single little Guidance sprites would occasionally spontaneously appear out of the ground, out of the wall or even out of thin air, only to flutter about aimlessly for a second or two and promptly sputter and die. Even without the Dream Rune, the Guidance Rune revealed the lingering Nightmare that blanketed the area.

After moving for about ten minutes, long before they reached the place they were aiming for, Ophelia would notice something quite unusual: a twenty-meter wide patch of the wall that was inexplicably swarming with moon motes from top to bottom. The wall itself seemed entirely normal, though she would also notice that there were no Amygdalae on this particular section of wall.

"Glowy ones are the priority, makes sense. We should keep our ranged weapons stocked and ready..." Ophelia spoke in reply to Gerlinde, using her free hand to check the Evelyn at her hip and feel it in her hand. The Holy Moonlight Sword could provide her with ranged attacks, too, so she was confident in her options--but this would be good to learn. She examined it closely, got used to its feel in her hand, though she didn't fire off any practice shots as they walked. She asked Farren for some pointers, too, figuring that he'd been close enough to Hunters in what he'd revealed of his past life to have some tips.

The Amygdalae were something Ophelia found terribly curious, and she found herself reaching to meet their gaze whenever they turned their heads to meet her. She tried her best not to let it affect her leading them towards where she'd seen, allowing herself only to steal glimpses where appropriate and marvel at the scale of it all.

"I suppose I've gained enough eyes to see them without the aid of Runes, now... There are so many. Whatever happened here must be of great interest to Amygdala; I wonder what they're really like, or... what they represent. I wonder if the Great Ones even align to concepts we're capable of really understanding..." Ophelia mused out loud, before her gaze came upon a section of wall practically crawling in sprites--and with none of the Great One, to boot.

"Ah, look here, loves... No Amygdala--and Mother Moon's light reveals a strong touch of Nightmare about this wall in particular. Perhaps there's an entrance here, hidden to most?"

_Farren

nodded, acknowledging which of their enemies to prioritize when they inevitably showed themselves. As they walked–once she’d gotten his attention–Farren assisted Ophelia with the particulars of her weapon, advising her on its use and having her practice loading and unloading the Evelyn several times until she could do it fairly smoothly. Once satisfied he made sure she understood roughly how much recoil the weapon would have, how best to hold it, and the specifics of aiming and the like, he nodded and moved away to give her a bit more space–though he stayed close to the group as a whole.

For the most part he tried to tune out the talk of the supposed ‘Amygdala’ because it aligned too closely with the sense of being watched that kept pricking at his neck. Despite the discomfort, Farren controlled his breathing and reminded himself that he was well equipped to deal with such things, and that Ophelia had the brand if he needed to see them in order to fight. When eventually Ophelia pointed out a seemingly normal portion of the wall, Farren just glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem at all special to him, but he was beginning to understand that in their world, not all was always as it seemed.

So he glanced to Gerlinde for confirmation, “Look any different to you?” He asked, nodding his head towards the section of wall Ophelia had indicated.

“Oh?” Gerlinde's eyes widened as she scanned the wall from left to right and back again, a grin spreading across her face. “I don't see anything of note around here, nor have I ever seen anything here, and I must have walked through here three or four times already looking for a way in.”
Skipping across the malleable ground on her tiptoes, Gerlinde rushed up to the wall, brandished her threaded cane and gave the wall an experimental whack, producing the sound one would expect from a metal instrument hitting stone. Ophelia would be able to tell that Gerlinde had missed the area giving off the Guidance sprites, however, and was testing the wall about two meters to the right of the actual area.
Directed by Ophelia, Gerlinde walked to the left while dragging the butt of her cane along the wall, producing a loud grinding noise as she did, only for the sound to suddenly stop as soon as she reached the area swarming with sprites. Gerlinde stopped there, eyes widening with fascination, as she looked at her cane passing through the seemingly solid wall without resistance.

“Well,” Gerlinde laughed, “it seems it's a good thing that you didn't stick with the Dream Rune then, Philly.”

"A little to the left, love, just... there!" Ophelia called out as Gerlinde missed the mark, grinning broadly as she witnessed the cane pass through the mass of sprites--they were so dense she couldn't really even see the wall. Ophelia beckoned quickly for Farren and Torquil to come through with her right hand, gripping the Evelyn in the way Farren had taught her.

"Indeed, love. I think if you stick with Dream, and I with Guidance, we'll be set! I'm glad to have earned a nickname, love, but... I can't for the life of me think of something good for 'Gerlinde'! Maybe something will come to me spontaneously..." Ophelia opined, with a look on her face that very much suggested she would struggle more deeply with coming up with a nickname than fighting every Amygdala in the area simultaneously. She then followed Gerlinde up to the section of wall, stood directly in front of it, and beckoned to Torquil and Farren behind her again so they'd find exactly the correct bit. Once she was confident they were close enough, she stepped through herself and prepared to observe her surroundings with extreme scrutiny.

_Farren

watched the exchange with some amusement, particularly when Ophelia couldn’t seem to come up with an adequate nickname for Gerlinde. After only the briefest consideration, Farren shrugged slightly as he glanced at Gerlinde. “Lin, perhaps,” he offered, his head tilting slightly as he watched the huntresses threaded cane pass through the apparently solid wall. “Some kind of illusion?” He pondered aloud, before walking up and moving his hand to a place near the threaded cane and slowly moving his hand as he applied slight ‘pressure’ attempting to ‘push through’ the solid stone experimentally.