Ophelia's attention was, initially, mostly focused upon the strange creature she had effectively just slain, still looking for clues in the details of the dispersing mist even as it faded to nothingness. When the strange glass-like orb fell to the ground Ophelia went to pick it up immediately, curiously gazing upon it to determine something about it. She was going to ask the Holy Moonlight Sword before Torquil's issues began to compound, and she turned to him in a worried state not long after it began--though noticeably much slower than Farren had, preoccupied as she was.

She observed him very carefully, strafing around him to get a better look at his features, trying not to be distracted by the sound of his furious and ragged breaths increasing in intensity. She watched him with growing concern and curiosity, initially worried for his longevity, but as his skin began to writhe of its own accord as though possessed she progressed from worried to outright frightened. She truly had no idea what might happen if he were to die here, in the Dream, nor did she understand how this strange coincidence had come to be. Farren and Torquil seemed to be the only ones who caused such strange disruptions to the Dream's otherwise placid (if lightly melancholic) permanence, so she could assume it was yet another consequence of their false Paleblood--and this had her watching him like a proverbial hawk. When the worst of it happened and he exploded with viscera Ophelia was close enough and looking intently enough to be covered by a spray of blood--though she truly seemed to barely notice, peering through the mess to see the subtle signs of life upon Torquil's body. Beneath the armour seeing his chest rising and falling would be difficult, so she leaned down and hovered her hand just over his mouth and nose to make sure he was breathing (if she couldn't hear the sound) and looked down at him with a grim countenance.

"Mother Moon above, what was that? You're right, just like Pallid's bell, but... it seemed to be something the apparition did? And not something tied to its existence, because the change overtook him after it was dispersed... Hm. Perhaps the little ones will know more?" Ophelia spoke, leaning down to present the blood-red orb to them and acquire a new description that might offer some insight.

While Ophelia and Farren made their observations regarding what had happened and retrieved the object that had been left behind by the apparition, Torquil rolled onto his back and – breathing heavily – stared up at the sky through a face covered in his own blood.
“Ow,” he said dispassionately, while inwardly observing that that was likely the single most thoroughly truthful thing he had ever said. Whatever had just happened to him, it had hurt a lot, both in terms of how painful it was and the damage it had done... and that was just the physical component of it. The other thing with what it did to his mind had probably been even worse, and though the specifics of the agony he had just gone through were starting to fade from his memory, little fragments of it seemed to linger. That panicked breathing and those eyes staring into his were as though burned into him, though he lacked the context to understand why it impacted him as much as it did.
He could feel himself regenerating most of what had just happened to him, but then he felt his healing slow and found that there was some lingering aches that suggested he had not been restored to full health. He could tell that he was probably not in mortal danger, at least, and externally he appeared to have mostly recovered, but he definitely would not want to fight anything else while this weak.

“That's what people call 'frenzy',” Gerlinde informed them, having wisely kept at a distance where she would not get splashed with Torquil's blood. “I don't know the specifics of it, but it has happened to me a few times. It's a kind of Nightmare-madness of some sort that turns our insight against us until our bodies just self-destruct like that. Luckily it's pretty rare, because its really dangerous.”

Ophelia, meanwhile, showed the Messengers the orb the spirit had left behind:

Arcane Blood Gemstone
A blood gem that fortifies weapons and adds various properties. Blood gems are especially rare blood stones that grow on coldblood.
Blood gems are kneaded into weapons using workshop tools. Each weapon can only hold one gemstone unless it has been reinforced with blood stone.
This gemstone will partially shift the weapon into the Nightmare, diminishing its physical presence but allowing it to channel a measure of raw eldritch power.

Ophelia nodded along intently to Gerlinde's explanation while she consulted the messengers, then stood up and faced Gerlinde directly. She took a brief moment to formulate her thoughts before she spoke, idly rubbing the queer red gem in her hand before walking over to Gerlinde and offering an outstretched palm with the gem in it to her.

"The messengers said that these gemstones can be used to enhance weapons, and this one partially shifts a weapon into the Nightmare--which gives it some measure of power for your talent with the Arcane to draw out. Neither Torquil or Farren have much aptitude for the Arcane, and my blessed blade doesn't need it... Would you like to apply it to your cane, love?" Ophelia asked, smiling gently at Gerlinde. Mad as she was, she was genuinely a useful presence that Ophelia was grateful for--and she found Gerlinde much less disconcerting than most anyway. Ophelia also made another point of looking for the Shopkeeper, and would relay what happened to them when they arrived--before asking if they knew any more about what the creature was, or about Frenzy and its causes.

"These apparitions," Ophelia thought, letting the whispers build in the cistern of her mind and flow into the Holy Moonlight Sword. "what are they? How can they enter this sacred space without Paleblood? Are they... to do with Ego?"

_Farren

nodded slightly at Ophelia’s comment regarding the strange bloody phenomena having to do with the apparition. Truthfully though, he had a feeling it wasn’t just the creature’s nature, but something to do with its wicked implement as well. As they watched, Torquil rolled to his back…and some part of Farren relaxed as the man didn’t leap to strike at either of them. He approached, kneeling on one knee beside the man–within arm’s reach, but not so close as to crowd him. The man’s single-word sentence caused a sympathetic smile to touch his lips and crinkle the skin about his eyes. “Apt,” he said simply, “...I’ve felt it too. Can you get one of your vials, or shall I?”

He asked, offering to help, but not wanting to intrude–or use one of his own. If it had been more of an emergency he certainly would have, but Torquil was conscious and able enough to move to some degree, so much of his worry had faded. Still…that was to say nothing for his wariness, which remained–though it was largely concealed. After all, Farren remembered quite vividly how he’d felt after his run-in with what Gerlinde said was called ‘Frenzy.’ He’d nearly attacked Ophelia…and had the woman not been quick to react, he certainly would have. That was part of why he was giving Torquil his space, rather than simply acting to help him and thus invading it.

While he waited, Farren considered Ophelia’s words as she offered Gerlinde the strange gem, as she called it. There was…a glimmer of something in his mind as she spoke of it, but he ultimately had more pressing matters pulling upon his attention, so he hardly noticed.

“I'm all right,” Torquil lied, ignoring the pain from injuries that were now taking their time to heal at a pace that was still many times faster than it would have been for a normal human, but incredibly slow for a Hunter. He tried to rest on his elbow to leverage himself up on his butt, but found that he was rather slippery from being drenched in a thick coat of blood and had to try twice before clumsily getting back on his feet. “Let's save the vial. I'll probably get restored when we leave the Dream anyway... and if we don't get healed leaving, I'll just hop back in and out again and get healed for free.”
Torquil blinked, deeply surprised with himself. Not only was what he had just said much more verbose and elaborate than pretty much anything he could recall ever saying, but it also had a degree of thought and cold rationality behind it that felt alien to him... or at least it felt that way. Did he truly have any idea who he had been before becoming a Hunter? Not only what life he had led, but what kind of person he had been? How much did it change a person to lose their memory like this... and how much could it change him to get those memories back?
Those brown eyes... why are they important? he asked himself, but found that he shied away from the question rather than actually searching for an answer. He was terrified of what he might discover if he delved deeper into what he had lost. So maybe forgetting was not such a bad thing after all?

“Thank you, Philly! I'll go put it in my cane immediately!” Gerlinde squealed happily, snatching the gemstone offered to her and running straight to the workshop, clearly very familiar with how such stones worked.
The Shopkeeper and the doll was already there, of course, since they had both come running upon hearing the commotion out here. “The Shopkeeper has seen creatures like that in the Old Labyrinth before,” the doll told her. “They are an extremely dangerous kind of bloodwraith that can turn themselves invisible and inflict frenzy with their daggers... and yes, they are very, very familiar with frenzy.” The doll shot a sympathetic glance at the Shopkeeper. “All they have is a theory, but they think that the true, fundamental power of Old Blood is that of change itself. That is why humans who receive the Old Blood might at first just become stronger and healthier, but also have a tendency to eventually lose their humanity, most commonly to beasthood. Hunters and many beasts in particular have great powers of change and are able to spontaneously adapt their bodies as needed. They think that frenzy is that power gone wild; rampant, unshackled, chaotic change. It is... extremely difficult to ward oneself against, though taking sedatives can help keep it at bay.”
The whispers also responded to Ophelia's query: “The creature was of the Interstice. It did not come here on behalf of anything, because it did not come here willingly at all. It was pulled from the Interstice by your companion. If he had left or been killed, it would likely not have been able to remain and been ejected from the Dream. It does not think that the creature had any connection to the Golden One.”

Looking down at himself grimly, Torquil sighed. “I'm getting rid of this armor,” he announced and started walking back up to the workshop. “I'll change to something more practical. Metal plates don't seem to help much anyway.”

Ophelia smiled as Gerlinde took the gem and scurried off to apply it to her weapon, like watching a child get a new toy and immediately rush off to play with it. Of course, the circumstances were quite different here, with them, but... it warmed Ophelia's heart nevertheless. She listened to the Doll's translation for the Shopkeeper, nodding along and occasionally creasing her brows or pursing her lips in thought.

"Fortunately, Gerlinde taught us a rune that can ward against such influences--things like... Ashen Blood, but I think this 'Frenzy' might be covered too..." Ophelia opined, before kneeling down to beckon the little ones and asking them about the Deep Sea rune. At this time the whispers of her sword had reverberated through her mind enough for her to understand.

"Mother Moon whispers, and it seems that it was Torquil himself that beckoned this thing here... though I suspect that is the False Paleblood. Strange things seem to happen whenever it's Farren or Torquil who enter--it seemed to mostly be relegated to changes in the weather, but... if the Old Blood is the fundamentally a source of change, as you say, this purloined power might spill over into here. I wonder if the Gods experience their own sorts of Frenzy, what the mutable power of change and their own immense wisdom might do if turned against them? I also wondered if it had something to do with the Lord of Providence, but the whispers think not. Every answer we get seems to spawn two more questions, and we have to suffer through unreliable information from sources with differing agendas to our own to even answer those questions!" Ophelia added, and something about her words and tone and stance was very tense. Though calm, this development worried her--and was starting to push her towards something she'd been hoping to avoid.

"I... think I have to commune with Ego. Embrace this gold for myself, and learn of it. The terrestrial concerns are growing but there are good people out there who can manage those. I fear it falls to us to deal with the burden of Gold, for who else is equipped? I must know what he wants--what his vision of the correct change to come out of the Old Blood is, what his idea of worthiness is. Heh, it sounds ridiculous even as I try to justify it, but I fear that without knowing who our enemy is and what they really want we will keep fumbling in the dark like blind fools. Ignorant to our own ignorance..." She mused aloud, clearly very much wrapped up in her head about trying to keep all of the new information they'd learned present and relevant. There was an edge of anxiety to her tone towards the end, though perhaps it was more akin to fevered delirium.

_Farren

brow slightly shifted down, eyes narrowing for a moment before the microexpression was gone almost faster than it had formed. He nodded and rose to his feet, understanding that the man perhaps didn’t want to be touched in that moment, even if it would’ve made it much easier for him to stand up. It was odd though…Torquil seemed…different somehow and the nature of the change became slightly more apparent once Torquil spoke a second time, the sentence more well reasoned…and significantly longer than almost anything he’d heard come out of his companion since they’d met. Sure, it had only been hours, not exactly a huge length of time in which to judge someone, but Farren felt he was…rather canny and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was more observant–vigilant really–than most. Of course, he didn’t exactly consider himself smarter–he was no scholar–but more realistic…practical? That was something he had going for him, so as he processed Torquil’s words a frown creased his brow.

However, the man was up…and then heading for the workshop before Farren could really say anything–not that he entirely knew what he even ought to say. With Gerlinde soon rushing off as well, it left him, Ophelia and their hosts as the only ones remaining outside.

Farren–still frowning–glanced to Ophelia and though he had heard their hosts’ explanation of the phenomena that now both he and Torquil had experienced, giving name to it, Farren found himself far more snagged upon what he’d just witnessed from Torquil’s conduct. The nature of things was important after a fashion, but sometimes the consequences of such were more important…and this seemed like one of those instances. “Ophelia…did you…hear him just now?”

In his gut, Farren knew something fundamental had just changed and while he wasn’t exactly sure what it would mean for them, he did know that it was almost certain to change the dynamic of their little group.

That worried him.

After all, change was an unknown and Farren didn’t much like variables he couldn’t predict. Uncertainty was the enemy.

Of course, worse even than that was perhaps what Ophelia had said, which only then struck him, causing Farren’s features to twist further. He stepped towards Ophelia, nearly crossing the entire distance between them before he caught himself and stopped short. He’d been about to grab at her clothes, but managed to curtail his rather visceral reaction to her words.

Farren swallowed, took a breath, closing his eyes for a prolonged blink before he focused his intense gaze on her once more. “No,” he denied, referring to her desire for communion with ‘Ego.’ The ‘Beast’ in the furnace of his stomach coiled and stirred, the rage that was its fuel flickering, sputtering, burning inside him. “You don’t understand what it is you’re suggesting,” he insisted, and there was something wild in his eyes, a wildness that she might recall seeing bared only when Farren himself had endured Frenzy previously, back at the clinic. Yet though it was present, he appeared to entirely remain in control…though there were stiff lines of tension in every muscle she could see as he held himself back from approaching her further.

“It ruined me, Ophelia,” he said and shame came into his expression, shame and anger and…something else less easy to identify. “...if it is ‘sympathetic’ as the Great Ones are said to be, its sympathy is more dangerous even than a madman’s ire,” and as he said the last, something in Farren shifted faintly…for he knew it was more true even than he’d like to believe.

More true about himself than he was likely to ever admit.

For who had been more filled with ire and woe than he…

…at least when it came to Ego and his insidious Gold.

For Farren the answer was self evident:

No one.

Ophelia grew increasingly unsettled by Farren's increasing paranoia and anxiety, listening to his words but struggling to hear the reason behind them and instead only seeing it as him being utterly blinded by fear.

"With respect, love, you... appear to have come across Ego unprepared. You have no talent for the Arcane, nor implements of communion to guide you, nor understanding of the nature of the forces of the Waking World and the Nightmare. You... appear to have been about as unprepared for what you took on as anyone could be. It's little wonder that it destroyed you--but I am not like you, dear. I am a true Paleblood, marked by the Dream. I wield the Holy Moonlight Sword, and bring Mother Moon's glory wherever I go. I have been studying and communing with forces beyond for most of my life... and if we let fear rule us, we are no better than cattle waiting to be led to the slaughter. I cannot let fear break me, or we have no hope at all. Besides... I won't be alone, will I?" Ophelia retorted, confident and lightly chiding. She knew that this instinct of his was a protective snarl, a warning to not tread the forsaken path, so she was not cold or distant--but she was firm in her conviction that fear could not stop her.

"If there's a sound logical reason not to, I won't--but unless you can come up with some other way we might learn what we need to know, I see few paths forward."

_Farren

felt his brow twitched, followed a moment after by the corner of his eyelid as Ophelia--firmly, and as gently as she could--laid into him. Farren's fists clenched and in so doing, he realized that he'd never sheathed his blade. Farren took a breath, trying to calm himself, but his heart just kept racing, his body remembering what Ego had done to him even if his mind struggled to. Slowly, for he'd noticed the tension in her stance, Farren moved, sheathing the Effigial Blade before raising his hand to the bridge of his nose. He pinched lightly, massaging the spot for a moment as he shook his head, his teeth still tightly pressed together, the muscle in his jaw standing out.
“Even you felt the effects of the bastard without the Mask Rune,” he said, meeting her gaze again. She might see that while he was clearly struggling with himself, that he appeared to be doing his best not to react purely with emotion.

“The false eyes of the lantern...the Vicar's affectation, I doubt they were the only things that eluded you, if only temporarily. Yet...” he trailed off, jaw working, his nose wrinkling slightly before he suppressed the expression of agitation--or was that disgust...or something else entirely. He closed his eyes, taking in a slow audible breath through his nose before continuing, “...arrogantly, you assume you might commune with this...thing and come out unscathed?”

Farren's azure eyes opened, met hers and he found that he had to suppress the urge to spit at her feet, had to suppress a look of profound disgust. It never appeared on his face, but only just. “...but yes, surely I--who has had the most exposure to Ego's attentions--would know nothing of it.”

He smiled then, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to look upon and it never touched his eyes. In that moment, his regard was more a glare. “No, you're right. I'm the irrational one. Surely,” each word was painfully sarcastic.

Ophelia stayed shockingly calm at Farren's outburst, the memories of her letting her indignance get the better of her and sour things with Victor still fresh in her mind. She let him speak, let his sharp tongue try to cut at her in self defence, and felt his wild exhortations pass over her like nothing more than a gentle breeze. She stroked the Holy Moonlight Sword softly, lovingly, and gave him a small and wan smile to match his own unpleasant one.

"Unscathed?" Was all she said to begin with, taking a pause, before she began to laugh--well, it was more of a hearty witch's cackle after only a second or two and the crescendo of her laugh only continued to increase in pitch and intensity for a good six or seven seconds. Ophelia could not help thinking, by the time she'd finished, that it was sadly still not as good as Gerlinde's.

"Love, no. One does not come out of communion unchanged, let alone unscathed. But of all the people in the world to bear the burden, mustn't it be us? Could we ask this of anyone else? Is there any other path to understanding? I will fare better than you, but that doesn't mean well. I know you're just trying to protect me behind all of that venom, and we don't want a repeat of earlier..." Ophelia added, turning her moon-bright gaze to Farren's piercing azure eyes with a plaintive look.

"If it isn't me, it's you... and I can't ask that of you. You've paid such a toll already, and where I have a chance of learning something all you've been left with is ruin. Do you see another path? I will gladly take one if it exists, but... I don't see it."

_Farren

began to open his mouth, as if to reply, but the brief silence did not allow it as Ophelia began to laugh and as she began to cackle, it was only that first word that held him back, that and what companionship they’d shared up until that point. A less pragmatic Farren would have lunged for her, a less sentimental one—perhaps more like his past self—might have done so as well, but as things stood, he almost moved. It was like he almost flinched forward, before stopping lest any further movement carry him onto a path that he knew none of them desired. Still, as her voice grew loud and high, her laughter grated on him, calling to mind nights huddled in the corner, arms clutched about his knees as he shook like a leaf as phantasms laughed and clawed at him from every side, unseen, but felt and heard all the more for it. It was a ghost of a memory, not complete nor as potent as it likely would have been before. Still though, it itched at him. His eyelid twitched again, but he didn’t move further, though she’d see even clearer the lines of tension in him, the way his jaw had clenched too tight, the way his eyes had narrowed as he glared at her.

Then, finally, it stopped and it was almost a relief…until she started talking again. Usually, Ophelia’s careful—often gentle—and surely evocative manner of speaking didn’t bother him, but in that moment, already on edge as he was, it was like talons dragging against his nerves. Farren slowly released a breath, through his nose, focusing on the sensation as shame and rage and other things with which he was less familiar coiled and burned in his chest.

Somehow, he hated more that her words made some sense. Who, if not her, would he trust to do this? And how, if not by this means, would they come to understand Ego’s insidious nature, its aims, its intent. Yet he didn’t relax, even as his jaw seemed to, his mind remained a roiling mess. “And what if it does to you, what the Greatsword did to Ludwig? What the Vicar did to me.”

"Then we never stood a chance anyway, Farren, don't you see? The Dream... it calls to us for a purpose, and shelters us until its objective has been accomplished. If this is what we are meant to do, we must face it at some point. There's much in the Waking World to occupy us yet, of course, but Ego's influence grows as we go about. We can't trust Harold, of course, but perhaps a conversation with him while we bear the Mask rune might reveal something? Perhaps he'll reveal nothing to us while he knows we have a tool in our arsenal to combat Ego's influence? There are so many possibilities, love, but none of them mean a damn thing if we don't know where we're going and what we're doing. We can delay, if that'd make you feel better, but... ah, surely you must miss the presence of the Mask rune? Would you like me to reapply it?" Ophelia replied, straining to keep herself focused between the twin lures of indignance and compassion. She understood Farren's apprehension completely, but so many had wandered the paths of Nightmare without purpose and gotten lost. How many versions of the Shopkeeper had it taken to get to where we were today? How many others had been beckoned here in ages long since gone?

_Farren

stared at her for a long moment after she’d finished, not even acknowledging her offer to rebrand him with the Mask rune. He mulled over her words for a time, considering what she had said. The anger, the frustration, and even the disgust began to wane, the lattermost moreso than the other two. The shame remained, stabbing at him like a thousand pins and needles, poking and prodding at his mind. Farren’s shoulders slumped and finally he managed to release much of the tension he’d been holding. “I hate to say it…but you’re right,” he said.

Farren was trying to be better, he reminded himself, and admitting when he was wrong was part of that. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing for a long moment. He shook his head, “No…give me the Heir Rune instead,” he said, he’d clearly come to some decision.

After a moment his hand dropped and he opened his eyes. “The Dream may not have chosen me, but it has accepted me, in its own way. Perhaps these…anomalies are its rebellion, perhaps they are something else, but you’re right. If not us…then whom. The Heir Rune will make it easier for me to navigate the world beyond and while I’d prefer to stick to my strengths, I think perhaps delving somewhat into the Arcane is an inevitability. Besides, the Mask rune may prevent use of any lantern, and that’s an unacceptable flaw.”

Farren pushed up his sleeve so she could use the brand and as she did he glanced towards their hosts. He regarded the two, but otherwise remained silent. Once she had branded him, to which Farren didn’t really react, beyond one muscle in his arm growing tense for a fraction of a second, he spoke up. “Is there anyway either of you might know for us to acquire another brand?” He gestured back at the tool Ophelia held to make it clear to what he was referring.