The Hunter's Dream
With their discussion out of the way and their business in this part of the Waking World done for the time being, Ophelia, Farren and Torquil ventured back to their newly discovered and lit lantern to return to the Hunter's Dream. The process was quite familiar now, as they all walked up and looked into the pale blue light of the Gatekeepers' little marker, felt themselves fall asleep and instantly found themselves reawakening in the Dream.
As he had the first time, Farren would feel a brief and sourceless tremor go through his blood as he transitioned to the Dream, but he felt no other effects from it. It was also the same for Torquil as when he had first died and been sent to the Dream; he felt a tremor go through his blood, and for no reason in particular started feeling really sad. It was a weird feeling, for an emotion to assert itself like that anchored to no particular thought or experience, which also made it pass quickly, easily and, like most things that happened to the simple Hunter, without provoking much thought.
The three of them found themselves appearing side by side in the usual spot on the path leading up to the old workshop, right next to the four headstones. The birdbath overflowing with Messengers was close to them as well, with several Messengers there gesturing wildly to the Hunters to get their attention, eagerly pointing down into the water. It seemed that they might have new items for sale.
Off to the right of the stair leading up to the workshop stood the Shopkeeper and the doll, passively watching what happened in this domain of the Nightmare as they were wont to do. This was the Hunters' realm, after all; their purpose was only to offer aid, advice and information when requested. Here, at least, they existed only to serve.
But also on the path next to the headstones, just a few steps ahead of the three others, was yet another person; a woman. A woman who, it would very immediately obvious to Farren, did
not look even remotely the same as the woman he had kidnapped all those years ago. Whereas the woman back then had been quite short, around 20 cm shorter than himself, this woman was actually as tall as he was. And where the the waif he had carried so easily on his shoulder had weighed only around than 50 kg and been somewhat emaciated, with barely any feminine curves to her, this woman was quite curvaceous. Surprisingly so, actually; though she was obviously slim, with a narrow waist and slender legs and arms, she was quite well-endowed. She was also very,
very obviously much too young to be the same Gerlinde; whereas the woman from back then would have been in her early thirties by now, this one looked like she was barely twenty years old.
And it was not just her age either; where the one back then had looked quite plain, if somewhat haggard and pale, this one seemed almost impossibly beautiful. Her jawline, cheekbones and nose were sculpted and feminine, her lips had a bit of natural pout to them without looking fat or swollen, her eyebrows looked thin without looking artificial from plucking. Her skin was perfect; slightly tanned and almost glowing with health, with not so much as a single blemish or a hair out of place.
Yet despite the fact that everything about her was decidedly not the woman from back then, Farren would doubtlessly notice that something... was. Her loose, silken raven-black hair that flowed over her shoulders and all the way down to the middle of her back. And her sapphire-blue eyes with a distinctive green ring around the iris, slanted just slightly inward. Those eyes, despite all the evidence to the contrary, were absolutely hers.
Her attire seemed like it had most likely been chosen to accentuate her exquisite features and draw attention to her and her divine beauty. She wore a pair of tan laced boots that went almost to her knees and hugged her calves tightly, and a skirt that appeared to be a version of the woman's variant of the Black Church garb, modified so that it was asymmetrical; on the left side it had been shortened to end just above her knee, but on the right side it went even higher, up two-thirds of her thigh, leaving nearly her entire left leg and its flawless, hairless naked skin bare. And rather than the coats and cloaks other Hunters seemed to favor, the woman wore only a simple black vest on her torso, which not only naturally left her arms bare, but also had some buttons strategically left open; one or two at the bottom to reveal just a bit of the skin of her belly, and several at the top... though the top buttons may have been left open out of necessity rather than choice, as even party unbuttoned, the top strained against the bounty within. Regardless of why it was as it was, it resulted in a very pronounced and noticeable cleavage.
She also had the usual Hunter accouterments, of course; a belt with the tube for quicksilver bullets and the satchel for blood vials, along with a holster on her right hip with a Hunter's pistol, and a hoop on her left hip held a threaded cane. But more unusually, her left arm appeared to be wrapped in a very long pale-green snake molt, with the head of the molt resting on the back of her left hand.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands and beaming a wide, bright smile that showed off her teeth, which were predictably perfect and white. “I didn't know there were more of you!” She looked at Ophelia. “You must be Ophelia, then? Hi! Nice to meet you all! I'm Gerlinde!”
While she spoke, a churning, dark mass of clouds seemed to spontaneously spring into being over their heads, only for them to rapidly start spiraling outward, covering the huge, gleaming moon and casting the Dream in shadow. Then, within seconds, the doubtlessly familiar sound of beginning and rapidly building rain hit them, and soon they were all showered in... weirdly warm rain. Weirdly warm, red rain that filled the air with the smell of blood.
