Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“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.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

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.

Scroll from the Messengers

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

For as dangerous as the evil spirit's ability was to dematerialize and reappear, and with how quickly it was able to act after rematerializing, it turned out that even its powers – like a Hunter's quickstep and superhuman strength – had limits. It barely had time to release Torquil and withdraw its dagger before Ophelia was upon it, and the Holy Moonlight Sword descended upon it once more. It was too close to Torquil for the tether between them to be visible, but that did not mean that the spirit itself could not be targeted.
The great blade of light tore straight through the creature and scattered a huge amount of the luminous matter that made up its body. So much so, in fact, that it and the damage it had taken upon first appearing seemed to be enough to destabilize the bloodwraith. This time it did not fade away as it had before, but rather let out a ghostly wail as the thousands of particles that made up its form seemed to disperse into the air and vanish.
As the creature disappeared, something dropped to the ground where it had just been: a small blood-red sphere that reflected the twilight of the Hunter's Dream as though made of glass.

Torquil, meanwhile, dropped to his hands and knees with a spout of blood flowing from his open throat, only for the wound to naturally regenerate long before the blood loss or lack of oxygen to his brain would have become fatal. But even with the wound closed, Torquil still dug his fingers into the ground where he lay, his entire body convulsing as the hidden power of the dagger he had been cut with did its foul work.
His thoughts raced uncontrollably. All the different Caryll Runes he had learned flashed through his mind, not just in form, but their entire essence; the entire eldritch concept and power that they represented. The golden mannequin head staring at him. The darkbeast and the lightbeast. The dead beasts from the Industrial Ward. The talismans there. The doll and the Shopkeeper. Skinner. Pallid. The beast-man. The Mad One. The bell... the bell... the bell...
He could hear it, he could hear Pallid ringing that bell, that ethereal sound. It was so loud, so deafeningly loud... Ding-ding, ding-ding... It hurt his ears, he struggled to breathe, why could he not breathe, he needed to breathe, HE NEEDED TO BREATHE!
Torquil threw aside his axe and shield to grab the front of his helmet with both hands, digging his fingers into its visor and – with his arms, shoulders and back swelling obscenely as he did so – tore the metal apart, shredding his helmet and throwing the destroyed bits of metal aside. He breathed deeply and rapidly, hyberventilating. Now that he was not wearing anything on his head, the others would plainly be able to see the skin on his neck and face writhing as if with a life of its own.
And his mind... it kept racing, kept turning on itself. The emotions, the memories, the knowledge, the insight. He could hear screaming, then stifled, panicked breaths. He saw brown eyes staring into his. Sadness, loneliness, anger, arousal, frustration, fear, hate, hate, hate hate hate HATE HATE HATE HATE!!!
He let out a primal, desperate scream as his skin darkened, and then – as everything in him, muscles, tendons, bones, teeth and skin – all seemed to clench, then shift to a hundred different shapes all at once, independently of each other. His body tore itself apart, and blood practically exploded out of his head and sprayed out of every crack and opening in his armor.
Then he collapsed on the ground.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“I... I don't...” Torquil muttered when Ophelia asked if he was all right, looking around fearfully as he straightened into a wary stance. And indeed, he really did not know if he was all right; though he could plainly tell that the wound that had been inflicted on him had already healed, and had been since a second after the dagger had been pulled from his flesh, something still felt bizarrely wrong. He could feel his mind racing in a way he could not remember it ever had, flitting rapidly from thought to thought, dredging up unpleasant feelings... and worst of all, memories. His mind kept flashing back to him sitting alone in his cabin, to him felling trees and cutting wood, to him hiding among the leaves and watching people from the communities. He was sad, lonely, angry, aroused, frustrated, scared and so, so very full of such bottomless hate for everything in the world, especially himself. He swayed dizzily and could feel the skin around the area where the dagger had pierced him vibrating, and it felt as though it crawled with a life of its own.
From the workshop, the Shopkeeper and the doll emerged and ran – the Shopkeeper several times faster than the doll – toward them.

“I think –” Torquil began to try to answer their questions, but before he could get out another word, the skeletal fingers of a luminous hand abruptly grabbed his chin from behind, as the apparition seemed to spring back into existence as swiftly as it had disappeared. Before anyone could react, it drew the serrated edge of its silver dagger across Torquil's throat.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

Just as Farren and Ophelia moved to attack the ghostly creature that had just stabbed Torquil, Gerlinde also moved to attack, swinging her threaded cane with blinding speed directly at its neck. Her cane seemed to pass through it with barely any resistance, however, and elicited only the barest trail of whitish mist as evidence that it had made contact at all.
By contrast, the other two attacks seemed much more effective. Farren's blade plunged deep into the bright phantom, and while he still felt very little resistance – so little, in fact, that he had to catch himself or lose his balance – it prompted a much bigger spout of white mist, and the spirit seemed to recoil from it.
But neither of them could compare to Ophelia slashing at it with the awakened Holy Moonlight Sword. The fact that the spirit was effectively surrounded by her allies, and that Farren had opted for a thrust with a very short weapon that put him quite close to his opponent, meant that she had quite limited options for how to aim her swing. She only managed a glancing blow on the spirit's shoulder and arm, but it was immediately obvious how much more effective it had been as its luminous form seemed to immediately scatter and disperse on contact with the equally luminous blade, as well as eliciting a pained shriek.

There was not much to observe from the creature itself; it seemed to consist of glowing mist or dust, constantly shifting between ethereal and corporeal as if struggling to hold itself together. The only part of it that seemed solid was its large, cruelly serrated knife with a silver blade. In trying to identify what had happened, however, Ophelia would at least be able to notice a very faint trail, like an arcane umbilical cord, connecting the apparition to Torquil's form trying to get back on his feet.

Before any of them could do anything more, the creature made a noise like a deep, ragged inhalation and seemed to fade from view.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Collab

_Farren

had fully expected the other hunters to ignore him, though some small part of him did find it slightly annoying he managed not to show it on his face. When Victor turned and caught sight of them, Farren gave him a somewhat companionable smile, watching as the man made his way down to them. The man looked well, that was good…the more hunters there were, the better. If not for the Vicar’s purposes then at least for the safety of the citizens. Farren did notice that the man hadn’t spared Gerlinde a glance, something he filed away in case it became relevant.
At Victor’s words, Farren nodded, “We’ve been fortunate not to be forcibly returned to the Hunter’s Dream as of yet, but yes our…unique situation does give us its own advantages, deathlessness aside.” With that clarified, Farren glanced briefly at Ophelia, before returning his azure gaze to Victor. “The place seems rather sparsely populated, even for a night of the Hunt,” Farren commented, “...and we’d actually come to seek out Dietrich, so I thought someone might be so kind as to let us know if he’s in the field or not.”

Ophelia shared in Farren's surprise at the friendly tone from Victor, though she welcomed it--and she reciprocated his friendly demeanour as she spoke. "Ah, I'm glad to see you made it back safely. It's as Farren said, we are looking for Dietrich, but finding you has been an unexpected boon!" Ophelia began, though her tone and gesticulation with her right hand suggested an excitement being only barely held back--she was eager to say more, but waited for Victor's response and gave the room a brief (if slightly nervous) scan.

Victor's expression darkened somewhat. "Yeah, turns out today has gotten even more hectic than Nights of the Hunt usually are. A bunch of our Hunters and huntsmen are out trying to recapture our main cinnabar-mine and mercury-depot before we run out of quicksilver bullets, and the First Hunter..." He shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, but he isn't here. Orders came down from the vicar, so he's off in the Industrial Ward for some reason."

Farren listened intently, nodding at the first point. It made sense that the vicar would have acted on their intel regarding the Industrial Ward. It was unfortunate though, for it meant that this protective beast--the Crowmother--had likely just become a target...and it was their fault. His fault even. Farren's expression became more serious as Victor spoke, the smile falling away. At mention of the vicar, something flashed through Farren's eyes, but he forced himself not to react otherwise. “Ah, I see...” Farren said, looking thoughtful for a moment, before he again glanced to Ophelia. “Perhaps he could use our aid...” Farren said, still looking thoughtful as his gaze shifted away from the woman again.
Rather deliberately, Farren chose not to comment on the fact that Victor hadn't been sent out on business when it was clear that there was much that needed doing.

"Ah, well, never mind. Simply an excuse for us to head back out into the field, I suppose! I've a little boon I'd like to give you while we're here, love," Ophelia began, shifting into more hushed tones as she mentioned her gift. "my repertoire of runes has expanded somewhat. I've one in mind that I think should serve you better than the one I gave you before, if you'd like?"

"That so? The first one already saved me once on my way here, so if this new one's even better..." He shrugged. "Let's have a look."

Ophelia laughed musically at Victor's admission, clearly gladdened by the fact it'd been useful. "Shall we go somewhere a bit less... in the open?"

Farren nodded his agreement.

"We can do that," Victor nodded, gesturing for them to follow as he turned and headed toward the area to the right of the stairway, where a door was tucked into the corner. Ophelia might recognize it as the very door she had seen the couple of embarrased Hunters emerge from when she had been going with Dietrich to meet Vicar Harold the first time.
Victor knocked on the door twice and, not hearing a response, opened the door and entered. The room within appeared to be a small, humble barracks of sorts, with the wall to their right and in front of them lined with cots, while the wall to their left was occupied by a long table with several washbasins, towels and what appeared to be rolls of bandages. The water in one of the basins was murky and red-tinted, and the towel next to it was quite obviously bloodstained. Similarly, two of the cots at the opposite end of the room appeared stained with blood and... other things.
"This place is about as private as it gets around here."

"Ahh, it's... well-lived in, isn't it? Well--I have a couple of questions, just to ascertain the best fit for you. Do you find yourself using a lot of blood vials?" Ophelia commented, looking around the room curiously and coming to regret that decision soon after.

"Not really," he told her, and sounded decidedly regretful about it. "I... usually don't have more than several vials on me."

Having followed, Farren also took in the room, but he didn't find it nearly so surprising or unpleasant as Ophelia had appeared to. If anything, the place felt...oddly familiar and he found himself oddly smiling slightly, even as he noticed the particular cots with...various fluids on them, blood included. He suppressed a chuckle, coughing slightly before he walked across the room, glancing about to see if there was anything he might glean from the space--either from his unreliable and distant memories or of a more material variety.

There was not much to see in the room. Though it had obviously been used both for Hunters needing rest or privacy, it was also - perhaps exactly because it tended to be used a lot by the hundreds of Hunters belonging to the White Healing Church - quite well-maintained and cleaned. Aside from the two stained cots and the one murky basin, everything appeared to be quite neat; the sheets and towels were fresh, the water seemed pure, and even the floor seemed like it had been recently swept and mopped. The only thing of note he would find was a single empty blood vial under one of the cots.

"Hmm... Would you say you're more aggressive or defensive? Would you try to avoid combat if possible?" Ophelia asked, though her tone was merely inquisitive and had none of the judgemental edge that Victor had experienced before.

Though the blood vial was empty, Farren quietly snatched it up and stowed it in his vial pouch. Perhaps they might fill it later. The room surveilled, Farren found a place leaning against the far wall of the small room, facing the others, Victor's back to him as he watched the proceedings.

"Aggressive, definitely," Victor mused. "I've always been tough, even before I became a Hunter, and now it seems I'm harder to kill than most... so I concentrate on landing hits, because I know I can take them." He paused. "But... while I don't mind fighting weak things, I try to avoid strong enemies as much as possible."

"Ah, I see--well! I have a rune that could increase your strength, endurance, and constitution - generally just... make you better at the things you're good at. There's another that... well... let me ask you this: have you ever felt like you're being watched here?" Ophelia offered, though she was beginning to think that perhaps Victor already had the best rune she could offer him.

"Watched?" Victor hesitated. "Once or twice, maybe? But it's nowhere near as bad as when I'm out there. I'm pretty sure most Hunters become pretty paranoid when you expect there to be a beast in every shadow."

"I was walking along the path up to the Lumenflower Garden, where Vicar Harold is, with Dietrich--and I had the queerest sense of being watched, unlike anything else. I've a rune now that might help with that little problem, but... I don't know how useful it'd be to you unless you were planning on staying here awhile. Perhaps we got it right the first time with the Lake rune you already have, hmm?"

"Could be. I've gotta admit, I felt a lot better on my way back after defeating that ambush because your rune-thing warned me. Knowing that even if I got attacked by something, I'd at least have short warning. Besides," he said and thrust his left thumb over his shoulder toward his back, "I'm not staying here. Once my Holy Sword's blade-scabbard is ready, I'm heading back out there."

Ophelia nodded and smiled, giving Victor's shoulder a gentle squeeze with her free hand. "Good--if that's what you need to keep yourself safe, I'm glad it helped. We had a clash with something truly awful, just like the stories of the Darkbeast that cropped up right after the Night of the Blood Moon... filled with rancorous lightning, whip-fast, and enough regeneration to make you weep. It's... heh, it's given me a keener appreciation for what you must've endured, and that your distaste for stronger creatures is well-earned. You're clearly very capable, and having folks clearing out the lesser beasts is every bit as valuable as we lunatics chasing after the big ones! Good luck out there, love, I'm rooting for you." Ophelia offered, giving her half-apology somewhat sheepishly but with some genuine amount of humility at how she'd acted before.

Farren smiled to himself, hiding the expression behind a hand as he pretended at wiping something off his face. Though...he'd have liked to see the effect that freeing Victor from Ego's influence would have had, it seemed that it wasn't the best choice in this case. For a moment he considered offering for the man to join them, but the problem with that is it would mean they couldn't travel as easily anymore...and that just wasn't efficient. Besides, if Victor abandoned them during a fight it would put them in an even worse situation. Thus, while Farren did respect the man's capacity to survive, he wouldn't put his life in such a person's hands--even if he would simply be reborn in the Dream. “Where will you be heading once your Blade is fixed?” Farren asked, still leaning against the wall.

Victor stared at Ophelia blankly for a moment. "What I must've endured... heh." He let out a brief, dry chuckle. "I used to be a mercenary back when I was human. I had inherited my family's suit of armor - the really heavy kind made of thick plates of steel - and that made me pretty much invincible on the battlefield. Nothing could kill me, and any injury short of death I was tough enough to just ignore until the fighting was over. Concussions, broken bones... it didn't matter. I was fearless, and everyone was afraid of me."
He glanced toward the bloody towel and murky washbasin. "You sound like you're a native Yharnamite so you probably don't know this, but there are beasts outside of Yharnam, too. My band killed a few of them; they were dangerous, but manageable. Then five years ago, a bounty was put out on a particular beast near Yharnam. A big bounty. So we went, figuring we could take it."
His expression darkened. "We didn't know that all the beasts out in the world were really old and decrepit. Remnants of Loran and stuff like that. This beast looked no different from them, but it was from Yharnam. It was still young and healthy, from the Night of the Blood Moon. It killed half of us, and tore right through my armor. Clawed by back really bad. I couldn't move anymore. The others tried to pursue the beast, figuring it was wounded - shows how much we knew - and nearly all of them got slaughtered.
The Healing Church found us, the survivors. The others just paid to receive blood healing, but me? I was past that. I needed more. I signed the contract and became a Hunter."
He shook his head grimly. "I've never fought anything stronger than a common scourge beast, Ophelia, and even they terrify me... because the first time I fought one, I was still a human who thought he was invincible. So I'm sorry, but I haven't endured anything from some huge monster breathing fire and lightning or anything like that. I'm just a plain old drunken coward."

Ophelia nodded along to Victor's story, her lips set in a small smile and her eyes bright and focused. When he'd finished, she sighed and gave his shoulder another light squeeze. "Greater suffering doesn't negate lesser suffering, love. People are scared of beasts for good reason--gosh, in Hemwick we made offerings to a higher power to be protected from them. Don't think less of yourself my dear, you hear? Ideals don't mean a damn thing if you're dead, and you've managed to stay alive this long. There are people who thought they knew better who are just dead now, and... There is real horror out there. Honestly, you've got the right idea!"

Offering an ambigious nod in response to Ophelia's assurances, Victor then turned to Farren. "I'm being sent to the cinnabar-mine, too, northeast of the city. We need to take it back from the Fire Dancers before we run out of ammo."

Farren listened to the man's story with interest, imagining what it must have been like. The words brought to mind memories he hadn't known he had. Secreting away on Nights of the Hunt, having been sent on some job to rob someone or perhaps even steal them away in the night while no one might notice yet another potential casualty. He shuddered slightly as he realized that sometimes when a friend or loved one went to check on someone and found no body, but a bloody mess...that it could have been his work. A faked death to mask a kidnapping. The thought struck him in that moment that the Healing Church--White...Black, it didn't much matte--had always been corrupt, as had the University. He'd done their dirty work, one and all...he'd profited from it too. The feelings that welled up in him, some from the memory--gratitude, rationalizations that it couldn't truly be that bad, that it must have been for some greater good, and even something worse: Indifference--all hit him at once. Farren gritted his teeth, jaw visibly tight as he kept from displaying any other outward signs. Of course...his more immediate reactions were disgust--for the Church, for his former self--and anger. It just added fuel to the quiet, simmering boiler in his heart, waiting to find an outlet, waiting to be allowed to burn the Vicar. Farren supposed that perhaps he wanted more than to just depose the madman...perhaps it was time once more for the whole system to become kindling once more.
He filed the thought away and as Victor turned to address him, Farren nodded. His arms were crossed such that they hid his hands behind his upper arms, concealing the white knuckles of his tightly clenched fists. Farren breathed normally, but he focused on the action and managed to speak without letting his anger come out in his tone. “That makes sense,” he replied, his gaze holding Victor's before his azure eyes fell to the floor, looking distant and thoughtful. “Sometimes, there are more cowardly things than avoidance,” Farren said, but he didn't explain what he meant, though his eyes did raise to meet Victor's again...and the look in those usually unerring eyes was haunted.

"That so?" Victor mused quietly, meeting Farren's gaze only for a second before looking away at nothing in particular. "Look, I have no delusions about who I am. I'm just a guy with a sword trying to live as comfortably as I can. But when you're part of an army - be that as a paid mercenary or a fellow Hunter - you need to be able to trust the guy next to you. I ran with Skinner, and I ran with Moira's beast, and for what it's worth I'm sorry about that."
He chuckled. "You know, I actually met Moira twice back then. When we were both human."

Farren nodded slightly, “It’s appreciated,” he replied, acknowledging the man’s apology. It was a nice gesture at least, even if it didn’t really change much. However, victor’s next words did regain Farren’s full attention and his gaze rose to regard the man once more. “Oh? What was she like?” He asked, one brow raised curiously.

Ophelia nodded along, perking up when the talk turned to Moira. She didn't say anything herself, but leaned in to participate.

"I didn't talk to her, nor did I know her name, but I recognized her the first time I saw her in Yharnam," he elaborated. "I was a mercenary and she was a soldier, so we didn't really socialize... and I doubt she recognizes me since I was in plate armor with a big helmet back then. I met her twice; once when I fought alongside her and once when I fought against her. She and I actually fought once, and I won. It's crazy how much stronger she got after becoming a Hunter."
Torquil frowned. "If you fought when you were both human, how're both of you still alive?"
Victor shook his head. "Outside of Yharnam we rarely fight to the death, especially in a battle between two armies. We just fought until one of us couldn't fight anymore, and then I had to fight the next guy."

"In life she was rather suddenly gripped by the wasting sickness that pushed me to become a Hunter, so I wonder if you caught her during her decline or at her peak... How interesting, either way! We should head to the Industrial Ward--Mother Moon keep you, Victor." Ophelia added, looking over at Farren to check whether he wanted to say anything else or leave. Ophelia also felt compelled to check to see what Gerlinde was doing, as most people in the workshop seemed to be adamantly denying her existence.

For his part, Farren pushed away from the wall and walked across the small room. As he was passing Victor he gave the man a companionable pat on the shoulder, though he didn’t smile. “Time is precious after all,” he said, agreeing with Ophelia. As he reached the others…and the door, Farren would glance back at Victor, “Take care of yourself,” he said, then he turned and headed out of the room with the others…provided nothing else particularly noteworthy occurred.

Victor merely offered another nod in recognition of their goodbyes. But checking on Gerlinde was not quite as straightforward as expected, as it turned out she had not even followed them into the small barracks.

Ophelia turned to look and sighed, mumbling something under her breath to the effect of "like herding cats...", before she left the small barracks and headed back to the workshop proper. She gave the room a cursory glance for Gerlinde.

Back in the main room, the two male Hunters had crossed to the other side and joined their female colleague, and all three of them - along with several clerics and workers - were glaring at Gerlinde. Gerlinde, meanwhile, seemed to be either ignorant or indifferent about how she was being scrutinized, and was happily devouring some kind of sausage from the table with food.

As Farren reentered the main room he found himself pausing and then chuckling lightly and shaking his head as he noticed the state of things. On one level he understood why the others might avoid Gerlinde, as truthfully she was...well, unhinged. She was just as likely to do nothing as she was to follow her latest impulse, and given her strength as a hunter...well, being in the vicinity when she did that could certainly be rather dangerous. Given that simple fact, and the equally true reality that people--himself included--hated dealing with uncertainty, well it made sense to him why she would be rather disliked, shunned even. Still, she had the right idea, so Farren crossed the room, glanced over the table, and promptly picked out some food for himself as well. Aside from the blood vials, he hadn't eaten anything in some time and the sight of her doing so had stirred that appetite in him as well.

Ophelia simply observed the two at the table, happily sating themselves, and waited from where she stood not too far away for them to finish. She kept an eye on the other Hunters, giving those who were glaring a friendly wave if they looked over in her direction. She, too, could understand their feelings around Gerlinde--though Ophelia was under the impression some sort of event must've happened for everyone (Harold included) to dislike her so. She was mildly curious, any thread of gossip was potentially titillating, but figured she would just ask Gerlinde later.
"Finish up and let's go, dears." She called out after thirty seconds or so, giving them both time to snack before urging them onwards.

Torquil followed Farren's example and hurried over to eat a bit, earning him and Farren each a mischievous look from Gerlinde. Once Ophelia signaled that it was time for them to move on, Torquil and Gerlinde obediently turned - taking the food they had had in their hands with them - and went to follow Ophelia.
"So..." Gerlinde asked with her mouth full only pause and swallow before finishing: "How are we getting out of here?"

"How long ago did the First Hunter leave?" Ophelia called out to the assembled people in the workshop before they left.

Once again it was Victor who deigned to reply: "Half an hour or so, I think."

Ophelia nodded. "Some time yet before they'll get to the Industrial Ward, then. Thank you, dear." she responded, then turned to Gerlinde and began to walk forwards, continuing with a more hushed tone just for the four of them. "Back the way we came. Finding Dietrich out in the streets won't be easy, but we know he's guaranteed to pass by the square in the Industrial Ward. We can wait there, or backtrack based on how he'll be heading there, or perhaps head to Rebirth's Rise to check on the Hunters there and then make our way from there to the Industrial Ward and hope that lines up time-wise?"

"Fine with me," she shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to stare longingly into the eyes of the headlamp for a moment to get there."

"Heh, I think it's useful. It is through communion with the gods that we learn, though we get to choose what lessons we take away." Ophelia replied with a cryptic smile, eagerly striding towards the golden plinth.

Farren finished a sausage as the other two peeled away, but he grabbed three more and a bit of bread before he turned to follow. Only once they'd passed the entrance into the workshop did Farren kneel down on one knee as he called to the Messengers. However, they never came...and he recalled that they wouldn't so long as they were near any of Ego's strange golden lanterns. Sighing, Farren simply stood and followed the others, shoving the foodstuffs into one of his extra pouches, he'd give it to the Messengers later. “I do still need to stop by the Black Church Workshop and get Fulmen inspected. I believe it may need some repairs...hopefully nothing too time-intensive though.” He didn't mention that Bulwark also needed a craftsman's touch, it was far less worrisome then the experimental hammer, after all.

As the Hunters approached the golden plinth, it would be clear from a distance that the mannequin head had become inert in their absence. As soon as they came within ten meters or so of it, however, eyes once again opened on it to stare at them, one eye for each. The eyes quite notably did not appear to follow any kind of logic native to normal human facial structure in where they appeared or which way they were angled. They opened over and below each other as willingly as they did side by side with them, and the eyelids of different eyes opened horizontally, vertically and diagonally seemingly at random. The only commonality between the eyes appeared to be that they were always facing and staring at the same Hunter, to the point where the eyes would actually physically shift across the mannequin head to be "facing" them.

As bizarre an experience as it was, the four Hunters went there and looked at the mannequin head as they had with the golden lantern before, inevitably making direct eye-contact with the thing...
Only to find that they did not get the usual experience of falling asleep. Indeed, it seemed that nothing was happening.

Ophelia blinked as the sensation of drowsiness did not come over her as she expected, and as she had to stare at the eyes looking back at her she waited a few brief seconds before assessing that nothing was indeed happening. "How curious... It's very inconvenient, but I must admit that I do love finding out there are new rules. I wonder if it's a matter of permission, or..." Ophelia began, before trailing off as she gazed deeper into the eye staring at her in ponderous thought.

Gerlinde clicked her tongue. "My guess would be that being lulled to sleep is a kind of eldritch influence."

"Then we should try it out with one person, hmm? Would you like to see what happens if you switch back to the Dream rune?" Ophelia offered, her tone tinged lightly with wariness.

"Sure. I don't mind being the one to test it."

"Let's not do it in view of the head, though." Ophelia began, moving to head away from the workshop and the mannequin both.

Gerlinde happily followed back along the bridge. They would observe that just as the eyes on the mannequin had appeared when they came within ten meters of it, they also disappeared when they moved more than ten meters away.

Ophelia looked down, and then back towards the head around 10 meters away. "How far do you think this is?"

Looking back at the plinth, Gerlinde slowly scanned the ground between it and them and then looked at Ophelia. "About five Phillies?"

Farren frowned, letting the expression turn to one of confusion as he stared at the lantern, deliberately keeping his gaze unfocused as he did so. Yet, as with the others, nothing happened. Shrugging slightly, he turned and followed Ophelia once they decided on a course of action. “How bizarre, I wonder why the lantern’s not working…perhaps it’s like the Messengers,” he pondered with a casual shrug as he followed them, clearly playing at ignorance…if you were in the know. Someone else wouldn’t really be able to tell that he was lying through his teeth.

"Hmm. Looks like we'll have to start measuring and comparing, eh?" Ophelia laughed, before pulling out the runebrand and attempting to brand Gerlinde with her favoured rune.

Once Gerlinde had received the Dream Rune, she immediately went back to the plinth. To everyone else nothing had changed: an eye appeared on the mannequin head and stared directly into Gerlinde's face while Gerlinde stared at it. But this time, after just a couple of seconds, Gerlinde lost opacity and faded away into nothing.

"How odd. Looks like you'll not be able to use the lantern without relinquishing the Mask rune for a little bit, love." Ophelia opined to Farren, quickly changing her own rune back to the Guidance rune as she did so. The phantom pain did not interrupt her speech at all.

Farren watched the events unfold and let his eyes widen slightly, brows raising, “Huh…strange that the Runes could have that effect,” he murmured to himself, a bit of tension entering his stance. Sighing, Farren accepted the brand when she was finished, branding himself with the Lake Rune before he handed it back to Ophelia. He shrugged and rolled his shoulder a bit, the pain fading after a moment, he was beginning to grow numb to it…but only just. That done, Farren walked towards the plinth, the head no longer visible, replaced once more with a golden lantern instead. He did his best to remain as relaxed as he could, and would reach out to it to begin transit to the Dream as soon as he was close enough.

Thus Farren also returned to the Hunter's Dream.

"What'll it be, Torquil? Or would you like me to pick?"

Torquil smiled. "Give me the one that makes me stronger!"

"I was thinking Metamorphosis myself! Gosh, look at you... You're even bigger than when we first met!" Ophelia smiled, pleasantly chipper in tone despite the pain the brand inflicted as she applied the rune to Torquil. She looked him up and down and gave him a gentle rub on the cheek with her free hand and a wide smile as she walked over to the restored lantern to gaze into it.

The Hunter's Dream

As the Hunters returned one by one to the Hunter's Dream, they would find that – for once – the Dream itself did not seem to morph and change with their arrival. The sky retained the colors of sunset, the air remained still and dry... in general, it seemed rather uneventful. Farren's only experience of arriving at the Dream this time was another tremor in his blood, followed by the weirdly familiar sensation that reminded him of when he was being empowered with blood echoes by the doll. Power seemed to course through him and suffusing his muscles, leaving him feeling noticeably stronger than before.

Torquil also felt a tremor go through his blood, though neither he nor anyone else were able to immediately identify what effect it had. Not until about four seconds after his arrival, anyway, when a strange, glowing, semi-transparent apparition seemed to spontaneously materialize directly behind him, only to promptly plunge a large, serrated knife into his back, causing him to let out a cry of pain and stumble forward clumsily.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam

As Farren addressed the room, the room appeared quite content to demonstratively ignore him. One of the two male Hunters shot him a glance and frowned slightly before resuming his conversation with his colleague while snacking on the food in front of them, but besides that no one so much as spared him a glance.
No one but Victor, that is. Hearing Farren's voice, Victor turned around with a surprised expression before half-running over to the stairway and descending to the ground floor with them. He approached them with a crooked smile and a wave of his left hand, while his right was occupied by his silver small sword. He was quite overtly making a point of trying to avoid looking at Gerlinde.
“Hey! It's good to see you're still in one piece... though I suppose that's not actually all that impressive all things considered, eh?” He chuckled. “What're you guys doing here? What do you mean, 'this everyone?'”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam

As they appeared on the bridge leading up to the Orphanage, it was ironically Gerlinde who ended up doing a double-take upon noticing the golden head that had replaced the lantern, though she, too, recovered and walked off before its eyes could fully form. Though Torquil awakened facing the plinth and the thing sitting on top of it, he was the only one out of all of them who barely spared it a second glance quite simply because he did not see any reason that it should be noteworthy to him.
He jumped a bit in surprise when Farren put his arm around him and reflexively pulled away a little – an action that, though subtle, would perhaps hint to Farren at just how much stronger Torquil had gotten during their short stay in the Dream, as it felt as though he could have broken free from his grasp with ease – but then relaxed and allowed himself to be led away.

Upon entering the White Church Workshop, Ophelia would likely notice several Hunters and clerics standing up from their seats, straightening their stances and reaching for their weapons upon, only to hesitantly relax again. Most of the Hunters were different ones than who had been here the last time, and it seemed that her suspicious garb and unusual weapon still attracted attention, though it also seemed that orders had been handed out to allow her entry.
Ophelia would not be able to spot Dietrich looking around the main room of the workshop, though she would notice someone else who also obviously noticed her. Standing on the upstairs landing looking down at her was a cleaned-up and redressed Victor.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam

With a touch to the marker labeled “White Church Workshop” on the Yharnam Headstone, the four Hunters once more found themselves leaving their Dream and returning to the Waking World. And quite notably, Gerlinde had been here to light the lantern in the first place, Ophelia had traveled there by lantern before and Farren had seen the place as a human, so Torquil was the only one out of all of them for whom this was the first time seeing the Orphanage.
They all arrived on the bridge connecting the old Healing Church Workshop-tower to the base of the Orphanage, which still loomed over them as the great and awesome structure it was here at the top of the Grand Cathedral. The dead trees remained, stretching their gnarled and crooked branches over their heads like grasping fingers. The only real change from Ophelia's visit earlier in the evening was that the night had progressed, with the sun being but a memory at this point and the area instead being bathed in the pale light of the rising full moon.

But as impressive as the environment remained, the thing that was likely to first catch their attention now that all of them had memorized the Mask Rune, was the very object facilitating their arrival here. The gold plinth itself was unchanged from how Ophelia had first seen it, still holding the same imagery, but the gold lantern on top of it was gone. In its place was now what could best be described as a featureless golden mannequin head, with its neck-stump either standing on or embedded into the plinth beneath it, occupying the same place the lantern had once been.
The head itself was as motionless as the lantern that preceded it, but a second after awakening there, fissures seemed to spontaneously appear on its surface, only for the cracks to open up, folding the golden surface like skin, and reveal disturbingly human-looking eyes with golden irises inside. Four eyes appeared in total, one facing and staring directly at each of the four Hunters.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Yahar'gul, northwest of Yharnam

The lightbeast sat back on its haunches and seemed as though it listened intently to what Ophelia told it, then nodded its head. Leaning back even further and lifting its hands off the ground, the huge creature made a small, sweeping gesture with its hands, which bore a passing semblance to a feminine curtsy, before bringing one red-fingered hand, palm inward, up to its head.
Once more Ophelia would see Guidance sprites start appearing and accumulating around its hand, only for the lightbeast to lower its hand toward its chest... and, as it did so, it shimmered and disappeared. But even though no one else would be able to see or hear the faintest trace of it, Ophelia would still see the swarm of Guidance sprites that seemed to follow its invisible form as it moved out of the alcove and disappeared around the left corner, heading east.
Torquil, obedient as ever, uncritically accepted Ophelia's recommendation to be branded with the Mask Rune.

The Holy Moonlight Sword continued to whisper once it got Ophelia's consent: “Its other half is not in this city, nor is it fully in the Waking World. Just as it once was, its other half is in the Interstice... what you call the Old Labyrinth. It waits deep within, in places untouched by common Hunters... But you are Paleblood. You need not traverse the entire Interstice to get there. You can get there through communion, if you get the right holy chalice. The chalice you need is at the throne of this land. Getting it will be the first step to obtaining its full glory.”

Farren, meanwhile, entered through the gateway and crossed the threshold into Yahar'gul, the Unseen Village. Instantly upon setting foot on the first bit of cobbled road – for the path within the walls did indeed appear to be cobbled – even he would be able to plainly feel the atmosphere that Ophelia had caught hints off while she had worn the Dream Rune. A heavy, oppressive sense of tragedy and menace filled the air, weighing him down in a way he had never experienced before. Sound seemed strangely muffled suddenly, colors seemed bizarrely desaturated... and a strange, acrid smell wafted past him from sources unknown.
Before him stretched a wide, single street that seemed to just continue forever, seemingly running the entire length of Yahar'gul, flanked on either side by tall buildings of various shapes and make, all of them dark in color, making the environment look as though the gloom was even deeper than it was. But the atmosphere aside, there was no doubt even at a glance that something was deeply wrong here, as the sides of the street were lined with what appeared to be large, elaborate statues of misshapen humans. Humans with elongated arms, legs and necks, humans with mouths stretched unnaturally wide in silent screams, humans with eyes that were open much wider than they should be able to in the face of some inconceivable terror. Even just looking at them, Farren would feel as though he could faintly hear the echoes of their cacophonous wailing, the horrified cries of people helpless to escape the fate visited upon them.
And it was not just one or two in a few places; the statues were everywhere. All along the street, both in the middle of the road and in huge, tangled messes along the walls of the buildings, there appeared to be many hundreds of these unnerving statues. Looking to either side directly inside the gateway, Farren would find that the outer wall that he had just entered through had even more of them than anywhere else. The statues made it appear as though masses of people had tried to flee Yahar'gul and had come here, trampling each other and creating a pile of bodies that they tried desperately to use to climb the wall. Hands reaching desperately toward the top, faces petrified in agony.
There were so many screaming figures... and yet the place was eerily silent. Not even the wind seemed willing to disturb the perfect stillness this place.
Aside from the ridiculous number of statues, he would also see some weird plant life that was quite obviously not of the Waking World. Spread out with about fifteen meters or so between them, the street was flanked by some kind of... trees? They vaguely resembled trees, each one about seven meters tall with straight, lumpy trunks and topped with some kind of bulbous growth. They were dark red and black, and rather than having bark or leaves, they appeared disturbingly fleshy. As if they were some sort of creature only mimicking trees... or trees mimicking creatures?
But vitally, just fifty meters beyond the gate, he spotted the welcome and familiar sight of a lantern that could be connected to the Dream, right in the middle of the street.