Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

“Ah no, of course not, I did not mean to imply otherwise,” Dietrich immediately assured her when Ophelia pointed out that the sword no longer belonged to Ludwig. “He was a hero of legend, to be sure, but one who is no longer around to lay claim to this magnificent blade.
And the sword speaks to you, you say?” Though many would likely have reacted to anyone claiming an inanimate object was communicating with them with anything ranging from skepticism to worry, this admission only seemed to further fuel the flames of the First Hunter's fascination. “Why, I would have to be mad to turn down the wisdom of an artifact that belonged to my predecessor! Did you know that I based the design of my Shining Wing on its legend?” He gestured over his shoulder at the silver greatsword on his back. “With some utilitarian liberties taken, of course.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

Dietrich listened attentively as Ophelia spoke and offered a few comments when appropriate, the first one of which followed her mention of the Messengers: “Yes, Moira also told me about those, and Gerlinde also complained that they would not come here. I'm afraid I can't tell you why, because I have no idea. All that Nightmare-stuff is a bit beyond me, I'm afraid.”
The next time he spoke was when she mentioned Moira and the tales of her prowess. “Indeed, I have witnessed Moira fight in person, and she's quite formidable indeed. I have nothing but respect for her... though it pains me that she not only spurned our Healing Church, but ended up forming her own and causing a schism among the Hunters of Yharnam. I can only pray that our goals remain aligned. I would hate to have to kill her.” There was no mirth in those last words, only grim resolve.

And finally, of course, he had to answer her question regarding the Vilebloods and her garb. “Ah, don't worry about it too much, the dress you wear under your robe just happens to bear a striking resemblance to that traditionally worn by female Knights of Cainhurst, which the old Healing Church dubbed 'Vilebloods'. I can't speak on whether their blood is vile or not – that doesn't interest me – but those who now call themselves Vilebloods are sworn enemies of the Healing Church. Knights dressed similarly to you, only without the robe, have attacked and killed many of our Hunters over the years. I can't blame them for getting up in arms when seeing something like that, especially when that someone is carrying some manner of glowing, eldritch artifact.
Speaking of which...” Dietrich's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he took half a step closer before whispering conspiratorially: “Is that actually Ludwig's Holy Moonlight Sword?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Below Rebirth's Rise, Eastern outskirts of Yharnam – Farren and Torquil

Torquil was the first to follow Farren out of the elevator, his shield raised defensively to cover his body, neck and the lower part of his face and his axe awkwardly raised to the side, ready to strike. Victor took another couple of seconds to start moving, his eyes fixed on the immobile White Church Hunter in the distance.
“But... we had a bloody giant...” he muttered, shifting the ornate case he was still carrying from his left hand and up into his left armpit to free up his hand and retrieve the blunderbuss from his belt. “The servants were already dead when we got here, but the giant was just sleeping. What kind of monster can fight a giant and a Hunter?”
The street itself was almost disturbingly deserted and quiet, with the only movements being bits of cloth or wooden shutters on the windows of residences lazily moving in the wind. Unlike the houses above, there were a couple of houses down here with lit censers outside their doors and windows and with light inside, though even those seemed to have fallen deathly silent on this as of yet moonless night.

Without another word, Victor started moving – albeit slowly and cautiously, sword and gun at the ready and his eyes on his surroundings – past the dead giant and toward the fallen Hunter.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

“Of course, of course,” Dietrich nodded his head, crossed his arms and looked off to the side at nothing in particular, seemingly lost in thought. “What Hunters need is pretty simple, I can do that no problem. The map is more of a challenge; Yharnam has changed a lot and very quickly in the past five years, both with rebuilding and expanding... I'll see what I can do. Lend me your quicksilver canister and I'll fill that, for starters.”
The First Hunter received the container and once more ventured behind the closed door in the corner, leaving Ophelia to the din and activity of people preparing for the Night of the Hunt. He was gone for longer this time, giving her more of an opportunity to observe her surroundings if she so desired. Hunters kept showing up, getting their weapons and leaving again, and possibly for the first time, Ophelia would begin to realize just how many Hunters there were in Yharnam. Even though she was just standing there for a couple of minutes she witnessed nearly a full dozen Hunters coming and going, and none of those were the five she had first encountered when she arrived at the workshop. The Hunters also kept shooting suspicious glances at her skirt, being the most visible part of her dress past her robe, but now none of them seemed inclined to actually confront her about it.
She might also notice several of the civilians across the room, predominantly women, stealing glances at her and whispering among themselves, some with knowing smiles, others with frowns of disapproval or envious sighs. It would probably not be too hard to guess that the First Hunter did not usually provide this degree of personal attention to his other subjects.

Returning after about five minutes, Dietrich emerged into the hall carrying a small armful of supplies. Though his expression was initially neutral, serious and thoughtful, it brightened into a smile as soon as he laid eyes on her, and he approached her eagerly and with a spring in his step to deliver what he had scrounged.
“First of all, the quicksilver canister,” he said, handing the named object back to her, which was now filled with gray liquid. “Just beware that what's in it is only mercury until you add a few drops of your blood; only then does it become quicksilver. I notice you don't have a gun, so I might suggest you pick one up from that table over there, otherwise the bullets aren't going to be much help.” He nodded his head toward the table Ophelia had observed earlier that was bulging with pistols and blunderbusses, though the selection here was obviously far inferior to what she had seen in the Hunter's Dream.
“Here's a hand lantern,” he continued. “It has a little hook right here, see, that's handy for hanging it on your belt. In case you need to go somewhere dark. And since you are a Paleblood Hunter, here's a couple of doses of antidote, too, in case you contract ashen blood. They won't cure the disease, but they'll treat the symptoms until you return to the Dream... at least that's how Moira explained it.
And, of course, your map.” He handed her a large rolled-up piece of paper. “It's not quite up to date, I'm afraid; this is from about four years ago and doesn't have the newer expansions, but the parts it does show should be somewhat accurate. Sorry, but I'm afraid it's the best I can offer at the moment.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Eastern outskirts of Yharnam – Farren and Torquil

“Well, that settles it,” Victor nodded approvingly. “Soulkeeper is the Harrow's boss, so it's definitely them.”
Torquil awkwardly shuffled onto the elevator as the last of them, making excessively sure to inch along the outer frame of the cage to stay as far away from the button in the middle as possible. At that point there was no reason to avoid the button, of course, so Victor just sighed, leaned over and stomped one foot on the plate, prompting the sounds of chains and machinery to start back up again and they began to descend.
“Stefan is waiting at the bottom,” the White Church Hunter told the others while they waited. “The top was more defensible, of course, but we got lucky and found a giant sleeping down here. So if something happened, Stefan could just wake... up the... giant...”

Victor's voice gradually faltered as he looked out the folding doors of the elevator – the ones on the opposite side from where they had entered – at the streets of the city coming up toward them. He sounded surprised and frightened, and as they reached the end of their descent it became clear why.
The cobbled street they found themselves in, with the elevator taking up a spot right in a T-intersection, bore the marks of a battlefield. Blood was spattered everywhere, numerous cobblestones were cracked, crushed or cleaved through in gashes, some of which were huge and clearly left by an enormous weapon while others seemed to be left by claws. Scattered around the area were a number of bodies, each with its own assortment of terrible wounds that could have, and likely had, caused their deaths.
Three of them would seem familiar to Farren, not just because their appearance bore a passing resemblance to Pallid with their large bodies, pale skin and black eyes, but because they were recognizably church servants. One of the servants in particular looked like he had been thoroughly maimed in horrid ways, with his limbs looking as though they had been clawed, twisted and stretched far beyond what was healthy, suggesting that the creature had been viciously tortured. The two other church servants each had a cane lying on the ground near them, but there was no weapon near the maimed one; either he had been unarmed, or something had happened to his weapon.
A short distance from where the servants were found, an even larger form lay inanimate across the street. The church giant's arms and legs were sprawled out to the sides as it lay face-down in an immense puddle of blood, with an axe too large for any ordinary human to lift, let alone wield, sat lodged into the cobblestone next to it.
And another several meters away still, further past the dead giant, they were just barely able to make out the form of a still form of a human-sized and -shaped figure, wearing what looked like a bloodstained White Church Hunter garb.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Lumenflower Garden, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

The trip back down the stairs and back to the busy main hall of the workshop was short enough that their conversation took up pretty much the entire duration. Dietrich was back to smiling and carrying himself with the elegance and confidence that was typical of him, but someone paying close attention might notice that his gaze flickered more than before, as if looking for something.
“If you would please lend me your vial-bag and wait here a moment, I will go fill it for you,” he told her, indicating a door furthest back and to the right below the stairs. Ophelia gave it to him, and he – assuring that he would be right back – left to get what she needed.

“Something here watches and listens... even to its whispers...” the ephemeral voice of the Holy Moonlight Sword conveyed into Ophelia's mind, seemingly sensing her worry. “Something very powerful resides here... Something ancient touched the Huntress' mind... It could not stop it... It is not enough...”

A few seconds later Dietrich came back and, true to his word, returned a bag that was now much fuller and heavier than before; opening it and looking inside would reveal that every single one of the twenty padded slots inside it was now occupied by a pristine blood vial. The cap of every vial was marked by the same symbol she had seen on the banner in Dietrich's office.
“There you go,” he told her with a smile. “I do hope you and your companions make it back here safely. Even setting aside my personal feelings on the matter, I do have some matters I could use some help with, and I know the same is true for the vicar.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Lumenflower Garden, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

Harold slowly nodded his head in thought at Ophelia's question of whether there had been anyone assigned to watch over the clinic, but rather than offer an answer he simply turned wordlessly to Dietrich and looked at him expectantly.
“There were supposed to be people there, yes,” Dietrich reported, and for the first time a note of anger sneaked its way into his voice. “Two blood ministers and four helpers were supposed to be there, but I suppose the cowards must have panicked and run off when the first bells tolled. They're probably cowering in a shelter somewhere right now... and from the sound of it –” He glanced at Ophelia for confirmation. “– they didn't even light the censer at the door before running.”
“I see, I see...” Harold nodded his head again, more firmly this time. “See to it that they are reprimanded in the morning.”
“It shall be done.”
Nodding his head resolutely, Harold continued: “With that out of the way, you heard her; make sure she gets a batch of blood vials to take with her.”
But Dietrich winced at this. “Ah, yes, of course... but Victor is –”
“No buts!” The vicar waved an admonishing finger at his First Hunter. “They need blood vials, so they get blood vials! A full bag of Hunter-grade ones; that should be plenty to get back here for another resupply.”
Dietrich sighed. “Yes, Lord Vicar.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Lumenflower Garden, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

This time Harold's expression told much more of his reaction to Ophelia's words than with her initial report, as he looked obviously more and more confused as her tale progressed. “I... Abduct... Soulkeeper... What?!” Seemingly completely bewildered, the vicar turned to his First Hunter, who was already stepping forward with a small bow of his head.
“Excuse me, but I think I can dispel some of the confusion,” Dietrich interjected. “When Miss Ophelia said some were 'taken by the scourge' earlier, she meant that they had died and were showing signs of the scourge. The nascent Hunters did not turn into beasts and attack the sleepers. The ones she speak of that attacked them were intruders from the outside.”
“Oooh!” Harold actually let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Yes, I see now, that makes more sense.” Then his expression turned serious again. “Still, these are truly dire news, though I am glad to hear that the survivors were not lost to the clutches of the Harrow. Who can say what foul things those people could have done to their helpless victims. And these others who awoke with you, are they...”
“She already said that they are bound to the Dream,” Dietrich offered, “though they opted to come here on foot.”
The vicar nodded his head slowly with a thoughtful mien. “I see, I see... a partial success, then, at least. Now...” He turned back to Ophelia. “You did well to come here as soon as you did. Is there anything the Healing Church can offer to aid you and the others? You seem quite well-equipped already –” He gestured to the Holy Moonlight Sword. “– but if you need anything else, I shall muster all that I can to help.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Lumenflower Garden, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam – Ophelia

The vicar, smiling kindly through it all, cocked his head curiously when Ophelia spoke of seeing the touch of the Nightmare upon the lumenflowers, and his eyes moved to glance briefly at the Holy Moonlight Sword when she invoked the name “Mother Moon”. He did not comment on either thing, but it seemed as though he took note of each mention when they occurred.
But once the subject turned to the others who had undergone metamorphosis along with her, Harold's expression turned serious and attentive, with furrows and creases spreading across his face as he adopted a mien that told of undivided focus. Beyond paying close attention to her words, however, he did not outwardly react to any of what she said until she had finished speaking. Even her showing him the jar of eyes did not so much as make him flinch.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harold turned from Ophelia and looked out over the garden, crossing his arms and slowly tapping his right index-finger on his left elbow in thought. “All creatures have the potential to become beasts,” he told her grimly after a moment's silence. “Even Hunters, though it is rare, and entirely unheard of among Paleblood Hunters. And for someone to become a beast while becoming Hunters...” He shook his head. “What a failure this has been. How many did these beasts kill? You say that some will not awaken, so I suppose some must still be sleeping; did you and these 'few' others slay the beasts? What kind of beasts did they become? Did they awaken after you or before?”

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Freagon, Yanin, Jaelnec and Jordan – Outside the Fadewatcher station, Borstown

Closing his eye and fighting back the surge of impatience and annoyance he felt rising within himself, Freagon had to take a moment to calm himself before he could deal with Yanin's questions. He was like a dog with a bone, absolutely refusing to let go no matter how much Freagon tried to keep things vague or being willfully obtuse with his explanations. It was particularly aggravating because he knew that he might behave in the same way in some situations, when he was trying to obtain information that might be important, but he did not hound people about being evasive indiscriminately. What had he done to earn this degree of scrutiny, he wondered? Or was this just how Yanin was? Would the other potential members for the band Freagon meant to form be subject to the same kind of dredging of their secrets, or was he special?
The old nightwalker actually had to take another deep breath to delay and give him more time to regain his self-control. It was not just the unwavering intent to unearth the truth about him that infuriated him so, but even more so that this behavior reminded him of an element of his past he tried his best not to think about. That creature had had the same intolerance for deception of secrecy, and had spared no effort to pry the truth from Freagon any time he had so much as attempted to keep something from him. The fact that Yanin reminded Freagon of him in any way was... not encouraging, to say the least.
But even so, Yanin seemed to be a formidable warrior, and a knight to boot. Freagon needed to assemble a party, and he likely needed Yanin in particular... so regardless of how satisfying it would have been to murder him on the spot, he had to endure. There was more at stake here than his feelings. And he had to give the human knight enough to sate his lust for truth.

The first question of “How are you here?” was one Freagon had successfully avoided telling people the full story about for decades, because people usually either decided to accept the part of it he gave them or just moved on rather than keep digging. And the few people who had kept digging, Freagon had been free to simply turn away and abstain from interacting with them. The fact that someone here, among these people, would be so dogged about it so soon after meeting him... it was rather frustrating. But he had to deal with it.
“I am a Knight of the Will because when I became one, the knighthood wasn't extinct yet,” he said, lowering his voice so that only Yanin would hear. He glared at Yanin with his one black eye, resisting the temptation to draw his sword and kill the man immediately. “I was killed toward the end, during the business with Nogon Kinslayer. I am here now because I was resurrected fifty years ago.”

Yanin's other question, though equally bothersome, at least did not pertain to information Freagon had kept to himself for decades. It was a new, fresh secret... but one that was no less painful for him to share.
Freagon glanced at Jaelnec and Jordan, making sure that they were still engrossed in their conversation and would not hear, and spoke once more in a lowered voice: “The mark of the Withering has appeared on my skin.”