Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

Harold turned first in the neck, then the waist, until he was looking back at the quartet of reality-hopping Hunters, a smile on his lips and a sharp look in his eyes. He studied Ophelia, blinked his eyes and slowly nodded his head.
“There is still much you don't know, dear, about a great many things,” he told her, his tone lightly teasing. “But of course this first batch, including Farren and Torquil – and you were the first – is only one test. We will continue developing it and make it better. If nothing else, having only two successes out of forty-four subjects is unacceptable. And if there are any other quirks with our false Paleblood, like your Dream acting strangely at times, we will fix those as well. We are only getting started, dear. These two are just the beginning. Imagine, in but several years' time, Yharnam could have its very own army of immortal Hunters.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

“I... think the metaphor is getting mixed up a little. Let's speak more plainly, then.” Harold sighed, but smiled softly as he did so. “We haven't forgotten the Night of the Blood Moon, Ophelia, and you can believe me when I tell you we are quite aware of how it happened. We are not trying to beckon a Great One here, dear, nor are we trying to send anything to a Great One, we are only using the method the Great One already picking people to afflict with Paleblood to afflict it on people of our choosing.”
He closed his eyes and turned his back to them, looking out over the luminous field of lumenflowers. “We started development of this plan nearly five years ago, when we managed to recover the remains of a former Paleblood Hunter called Djura. We started experimenting with his blood even back then, and had a boost in our progress when Moira became a Paleblood Hunter as well, and we managed to obtain some of her blood. But the real key to it all was when we obtained the blood of the Moonborn Hunter less than a week ago. With that many powerful samples, we were able to create our false Paleblood.”
Still looking away, Harold crossed his arms once more. “So you see, we're just borrowing the connection real Paleblood Hunters already have. I assure you, it's quite safe.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

Again Harold let out a merry, grandfatherly laugh. “My, my, so respectful this batch of Hunters has turned out to be. Don't worry, you can talk to me and ask me questions; I won't mind. Being vicar is just a responsibility to my charges, and it should never make me unapproachable to them.”

He crossed his arms. “Ah, but yes, these questions... I suppose it would make most sense to start with Farren's question and go over what Paleblood is in the first place? Obviously it is still being researched and much of what we know is difficult to explain in terms a layman would understand, but I will try my best for your sake.
Imagine, if you will, a fishing pole.” As he spoke, he uncrossed his arms and mimed holding such an implement in front of him. “Allegorically that fishing pole is your Hunter's Dream, and humans like yourselves are the fish. Paleblood, then, is like a hook that one might eat but won't cut you until the line begins to go taut. Once it does, however, it will continue to piece deeper into the flesh and tear through it the longer you struggle, unaware of the force above the water trying to pull you to it. Left to your own devices, just swimming along wherever the current takes you and enduring what is happening to you, that hook eventually kills you. By making you Hunters, we essentially gave you the strength to fight the current, slacken the line and even leap from the water to witness what force has snared you.”
He threw his arms wide and smiled. “You see, Paleblood is not truly a disease, it is the Dream trying to call you to it, but we humans are normally too weak to answer the call. Even now you, Ophelia and Gerlinde, still have the metaphorical hook buried in your flesh, and are still attached to that fishing line. Even now you cannot escape the Dream. Only the Dream itself, or whatever force governs who is and is not bound to it, can release you from its grip.”
Lowering his arms, he continued: “False Paleblood, as you call it, is an attempt to devise a way to hook whoever we want. We create a new hook and line and hope it attaches to the fishing rod. In your case, Farren and Torquil, it did. Though the weather changing when you go there... that hardly sounds like a significant downside to attaining immortality, does it?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

Harold laughed pleasantly at Farren's greeting and expression of gratitude as he walked up to them, a twinkle in his brown eyes as he patted Farren and Torquil on their shoulders, one hand on each.
“My, my, look at you two!” he exclaimed merrily, leaning in and studying first Farren's face closely, then Torquil. “How marvelous! What a couple of specimens we have here! How curious that it was the two of you who woke up out of all of them. I suppose... ah, but I could spend the whole night guessing and never get any close to the real reason. Welcome! And thank you so much for coming to see me, my dear Hunters.”
Gerlinde giggled as she watched Harold studying the two male Hunters. “Say, aren't you just a little tempted to steal a kiss there, Harry?”
Another flash of annoyance passed over Harold's features, though only Ophelia noticed. “Uncouth as ever, I see, Gerlinde. But I welcome your company nonetheless.”
He paused for a second after speaking before Ophelia would notice a flash of confusion and surprise in his eyes, prompting the vicar to lean in and take another close look at Torquil. “Well now, my boy, your jaw got fixed. Does that mean you speak now?”
Blinking confusedly, Torquil then hurriedly and eagerly nodded his head. “Yes, mister lord vicar, sir.”
“That's quite the mouthful,” the old man laughed. “'Harold' will suffice, my boy. How spectacular... and unusual.”

Finally Vicar Harold took a couple of steps back to a more socially acceptable distance, though Torquil and Farren had felt no discomfort with his close proximity. “Questions, you say? I shall do my very best to answer them, then! What is it you want to know?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

After Gerlinde and Farren disentagled and Ophelia helped Farren and Torquil replace their Lake Runes with Deep Sea Runes, the party of Hunters proceeded to the Yharnam Headstone to return to the Waking World. Each in turn touched the golden marker labeled “Lumenflower Garden”, and each in turn felt themselves fall asleep and fade away only to awaken and reappear in what was nearly the highest point in Yharnam.
All of them arrived beside the golden plinth with its eldritch ornamentation, crowned by a golden lantern, and found themselves standing before the tall and awesome mosaic window leading to the interior of the Grand Cathedral. Opposite that intimidating window was the garden itself, which looked slightly different than it had before; the field of enormous lumenflowers was bathed in an even brighter radiance than when Ophelia had first seen them, as their buds had progressed further toward blooming, their petals spreading out enough so that you could see more of their interiors and they let out more of the pale light emanating from them.
To Torquil and Farren the flowers seemed large and impressive, but otherwise completely normal. Ophelia would not only once again see them surrounded by enormous swarms of guidance sprites, but would also notice the flowers all in one smooth, simultaneous motion turn their blooms from facing the right relative to them, to “looking” straight at the newly arrived Hunters. Ophelia would be acutely aware of this, while to Torquil and Farren it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, as though the lumenflowers were no different from any other flowers.

“Ophelia, you are back!” they heard a voice call out within just a couple of seconds of them arriving, though only Ophelia had heard it before and recognized it as Vicar Harold's. “And you brought Farren and Torquil! And... Gerlinde? How unexpected.”
And Harold came up toward them from among the lumenflowers in the garden, smiling widely.

Upon laying eyes on Harold for the first time, Farren would experience a sudden and exquisite sense of calm settle over him unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Immediately upon seeing Harold, those lingering hints of madness and paranoia that had been with him since his past life, ever since he touched that golden halberd... all vanished. Not only did he feel safe, as if now protected from a threat that had inexorably hung over him like the Sword of Damocles abated all at once, but it felt warm and comfortable. It felt like he was coming home after a long, long time away, and as though this stranger was a beloved member of his family that he had sorely missed. He was a nice old man. There was no doubt in Farren's mind that this was true.

The anxiety Torquil had felt about Ophelia's warnings of how dangerous Harold was, as well as his intent not to be tricked by whatever strange influence he might have, was instantly swept aside. A broad, dopey smile spread across his face as he found himself implicitly trusting this nice old man.

“Harry-poo!” Gerlinde said in sing-song, eliciting a grimace of annoyance to Ophelia's eyes, though to Torquil and Farren he did not seem to react to the nickname at all.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“Oh... Farren's back,” Torquil told the two female Hunters as soon as he appeared, as he had been asked to. But before any of them could do much in the way of going to meet him or welcome him back, Farren climbed to the workshop, locked eyes with Gerlinde, and started confessing his part in the fate that had brought her to Byrgenwerth.
Gerlinde met Farren's gaze with wide, attentive eyes and a big smile on her face, initially just seeming happy that he had come back as soon as he had, and then... just smiling as she listened. She did not blink even once during his confession, but started tilting her head to the right. It was a slow, gradual movement, her head angling further and further off to the side until she went past what one would call cocking her head and kept going until it had turned to nearly a 90 degree angle, all while still smiling and staring.

“That was you?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless and her tone full of wonder. But before Farren or anyone else could offer and answer to the question, she repeated her words as a announcement: “That was you.” There was no passion in the words at all, no anger, fear or sadness; it was just a detached statement of a fact.
Her head returned to an upright angle and she started walking directly toward him, never breaking eye-contact. She still smiled, and still did not blink. “Farren... your name was Farren.”

Farren held her gaze, even as the intensity of her gaze ratcheted up bit-by-bit even as her head shifted almost as if on a lever until it was at an uncanny angle. Someone else might have balked, but Farren only felt the faint quiver of tension in his body. He took a breath, letting it drain away, if she meant to strike him, so be it.
“It was,” he confirmed, his voice firm, his gaze unflinching. He made no response to her stating his name, there was no need, it was self-evident. If only due to his own determination to weather the storm, a certain steeliness came into his gaze in that moment as she approached.

Never wavering, never breaking eye-contact, her smile never so much as twitching, Gerlinde walked up to Farren. This woman who looked so different from the one years ago, in another life; one who had once been a light weight on his shoulder, defenseless and pathetic, was now a Hunter only a handful of centimeters shorter than him, bearing a deadly weapon on her hip. There could be no doubt that with her new nature, she was as beautiful as she was lethal.
She moved in close, raised her arms, wrapped them around Farren's shoulders and pulled him into a tender embrace, pressing her body into his, gently resting her forehead against his chest.
“You must have felt terrible,” she said, with not even a hint of resentment in her voice. “You poor thing. I am so happy I finally met you.” She raised her head to meet his gaze once again. “Farren.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream – Ophelia, Gerlinde and Torquil (Collab)

Gerlinde giggled energetically at Ophelia's question. "I'm doing great! Becoming a Hunter like this has been like a dream - no pun intended - and... well, it's amazing! What I can do! Places I can go! Things I can see! It's been the best thing that ever happened to me!"

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully, not letting it escape her notice that Gerlinde was glossing over a chance to be vulnerable but not pressing about it either. "Mmm... We've been Hunters for, what, a handful of hours? I perhaps don't quite have your... level of comfort with all of it, just yet... though I have found myself quite accepting of it. If you're doing alright, dear, then what sort of things have you been up to for a week? How did you find yourself transformed?"

"Oh, now that's a story!" she laughed, the smile never leaving her face for even an instant. "The white church found me in a secret room in Byrgenwerth, where I'd been for gods know how long, and I was... well, you're here, so you must know what the sickness feels like. I was on the verge of death, and nice-old-man Harold had me turned into a Hunter." She paused, looking mildly thoughtful for a second. "I supposed it wasn't actually much of a story, huh?" She giggled. "And since then I've just been exploring!"

"Byrgenwerth... now that's a curious place to be found!" Ophelia smiled, though something in her features darkened at Gerlinde's mention of 'nice-old-man' Harold. She pondered, for the briefest of moments, letting Gerlinde know that he wasn't all that he seemed... but Ophelia couldn't trust her to not be loose-lipped, and it was imperative that he not find out that she was aware of his little tricks.
"And how did you come to arrive at the Interstice?" Ophelia asked next, delivering the line as confidently as she could despite having no knowledge of its meaning herself. She studied Gerlinde's reaction intently, fishing more for that than any real answer.

Gerlinde just stared at Ophelia for a moment. "Interstice? I don't... oh!" She clapped her hands. "You mean my Caryll Rune! I actually wanted to show you what I'd - huh?"
She had taken a step toward the table where the runebrand had once been, only to stop as she noticed it was not there anymore. "Where'd it go?"

"Ah, I can answer that!" Ophelia laughed, leaning down to retrieve the runebrand from the little ones before proffering it to Gerlinde. "It is mine. The Shopkeeper slew my coven, the Witches of Hemwick, and took the runebrand during the Night of the Blood Moon... and I returned to it when I wakened in the Dream a few hours ago. I intend to always have it with the little ones, so I can offer my protections to those allies we gather in the Waking World - though if you send a scroll, I'll always be happy to send it off to you."

Gerlinde hesitated only for a second, her smile diminishing slightly, before she burst into a renewed grin and exclaimed: "So you're a witch! I was here, you know? On the Night of the Blood Moon. Not 'here' as in the Dream, but in Yharnam. In Byrgenwerth. But I was nice and safe in my secret room, so it all worked out in the end."
Taking the runebrand, Gerlinde opened the projection-case and offered for Ophelia to look. "Here, I'll teach you the Caryll Runes I've found so far."

Ophelia did indeed look, and after she was done she returned the favour to Gerlinde for the runes she knew--all except the Guidance rune, which belonged between her and the Holy Moonlight Sword alone.
"The last witch of Hemwick, such as it is! I was sent away, lest the madness take me... and I returned to the ruin of everything I'd known. But that was years ago, now... I'd gone to a distant land, looking for a cure for the sickness that wasn't to do with the Old Blood. Years later I... simply ran out of time, and here we are."

One of the runes Gerlinde tried to teach Ophelia was the Metamorphosis, which she already knew. The others, however, we all new.

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

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

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

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

Ophelia has obtained the Heir Rune, which doubles the amount of blood echoes one who memorizes it obtains from those who die near them.

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

Interestingly, Ophelia likely recognized the Deep Sea Rune; it was the one she had seen drawn on the corvid skulls back in the Industrial Ward.

"That's so sad," Gerlinde said with almost exaggerated-seeming sympathy, only to instantly switch back to being all smiles again. "You picked the Holy Moonlight Sword! I considered it, but it's too big and heavy for me... especially the old me."

"Quite the bounty of knowledge, love--makes my few seem paltry in comparison! I did... it called to me, and I've always revered Mother Moon. I feel closer than ever to her now, so I'm glad you didn't! This Dream rune... where did you acquire such a thing? At Byrgenwerth, I suppose?"

"Oh no, I didn't learn much of anything at Byrgenwerth, truth be told," she giggled, though for once both her voice and her smile seemed a little subdued. "I learned the Dream Rune from the Wise Master."

"Ah--I saw the headstone! I did find myself very curious--what's the Wise Master like?" Ophelia replied, once again observing the strangeness of how Gerlinde seemed to experience emotions but not acting upon those observations in any way.

"Oh, indescribable!" Gerlinde laughed, an impish quality entering her smile and voice. "I'll have to show you sometime. He's great!"

"Oh, love... You must be careful with the entities of the Nightmare. Agreements with forces from beyond are not to be entered into lightly, nor without appreciation for what precisely they entail." Ophelia spoke, though her last sentence sounded more like someone else's words drilled into her that she was repeating than words of her own. "Have you figured out what your purpose here is, yet? Do you have any insights on that front, Shopkeeper?"

Gerlinde blew a raspberry and waved her hand dismissively. "Purpose-smurfurse. Probably to find some big, nasty thing and kill it."
The doll looked at the Shopkeeper for a moment, then back at Ophelia. "I am sorry, good Hunter, but we cannot tell you what your purposes are. We do not know your purposes; we are here merely to help and guide you on your hunt, not to tell you where it will end."

"Ahh... you don't want it to end, eh? It's funny... I can't imagine another life, now, even after a scant few hours. Even if you never intend to use the option, I think it's a good idea to at least be aware of it--it's better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it... but there's no rush. Have you worked out what the golden markers are, yet, dear?"

She shrugged. "Seem to keep the little ones and other beings of the Nightmare away. As long as I have the Dream Rune memorized, I can't go near them either."

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully at that, shifting a little on her feet. "That tracks with what I'd surmised. Can you memorise another rune and no longer be affected? It has a certain feeling of permanency to it, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, easily! It's only permanent as long as it's memorized. I just memorize a different rune and I can go bother the white church fellows as much as I want."

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully again. "Did the Wise Master want anything, for teaching you these runes?"

Again Gerlinde smiled impishly. "I just had to be respectful, and apologize when I wasn't. I gave him a bit of sausage, but I don't know if he'd have taught me without it."

"... sausage? Is... is he a dog?" Ophelia asked, barking out a little laugh. "Are there any other interesting places you've been able to explore?"

"Close. Sort of. He's a mouse!" Gerlinde giggled. And oh, so many places! Like, can you believe, I found a basin in the Nightmare that can change how you look!"

"Ah--so that's the trick of it! You chose very well, of course, but... that makes a certain amount of sense... Whereabouts?"

"I can show you," Gerlinde offered. "The nearest lantern is the one I called 'Halls of the Old Lords', but it's a walk there and there are some nasty creatures in the area. But the basin can change, like, everything! You can even change whether you're a man or woman! Let me tell you, I did not look this good when I first became a Hunter."

"I'd like to stay in the Dream for now, love, just in case Farren needs anything--but an outing there together when I'm less bound by obligation sounds lovely! I'd be happy to explore with you. I feel like I'm the one asking all of the questions, though--do you have any that you'd like to ask me, dear?" Ophelia returned, breezing past Gerlinde's last comment.

"Of course! I just figured I'd been around for longer, so there'd be more I could tell you than the other way around." Her eyes began shifting all over the place again, as if trying to look at everything, everywhere, all at once. "But since you offered... how did you change the sky here? And how come there's three of you? I didn't even know there could be more than one Hunter here at a time."

Ophelia took a moment to consider that, though she ultimately just shrugged. "That one is as much a mystery to me as it is to you, love. I've visited the Dream... thrice? Come to think of it... it didn't change that second time, when I came in alone--and it has changed when I've entered with Farren and Torquil. Torquil, love, have you noticed any... changes when we enter the Dream? Anything at all." She mused, turning to Torquil to address him with her standard smile.

Torquil sniffed, having just finished idly scratching his nose. "It makes me feel sad," was all he had to say on the subject.

"Oh... well, if there's some way I can cheer you up, do let me know?" Ophelia replied to Torquil, giving him a soft look of pity and desire to help briefly before she turned back to Gerlinde. "There is... some clue that might be relevant, but... if I tell you, would you please keep it just to yourself? Controlling information is like herding cats!"

Gerlinde shrugged. "Sure. You may not believe it, but I haven't told anyone most of what I've told you already; I can keep a secret."

"Your word is good enough for me, love; I believe you. I'm the only one of our little trio bearing true Paleblood--I'm the only one who had the sickness. The others... theirs was induced, by the White Church. That's the only difference between us that I've become privy to, and I've no idea what it means in the greater scheme of things... so it might be related to the capricious nature of the Dream's goings-on, or not."

Suddenly there was a loud bump of something hitting wood, caused by the Shopkeeper abruptly allowing themselves to fall back into the wall they had been standing in front back-first. They slid down and sat on the ground, hanging their head as they did so.
"I'm sorry, good Hunter," the doll said nervously, "but... did you just say that the Healing Church induced Paleblood? How... how could such a thing be? We sense Paleblood in good Farren and good Torquil, but you cannot induce Paleblood. It is impossible."

"Oh, that's what I had wanted to discuss--I'd completely forgotten that I hadn't told you yet! Please accept my humblest apologies," Ophelia began, rushing over towards the Shopkeeper and the Doll. She proceeded to fill them in on everything they'd learned from the Vicar and Dietrich, making sure to repeat details exactly as she'd heard them for veracity's sake.

"An experiment..." Gerlinde muttered quietly in the background, and if Ophelia looked she would find that the woman was not smiling for once, but instead wore a deeply troubled and anxious expression. It seemed that hearing about had shaken her quite a bit.
The Shopkeeper, meanwhile, merely shook their head in a manner that seemed dejected, though it was difficult to say for certain without being able to see their face.
"Paleblood comes from the essence of the Dream," the doll explained nervously. "It is a product of the Nightmare and no mere disease of the Waking World. This is most troubling news, good Hunter... and may go some way to explain the irregularities in the Dream of late. If someone has managed to imitate Paleblood with essence from another realm of the Nightmare, that might make the connection more tenuous and unstable." She sighed. "I beseech you, if you learn anything else about this, please share it with the Shopkeeper or I."

Ophelia nodded along empathetically with the Doll's concerned mannerisms, getting to one knee after she'd finished speaking and looking directly at the Shopkeeper.
"I am but a humble servant of Mother Moon, who hangs brightly in the sky here, as are all true witches. I will stop at nothing to discover the truth of what is happening and report it back to you, by my troth." Ophelia spoke solemnly, holding the Holy Moonlight Sword directly in front of her and resting her forehead gently on its radiant blade as she made her promise.

The Shopkeeper did not raise their head, though they did perform a small nod.
"Thank you, good Hunter," the doll said solemnly, "but do be careful. Not just anyone could do something like this. We have sensed powerful forces moving in Yharnam since the Night of the Blood Moon, but for something like this to have happened must mean that a major event is underway."

Ophelia stood once again to her full height, nodding at both the Shopkeeper and Doll, and then turned around back to Gerlinde. "Witches traditionally take on apprentices, love. Would... you like to be mine? Your natural instincts of curiosity and exploration would serve this task well, I think, and none of us want something bad to happen to the Dream or its denizens... For the end of the Dream would be the end of your freedom. I... I think it has something to do with the queer gold... Though it appears to reject things of the Nightmare, that might only be the barest hint of what it truly is, and what it truly does." Ophelia stated, her voice taking on something of a rambling quality as she let the waves of ideas wash over her--though she kept her eyes on Gerlinde, and her ears on the Shopkeeper and Doll.

Gerlinde still seemed half-dazed and deeply disturbed from the news she had just overheard being delivered to the doll and the Shopkeeper, so it took her a couple of seconds before she even reacted to Ophelia's words at all, and another couple before she could manage a strained smile.
"What an offer," she said, and though she was clearly trying to present the same kind of eccentric enthusiasm she had earlier it was clear that she was still recovering. "A witch's apprentice, huh? I... can't say I even know what witches do."

"Ordinarily, unspeakable rituals in the dead of night! I have something simpler in mind, though: my primary goal is now to work out what, precisely, this 'false paleblood' is and how it might affect the Dream--and we... simply forge onward from there. I think it terribly dangerous for us to be alone, even immortal as we are, and... I want to keep you safe, Gerlinde. I want to keep us all safe. You don't have to say yes now, or at all if you don't want to--I'm just... sentimental. An old bat in spirit, if not in flesh, who needs something or someone to live for." Ophelia laughed in return, though it was that awkward and unsettling kind of laugh that covered up something otherwise quite raw and vulnerable.

Shrugging and looking off to the side at nothing in particular, Gerlinde took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself somewhat. "I'm not sure about the rest, but I wanted us to team up, too, so it works out. I'll help you guys with your stuff, and you help me with mine."

"Then an accord is struck! I can't promise the help of the others, of course, but you can always count on mine." Ophelia began, before making her way over to the wall where the Blades of Mercy lay and taking them from their resting place gingerly. She knelt down to beckon the little ones and passed the blades off, with a quick instruction to please take them to Farren at the Black Workshop.
"I suppose this necessitates that we discuss the White Church further, mm? Have you learned aught from them about their meddlings in the realms of Nightmare? You seemed as surprised as the Shopkeeper and Doll did, so I'm not sure, but we must begin by understanding the boundaries of our ignorance."

"Me too," Torquil awkwardly supplied from his place by the door. Though he was not entirely clear on what he had just agreed to, it just felt natural for him to offer after Ophelia had done so while saying that she could not speak for him and Farren.

Meanwhile Gerlinde pulled out one of several padded wooden chairs shoved into one corner of the room, smoothed her skirt with her hands and sat down. She crossed her arms over her stomach, threw her right leg over the left one and started idly wiggling her right foot as the conversation continued.
"Nothing like that, no," she said, and her smile seemed to gradually become less forced and more natural. "I mean, the gold plinths are at their workshop and nice-old-man Harold's garden, so that may be something, but besides that? I have to admit, I haven't been paying a lot of attention to the people in the factions. Whenever I go there it's always 'help us do this,' or 'can you find this thing,' or 'kill these beasts.' It's boring. I'd much rather spend my time exploring."

"Mmm... it's quite something how different we are, isn't it? The most precious forms of knowledge don't survive outside of a living mind, love, so our predilections must lean towards the living if we wish to acquire it. Most people don't have anything worth knowing rattling around their hollow little skulls, it's true, but they still have eyes--and with enough eyes, one can see anything. If it's exploring the realms of Nightmare that makes you tick, you've my blessing to keep doing so: we'll need to avail ourselves of everything we can. I'll hold the fort with the people of the Waking World, and we can keep each other apprised?" Ophelia offered, her right hand idly drumming a tune onto the wooden apparatus where once the runebrand was kept as she thought.

Gerlinde's foot stopped wiggling, and her smile and eyes both grew what seemed like probably the widest they could possibly be; so wide, in fact, that the expression looked almost painful. "Eyes, huh? That's your thing?"

Ophelia nodded. "Quite; they were the preferred medium of my mentors, and the apple didn't fall far from the tree. With enough eyes, there might be no limit to what we can see... though part of me wonders if that's a mere contrivance, a creation of those terrestrially bound and without access to the worlds we can now slip into freely... I suppose the only way to know is to do some exploring of my own, hmm?"

Gerlinde stared at Ophelia, her expression unchanging as she listened. "The guys at Byrgenwerth were obsessed with eyes, too. Especially their leader, that ancient-looking Willem-guy. Had giant jars full of them. Gone now."
She uncrossed her legs before asking: "Where were you from again? Hemwick, you said?"

"'Fear the Old Blood', that Willem? I suppose you'd have much more knowledge of him than I would... or perhaps not, if you were sequestered away in a little room... It must have been awful, love, I'm sorry you had to endure it. Hemwick, that's right, such as it was. My Hemwick doesn't exist anymore."

"I heard stories. The people of Hemwick weren't very particular about waiting for people to die on their own before taking their eyes, were they?"

"No, not particularly. Anyone who ended up on the carts being moved about the Charnel Lane was going to die either way: be it from filth and disease, from opportune scavengers, from locals eager to curry favour with the Witches... I myself plucked the eyes from a few still-living, though I truly don't believe they had long left. I... wonder if I should pity them?" Ophelia asked, blinking to herself as she considered her past actions as though another person had committed them... but it wasn't another person at all, and she knew that. It was just... her. And she'd do it again.

"Indeed." Gerlinde finally tore her eyes off Ophelia and instead looked into her own lap, still smiling, but with a distant look in her eyes. "Such amazing dedication to the cause. The scholars were the same, willing to do whatever needed to be done in the name of progress. Such incredible things they must have learned... and you, too!" She raised her head to look at Ophelia again. "You must have learned so much from their sacrifices, right? The world has been made a better place because of it, right?"

"A better place? No... I don't think so. It might have become one, with time, but the Night of the Blood Moon cut all of that short. All that knowledge was nothing more than kindling for the madness, in the end... And all that suffering for naught, too. I... I'm lucky just to have survived it, truth be told... to be one of the few left capable of introspection. Do... do you think less of me, knowing what I've done for the sake of a truth that I never even really got to glimpse? It wasn't until I came here, until I beheld Holy Moonlight, that I realised it was all child's play--too visceral, too..." Ophelia sighed, her voice becoming wistful and croak-filled--if one couldn't see her face, they'd be forgiven for thinking it truly was an ancient crone speaking. She'd... never really thought about it before, and the questions laid bare a subtler truth than the one she'd been seeking.

"Less of you? No! No no no no no no!" Gerlinde assured her, leaning forward as she did so, only to let out a shrill, manic laugh. "We must learn, right? That's why people don't matter. Why they can be thrown away. Knowledge is more important. That's why I'm exploring! To learn! I never learned anything at Byrgenwerth, all those years... but now I will! But I don't mind helping you help people, if that's what you want! I'll go with you! We'll learn together!"

"Knowledge... yes, it is important. Perhaps the most important... but it must be tempered with nobility. There is very little I would not sacrifice for knowledge--those assembled here, and Farren; those whose deaths would offer comparatively little gain... but beyond that? I used to have a dream, you know. Of a great city, unbuilt in mortal lands, beneath the tides of Dream... A city of which we are all citizens, but none of us will ever see. Perhaps the greatest city of all must remain unbuilt, for in idea it remains perfect... but perhaps not. I could never work out what it meant." Ophelia replied, cryptically and her own gaze suddenly distant and not all-together there.

She giggled manically. "You sound like Master Willem."

Ophelia giggled in return. "That's quite the compliment! We have a chance, a real chance, to make change. To correct the mistakes of the arrogant past, to usher in a new age of knowledge... A world worthy of Mother Moon's gaze at last. But... there is much to be done before we can get there, love. We must first ourselves become tempered by knowledge and nobility both--for which we will need both to explore, and to help others. If we do it right... they will beg us to deliver unto them a new age of Knowledge. We will all, at last, be worthy."

"Nice-old-man Harold said something similar once," Gerlinde observed, her smile diminishing to somewhat more natural proportions. "Sounds like you have it all figured out; pretty impressive after being a Hunter for just 'a handful of hours'. So what's the plan?"

At that, Ophelia's face dropped noticeably. The comparison to Willem was an honour; to Harold? It made her feel sick, and she let out a shuddering breath as she tried to breathe the disgust she felt out. "No, love, no. I know merely the barest hints of the shape that things should take... We will simply have to reassess whenever we learn more. To that end... A god of some kind used to keep Hemwick safe. I'd present offerings to it, at a shrine of sorts, deep in the Forbidden Woods--I have to go back. Would you like to join us, or do you have somewhere else you'd rather explore? After that... or maybe before, if we have a good lead, I think what we need to do is follow up on this false Paleblood. Oh, and, Gerlinde... you must never be afraid to raise dissent. If you think I am wrong, I would like to know--and if I think you are wrong, I won't hesitate to tell you either. We have to keep each other honest, don't you think?"

"Sure, sure, honesty's probably important," Gerlinde agreed, though her tone was somewhat dismissive. "A god in the Forbidden Woods, you say? Yeah, I'll definitely come along, I'd love to meet another Great One."

"In the name of honesty, then... Do you realise that Harold has manipulated you? Though... I'm not sure if it's him, or the Lumenflowers: the whole 'nice old man' thing... It's a sick compulsion, a violation of your mind--you should know that, if you don't already. Anyone who must force affection upon others is..." Ophelia started but did not finish, letting the bile in her tone express the depths of her distaste.

For a moment Gerlinde just stared at Ophelia, her smile faltering. "Why do you think I call him nice-old-man Harold? Something's tried to manipulate me, definitely, but it hasn't worked."

Ophelia shrugged. "Makes it seem like he was successful, to me, if you call him the thing he wants to be called... but that's good to know. I've tried to warn Torquil and Farren, but... I don't know how much use a warning is, against something that attacks the mind. Forgive me for underestimating you, in that case, love."

"No offense taken," Gerlinde shrugged. "It seems to be working on pretty much everyone else. Guess we're just mad enough to see through it, heh."

"Mad enough to see through it... I suspect we are indeed, love. At least we're in good company now, mm? Though... doing something about it is difficult; Harold is a key part of the stability of Yharnam. Dietrich and I have a good relationship so far, I think... I'll pop over and have a chat with him at some point. Gosh, they never tell you that with power comes an endless slew of tasks, do they? I can see why you ran off to explore the first chance you got!"

Again Gerlinde shrugged. "Harold was the only one trying to push a task on me that actually sounded interesting, though. He said that something big and dangerous was going on in Yahar'gul, 'like the Nightmare was getting closer,' but even once I found the place I couldn't figure out a way to get in. And then the Followers showed up and started killing me every time I went back there, and... yeah, it's a mess."

Ophelia's right eyebrow perked up at the mention of Yahar'gul, and she shot Gerlinde a sly and mischievous grin. "I can help you there, I think, love. Someone I used to know has recently acquired eyes that shine with the light of the cosmos themselves; I suspect they'd all fancy a look at the Holy Moonlight Sword. They fall over themselves in ecstasy for tiny glimpses of starlight; never mind getting a true look at a handsome shard of the most glorious entity in all the Great Dark Beyond... or maybe they'll kill us either way. The thing is, love, to keep us out they will have to get lucky every hour for the rest of their lives. We only need to get lucky once."

"Sure, but getting lucky there is really hard when the place is built like a fortress and you're constantly being harassed by people trying to kill you. And don't count on them inviting you in just because you have the sword; they're not really the 'show me yours and I'll show you mine'-type, they're more 'I like your thing, so I'll kill you and take it'-type. And some of them are really dangerous."

"How rude! Well, one immortal apex predator might not be able to do the trick... but how about four? Can we whittle their numbers down, maybe? Or perhaps we find a weak link; one amongst them must be willing to parley, must want something. I'll speak with Naira; perhaps she is the weak link, or perhaps she knows of them... Though after we go to the forest, of course--and for that, we'll need Farren to return. I wonder why he left so abruptly; he was acting very strangely when he found out I'd written to you."

Gerlinde abruptly straightened at the mention of Naira's name, her eyes going wide. "Naira? Wait, that's who you know?! The leader of the Followers?!"

Ophelia's eyes widened in return. "Why, yes, though this was many years ago--it might be more accurate to say the Witches knew her? Still, we met before in another life--I think she'd remember me. Leader of the Followers, you say? My, she's done well for herself."

"She's probably the most dangerous person in Yharnam right now if you ask me. She has some insanely powerful arcane tools her Followers have found for her... and she knows how to use them. I haven't even managed to get close to her, even with Snakey. Which reminds me..."
Gerlinde stuck out her left arm and showed off the snake molt wrapped around it. "This is my own little arcane tool. Found it in the Forbidden Woods, actually, now that I think about it. If I feed it some quicksilver first, it'll literally gobble up magic and spit it back out again. It's a bit tricky to use, but if I do it right, I can use it to turn magic attacks aimed at me back at my attackers."

"What a good little familiar! Every witch worth her salt needs one, so I'm glad you found yours. Mine is... the Holy Moonlight Sword, which only sounds odd. And they're beckoning the Nightmare closer, you say? It sounds to me like Naira is delving into the mysteries of before the Night of the Blood Moon, and I wonder how equipped she is to handle those things... I think we'll have to keep a close eye on her. Yahar'gul held secrets that my mentors would refuse to speak of, so I shudder to think what she might unleash if given the means." Ophelia replied, reaching out her right hand to gently pat the moulted snakeskin affectionately, like one might to a real pet.

"You do realize it's just a molt, right?" Gerlinde giggled, retracting her arm. "I haven't been able to learn much; the Followers there aren't much for conversation and I haven't been able to make it past the outer walls, so all I have to go by is what nice-old-man Harold told me. Don't know much about anything besides what I've been able to figure out this past week, actually; I'm not from around here."

"Never underestimate the power of intention, nor the recipients of its imbuement. Life may fill a suitable vessel, when the conditions are made right." Ophelia laughed in return. "I suppose in that respect my own knowledge is greater than yours, though... I only really know Hemwick, and a bit of Central Yharnam. I was mostly bound to a chair while I was there these past few years. It seems we've much to do, doesn't it? I apologise in advance for Farren, he can be... gruff. But he knows his Hunts, and he's very perceptive--he'll be a worthy ally, that much I am certain of beyond doubt. As is Torquil, and as are you."

It was at this point that the doll spoke up again: "As you speak of Yahar'gul and the Nightmare, you should know that it was there that the School of Mensis beckoned the Nightmare and summoned the Blood Moon. It would not be strange if their rituals from that night had left a lasting tear between realities. If you go there, good Hunters, please be cautious; it may still be a place of grave dangers."

"I've always known that there are differing... arcane traditions, one might say--but I don't know where they came from, just that my own comes from the School of Mensis. Do you have a better idea, love? If we are to avoid the mistakes of the past, we must know what they were." Ophelia asked the Doll, though it was mostly an exercise in asking the Shopkeeper via proxy.

The doll looked to the Shopkeeper, then back at Ophelia. "Byrgenwerth, the old Healing Church and the School of Mensis were all wiped out on the Night of the Blood Moon, though their decline began long before then. We would encourage patience and caution over all else. Each of them desired evolution in their own way, but they failed to understand that evolution is not instantaneous; trying to make it so was what caused their ruin."

"You consider Byrgenwerth and the School of Mensis to be separate?" Ophelia asked in return to that supposition, pondering what it would mean if they were. Her understanding was that the School of Mensis had taken Byrgenwerth's assertions and experiments to the next level--that they were spiritual successors... but that was, in truth, a half-baked idea built upon a poorly-understood context. She had never spoken with a true scholar of any of those institutions: where her knowledge truly came from she could not say.

"Byrgenwerth were obsessed with insight, and went to great lengths to obtain it by means available in the Waking World," the doll explained. "The School of Mensis sought their insight from the Nightmare, which is not wise... though they were not the first to do so."

"Oh? Who was?" Ophelia replied, tilting her head to the side to rest her cheek upon the Holy Moonlight Sword. Gerlinde, it struck her, seemed to be following in the footsteps of the School of Mensis. She'd already drunk deep of the realms of Nightmare, that much was obvious: what had she invited in upon herself, unknowingly, Ophelia wondered?

"The originators; the first to discover the Old Labyrinth and the vessel of the Old Blood: Willem, Laurence and Gehrman."

"Gehrman? I can't say I'm familiar, though... I think you built a statue of him, out there? And the Old Labyrinth... is that truly where it all began, or just where we rediscovered it? Did any of them have the right ideas at all? Should we be looking to the past to inform the future at all? It would be easier, of course, if the path we must tread was already marked..."

"The Old Labyrinth is where it began for Yharnam, at least," the doll said, nodding her head sadly. "There have been others before and concurrent to it. Loran. Pthumeru. Isz. But we know very little about them besides the fact that none of these places exist anymore."
She sighed. "And Gehrman was the first Hunter. Not only was the First Hunter as the leader of the hunt, but also the literal first one to become a Hunter. When he and the others beckoned the Nightmare, they were more fortunate than the School of Mensis... for while the School called upon unstable and destructive forces, the first time they called the Dream. And the master of the Dream, a Great One they called the Moon Presence, responded."

"Moon Presence..? Mother Moon?" Ophelia asked, eyes wide with wonder. "The Holy Moonlight Sword, this most handsome shard... is it of this Moon Presence?"

"We cannot say for certain," she said, shifting uncomfortably, "but we don't think so. The Moon Presence was slain, but the sword remains and retains its power."

"Slain? By..." Ophelia began, before motioning her head towards the Shopkeeper. She did not wait for the affirmative response. "... Oh my. Moira mentioned something about you, that... made you sound like you weren't a person, I suppose. Not like us, at least. Did you... find your own path, after your long Hunt?"

"That... is a tale I had hoped Hunter Farren would be here for as well. But I suppose circumstances have come to require that you know about the Shopkeeper, and what happened on the Night of the Blood Moon. How much do you already know?"

"Scant little, love. I was sent away some weeks before it occurred, and returned only afterwards. Getting a lucid accounting of events from anyone seems an impossibility, except perhaps yourselves."

The doll sighed. "There is a reason for that, good Hunter, and it is not merely that the people of Yharnam were slain or driven mad."
"Oh, she's going to tell the story again!" Gerlinde giggled gleefully. "Listen up, this is so good!"
"On the eve of the Night of the Blood Moon, a Paleblood Hunter awakened from metamorphosis, not unlike how you, Hunter Torquil and Hunter Farren did on this night. They found their way here, to the Dream, and with the guidance of me and its previous caretaker, Gehrman, they fulfilled their purpose, completed their hunt and ended the Blood Moon. But that is where the story gets complicated, for they did so by slaying a Great One.
You must understand, good Hunter, that the Great Ones are intrinsic to reality, and so reality itself rejected one of them being destroyed. And so reality... broke. Time shattered. While to you and everyone else in the Waking World there was but one Night of the Blood Moon, it actually occurred countless times. Many millions of times, more than you can even imagine. But each one had its own Paleblood Hunter, each one different, with a different past, age and abilities, each one making different choices and having different successes and failures. But every single one always ended up slaying at least that Great One.
But the night did end, of course, upon which all of those Nights of the Blood Moon - all those parallel worlds - collapsed back into one... and as they did, all those different Paleblood Hunters were compressed into a single being." She looked to the Shopkeeper. "The Shopkeeper is not just the Hunter that saved Yharnam from the Blood Moon; they are all the Hunters who saved it. Which makes their nature... complicated. Some of those Hunters were freed from the Hunter's Dream and lived on as mortal Hunters. Some replaced Gehrman and became prisoners of the Dream." She sighed. "And some became Great Ones themselves. The Shopkeeper is all of that, and none of that."

Ophelia nodded along with the story, paying the Doll rapt attention. Once they had finished spinning their tale Ophelia smiled and clapped with her one free hand. "The common theme is that this Moon Presence died, and... if the Great Ones are that which underpin reality... our very nature as Palebloods requires the existence of our Great One, then, does it not? If we have been filled since birth with the very essence of this Dream, may it not be said that we have always been Moon-touched? For Gerlinde and I to exist, you must have always been destined to take on the mantle of Mother Moon--for reality itself could not conceive of her lack, would not allow it. But... what is it you believe, dear? What is it that you want? Is this form of yours, comprised as it is of contradictions, tenable? Is it that very uncertainty that has allowed usurpers to create the false Paleblood? My mind swims with questions, the bedrock of my reality reduced to mud..."

"The Moon Presence was not the one slain in all nights," the doll corrected Ophelia. "Many nights it survived, and remained the master of the Dream. In the version of reality we have now, the Shopkeeper has slain three different Great Ones, and the Moon Presence was merely one of those. And in its absence, the Shopkeeper has become the master of this domain. But even we do not fully understand the current state of things. I am sorry, good Hunter, but that is all we can tell you."

"So... which one always dies? Which one has reality rejected? Which three?"

The doll closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, good Hunter, but we do not even know its name. It was the one beckoned by the School of Mensis, and the one who, perhaps accidentally, caused the Blood Moon."

"... Well, then... I suppose it is where the School of Mensis left off that we must pick up. We cannot allow their folly to be reborn, but we must know what they did--what they called out to, and what answered. Ahh... but my mind isn't ready for such insights, I know it. Do you... know how I might make myself ready? It cannot be forced."

"The insight they sought was not dangerous itself, but the ways they tried to obtain it were." The doll nodded her head solemnly. "We do not know how to do it safely, but as you say, it cannot be forced."

"This Wise Master that Gerlinde visited... do you know aught of them?" Ophelia asked, suddenly, and she also asked the same of the Holy Moonlight Sword. If it truly was the way in which a thing was learned that mattered more than the thing itself, Ophelia knew there could be no easy answers: but she did not lack for rigour, and she firmly believed there was always a path. She hoped it was one that she could survive walking down.

"We do not," the doll reported. "The Shopkeeper never encountered this creature. The Moonlight Sword we only know was lost in a Nightmare along with its former wielder, who the Shopkeeper had to slay to get it. It is a powerful arcane weapon, but has never been more than that to them... though the former wielder did speak as though he could hear the sword talking to him."

"Hm... What, I wonder, is the source of insight? I know my mind is a vessel, and that it contains thoughts, but what is the nature of those thoughts..? If it is not what is contained that is dangerous, but how one contains it, does the danger not lie in the vessel being unprepared for what it is asked to contain? Oh, I hate the idea of asking Harold, but... if he is capable of bringing thoughts unwelcome and unbidden to our minds, he must know something about the nature of thought that we don't. It... I suppose it can't hurt to go back to the Lumenflower Gardens before we head into the woods. Though... The false Paleblood experiment is his. Is it wise of us to bring Farren and Torquil to his doorstep?"

"I am just a humble doll, good Hunter, and though the Shopkeeper was quite competent with the arcane in some of their past lives, they were always a foreigner. They are not versed in the ways of Yharnam." The doll shook her head in resignation. "All I can say is to be careful, and to hold on to your humanity if it is dear to you. It may be wise to consult the vicar, but if he was truly responsible for developing this 'false Paleblood'... we cannot even guess at what else he might be capable of."
"Oh, he's definitely insane," Gerlinde volunteered. "He wanted me to go to Yahar'gul to stop the Followers and save the world, sure, but I get the feeling he's up to something, too. Why else would he be making so many Hunters?"

"Mm, one can see why he'd want to create an army of immortal Hunters. I can see two motives, though: he might have taken the path of the School of Mensis, and is simply delving too deeply into something he is not prepared for... or he might earnestly have designs for the world. I suppose interrogating some of his motives would be prudent--I'll see what I can learn of this false Paleblood and report back. You won't be able to follow with your Dream rune, dear--would you like to change it and come with me, or stay here? Would you like to come with me, Torquil? I wonder if it's a good idea... but on the other hand, if there's something about your false Paleblood I don't want us to be caught unawares by it."

"The Fire Dancers seem to think he's aiming for conquest," Gerlinde told her. "And sure, if you're going I suppose I'll go too. Guess I'll just switch to the Eye Rune for a bit."
"Whatever you think is best," Torquil said with a shrug. "I can go or I can wait here. I'm fine either way."

Ophelia beckoned forth the runebrand to hand it off to Gerlinde, making certain to study her reaction to its phantom pain. She then turned to Torquil, looking pensive. "Hmm... Why not come with, then, love? Harold will want to see you... Try to remember that he isn't a nice old man, though, no matter what happens."

Quite similarly to Victor before her, Gerlinde did not even seem to feel the pain at all when Ophelia pressed the brand to her skin. Her eyes and smile remained wide and unflinching through the process.
Torquil nodded his head firmly and with utmost solemnity. "Okay. He's not a nice old man. Got it."

And just then, Farren reappeared to the Dream right where they always did. As he did so he felt another tremor go through his blood, and suddenly the red sheen that hung over the sky seemed to abate as it took on more natural hues. Though thick, dark clouds remained, the rain falling upon the Dream turned now from blood to water, and from warm to cold.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Black Church Workshop, northeastern Central Yharnam – Farren

Having interacted with the marker on the headstone, Farren found himself waking up in a place that was much more familiar to him than the Hunter's Dream, though his memories of the place were from a time that had been mostly erased by his metamorphosis into a Hunter. He awakened in a little shaded gravel-strewn yard surrounded by a wall of stone and a gate of iron, beyond which he could see the taller and more gothic structures typical for Central Yharmam.
Opposite of the gate in the yard stood a squat, simple but sturdy building of stone and steel, with what appeared to be a person wrapped in a cloak and armed with a rifle, seated on a chair and guarding the area from its roof. It also had several thin chimneys ending in iron pipes that exuded streamers of smoke. It had no windows and but one single-wide reinforced door for entry, which Farren would know was equipped with enough internal locks, latches and bars to make it beyond what even the most powerful beasts could easily tear through, should they be somehow able to push through the incense filling the air from a handful of censers scattered about the yard. It was nowhere near as grand or impressive as the White Church Workshop up in the Upper Cathedral Ward, which almost looked more like a mansion or a small castle than a workshop, but it was thoroughly secure and functional.
Behind the workshop itself he could see two other, smaller buildings located to the left and right of the area, respectively, which he knew served as barracks – one for men and one for women – for Hunters to live in that had nowhere else to go. Though he could not see it from here, he also knew that there was a third building between the two and directly behind the workshop that served as combined kitchen, dining room and recreational area. Those three areas were generally open to everyone who came here, regardless of their creed or nature, as long as they were not beasts and remained peaceful and respectful. The workshop itself, however, was only for the Black Healing Church and those in its employ.
Predictably the one thing that was different about the area compared to how Farren remembered it was the familiar little crooked post with the pale-blue-glowing lantern he awakened facing, right in the middle of the yard. Aside from the one guard on top of the building the area was also mostly deserted – as was to be expected on a Night of the Hunt, when all the Hunters were out looking for prey – though it was clear that there were still people inside the workshop. He might also notice that there was no mist here and the sky was mostly cloudless, and rays of cold, pale light streamed in from the east. If he looked, he would see the rising full moon just barely starting to crest over the rooftops in that direction.

There was a twitch in the guard as Farren appeared, but whoever it was did not raise their weapon nor do anything that suggested they were alarmed at his spontaneous materialization. Given that the lantern was already lit and he knew that Gerlinde had been bound to the Dream for a week already, it would probably not be difficult to conclude that they had had opportunity to adapt to people showing up out of nowhere like this. He also knew that the Black Healing Church, unlike the white one, generally did not particularly care about allegiances or politics; they were as willing to deal with the white church and civilians as they were with Vilebloods, Followers and Fire Dancers. As long as someone was not a beast and did nothing to earn their hostility, everyone was welcome here.
Having a mission in mind and knowing how to achieve it, Farren would head for the door to the workshop and knock the sequence on it that functioned as a password. A cap slid aside on a tiny peek-hole, too small for even a finger to fit through, and Farren would know to show his face to it.
The latch clacked loudly and the handle turned even more so, the door opened and Farren was allowed to enter the workshop itself, which was not too dissimilar from the smithy they had just visited in the Industrial Ward, except a bit more cramped and with considerably more people. It was very hot in there due to the lack of ventilation while playing host to several very hot fires, but not insufferably so.

Going inside and to the right, Farren would head to that end of the room and select the rightmost out of three separate doors – these mere wood and much less secure than the outer door – and repeat the coded knock.
“Enter,” a man's voice shouted from within, sounding stressed and impatient.
Doing so, Farren would enter something like a small office. The walls to his right and in front of him were both lined with tall archiving cabinets, whereas the wall to his left was filled with a wide variety of craftsman's tools, from simple instruments like hammers and saws to less common ones meant for the delicate work it took to work on mechanical contraptions like guns or trick weapons. In the middle of the room was where these two worlds collided: a table that functioned as part-desk, part-workbench with piles of papers, writing implements and stamps sitting right alongside half-finished contraptions, gears, wires, canisters of gunpowder and more.
It was a mess, and so was the man seated behind the table: a pale, unshaven and disheveled forty-something fellow, with a spindly build, short brown hair and small blue eyes, the left of which looked twice as big as the other due to the monocle sitting in front of it. Seven – whose real name was Septimus, but who those who worked with him, at least, had given the nickname since the name literally meant “seventh” – looked up from the papers he had been handling and seemed surprised by what he saw. He was one of the people from the black church Farren had worked with semi-regularly in his past, and one of the main people responsible for its day-to-day operations. He was also a cleric – one who had received Old Blood that made him something that occupied the space between regular Yharnamites and Hunters – and wore a black church garb. His eyes initially went to Farren's equipment, noting all the trick weapons and guns he had managed to attach to his person, and only then to his face.
“Farren?” he said, the name being spoken as a question. He paused, then sniffed to confirm his suspicions. “You've become a Hunter?”

The Hunter's Dream – Ophelia, Gerlinde and Torquil

The doll bowed submissively in response to Ophelia's curtsy, Torquil mumbled something quiet and unintelligible, and everyone including the doll and the Shopkeeper began migrating inside the workshop to get out of the rain. As she entered, Ophelia might notice an irregularity with the wall adorned with unique Hunter weapons: though the spaces for the Holy Moonlight Sword and the Loch Shield were both still vacant, it appeared that tha Blades of Mercy had returned to their place there, right where they had first found them.

“Okay, alright, yeah, so...” Gerlinde began, turning to face Ophelia while idly – and unsuccessfully – trying to brush off the blood that had already fallen on her. She was still smiling widely, but her eyes were darting around all over the place, trying to observe and absorb everything at the same time. “Wait, Farren left? Aw. Well, that's fine, I guess. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other later. We're all stuck together now, as you say, after all.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“She is a Huntress like you, but it did not choose her. It chose you, Wielder, so her glory could never match yours. But she has great affinity for the arcane... and is also shifted across realities. Though you have a connection to the Nightmare, hers is stronger. She appears to exist in the Interstice,” the whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword replied to Ophelia's expression of wonder. Ophelia would almost certainly have no recognition of the word invoked here as a proper noun, “the Interstice”, though from the context it probably had something to do with realms of the Nightmare.

Torquil, meanwhile, had his own series of reactions to his first encounter with Gerlinde, though he did not interrogate his own feelings enough to think much of them beyond finding them momentarily interesting. His first reaction was probably the most predictable and primal, as the sight of her beautiful visage and provocative garb quite simply aroused him. This was mainly interesting to him because he had barely even been aware of his own sexuality until now, or if he even had one. He had had a vague, instinctive sense that his brain treated Ophelia as a potential mate and not Farren or Victor, but until now it had been a sort of detached conclusion without any kind of drive to pursue anything of the sort. Until this moment he had all but assumed himself to be asexual... but now he realized that he had been mistaken. He felt hormones flooding his body and brain, telling him that part of him was still human, and that he wanted to do something quite human with this woman.
His second reaction was much more surprising and concerning than the first, though: he felt angry. That sense of loneliness that had hung over his forgotten memories like a veil seeped into him once again, and a little voice told him that someone like her would never want to be with a freak like him. That he was going to be alone. The thought angered him, and his ire tainted how he saw Gerlinde. Rather than admire her beauty, he found himself resenting it and how far beyond him it was. Rather than appreciate her revealing clothes – which he fleetingly thought to himself was one swipe of a claw or blade from a malfunction that would leave her even more exposed – he thought them lewd and inappropriate. Harlot, he thought to himself, and he was shocked at just how much venom there was in his inner voice when he thought it.
But even so, it was the third and last reaction that shocked him the most, as the residual sadness that had assailed him upon entering the Dream spread like a haze across these other fleeting thoughts and feelings, and filled him with... shame. Guilt. Self-hatred. Disgust. Looking at Gerlinde's young, impossibly perfect face, Torquil felt an intense sense of remorse weigh him down for reasons he did not understand. He wanted her, but she also terrified him... and he did not even understand why.

Gerlinde herself seemed momentarily distracted from both Farren's awkward greeting and introduction, Ophelia's gawking or Torquil's musing, her attention drawn skyward as the sky was wreathed in dark clouds and it began raining warm blood. She stared up at the changing light and colors with eyes that were wide – almost too wide – with utmost fascination, and her mouth agape with amazement with what she was seeing.
It was only when Ophelia suddenly approached her that Gerlinde's attention returned to the ground, and her eyes fell on Ophelia moving to hug her. For a split-second something like intense fear and disgust flashed across Gerlinde's face, her entire body flinching protectively – pulling away a little, moving her arms in front of the body, her face turning away – as if expecting an attack. But all of this lasted only that long, before the brightness and glee returned to her eyes, her smile grew wider than ever, and she happily embraced the woman she had never met before, Holy Moonlight Sword and all. She seemed quite content to hug for the couple of seconds Ophelia intended, but once they had elapsed and Ophelia made the slightest move to separate, Gerlinde broke the hug as well... in a way that seemed a little hurried and relieved.

“Nice, right? I made it myself,” Gerlinde giggled, taking a step back, throwing her arms wide and doing a quick spin in place to show herself off. “I... Oh, there is so much I want to talk about! So much I want to show you! I've been alone here for a week – or, well, alone besides Dollie and Shoppie – and... No, I'm getting ahead of myself.” Her eyes widened again. “I wondered why the sky was different when I got here tonight, and then it changed again when you got here. You're weird. I like weird! Oh, this is so exciting!”
With a beckoning gesture, Gerlinde turned around and started walking up the stairs. “Let's head inside before we're drenched, though. I know we'll be clean and dry as soon as we leave the Dream, but it's still uncomfortable while we're here.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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.