Dark Jack

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

Gerlinde shrugged. “So Irreverent Izzy was the infamous Hunter-killer Skinner? Heh, seems likely, I guess. But I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting him. If he met an immortal Hunter, I'd imagine it was probably Moira.”

Farren, meanwhile, took the runebrand and went about exploring what he visualized as a “golden thread”; the traces of the mostly-forgotten madness that had been inflicted upon him by the golden halberd, which had eventually driven him to become a Hunter. Delving into that madness was doubtlessly very unpleasant, as the feelings lost to his amnesia were dredged from the murky depths of his consciousness, and the deeper he went, the more he felt it return and permeating his being. Just as when he had been exposed to Pallid's ominous bell he felt his paranoia growing as flecks of gold seemed to flicker in and out of existence; he felt as though there were someone watching him, figures lurking right at the edge of his vision, someone standing right behind him. He felt someone breathing on his neck, could vividly imagine a hand hovering a hair's breadth from his throat, fingers poised to grasp it and choke him.
But even more worrying, perhaps, was the fact that he felt like there was something inside him, too. Something observing him, listening through him, lazily writhing and slowly consuming him. Something curling around his spine, something crawling in his guts, something coiled around his heart, something looking through his eyes, something chewing on his brain. It was watching, and he got the sense that it knew he was aware of it. He sensed its amusement.
Refusing to shy away, however, Farren kept delving deeper, until he found something... else. Something tethered to the mental image of that golden halberd, and to the feeling of his fingers on its unnaturally warm metal. Something it had tried to teach him then, but his mind had not been ready to comprehend. But now, as a bearer of the Old Blood, he recalled it... and the projection-case of the runebrand flickered to life with a Caryll Rune none of them had ever seen before.

Farren has remembered the Sun Rune, which empowers Gold weapons with eldritch sunlight, causing them to burn with holy flame when striking and to obliterate bloodwraiths with ease.

And as this rune returned to him, he also felt a now-familiar tremor go through his blood... though it felt weaker than before.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

Torquil stumbled back as soon as the Memory of Irreverence loosened its grip on his mind, utterly overwhelmed by not only the experience itself, but the sense of... newfound understanding? Some vague sense of familiarity with an aspect of reality he had only had the barest concept of before. He had never been a particularly knowledgeable or insightful person, but somehow he felt as though absorbing this memory – this insight – propelled him far ahead of where he had been before. The world, and the Hunter's Dream in particular, felt and looked slightly different to him now than before. The doll looked more lifelike, less like an animated toy and more like a person made of porcelain; the text on the smaller headstones stood out sharper and clearer, and he felt more aware of them; even the statues of former Paleblood Hunters seemed more real, as if each of them was liable to jump off its base and walk around like living people. He felt a very noticeable shift in his perception of all things, and it terrified him.
Discovering the story of the serial killer they had stopped earlier – this “Skinner” – also struck a cord in him. Part of Torquil felt an odd kinship with Skinner, equating he murderer's exile into the Old Labyrinth to his own sequestering to his cabin in the woods. Again that sense of loneliness rose to the surface, and despite everything that had happened and all that Skinner had done, he felt a strong sense of sympathy toward him. He wondered if things could have gone differently, what could have been, and what speaking to Skinner might have taught Torquil about himself.
Then all of it faded into the background, because he could not immediately and easily reach any useful conclusions regarding any of it. It all occurred to him for a moment, wafted through his mind like a passing sound or scent, and was promptly dismissed as requiring too much thought.

“Well now, that was quite something,” Gerlinde, who had never met Skinner before and had no idea who he was, said with a smile. “A memory of Irreverent Izzy about Ludwig, the Holy Blade.”
When Ophelia asked for the Hunger Rune, Gerlinde was also quick to join in: “Oh, another Caryll Rune? Can I learn it, too?”

Ophelia, Torquil and Gerlinde have obtained the Hunger Rune. While branded onto a Hunter's mind, devouring the flesh of a living or recently deceased creature restores regenerative potential, similar to how a blood vial would have. Additionally, after devouring part of a creature you gain a small measure of its power as long as you are near it or its remains. If used in conjunction with a living weapon, this rune allows that weapon to have a second awakening that lasts for 60 seconds, at the cost of permanently erasing the last currently active benefit from an eaten creature.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Metamorphosis Rune. While branded onto a Hunter's mind, this rune increases their physical prowess. This effect can most accurately be described as them receiving an increase to their strength, endurance and vitality.

Farren and Torquil have 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.

Farren and Torquil have 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.

Farren and Torquil have 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.

Farren and Torquil have 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.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Heir Rune, which doubles the amount of blood echoes one who memorizes it obtains from those who die near them.

Farren and Torquil have 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.

Farren and Torquil have obtained the Eye Rune, which causes one to perceive the hidden facets of reality that would normally require insight more easily, though it also increases the vulnerabilities insight cause.

And finally, after conferring with the whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword for permission, Ophelia shared a rune that not even Gerlinde knew yet:

Gerlinde, Farren and Torquil have obtained the Guidance Rune, which will sometimes reveal sprites of light that draw attention to powerful traces of the Nightmare. Its effect is enhanced while wielding the Holy Moonlight Sword.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“I prefer to keep the Dream Rune memorized myself,” Gerlinde said, opting to replace the Eye Rune with that rather than the Heir Rune. “It lets me see pretty much everything and interact with some stuff that we can't normally touch. Like the little ones! Though it also makes creatures of the Nightmare notice me a lot more.”
The four of them spent a bit of time memorizing the Caryll Runes they needed before the time came for Ophelia to show her items to the Messengers, who eagerly offered the information echoing through the Nightmare they thought pertained to them:

Holy Moonlight Sword
An arcane sword discovered long ago by Ludwig.
When blue moonlight dances around the sword, and it channels the abyssal cosmos, its great blade will hurl a shadowy lightwave.
The Holy Moonlight Sword is synonymous with Ludwig, the Holy Blade, but few have ever set eyes on the great blade, and whatever guidance it has to offer, it seems to be of a very private, elusive sort. Yet it seems that it has made its whispers heard anew to its new wielder.

Messengers about the Holy Moonlight Sword

Kos Parasite
When the carcass of Kos washed up on the coast, its insides were teeming with tiny parasites, unlike any found in humans.
This atypical weapon can only be clasped tight and swung, but a Kos Parasite is said to stimulate phantasms inhabiting a lumenwood.
To one who offers the power of the Hunger Rune, the parasite will convey the unconditional love that Kos left her hapless Orphan. Numerous tentacles will grow and wrap its wielder in a warm, protective embrace, reminiscent of the mother's womb, shielding them from harm and mending all that ails them.

Messengers about the Kos Parasite

Rosmarinus
A special weapon once used by the Choir, high-ranking members of the old Healing Church.
Sprays a cloud of sacred mist, created by using blood-imbued quicksilver bullets as a special medium.
Arias are heard wherever sacred mist is seen, proving that the mist is a heavenly blessing.
“Oh, fair maiden, why is it that you weep?”

Messengers about the Rosmarinus

She also got the insight from the whispers coming from the Holy Moonlight Sword on the Kos Parasite: "This creature came from a Great One. It is something that has fed on the essence of the gods, and of the cosmos itself. There were once many, but now there is but one. The last remnant of her power."

With that out of the way, Ophelia finally offered Gerlinde to spend her last blood echoes on conjuring the memory she wanted from the Messengers' birdbath. Gerlinde gleefully accepted, but also voiced her concern that doing so might not be possible since the memories she had already drawn from the waters had been absorbed immediately upon calling them. Her best guess was that they might be able to share the memory if they huddled up close to each other while it was being conjured, upon which she suggested that all of them do so that they might all gain its insight. Farren was grateful for any distraction, and Torquil accepted because... of course he did.
Upon checking the birdbath, Gerlinde discovered that another memory had appeared therein since last she had checked – the Memory of Irreverence – and was happy to leave it to Ophelia to choose it or the Memory of Desperation. Ophelia opted for the former, reached out her hand and pulled the fractured skull from the water, expending her last blood echoes in the process.
As had happened the first time Ophelia absorbed a memory from the birdbath, the skull promptly turned to dust as soon as it gained physicality, which swirled up her arm toward her head... but this time also enveloped Gerlinde, Farren and Torquil, allowing them all to share in the insight it imparted.

Memory of Irreverence

Memory of Irreverence

Long ago, Byrgenwerth, Yharnam

A woman clad in the garb of a Sister of the Healing Church came up to him and offered a satchel that was familiar as the kind that contained blood vials and a tube of quicksilver bullets, both of which he accepted and could easily tell just by their weight that they were full. As soon as she had moved aside, a man in peasant's clothes approached and handed him a Hunter's Axe and blunderbuss, which he took as well. He thanked them politely, though what he truly felt was not so much gratitude as it was resentment, toward them and the entire organization responsible for all of this. He felt a creeping fear and anxiety, dreading what was to come, yet at the same time he was filled with an unyielding resolve: he would survive. No matter what, he would live.
The voice uttering the thanks would be familiar as well, as it was the same deep bass that Skinner had spoken with. But at this time, though he still towered over most other people assembled in the room, Skinner looked quite different. His appearance was much more groomed and refined, his limbs were slender and athletic rather than bulging and musclebound, and he was dressed in the garb of a Tomb Prospector.
And he was not alone: aside from the Sisters of the church, various workers milling about and an assortment of Byrgenwerth scholars here in the halls of their school, there was another Tomb Prospector with him. Another man of impressive stature, though not quite as tall as Skinner, who currently had his hood down so you could plainly see his handsome features, his brown hair tied in a ponytail. The same peasant that had given Skinner his axe returned to deliver this other Hunter a Church Pick and a pistol.
This other prospector turned and looked at Skinner with beautiful brown eyes and offered a smile that showed off perfect white teeth. A strong admiration, fondness and, indeed, perhaps a hint of arousal bubbled up from within Skinner, prompting him to smile back. Yet as much as he liked this man, there was still a part of him that disliked him as well. They were both here about to undertake a dangerous task that would likely cost them their lives, but their situations were quite different nonetheless. While people treated Skinner reservedly and with caution, people tended to like this man; and while Skinner was consumed with dread, this man appeared to be fearless.

“Relax, it'll be fine,” the man said, and even his voice was charming. Somehow, despite rationally knowing only too well that this was an empty assurance, Skinner actually felt comforted by his words. “I've done this lots of times before. We'll only be gone for a few days, and I'll be with you every step of the way.”
That was easy for him to say, though; this bright-eyed youth was here by his own volition, eager to explore the depths of the Old Labyrinth in service of the Healing Church and the gods. The Healing Church respected him for his courage and strength as a Hunter alike, while Skinner... Skinner's faith had been shaken. He had been to the fishing hamlet where First Hunter Gehrman and his aide, Maria, were doing their research, and had seen what they were doing. What the Healing Church was doing. His refusal to follow orders there was what had brought him here, to be sent to a place where no one could see or hear him... and from which he was unlikely to return alive, let alone with his sanity intact.
They were to search for relics and artifacts, of course, as all Tomb Prospectors sent into the Old Labyrinth did. Ever since Laurence, Gehrman and William found this entrance, and since they discovered the vessel of the Old Blood, more were sent into the depths to search for treasure every month.
“My name is Ludwig,” the Hunter introduced himself unnecessarily with an elegant bow, which Skinner awkwardly did his best to return.
“I'm Izzy.”

Later, deep in the Old Labyrinth

Izzy swung his axe, currently transformed to be longer and used with both hands, in a wide arc, sweeping aside three undead Pthumerians in one mighty blow, only for all three of them to disperse into smoke upon death while yet more followed. Skinner was painting heavily and sweating profusely, his stamina being pushed to its limit by these hordes of creatures swarming at him, coming in waves over and over, all while that damnable bell kept ringing somewhere nearby in the halls of the Old Labyrinth.
Please hurry, he pleaded, taking a couple of steps back to give himself just another breath or two before more undead reached him, prompting him to cleave through their feeble but numerous forms with his axe yet again. Then, finally, he heard the bell fall to the ground, and all the undead arrayed before him abruptly disintegrated without requiring him to dispatch them. You won't get me. I will survive. I'll live, no matter what.
It took a minute or so before Ludwig returned, bloody and somewhat disheveled, his face paler and more gaunt than it used to be, yet with a bright smile on his face. “Sorry it took so long, but I had to fight my way through another Keeper and his dogs to get to her.”
“It's fine,” Skinner lied, subtly pulling down his sleeve in an effort to hide a cut there that had yet to regenerate. “Did you find a way forward, at least?”
“I'm not sure.” Ludwig wiped the sweat off his brow and left a trail of grime in its place. “But I think I found the door that lever from earlier opened. It looks like there's a big room through there... probably another guardian.”
“Great,” Skinner groaned sarcastically. “What are we waiting for?”
“Hold on.” Ludwig stared at Skinner's hand, and looking down he realized that blood from his wound was dripping from his fingertips. “You need blood.”
“I'm fine for a little while yet,” Skinner growled, giving his best try at a reassuring smile, which turned into a pain grimace. “I only have two vials left; it'll heal in a few minutes, we don't need to spend blood on that.”
“Absolutely not.” Before Skinner could stop him, Ludwig walked up to him and jabbed him in the thigh with a syringe, upon which Skinner immediately felt the rejuvenating power of the Old Blood awaken within him and his wound closing in an instant. “And before you protest, consider it your share; I managed to fill a couple of vials from one of the Keeper's dogs.”
Skinner grunted noncommittally, but within a few seconds muttered a belated: “Thank you.”
“We're in this together, Izzy,” the other assured him, and though Ludwig looked just as ravaged and weakened by the days spent in these dark tunnels as Skinner, there was a curious strength of resolve within him that granted him an infectious sense of bravery to go on. “For the church and in the name of the gods, we will prevail, my friend.”
Skinner had to stop himself from audibly scoffing at the notion of doing any of this for the Healing Church or the gods. The church were the bastards that had sent him down here to die in the first place, and why would he serve gods that refused to do anything for him? He was here because he had to be, because he refused to die... and because he had Ludwig by his side.

Later, even deeper in the Old Labyrinth

A crack of thunder shook the halls of the Old Labyrinth as bolts of lightning tore jagged furrows through the stone, and Skinner had to quickstep to take cover behind a large piece of rubble in order to avoid being reduced to a charred husk, and Ludwig joined him a second later, panting just as heavily as Skinner. The giant undead beast was the first of its kind either of them had ever seen or heard of, and it was by far the most powerful adversary they had ever fought. Its body was made up mostly of naked, deformed bones with bits of necrotic flesh still clinging to them, still somewhat clad in fur and sporting murderous claws. But even setting aside its size and durability, the most troublesome part about it was its ability to wreathe itself in lightning and even project that electric energy outward in waves.
“I'll go right, you go left,” Ludwig gasped, raising his Church Pick – its edge chipped and warped, barely holding itself together after their many days fighting through the ilk of the underground – and getting ready to reengage their opponent. “I'll try to get its attention so you can get in close and chop its head off.”
Nodding his head grimly, Skinner extended the handle of his axe – also quite worn, with its head chipped and handle cracked – and got ready to move. “Let's go.”

They each darted on on their own side of the rubble and immediately started circling the nightmarish monster harrying them. Ludwig grabbed a molotov cocktail from his belt, lit the rag stuffed into it and threw it at the beast, only for the glass bottle to shatter on impact, spreading the flammable liquid that was instantly ignited by the burning rag. The dark beast let out a harrowing cry as its fur was lit aflame, and angrily swiped a huge, clawed hand toward Ludwig, who had to dive out of the way.
Skinner winced, feeling his hair standing on end and beginning to crackle with static electricity the closer he got to this creature, but forced himself to endure. It was focusing on Ludwig at the moment; not only was this the best opening he was going to get, but he had to stop it to save his friend.
I will live, he thought, raising his axe high over his head, and so will you, Ludwig. Even if it kills me, we'll both live.
With every shred of strength he could muster, Skinner swung his axe down onto the back of the skeletal beast's neck... only for the handle to break on impact, sending the axe-head clattering across the floor and leaving Skinner armed with only a bit of splintered wood.
Despite himself, Skinner could not help but smile as he saw one of the beast's hands coming toward him. Finding it morbidly amusing that after everything he had endured, it was something like this that was going to end him.
But Ludwig, the madman, got in the way; stepped in front of the hand being swung thrusting his Church Pick straight into its palm, piercing straight through it. Again the creature howled and thrashed in agony, its hand jerking away from Ludwig to escape the pain, wresting the weapon from his hands. Again its attention shifted.
Ludwig turned to Skinner and smiled. Charming. Fearless. Content.
Skinner screamed, his eyes filling with tears. Ugly. Terrified. Defiant.
The beast swatted Ludwig aside like he was nothing, sending him tumbling across the floor and – to Skinner's utmost horror – across the edge of a pit. He fell in silence and disappeared.

Skinner stared. For what felt like an extremely long time, he just stared at that spot where Ludwig had disappeared. Stared in disbelief. Stared in fear. Stared with determination.
Something awakened in him that was not part of him; hatred, rage and bloodthirst, yes, but those were emotions utterly natural for a Hunter. What revealed itself from the depths of Skinner's soul was not just that, but hunger. That word echoed within him, consuming him, coalescing into something more than a mere word as mortals spoke them. The kind of word humans could not hope to utter.
A madness whispered in his mind, promising him vengeance, and he welcomed it; welcomed the strength he found in insanity.
He leaped at the undead monster and landed astride on its back, burying the fingers of his left hand in its fur and tangling his fingers in it, while plunging the jagged remains of his axe into its body. Electric currents ran through him as he was now in direct contact with the abomination, burning his flesh and melting his hair, but Skinner did not care. He let out a roar to rival those produced by the beast, buried his face into its back, and sank his teeth into its rotten, still-living flesh. He tore a mouthful off, swallowed greedily, and felt himself being restored and empowered. Felt his muscles growing and bulging, filled with a power that was not his own.
He pulled the axe-handle free, breaking it even more as he did so, and jumped again, this time landing on the back of the creature's head. He plunged the axe-handle into one of its empty eye sockets until he found the familiar consistency of a brain. He pulled it back out, and stabbed again. And again. And again.

Later, far into the horrid depths of the Old Labyrinth

Skinner climbed down the sheer stone wall. He was sweaty, filthy, his clothes were ruined rags, but he descended nevertheless. He was going to live, and so was Ludwig.
His right hand punched at the wall, stabbing the pair of still-living bone blades he had harvested from the monster into the stone and tied together with strips of cloth, using them as a handhold so he could get down.
His left hand slammed into the stone and buried its bestial claws, transformed by the influence of the power of the beast he was tapping into, and used their inhuman strength to allow him to go further.
Down and down into the darkness of the pit he went. How long did he scale that wall? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Who knew. Did it matter? Time meant nothing in the Old Labyrinth. He was going down. He was getting Ludwig. There was nothing else.
But then, eventually, there was a light in the darkness: a soft, pale light, as if a ray of moonlight had somehow gotten lost and ended up in the bowels of the earth. It was not far below, but he kept scaling the wall until he felt ground under his feet.
Finally he found Ludwig who was, against all odds, alive. Skinner stared at his friend, overcome with disbelief and joy in equal measure, but also confusion. Ludwig did not appear to be incapacitated; what damage he had taken in the fall had evidently regenerated already, though it would doubtlessly have far surpassed the capacity of his regenerative potential. Skinner's fellow Hunter and Tomb Prospector had survived somehow... but that was not all.
Ludwig was cradling a giant sword made mostly of light. Was gently, lovingly stroking its blade, caressing it with the affection of a lover and the reverence of a disciple. Inexplicably he seemed healthier than he had last Skinner saw him, and there was something about the way the sword's luminescence glimmered in his eyes did not seem not quite natural. And those eyes looked upon the sword with such boundless admiration... no, more than that. Obsession.
“Ludwig?” Skinner called, his voice weirdly distant and hollow.
The other only hesitantly tore his gaze from the sword in his arms, and looked at Skinner with a soft, serene smile. “It was here all along, Izzy. Right here, waiting for us. For me. The gods meant for me to have it; it is the reason we are here, for me to get this. A true mentor. My guiding moonlight...”
“Let's get out of here,” Skinner growled, trying instinctively to take a step backward only to find his back against the wall. For some reason the sight of that sword filled him with dread. “Fuck the Healing Church, and fuck the gods; we've done enough. We both nearly died. Let's go; let's show those plague-ridden rats by getting out of here alive.”
“Izzy, Izzy, Izzy...” Ludwig shook his head and laughed softly. “Look at you. Look at what you've become. You spit on the grace of the gods and wield the power of beasts. I will return, but I think it would be better if you stayed here a while longer.”
Skinner felt his heart sink. “Ludwig?”
“The Healing Church will benefit enormously from me having this sword. I will be a champion to them, a hero to lead the Hunters of the Healing Church once they figure out that old one-legged Gehrman isn't fit to hunt anymore.” Ludwig stood and held up the Holy Moonlight Sword in front of him, gently resting his forehead on the flat of its blade. “But what could we possibly stand to gain by you being out among people like that? You'd be a disgrace to Hunters, the Healing Church and even to the gods. Someone like me needs to be seen, and held up as a symbol. Something like you... well, it's better for everyone if you were just forgotten.”
He lowered his sword and aimed its tip at Skinner. “I'm leaving. And you will stay here. Mark my words: if I see you again, Izzy, I will smite you with this holy blade.”
“Ludwig –” Skinner began, ignoring his instincts telling him to run and instead taking a step forward. In response Ludwig, which speed that seemed like it should have been impossible with such a large weapon, swung his sword through the empty air... and, in doing so, fired off a wave of shimmering force that struck Skinner like a battering ram.
Skinner got knocked off his feet, landed with his back against the wall, and started to panic at the realization that he could not breathe; his rib cage was crushed and lungs collapsed. He could taste blood. It only took a couple of seconds for him to regenerate and be able to breathe again, but the realization that the hit he had just taken – the hit delivered to him by his only friend – could easily have been lethal had still sown a new horror in Skinner's heart. He's stronger now... much too strong. He could kill me with ease.
“Take comfort in knowing that I will bright light to the Healing Church,” Ludwig told him elatedly. “My Church Hunters will be honorable spartans. There will be a golden age.” He looked the sword covetously. “No... an age of light.”

Days, weeks, months, years, decades, forgotten in the depths of the Old Labyrinth

Kill. Eat. Live.
Kill. Eat. Live.
How long have I been stuck in this nightmare? Is it safe for me to leave? Will it ever be safe? Ludwig will kill me. He will really kill me. I can't win.
Kill. Eat. Live.
Kill. Eat. Live.
I will consume these creatures and make their strength my own, and I will wear part of them so that what I ate keeps feeding my strength. I will become strong enough. I will!
Kill. Eat. Live.
Kill. Eat. Live.
I will live. I will survive. I will kill. I will kill Ludwig. I will kill them all.

And the memory fades...

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

The doll looked to the Shopkeeper, then back to Ophelia. “I am afraid that we do not know how a vial of your human blood would be useful, good Hunter. Many unassuming artifacts can come to possess power through sympathy and the influence of the Nightmare, though, so we also cannot guarantee that it will not be useful.”
Again she looked to the Shopkeeper. “Though the Nightmare creeps ever closer to Yharnam this night, we do not feel as though its presence is an urgent threat anywhere yet. A powerful presence lingers, but we cannot yet tell exactly where it will strike.”
“So maybe the solution is to do the opposite of hurrying?” Gerlinde suggested with a chuckle. “We know that we're probably going to stop Harold, but we also know that we need some kind of protection before we do it. So we go somewhere not related to him at all?” She shrugged. “There are so many options, honey. The Wise Master might know something, but it seems like it's a roll of the dice whether he knows anything about anything. He knows a lot, but his knowledge can be... erratic. Might be worth a try, but it might also be a complete waste of time. There is a lot of the Halls of the Old Lords I haven't explored yet, and if we're going to the Forbidden Woods anyway, we could head to Byrgenwerth and see if we can find the entrance to the Old Labyrinth.
Or...” She grinned evilly. “Or we could head to Yahar'gul, like Harold wants us to. Kill ourselves some Followers and get some more blood echoes. I noticed there's a new memory for sale, and I kinda want it. Or maybe some extra arcane power from the doll.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“I can't say that I necessarily care a whole lot about stopping him myself,” Gerlinde shrugged, “but I am curious. I wonder what good seeking Harold's insights will do, though... or anything he says, really. You know about the nice old man-thing and how he hides some of his expressions, so you know his entire thing is manipulation and deception. What makes you think even a fraction of what he has told us, let alone what he will tell us later, is true?”
Idly peeling her hair out of her cleavage and throwing it back over her shoulder, Gerlinde continued: “Don't get me wrong, if you want to go back I'll go with you, and if you want to kill the old geezer I'll help you do it... but if we do that, we'll make an enemy of the White Healing Church, and maybe the black church too. It's not a decision to be made lightly. Also...” She grinned. “It's fine that you can read his expressions, but I think I saw more than that. For instance, I bet you didn't see that big golden tentacle that shot out of the ground and shone a golden light at you at one point? You didn't seem to notice, at all. It was right before he told us to go to the Grand Cathedral.
Also...” she drawled, turning away and idly looking over the headstones scattered around the Dream, “last time Harold saw me I didn't look like this, but he recognized me instantly. And when he told us we could leave, he gestured at the golden lantern. Not in a 'in the general area'-sort of way, but directly at the lantern. As if he could see it.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“Woah there, girl,” Gerlinde laughed, cocking her hip and tossing her head, causing her now-wet hair to whip over her shoulder and drape and adhere across her chest. “I'm usually the first to run face-first into danger when I catch the scent of a nice secret, and if you want to go I'll go with you, but maybe we should take a minute? Compare notes or something like that? I also don't even know where we're going. The Grand Cathedral? And didn't we all just agree not to split up?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

Torquil was very confused after everything that had happened. Everyone seemed so uncomfortable, and he did remember Ophelia telling him earlier that he had to remember that Vicar Harold was not a nice old man, which she reiterated again now... but he could not understand why. It had seemed pretty nice at the garden, and the vicar clearly was a nice old man. The only conclusion he could reach was that Ophelia was wrong on this, and for some reason insistent that her incorrect information was correct.
Still, Torquil awkwardly accepted the hug when offered, and while at first he thought of it as a consolation prize for now having gotten a hug from Gerlinde, he soon found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable with the embrace. Feeling Ophelia's smaller, more fragile body against his larger and sturdier one, being aware of how relatively light she was, combined with her warmth contrasting against the chill rain and wind that now haunted the Dream... again that sense of fear and disgust overcame him. An intense sense of self-hatred. Don't touch her. You don't deserve it. Stay away from them.
A small shudder went through him as soon as Ophelia separated from him, and a wave of nausea overcame him... and he felt weirdly compelled to hurt himself. He resisted the compulsion, but in that moment Torquil's eyes were drawn toward the precipice of the Dream, the rocky edge beyond which an endless expanse of clouds stretched below as well as above, and he imagined jumping off it. Then he reminded himself that he would probably just reawaken back in the Dream even if he did kill himself, which was sort of a relief. He did not want to die, after all... right?

It would take Ophelia a moment to locate the doll and the Shopkeeper, as they for once were not standing at attention right where they arrived. Instead she found them up in the workshop, looking at them through the door while seeking shelter from the rain and the new gusts of wind.
“Slow down, good Hunter, you are not making sense,” the doll said worriedly, raising her hands to pat the air. “None of what you said explains the false Paleblood, to our knowledge. If it was as simple as that, the Choir would surely have created something similar from their own research... and the Shopkeeper's blood?” She looked to the Shopkeeper, who stood facing her in their usual silence. “It is true that the Shopkeeper was wounded and slain in battle with Hunters of the White Healing Church some days ago, but they are bound by the same rules you are, good Hunters. Surely you noticed this when good Torquil was killed? Upon returning to the Dream, even the blood drawn from their wounds disappears. And even if they did somehow preserve a sample of their blood, Paleblood cannot be replicated like that. It is not that kind of disease.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

The four Hunters crowded around the golden plinth on top of which its shiny lantern sat, majestically demanding their attention. Vicar Harold waved to them a final time before walking back down the stair to his garden, and the light filled the Hunters' vision and carried them back to the Dream.

As had been the case every time he had traveled to the Dream Farren felt a strange tremor go through his blood, only for the cold rain that had so far been falling straight vertically to begin to change their trajectory, carried by brisk gusts of wind blowing through the area. But as concerning as the weather changing in the Dream yet again might be, it was likely nothing next to the sensation of the abrupt and total return of the burdens that had been lifted from Farren's consciousness.
The safety, the homeliness and the warmth Farren had felt in the vicar's presence all vanished as soon as he left his presence, and the paranoia and mostly-forgotten madness returned to sink their wicked claws into his mind anew. But even so, even having left, Farren would still feel himself convinced that Harold had just been a trustworthy, nice old man... but that was all. That was the only compulsion that stayed with him.

“Okay... so that just happened,” Gerlinde said, grinning and shaking her head slowly. “I vote we don't do that again, yeah?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

Gerlinde turned to look at Farren, though her eyes kept shifting back and forth between him and the vicar, without her almost ever-present broad smile wavering for a second. “I think we should either all go hunting, or we should all see these enigmatic truths that are apparently in the cathedral. And either way, I think we should head back to the Dream before we decide.”
Torquil looked from Gerlinde to Farren, seemingly lost and confused as ever, but with a small, uncharacteristically relaxed smile on his face. “I don't want us to split up again.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

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

Harold shrugged and gestured to the golden plinth and lantern they had arrived through just a few minutes ago. “You are all also free to leave whenever you want, Ophelia, but I'm afraid you will have to look in the cathedral without me. This goes for all of you, too, obviously; Gerlinde, Farren and Torquil, you are also invited to examine the Grand Cathedral to your hearts' content.”
He looked back to the lumenflowers. “There's still a couple of hours until the lumenflowers are in full bloom. It will be spectacular. I have already invited Ophelia to come see them, but I will also extend the invitation to the rest of you. The Lumenflower Garden is breathtakingly beautiful when the full moon is at its highest.”