Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia & Farren & Torquil

"Walk? To the workshop? Don't be daft, love--I'm just having a little natter with the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde. Why don't you and Torquil hop over to the workshop through the Dream, pick up this experimental weapon, and then go off on your Hunt? Then you can take as much time as you like, and not stray too far from a lantern--remember, when the echoes flow into you, you will only keep them if you return to the Dream through one." Ophelia replied in turn, bemused at Farren's suggestion and voice resonating with the telltale warbling of gentle confusion.

Farren's eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned as she replied, not even mentioning the vials. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of discomfort as he looked away. “...I'd rather not...” he replied, for once seeming rather...cagey.

"... Do you have a particular reason? You're just... normally all about being efficient and practical, and this... why, it's almost sentimental! If you need to take some time for yourself I've no objection there, love, do what you must--but we'll want to be together before we head out into the woods. I'll wait in the Dream after I'm done chatting, just keep me apprised, mm?" Ophelia retorted, walking up to Farren and putting her free right hand on his shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. She let it remain there only for a second or so before awkwardly retreating, her gaze lingering on him for a few seconds before she turned away.

Though he didn't shrug off her touch, Farren almost winced at the contact, as if it was the weight of guilt made manifest as it settled on his shoulders. He swallowed, stiffened and as she withdrew squared his shoulders and seemed to stand a bit taller with a certain deliberateness. Taking a deep breath, Farren closed his eyes and then let out a long sigh. “Gerlinde...we may have some...history,” he said, leaving vague what he meant for a pregnant moment, punctuated by him almost unwillingly meeting Ophelia's gaze. “...if she recognizes me, it could get...ugly. Might sour relations,” he said, grimacing at his own words. Really he knew he was still underselling the reality of things. With the clarity of his current perspective, it was somehow even more clear to him that what he'd done back then had been...deeply wrong. It was much harder to justify, especially with the event existing mostly out of context, without the other memories and experiences of his former life.

Awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally shuffling a bit forward, back or sideways just to get the sense that he was moving, Torquil did what he usually did: watched and listened. Only after Farren had admitted to why he was trying to avoid the Hunter's Dream - or rather Gerlinde, as it turned out - did he take a firmer step toward them and spoke up:

"We stick together, right?" he asserted, echoing the compliment Farren had given him earlier. "So we'll figure it out. Right?"

Ophelia nodded along with Torquil's statement, having stopped moving away from the group and turned back.

"Not like we can avoid it forever, is it, love? Whatever will be will be--best to find that out now where we have some control over the circumstances."

Their words washed over him and with even Torquil saying they ought to stick together and figure things out...well, it was hard not to see the logic of it. “Pain now, or pain later...” Farren muttered to himself, seeming to recite the beginning of some old adage. After a moment, his head tilting back as if to regard the skies above, but with his eyes closed, he nodded slightly and then looked to Ophelia briefly. However, rather than speak, he pulled his gaze away and then strode past her in the direction of the lantern.

“Let's get this over with,” he said gruffly, teeth slightly gritted, his guard up once more. She was right. He'd have to face her sometime, and running away would make him no better than Victor running from a fight.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia felt the creaks and tremors in the timeworn wood of this ancient ladder before she heard the almost-shriek of the wood splitting. The world exploded into a flurry of motion: Farren's reflexes kicked in, and he assessed the situation quickly. He chose to simply ride the falling ladder down, and Ophelia quickly made her way far enough back to get out of the arc of his fall. She looked at him with her usual smile, not a single feature of her expression changed after the little incident.

After Farren's near-fall and angry outburst, a chorus of crows started cawing raucously out in the midst. If you did not know better, it would sound almost as though they were laughing.

Ophelia cracked a slight chuckle at that, and instinctively went to offer Farren a hand up but caught herself before he could lash out at her. She supposed it was quite embarrassing, if one felt the capacity to be embarrassed, and that the sting on his pride would best be ameliorated by a victory of some kind.

"... Well, looks like we're leaving the roof alone. I think we got more than enough information out of our little exchange, though--this path leads on toward the mountains, and to a crow-garbed Hunter. I've... a different plan in mind: see, Moira's going to take her time and pursue this to wherever it leads... why should we hasten that along? Let's investigate a little more of the lay of the land, hmm? I'd quite like to go back to the Woods, via the Dream. I... I remember a path, clear as day, that we would walk to leave offerings to... something like this Crowmother, I suppose, in that they were what kept the beasts away from Hemwick, back in the day. Fancy it?" Ophelia asked, shifting her gaze between Farren and Torquil. She knew Torquil didn't really want to make the decisions, but... she just didn't feel like it was fair to leave him out.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Mm, you've done very well for yourselves, love. I'm glad. It's a bit of a queer request, but... would you mind teaching me how to make those little talismans? I'd like to offer the Crowmother the proper respect: if she's protecting you, she's a darling in my books."

"I guess. 'Tis pretty simple, you just takes the skull of a crow and paint that li'l squiggly on its forehead, and then you hang it where you don't want monsters to get in."

"That simple? What a boon! Well, love, I'd hate to take up too much of your time when you have work to be doing. By way of apology for the lock and how frightfully rude we were upon entering, might you all accept a blood vial to share between you as suitable recompense?"

"Oh, uh, no thanks," he chuckled awkwardly. "We's all human here. Blood's no use to us."

"Ah, my apologies, love. In that case... I feel that we owe you a boon in kind, at least: is there a service we could perhaps do for you?"

"Just leave soon, I think," Gregory shrugged. "Crowmother don't like strange Hunters here. She's scared o' ya."

Ophelia curtseyed in response and nodded gracefully. As she ascended from the curtsey she brought her right hand up along the length of the Holy Moonlight Sword once more, beckoning forth its gentle radiance, and promptly made her way towards the exit, gaze expectantly trained upon Farren as she awaited him. A thoroughly useful line of questioning, she reckoned, that had given them much information about the context in which this Crowmother existed. She found herself somewhat torn: would she have permitted Moira to slaughter that which she had once revered as holy, had offered its protection to her and her kin in return for friendly gifts? She thought not, as much as she felt that well of roiling rancour lash out inside her at the thought of sparing any mercy to any beast. Something about her expression shifted into seeming unsettled, and she rested her head against the Holy Moonlight Sword gently and let its guidance cleave the doubt and confusion from her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"A little dirt never hurt anyone, love, don't you worry about that." Ophelia smiled in return, before peering over at Farren as he unceremoniously made his way over to the far side of the factory to fetch their quarry.

Ophelia listened to the man's talking about the Crowmother eagerly, nodding along approvingly as he spoke of how gentle she was with them and how she offered them her protection. She'd lived most of her life beneath the protection of something similar, she supposed, though the Witches had always referred to it as a God of some kind, or... was it Great One? She truly did not know, the memory fuzzy and cloudy--but she did remember the sensations, the unseen intimations of Yharnam's forbidden woods, and the particular mix of vulnerability and pride as she strode towards a shrine with offerings in hand.

"She seems a benevolent sort, looking after her flock. Does she demand any offerings of you, love?" she asked, head tilting very gently to the right as she kept one eye on Farren and his situation and another on Gregory. Her mind's eye almost drifted back to the carved skulls of corvids outside--partly curious as to why such a being as this enigmatic Crowmother would hate for her children to be harmed, but approve of their skulls being used to fashion wards. Such things had power, that she did not deny, but there was a loose thread here that she intended to tug 'til the whole warp and weft became known to her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded along with the man's story, paying him rapt attention. She didn't turn to look at Farren when he interjected his own question, though she did wince almost imperceptibly at his gravelly tone. The gears turned in her mind, though, before she remembered just what a gift this sort of thing could be: with people, it was all about context--the Night seemed bad, a Hunter visiting seemed worse, and nearly getting assailed by a Beast felt worse still... but that could all be quite neatly juxtaposed by the positives: faith in the wards renewed, the sense of safety stronger after a brush with danger, and her soft affability compared to Farren's harsh questioning. She remembered the way Moira had looked at her, at her little collection of eyes, and she saw with perfect clarity that the little touches of madness within her had been understood and registered--that she had the potential to be dangerous. If that was the case for arguably the most powerful Hunter in the city, what little this common man could read of her would likely scream danger--but next to Farren, in context, she looked like the better option.

Ophelia ran her free right hand down the length of the Holy Moonlight Sword, tenderly whisking away its full glory to be revealed in front of eyes more worthy, and returned her right hand to her side. She gave the blacksmith a gentle smile and looked up at the roof to quickly assess what real damage there was--but also to get them some more information about the lesser beast. It wasn't quite as juicy as the larger one--presumably the Crowmother--but Ophelia didn't like to leave any stone unturned. The simplest clues could lead to the greatest revelations.

"You've all been very brave, tonight, dears. I wonder, if it isn't too much trouble, is there a way up to the roof that we might use...?" Ophelia began, pausing at the end slightly,"... ah, I never asked your name! How rude of me, love, I'm Ophelia--might I know yours?"

Upon receipt of the name--or not, as it were--Ophelia continued:

"We'd like to make sure everything is safe for you up there. I'd also like to inquire about this Crowmother, if you've got a spare moment and the inclination to tell me about her? I noticed the wards outside; I'm full glad they work, dear." Ophelia continued, her tone and body language both shifting to something projecting concern rather than anything actively threatening--she wanted these folks to feel like they could trust her, that she was not a threat to them... but she did not do anything about Farren, letting him make his own statement.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia offered a final friendly wave to the disassembling group, focusing primarily on the novice Hunters Moira had brought with her, and padded alongside Farren beneath the as-yet undrawn canvas of night. They returned swiftly to their earlier haunt and Farren began fiddling around with his blades as some sort of ersatz lockpick. Ophelia raised an eyebrow at this, wondering why he didn't simply knock given the clamouring of folks clearly audible inside, but she supposed that Farren--based on his attitude--was not someone who ever mingled with the common folk like this.

After he gained ingress the disgruntled inhabitants of the building met his aggression in kind, before recalculating and offering a more humble greeting. Ophelia responded to that in turn, unclipping the jar of eyes from her belt and kneeling down to hand it off to the little ones for safe keeping, and then following inside the building.

"We're sorry for the intrusion, love, we're just tracking those beasts that went at it earlier. I don't suppose any of you heard anything, did you?" Ophelia offered, letting her natural Yharnam accent become just a little broader and more common--there were few true Yharnamites left, it was true, but they'd been an insular bunch at the best of times before recent history. She figured perhaps letting the touch of it she still possessed take on a little extra vigour would endear them to her... their fear would probably prevent them taking it too badly.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Then we'll leave correspondence and such there, love. Feel free to drop us notes if there are things you want to pass on, we'll do the same. I'll leave word with someone when we've investigated these Fire Dancers... or Old Yharnam... or the Harrow. We have much to be doing. I'm inclined to return to the Dream--I've questions for the Shopkeeper. Do you think you'd be better tracking alone, love, or do you want my presence? I think you'd be stealthier alone, but my knowledge of the arcane might come in useful."

Oddly, despite how much he'd seemed to dislike splitting up before, Farren initially just shrugged in response, as if it didn't really matter. However, after a slight frown, which faded just as fast, he spoke up in reply as well, “Your expertise could be helpful,” he conceded, “Unless the other business cannot wait.”

While listening to them speaking, Moira once again made a visual inspection of the three of them, paying special attention to Farren and Torquil.

"If you do eventually go to the workshop, ask for Seven," she told them after their exchange. "He has an experimental trick weapon that might be of use to you. That's too dangerous for regular Hunters to wield."

Ophelia shook her head very slightly at Farren's last statement, stepping forward towards him and ready to go with.

"I sent a note to Gerlinde, asking her to meet me in the Dream. She replied and will meet me there soon, but I did tell her that we were on a Hunt, and might be a little while. She seems quite sweet from the message she sent back, bless her. I'd like us to expand the boundaries of our ignorance--you do this Hunting stuff remarkably well, I think... and I've got an eye for the Arcane. We'll need everyone's unique insights and gifts to really understand what's going on here, and what awaits us. Are you coming, love?" Ophelia finished, grinning just a little with a warm expression that was only marred by the haunted glint to her eyes. The latter bit of speech saw her direct her gaze to Torquil, and she awaited his reply with a soft and patient smile--though her eyes remained somewhat distant and dreamlike, betraying her mind's real focus elsewhere.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia swallowed at the revelations Farren and Moira provided, sinking deep into thought for a moment. Beasts were savage things, whose entire world had been swallowed to a pinprick of feral instinct--something smart enough to do this, to have this level of sapience... Did such a thing even deserve to be called a beast? Was it capable of choosing reason over violence? If it was, and it still chose violence... was it still a beast, even then? The questions gnawed at her, but were batted away by a vast and deep well of... hatred? Fear? Something dark and foreboding, some relic of her past that she just could not quite connect to any solid memory... something that she'd buried herself, or that the ministration had taken from her? Whatever it was, it lashed out with that same malice as had been directed at Victor earlier and the cognitive realisation of it finally hitting her over the emotional understanding broke her brief reverie.

"Would you like me to pass the message on to Dietrich, dear? It's a simple matter for us to hop through the Dream, after all, and it could save you some time. Whatever it was, it being unknown is the worst option. If we know, we can plan--and if we can plan, we can kill it." She offered, smiling sweetly though with a hint of melancholy in her slightly wavering voice and a subtle sigh that could be mistaken for a sudden exhalation.

Then the Messengers returned with a scroll, and Ophelia read it eagerly. The tone and contents intrigued her, the first look into the character of this Gerlinde--she seemed... almost childlike, Ophelia thought, and clearly lonely. She'd met many such souls in Central Yharnam after the Night of the Blood Moon--what few Yharnamites remained had lost most of their connections and their livelihoods, most of the people they'd ever known were simply gone. The foreigners who'd come in, the people like Farren and Moira, had been so new to it all then and making sense of a landscape that had just suffered a cataclysmic change... It was a beacon for those with nothing more to lose, and everything to build. If they could find succour in one another, a life less lonely and with some purpose to strive for... That would be something, wouldn't it?

"I don't suppose you can see the little ones anymore, Moira? A reliable way to communicate would be nice... Is there maybe an intermediary at the Black Workshop that we could use, if you're not there? I remember that name being on one of the big headstones--or if there's another location you know of that would work? If you're inclined at all, of course, love."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The confounding fog and general sensory assault of the Industrial Zone made fine perceptive work more difficult than Ophelia liked, and it was really only Farren's voice and footsteps that she was able to follow--but she found him quickly enough and moved to check out what he'd found. The skulls of... crows, if she had to guess, though not the mutated kind she'd had the misfortune of coming across in Hemwick. She'd taken enough of them apart to recognise the shape of their skulls, after they'd been brought to the Witches' abode--though she was more used to seeing them bloody and fractured rather than pristinely polished like they were. And engraved onto them, not just here but all across the Industrial Ward it seemed, were runes... though she had no idea what they meant.

"A rune... is it like the one you acquired from Skinner, Farren?" She asked, half musing aloud but with enough inflection to make it clear she was legitimately posing a question.

It certainly didn't look like any of the runes she was familiar with. She knelt down to beckon forth the little ones and fetched the runebrand once more, bringing the projection case up to the Rune to see if she could infer something. When that didn't work she passed the tool back to them and gave them a grateful nod. She cradled her cheek next to the Holy Moonlight Sword, asking if it could offer her any guidance on what the mysterious symbol might be or represent, and its response resonated brightly in her mind:

"It seems to be intended as some manner of ward. Against what it does not know."

"Hmm... folk superstition, copied from something with real power. Folks would do the same in Hemwick all the time." she shrugged, before turning on her heel to follow the new instructions from Liam and head in that direction. She looked up at the crows and gave them a nod, knowing well just how smart the little creatures were--a little respect offered to them would go a long way, though she regretted she did not have any feed to give them to help them understand her subtle supplication.

Ophelia noticed the clawmarks first, and her slight smile shrank into a thin line across her lips as she pondered how big the beast must have been to damage the stone in such a manner, as well as leave gouges that sunk deeply into the soil. They seemed recent enough, though the lack of beastly sounds had her wondering how recent it could be if they were still hunting this thing--or perhaps if someone had already beaten them to the chase. Perhaps the only reason it had come to this place at all was fleeing a superior foe--though she knew that Dietrich was still high up in Cathedral Ward and Moira was here with them. What could frighten such a beast into fleeing eluded her somewhat, given that she knew the location of the two most powerful mortal Hunters she was familiar with.

There was also a concerning smash of stone, but Ophelia left Farren to investigate that: he was far more knowledgeable about the kinds of weapons that might cause such a thing, or the various flavours of beast that might be able... Or at least he'd seemed to be, especially with his last message to Victor. It was clear that he had some connection with the workshops, though he was reticent about those details--or perhaps it simply hadn't really come up. She would never profess to know the inside of such an enigmatic figure's mind, and perhaps after the ministration he didn't either.

She observed the slain creatures ahead with interest, quickly peering over the corpses to try and determine what had killed them specifically. Years of dismembering the corpses hauled to Hemwick had given her something of a keen eye for that sort of thing.

That done, she joined Moira and the others and looked up at the corpse impaled on the statue with equal parts awe and concern.

"Mother Moon above... This isn't the work of another beast, is it? Seems someone's beaten us to our prey, but... I can't fathom who. This is a considerable amount of carnage."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Sentiment, at a guess? Familiar to them before the change took them, perhaps... If I were to turn, I would think I'd go back to Hemwick--luckily that isn't possible!" Ophelia mused in response to Moira's last question, bending down to address the little ones as she did so. Once she finished speaking, she held a hand out gingerly and thought about something that Moira had mentioned earlier--that Gerlinde was both too curious and not prudent enough. She could remember being much the same way when she was first taken in by the Witches, eager to learn every secret under the sun without heed for how dangerous those secrets were and what knowing them could do. Their bodies might have been immortal, but their minds were more vulnerable than most. It was a tradition among witches to take apprentices--as had been done for her--and she figured that seeing as neither Farren or Torquil seemed overly invested in learning the secrets of the worlds beyond the waking one beyond what results they could achieve or obligations they could fulfil... Gerlinde, if she was willing and if she was worthy, could perhaps make a good student. She might be able to steer the mysterious fourth paleblood away from the madness that lurked at every corner, Mother Moon willing.

She extended her finger out and began to trace words over the proferred scroll, watching text suddenly appear on the immaterial canvas before her:

"Dear Gerlinde - I am Ophelia, another Paleblood Hunter recently bound to the Dream that we now share. Your name has come up a number of times during my travels across our city, and I hoped that we might meet to discuss our mutual interest of the Arcane. I am out on a Hunt at the moment, but if you wish to accept my little invitation please do write back and we can rendezvous in the Dream. I look forward to meeting another student of the mysteries of our world.

Mother Moon keep you,

Ophelia"

That done, she rose up to her full height and looked around--waiting for something to happen with the others searching for tracks of the beast. She had the most confidence in Farren and Moira's ability to track, so she kept an eye on the junior Hunters as best as she could and was ready to help if they called for it.