Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Though some part of Ophelia wished to continue the conversation, she waited for the others to leave so she could get herself properly dressed in gear that'd at least give her a fighting chance against the terrors that awaited in the waking world. She combed through the chest for a couple of moments before pulling out a selection of garments - the red dress and shoes from the female knight's set, the white overcoat of the Choir set, and the hat from the Bone Ash set. She waited a quick moment, catching her breath and composing herself, before undressing. She took a moment while naked to move back over to the tools that were so familiar to her, and she rested her right hand on them gently as she felt tears begin to well up in her eyes. She'd lost one set of parents when she was young--they'd left one day and simply never returned, and she'd had to fend for herself... until she was taken in by the witches, who'd looked after her as though she were a wayward daughter of their own. She'd never let herself grieve the loss of her adopted parents, but touching their brand again broke the floodgates that she'd been damming for many years and she permitted herself a moment of bawling to commemorate and remember them. She whispered her final goodbyes, hoping their spirits had found solace in the embrace of the realms of Nightmare, and wiped her tears dry as she dressed herself in her new garb.

She took the time to craft for herself a little holster for her beloved Moonlight Sword, that she could snap the sword away from in times of emergency, as well as procuring a number of other items before passing them off to the Messengers to carry for her. The Rosmarinus sang to her in forgotten songs, touching the very edges of her mind, and so she handed that off to the little ones--and she also took the Kos Parasite in its bowl, gently placing it down in the awaiting arms of the Messengers. She offered them a curtsy and a thank you for their service before finally picking up the Holy Moonlight Sword and cradling it in her arms. It could not be a parent to her, but she no longer needed a parent--its guidance was more than enough. She let it rest against her clavicle as she had before, her silvery braid once again wrapping around the sword and little motes of guiding moonlight began to flow across her ornate tresses as she stepped back outside into the waiting moonlight to find where the others had gone.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia looked at the proffered tools with a grateful smile, but quickly stroked her free hand down the length of the glistening moonlight blade next to her to return it to its original form - before she gingerly placed it down on a nearby surface in the light of the moon above. She whispered that she would return for it in just a moment before accepting the tools and placing them down nearby. She would have to get herself some new clothes, like the others, and affix all of this gear to her person--but she found herself a little shy at the prospect of stripping down to her unmentionables in the presence of these two men. The Doll she would not mind so much--but the Shopkeeper was just as unwelcome as Farren and Torquil.

"Hrm... a thoughtful gift, dear. I thank you for it... something has crossed my mind, though: it's no coincidence we three can suddenly see the little ones and access this dream, is it? There is a whole building full of nascent Hunters like ourselves; I suspect those that awaken soon shall find themselves here too, hmm... This place might be busier than you've seen in some time! Shopkeeper, what do you think of the Healing Church? You, I suspect, have seen them at their worst, if you lived through the Night of the Blood Moon... the Witches never trusted them an iota. It... do they really have the power to grant people access to this Dream? Is such a thing even possible? It must be, I suppose, but..." Ophelia trailed off, her verbalised thoughts becoming faster and more frantic as the machinery of her mind whirred. It had none of the manic energy that she'd previously exuded, however, merely a calm and contemplative curiosity. After getting a reply, she spoke again:

"Forgive a woman her insecurities, but would you all mind stepping out while I change into more appropriate clothing?"

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully at the sudden revelation, though her expression did not seem saddened or dismayed. Instead she simply seemed serene, as calm and placid as a perfectly still lake. She gave the shopkeeper and the doll a little upnod, beckoning the former to stand, and sighed wistfully before she spoke again.

"... You've nothing to apologise for, dear. That night, the Night of the Blood Moon... if you are indeed the one who spared all Yharnam a grisly fate, it was a worthwhile trade. They... they would want to know that life and death continued apace, that all their insight and knowledge went towards protecting Hemwick. Bound also to this Dream as I am, I suppose that is my legacy now. Rise, Good Hunter, and know that no offence is taken." Ophelia mused, a wan smile creeping across her face as she recounted memories of her studies and sojourns into the deep and dark woods. She had another guide, now, and Farren and Torquil to take on as her own pupils. She knew that the witches would be proud of her, in their own way, for continuing their work--something, thanks to the ministration, she was now able to do... and, being almost immortal, what better guardian could Hemwick ask for?

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia observed the glut of Guidance sprites with a small grin, following them about their sojourns throughout seemingly every surface here in the Hunter's Dream. She could see in her periphery how the long and flowing braid of her silver hair had somehow wound its way around the incandescent blade of the Holy Moonlight Sword, and the sprites danced playfully in the nooks and crannies therein. She could feel the gentle resonance in her mind, a keening whine that soothed her inflamed thoughts and smothered the fire in her blood with purest radiance--and she let out a tense exhalation as she felt that infernal and incessant heat finally dissipate.

"It'll help avoid a repeat of the events that brought you here last time, my sweetness, let's say that much. I'm sorry, it will burn something fierce--but it's easier to experience it than to be told." she smiled to Torquil, though she moved toward Farren first--he seemed to better understand what the process entailed, and she thought it might offer Torquil some small comfort to see what was going to happen firsthand before accepting it upon himself.

Ophelia turned to the Shopkeeper as she was readying the brand, having been interrupted from actually applying the rune by the doll's question--though she seemed quite serene all of a sudden, and nodded with a look of pleasant surprise upon her face.

"Oh, yes! Well observed. This... I don't know if it can be the same, but... I swear, it's exactly the same brand that my mentors used to use. The Witches... ah, I miss them. They were peculiar, and quite certainly mad, but... they were gentle and sympathetic to me, at least. My guides, for a time, but they are gone now... and I have a new guide instead. Quite keen, aren't you, mm?" Ophelia replied, a look of fond reverie written upon her face as she remembered a distant life that felt so infinitely far away from where she was now. She awaited the reply wordlessly, instead focusing upon the peculiar instrument she'd used to brand herself with and focusing on it very intently--and then turning to Farren, metal brand extended towards him. She made a quick motion with the brand towards his hand, hoping he would understand what to do after having observed her use of it on herself moments prior.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

A gleam overtook Ophelia's eyes as the motes of light showed to her by the Holy Moonlight Sword were reflected in her pupils, and the whisper poured knowledge directly into the luscious boughs of her mind as she became familiar with a new Rune--something she'd not learned for the longest time, not since that fateful night of the Blood Moon. It promised the glimmers and glimpses of higher understanding offered to creatures native to the worlds beyond ours--to the heirs and heritors of the Nightmare--distilled down into a form that she could understand, a single syllable or thought of their means of communication that her base and unworthy form could comprehend. She turned to the brand at Farren's reply, looking over her shoulder at him as she picked up its familiar heft and prepared herself to receive of its kiss and have the glimmers of Guidance reside in her mind.

So-branded, she answered Farren's question cryptically: "Runes are... well, love, they're hard to explain. Imagine if I could say the word "fight", sear it onto your mind's eye, and have you become suddenly imbued with the knowledge of martial technique. The runes are that, but... with concepts passed down to us from higher beings. I know only a scant few myself, though if we encounter more out there I'll be certain to learn them--there's the "Lake" rune, which hones one's inner eye through the sounds of water, an augur to the eldritch Truth... it gives one impressions of danger just before they are about to happen, reading the reflections of the world. There's the "Eye" rune, ahh... it opens one's inner eyes, lets them see more of the Truth. I bore it myself, long ago. I... well, I think you'd both benefit from the power of the Lake, hmm? Don't worry, dearies... the pain is temporary."

Something about her demeanour was much more natural here than it ever had been in the waking world, as though more free and uninhibited in the world of dreams. They might think it manic, or simply insane, or not even notice at all--but it was obvious that Ophelia spoke with a familiarity and sincerity that might open their minds to just how much more in tune with the secret ways of the world she was than they. If they, like her, shuddered in exuberance at the brightness of the lambent Moonlight (though they could see little of its true glory like she could), the brightness might illuminate within them an equally dark fear or revulsion: that the price of such insight was curiosity, and her curiosity might lead them places they would prefer not explore. Fear of the unknown was, after all, the oldest fear known to mankind--their cursed inheritance, such as it was.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia tried to gasp in awe at the wondrous slice of the cosmos filling her vision, but found her body unable or unwilling to move in the presence of such unfathomable energies. It communicated not through simple and base words, but through thought and image and feeling--and in the glints of the starlight filling her mind's eye Ophelia could see a pattern stretching back longer than time had existed. In the spaces between their brilliance, the lightless void that gave meaning to the world of sidereal splendour, she saw the infinite maw of entropy and decay, of the certainties of ending... and in the light, she saw the infinite glimmers of potential. Of new life, born into this mundane world of blood and bile and flesh, and chosen to ascend to a realm of purest starlight. This dream was but a mere egg, or cocoon, like the magnificent blade of gleaming incandescence that now surrounded her weapon. There was no sight in the waking world that had ever compared to this, to the unparalleled majesty of the night sky and the moon's slick whispers. Ophelia was immediately and irreversibly transformed, her mundane awareness touching a relic of genuine power for the first time--at least, the first time since she had become a Hunter--and her mind unfurling to the true nature of the universe.

The others could not see it... but perhaps that was for the best. Her blood coursed with silver and starlight, while theirs was born of filth--the awareness was so vast and so penetrating that she could not even make sense of it, and she instead simply let the transformative knowledge wash over her while keeping as much of herself intact as she could. She found its excoriating brilliance to never be too much to bear, however, only enough to sear itself into her very essence and become an immutable part of her.

"What could stand against such brilliance and live..? What darkness awaits us that the Holy Moonlight Sword has chosen another..?" Ophelia asked incredulously, the words leaving her lips as the deafening envelope of revelatory silence peeled away and she was once again returned to the Dream. She took a moment to collect herself, breathing in shakily through her nose as she fought back tears of profound joy, and simultaneously a crippling and gnawing fear of coming to understand just how small she really was was born within her, its shadow the consequence of her soul's illumination. She paid it no mind for now, weak and cowed as it was, and turned to face Farren and Torquil.

"Ah, you look much better now! That axe is much more suited to you isn't it, love? And you, Farren, my! I see the little ones will have their hands full... You look prepared for anything; by the Moon above we'll need it... Ah, perhaps you'd like a rune? As luck would have it, the very tool I used to use is sitting right here! I'm certain I could use it to grant us the powers offered by the runes... I wonder, my guiding moonlight, is there anything you think I should see?" she spoke, turning to the gleaming blade in her hands as she addressed it with her final question, her voice lowering to a whisper and her head tilting slightly to the side as she listened closely for its whispers in her mind.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Within the caverns of Ophelia's mind the eldritch whispers settled, diffusing into abstract streams of thought not unlike a dream within a dream. She felt herself immersed in the soothing radiance of gentle moonlight through the little structure's windows, wood of the floor contrasting against the argent glow reflecting from the keen polish of the blade in her hand. Almost absentmindedly she brought her left hand away from the hilt to the blade to gently caress along it, feeling the thrum of invisible power radiating from it. She lost all focus on anything but the source of the moonlight above them as her mind resonated with the unseen whispers, letting the subtle guidance it promised fill her very being. Something about it called to her, and something about the place they were in had a resonance she could not understand but could detect.

"I am ready, Mother Moon..." she whispered, an almost-silent prayer leaving her lips. The silence that followed grew louder and louder in her mind, all for the nuances and subtleties of the blade's mysterious urgings to permeate her very essence. She felt nearly compelled to do as it bade, so strong was its longing for purpose and for use--and it held an echo of something principled and chivalrous, she felt, though she knew not where that notion came from nor what it could possibly mean. She was not quite sure if she had not simply imagined this whole thing, so familiar was the rune-brand and so queer the moon... but she could feel the thrum of this thing in her hands, the shivering ache of its desire to be wielded again; of the lack that it had endured for so long. It could not be anything but real, and Ophelia wanted nothing more in that moment than to oblige it.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia listened to the doll's explanation keenly, eyes sharp and still. Though she continued to look up at the moon in the sky, her periphery gave her all the information she needed--there was hardly a dearth of places for her to look at the moon in the sky. She nodded along, slack-jawed with appreciation for the majesty of the place and how vividly rich and detailed this place was. It felt surreal, though she knew with a certainty she could not articulate that it was just as real as the world they had fallen asleep in. She could imagine Victor's shock--and also his stoicism if he'd known all along--at how they must have... vanished, like Torquil's corpse had. That was what the doll had said; she seemed quite earnest and pleasant, though some of that seemed to be down to the fact that she was as expressive as the person interacting with her... and there was this itch in her mind, this tingle just beyond where she could touch with her traditional senses, that intermittently came and went before the doll spoke. This shopkeeper used it as... a doll? A plaything? A translator? It was curious that she should empathise so with the thing, wondering what agency it had, just as she had with the little messengers so eagerly clamouring for her touch and her attention. She breathed in a calming breath, letting the queer scent of the moonlit air rush through her and soothe the fevered ache in her mind, and focused on simply being present and open... and letting her fevered musings melt into distant thoughts, until the smell of it was all her senses could detect.

She'd gotten whiffs of hunters before--and she supposed she smelled like that now--but this Shopkeeper was the most like a Hunter she'd ever smelled, as though all the scents were mere imitations of this original. It sat like a gentle buzz in her nostrils, full of character but quite unlike anything else she'd smelled, until she realised that Farren had begun to ascend the stairs up towards the house that the doll had pointed out. Ophelia smiled and excused herself from the little cluster of people, gracefully weaving her way around them to meet Farren up at the top of the hill toward his destination. She stepped inside alongside him, taking in the unfamiliar sights with similar awe to earlier. Her eyes firstly and immediately were drawn to one particular item in the room: the Rune Workshop Tool. She drifted towards it as though pulled by some invisible force, her fingers gently caressing the cold metal handle of the brand with a familiar reverence. Flashes of a distant time came to her, holding this exact tool under the tutelage of the Witches of Hemwick in a life that felt like she'd left it behind. She wondered how it had come to be here, in this place--how much of the Yharnam she'd known before that fateful night had disappeared without a trace? How much of it had sought refuge in places like this? It was something she was quite certain the little Messengers could help her with... she would have to spend some time with them when they were not expected back in the waking world.

A glint of moonlight shot through the window, illuminating a rather unimpressive sword (with a blade far too narrow for the ponderous hilt), that Ophelia's eyes were instinctively drawn to. She wandered over to it as though in a trance and felt her hand reaching out to take it, whispers of arcane power softly radiating from its presence. They were... plaintive, almost, she felt--beseeching, and something in her earnest nature could not help but answer its perceived call. She attempted to heft it off its stand with a single hand but found her strength somewhat lacking, stumbling slightly before adding a second hand to support the surprising heft. She looked it up and down more closely, felt its weight and its balance, attuned herself to its subtler and more esoteric qualities.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia laughed musically at Torquil's clear and natural voice, her eyes sparkling with relief that he'd found solace from his problems. It was going to be easier for them all--and Torquil had felt bad about it, besides. She nodded at Farren's insightful question, giving him a knowing nod of her head, and turned to the figure in the wheelchair and offered them the same curtsy she'd given to the doll before she spoke again after hearing whatever reply was offered, if any.

"Thank you, for all you have done for us. I... will pose my questions to the little ones. I always knew I liked them, even though they've no eyes. They... just want to help. It seems a nice sentiment, so thank you as well, dearies." Ophelia mused, offering a third and final curtsy to the messengers with a giggle that had just a touch of mania to its timbre. She proceeded to show a number of items to the messengers, reading the scrolls in reply with a burning curiosity, and nodding thoughtfully or musing to herself aloud about the implications of what she'd learned--which was almost exclusively to do with eyes. Torquil and Farren would surely have noticed a theme at this point, though Ophelia seemed to pay no mind to it--as though it were completely normal and natural. There was a certain certainty and serenity to her movements, and her silvery hair glittered incandescently in the moonlight's bountiful rays--something altogether witchy, if one knew the signs of what to look for.

"... so we cannot die, then? We will simply return as though waking from a dream... ah, it's just like the stories of Moira, isn't it? She was said to fight as though she could not die--and she's the most Hunter a Hunter can be. She must have graced these halls in her day, hmm, to win the kinds of victories she had? How many people have travelled through here, I wonder, and to what end? To what end are we here? The Church..." Ophelia spoke, as though feverishly possessed by the thoughts spilling out of her. Whatever that bell had done to her mind had her swimming in visions, thoughts beyond thoughts cascading to her as though dancing on the rays of the moon... but she could feel it abating as she let her thoughts unspool, and the cool air of the dream caress her skin.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's first reaction was unbridled joy--she returned Torquil's smile eagerly and ran to him, quickly embracing him in a hug for a few seconds before stepping back. Her smile was wide and bright, and her voice was almost singsong with the relief of seeing him hale and whole.

"I'm so glad you're alright, dear... I wanted to thank you. You didn't know you'd end up here and still you took the hit for us... You're a good soul, Torquil. If I can repay your kindness, please let me know." She spoke giddily, before turning her attention up towards the recently-shifted sky. Whereas before it was all vermillion and gold, the rich colours of sunset like at the clinic, all of a sudden there was a bright full moon out... and a moon unlike she'd seen before. It was almost ponderously large, unnaturally so, and something about its silver sheen transfixed Ophelia's gaze as she stared at it in wonder. It was beautiful--more beautiful than any moon she'd seen before--and... compelling, in a way she could not articulate even in thought. She'd done plenty of work by moonlight, danced beneath it in the dark of the woods, committed what some might call heinous or unnatural acts beneath its sombre glow... but never like this. She barely paid any attention to the doll at all, so transfixed by it she was, until maybe thirty seconds had passed since the doll spoke and Ophelia tore her eyes away and addressed the doll.

She started with a simple curtsey, like her parents had taught her, and introduced herself: "I'm Ophelia; a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you've never seen the sky change like this, it is a sign of a great portent. If this is a Dream, whose Dream is it? The moon's? The sun's? Yours? Ours? I have so many questions..." she began, before exhaling a shuddering breath and trying to calm herself down with rhythmic breathing. She could feel her clothes, she realised, and not the oil and grime and viscera that had coated them before--and she moved to fumble about the pocket where she'd stashed the pallid man's bell, and would get it out if it remained there.

"What is this, for instance? It had the power to summon creatures, to... to induce visions, or something--it nearly killed Farren, brought a Mad One into being, mended the wounds of the near-slain and empowered them to fight anew." she spoke before she could even stop herself, face turning a little red with embarrassment as she realised how impolite it was to bombard her hosts with questions as a guest. She turned to look at the second figure in the wheelchair, taking in the details of their form--and waiting for them to speak in answer.