Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia tilted her head to the side slightly and squinted at Dietrich as he began to roll down his sleeves, though it was clear from her expression that her mind was briefly elsewhere. She turned to look at the Holy Moonlight Greatsword and stroked it tenderly, before angling the tip of the blade closer to her face so she could whisper directly to it. "Show me the truth, Mother Moon. Reveal what has been hidden." came out, grave-quiet, though as a Hunter she had no doubt Dietrich would hear it.

The reply came to her not in speech, but vibrations within the ocean of her mind. Ripples of arcane knowledge washing over her, whose patterns she could transliterate into speech: "Huntress... This man... The Nightmare is not on him... it is in him... in his blood... It is very faint... You feel the same... but stronger... His is but a hint of your glory..."

"... Ahhh, you are right, Mother Moon." Ophelia began, offering her blade the gentlest of strokes as thanks. "You are not simply touched by it, Dietrich, it is within you. These experiments, tying Hunters to the Dream... did you try them upon yourself at any point in the process of refinement? Perhaps you were you simply born of it? Nevertheless--there is a power within you, a cousin to that which resides in me. There are two others that awakened, also tied to the Dream with me. Gerlinde too, of course, though you must know that already. We've not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. I came ahead because of the message--I thought it must be left by you, and thus you would be the one to talk with. I cannot abide a mystery." Ophelia commented, relaxing somewhat from her tense and scrutinous posture. She felt like she could trust Dietrich, and though some small part of her rebelled against that it was quickly quashed by the warmth of his smile and the beauty of his eyes--she saw no reason not to divulge the Truths she saw to him, if he truly was akin to her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia studied him with the same rigour as she had before, though once the guidance sprite appeared around his thigh it became obvious that it was not bound to a singular location and that he was, generally, touched by the Nightmare in some way.

"Hm. Thank you--I awoke with a certain... sensitivity to the realms of Nightmare, you see, and I can sense their touch upon you. Feather-light, but consistent. Were you aware of this fact, dear?" Ophelia followed up, letting her gaze linger upon his arms a little longer than was necessary before she motioned with her free hand to indicate that her observation was complete. She gave him a warm and genuine smile as thanks for his compliance, and her brows furrowed with thought as she considered the many possibilities.

"Victor and the others were planning to make their way back here; once our business here is concluded, I intend to return to them and travel across Yharnam on foot to get back here. Would you like me to bring one of the cadavers for you to study?" She offered as an afterthought, trying not to end her stream of questions at any point on something negative or too prying.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia pondered Dietrich's reactions with an unnerving intensity, each microexpression a story of its own. Giving away too much of their information would not bode well for the trio, for the White Church were certainly not their allies, but she could intuit that they must have some knowledge of the Hunter's Dream. If not from their predecessors, from Gerlinde... though who could say what her relationship to them really was, beyond the fact that they had one and appeared to be allies. Working together, at the very least--whether that was under duress, convenience, or earnest loyalty was beyond her ability to glean.

"What do you know of Caryll runes, dear?"

Dietrich looked confused. "Caryll Runes? Not much, I suppose... They're symbols made my a runesmith named Caryll. Like those." He pointed to the banner.

"And what of the realms of Nightmare? Are you familiar with the Hunter's Dream, for instance?" Ophelia followed up, nodding thoughtfully at his answer.

"I know they exist, and that Paleblood Hunters can go there and we regular Hunters cannot. I also know that the Hunter's Dream is where the Moonborn Hunter lives."

"Mm, indeed... Now, this might be a strange request, but would you mind showing me your bare arms? I hope that you'll forgive my impertinence, love, but it will all make sense very soon. We find ourselves each in possession of information the other is not; together, we might gain understanding that would elude us alone." Ophelia asked, scanning his arms up and down. The little traces of energy upon him worried her--he could be subject to some malign influence, perhaps that queer gold outside... She'd very briefly thought perhaps a rune--though that would be branded in his mind, and she'd not seen any traces of the sprites around herself or the others after their branding.

She had thought, given the little context she had, that Dietrich was the mastermind behind this venture--but she found herself believing him when he professed that he did not know all of the specifics and that she would have to speak with the vicar. It made a certain degree of sense, of course, but she was wary nevertheless--she still did not have a good idea of the board and all its proverbial pieces, and that made knowing who to trust very difficult. Farren and Torquil, of course, went without saying--they were one and the same now. The Shopkeeper--who Dietrich had referred to as the 'Moonborn Hunter', which made sense given their Moonborn Bells--also seemed trustworthy to Ophelia's mind... and the Doll, too. Everyone else, however... Not so much. Dietrich's charm and appeal could very well be a smokescreen for more nefarious intent, but she did not permit herself to consider that yet.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia took Dietrich's offered arm with a grateful smile, having to switch where the Holy Moonlight Sword was kept on her person to the right side as she linked her left arm with his. It rested in precisely the same spot, albeit on the opposite side, and her long and ornate silver-grey braid seemed to curl around it in just the same fashion as it had around the other side. Her eyes noticed the tiny speck of the Guidance sprite, and she stored that information away for later--something about the First Hunter had been marked by the realms of Nightmare. She would have to ask the Messengers about him when she returned to the Dream--as well as giving her report to the Shopkeeper. Between him and the Doll, they would be able to make more reaching and astute leaps of logic about the current goings-on of the Church with even the little bits of information that she'd picked up.

She took note of the mass of supplies in the hallway they passed, how much they had and where they kept it--and the things she knew they'd need but didn't see--before finding herself alone with Dietrich in his office. It was... well, she had expected something a little more, but its largely perfunctory nature spoke to something deeply pragmatic about him. Romanticism and Pragmatism were not often close allies, but if there was someone who could pull it off she supposed it would be Dietrich. She tried not to pay too much attention to the banner--every time her eyes flicked up to observe the symbol on the lower half she felt this awful itch come across her forehead, and it took a not insignificant amount of willpower to not feverishly scratch at it. She would never do so in Dietrich's presence, though, of course. She did not sit as Dietrich had not, but rested her free left hand upon the ornately carved top of one of the chairs and let her fingers gently trace over the whorls and ridges while she spoke.

"Perhaps I should explain from the beginning... I recently sought out blood ministration, and got it. I awoke in a small clinic on the other side of Yharnam, overlooking a similar cliff, alongside a number of other newly blooded Hunters and a number of corpses, whose eyes had frayed from the Scourge ravaging them..." she began, before reciting the message exactly as she'd seen it:

"All Paleblood → Hunters NO EXCEPTIONS
TAKE NOTES!
AVOID DANGER – keep safe, no dead
Results → 1st Hunter
TELL NO ONE"

"... and then we were set upon by a strange and pallid man, and his beastman companion. We slew them, naturally, but not before he mentioned something about a "Soulkeeper" wanting to see us. The message was quite clear--the results are for your ears only. Well... here I am. A Paleblood Hunter, it'd seem, tied to the Hunter's Dream. Victor found us and helped dispatch the threat--there are others like me--but I saw the opportunity to come here and speak with you. The rest you are aware of." she finished, looking thoughtful. She stole occasional glances at her sword, and otherwise kept her gaze trailing the length and breadth of Dietrich's body. He would be forgiven for thinking her checking him out--and that was not entirely untrue--but she was really keeping an eye out for any more Guidance sprites.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia narrowed her eyes at the Hunter's ludicrous retort: it would be obvious that climbing all the way to this workshop from anywhere in Yharnam would sully the gear of even the most dedicated and efficient of Hunters--her spotless clothing should have been a clear sign to all of them that she spoke the truth. It seemed the White Church's rank and file were just as bloodthirsty as they had ever been, and Ophelia moved her free hand to stroke the Holy Moonlight Greatsword's blade and reveal its bountiful light in response to their declaration of their intent to harm her.

Thankfully, before things could progress further, she heard the clarion call of Dietrich's smooth and masculine voice ring down the stairs. Her ears perked up and her eyes moved towards the likely source, following the Hunters who knew were to look after half a beat--and she could not stop the smile creeping across her face as she saw the First Hunter begin to descend. There were tales of him--calling him the new dawn of an age of chivalry, a knight in proverbial shining armour--spread amongst all of the women she knew, and rare were the days someone was not swooning over his heroism. Catching her first proper glimpse of him, she could see precisely why: he was the very picture of elegance and refinement, worthy of the praise bestowed upon him by washmaids and women of the night equally... and as he got closer, she made especial note of his eyes: so exquisitely pale, ringed by a darkness that gave him an almost transcendent and otherworldly look. Had she not seen the full glory of the cosmos mere moments ago she might have found herself quite smitten with him--but he could not compare to her guiding moonlight.

"Ah, just as gallant as the stories... I am Ophelia of Hemwick, First Hunter. It is an exquisite pleasure to meet you, my dear." she replied, responding to his graceful bow with a practiced and elegant curtsey of her own.

"You left a message... perhaps not for we who awoke, but there was no overseer in the clinic, and so I had the good fortune to lay eyes upon it. Might we speak in private, Dietrich? What I have to tell you is... sensitive." Ophelia added, taking the initiative to speak and state her purpose before he could ask. He would connect the dots very quickly, given that he was the one who'd sent Victor out on the mission--and every reaction they gave was more information in her arsenal. The fact that Gerlinde was working with them hadn't escaped her notice, and was information enough to make her trip worthwhile already.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia blinked at the accusation, and at the venom with which they spoke it: Vileblood? She had heard the term before, she thought, amidst the clamour and bustle of taverns and sewing circles and churches... but she had never really had any idea what it meant, not really. She'd taken it to simply be a term of derision, a name given by the Healing Church to that which they did not like--fuel for the fire of fervour within the zealots that were inevitably attracted to powerful institutions. To hear them accuse her of it, though, made her balk.

"I awoke from a dream, dears, at a lovely little lantern outside this very workshop. Do you know Victor? He is with some of my other newly blooded Hunters across the city--and we are supposed to speak with the First Hunter." Ophelia spoke, before making a nodding notion with her head towards the two Hunters who bore Holy Blades upon their back.

"I came to scout ahead because I thought you might have some respect for the Holy Moonlight Greatsword, upon which your pale imitations are based... but I do not want to cause a scene, my loves. I came to speak with Dietrich, and I think he will want to see me. If not... well, he can deal with me himself, hmm?" she added, managing to hide most of her displeasure from her tone--though it still sounded a little tense, unbelieving that they had reacted in such a way. This... was not the reception that she was expecting, she had to admit.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's mind took in the new sensations with equal parts eagerness and apprehension--she processed the feeling of the wind on her face, the sheer height of the city and the majesty of the vista arrayed before her, and then the gold. Something about the inscription made her uneasy, the image of people wading into waters unknown... but the eyes she found fascinating. She studied them from afar for a moment, looking for anything unusual in their depictions, but she did not dare touch it. She found herself oddly sad that none of the little Messengers were about; and also, based on her limited experience with the lamp in Rebirth's Rise, deeply concerned. They'd been practically swarming over her there--over all of them--and now none were to be found at all?

She tried to call for the Messengers as she had before, only for emptiness and silence to greet her in turn. The faint hints of a smile upon her face were wiped away in that instant, and she shuddered as though a sudden chill had run through her. This must be what the golden marker had meant, she supposed... why was the conduit--the lantern--gold? She perked her ears up to the wind and could hear the rhythmic hammering of metal upon metal in the distance, towards the ominous building flanked by inhuman statues. She found herself admiring them quite intensely as she walked up with a leisurely pace, the arrogant air of her invicibility giving her something of a sense of being untouchable... but she had seen enough people die, handled enough corpses, to know what a deeply unpleasant experience it could be. When it had happened to Torquil... she shuddered for a second, unsure if it was the thought or the wind, before continuing apace. She would be prudent, yes... but there was no amount of suffering she wouldn't endure to know what was going on here--why they'd been chosen for this Dream, what their purpose must be.

She approached the doors with all of the bravado of a person who was meant to be there--knowing full well that an aura of unearned confidence would breeze past all but the wariest of guards or workers or... churchgoers, she supposed. She truthfully did not know what to expect here--but one of them had to find out, and the others were utterly clueless when it came to the Truth. Torquil hadn't been able to see a thing even with the Eye rune, and she wondered if his aptitude for these things was simply low, or he had not come face to face with something that required enough insight to see, or if the ministration had taken enough of his memories that it would just take time. Farren... something about the way he'd acted before they left--his reaction to one of the names--suggested secrets hiding beneath the veil of ignorance. She would help him uncover them, she supposed, if that was what he wanted--and perhaps even if it wasn't.

Ophelia whispered a quick prayer--"Guide me, Mother Moon."--and attempted to gain ingress to the building. They would only know if they tried.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"So it seems the breadth of Yharnam is our proverbial oyster, hmm? You're right, though, love--it wouldn't do to keep Victor hanging. I know it's usually a bad idea to split up, but immortal as we are there are so few consequences that can touch us now. I was thinking that I might pay a visit to the White Church directly; I'd like to confirm Victor's story with the vicar or Dietrich, you see. If the two of you return to him at... Rebirth's Rise, I will do a little snooping of my own. If the stories are true, they might have some respect for my darling blade here--and that might earn me some answers that I can report back with. I have to know what these golden conduits mean, for all our sakes. Does that sound good to you, dears?" Ophelia asked, chiming in to the conversation after Farren addressed the Doll with his concerns.

She could not get the image of Naira's eyes out of her mind, the whorls of alien stars glittering within that seemed practically burned into her retinas. It took her a great deal of focus to put it out of her mind and let something else take the forefront, and she briefly pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand as she exerted a tremendous amount of mental effort. She still noticed the way that Farren's brow furrowed, and she could see within the sparkling azure depths of his eyes that some torment had afflicted him--a memory of his time before the ministration, perhaps? She did not pry any further than that, expecting him to ask if he wished to discuss it and wanting to let it alone if he did not.

Assuming there was no dissent to this plan, Ophelia would lay a gentle fingertip upon the golden marker for the Upper Cathedral Ward and focus, attempting to access the conduit. The message on the chalkboard... she could not shift it from the periphery of her thoughts, and knew she would not be able to truly concentrate on the plethora of opportunities that arrayed themselves before their motley little group until she had her answer. If it was something the Shopkeeper and Doll did not know, it was vitally important that they find out. That was her justification, at least, for indulging her wild curiosity.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia followed through the journey of experiencing the memory eagerly, immersing herself in the poached experience of another as she had done so many times before. They were dead; they did not need their eyes, nor their insight. Better they be collected by one who sees them, one ready for the sticky whispers they would no doubt impart. She recognised the place, if only by descriptions and distant peeks across the immensity that was Yharnam and its surrounds--and knew that allies of the Witches had once congregated here, in the time before everything changed. She shared their vision of coming across the Hunters, slain with such ease that their blood vials had remained unused, and she cringed at their stupidity... but she also admired their curiosity, at least a little.

But then she laid eyes upon Naira, albeit through the eyes of another, and immediately some flash of too-bright recollection glowed within her mind's eyes. She recognised her--though briefly and at a great remove, as though they'd met but never spoken--and recalled she had glistening mahogany-brown eyes flecked with little glimmers of something else. Whatever had happened to her, whatever forces she'd communed with to make her this way... to change her eyes like that, the essence of who she was... Ophelia shivered a little, and felt that shiver reverberate through the Holy Moonlight Greatsword. She could feel its stabilising influence even within the midst of experiencing another's experience, dull and distant, but she could not see any of the motes she'd been able to see earlier. She felt the sickening creep of fear and bile rising within her stomach, of dread and terror and not wanting it all to end, as the life she was experiencing this vision through was snuffed out and she came to with a brief and gibbering wail that the others may or may not have heard.

"No! She was about to see it, the Truth, I..." Ophelia babbled for a second as she came to, the hazy glimmer of alien stars alighting from her perception, but a quick look at and tender stroke of the sword she carried calmed her down and she breathed out the death throes of the woman whose skull she'd just crushed.

"Naira... she was never like that before. They must have made breakthroughs, gleaned insights, but... What separates her from the Healing Church of old now? Will she stop? Can she stop..? We... I... she has to be stopped." Ophelia mumbled to herself, suddenly deeply uncomfortable with the reality of and the cost of obtaining those grand insights. She shook the thought from her head as she made her way back to the others, collected near the doll at the Headstones.

"Conduits, you say? The Lanterns? So we have to... to awaken them in the waking world before we can use them to safely return here. Ah! The gold lights... they are conduits already activated, then? Have they remained active since your time, Shopkeeper, or are there those attuned to this Dream that have activated them from the Waking World but not ventured here?" Ophelia asked, stroking her chin with a free hand as she pondered the information revealed to her.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah nodded along with Madara’s words, her crimson gaze meeting the piercing amber of the surgeon’s. When the questions were directed at her she spoke quickly, though with a warm and eager tone. “While you finish up I shall gather my things, and we can be ready to travel together.”

She left shortly after Baroness Vela, Quintin, Yanin, and Jordan had–after having fussed over Lhirin idly while movement quite rapidly ensued following the end of the conversation. She made sure to direct him to leave with her, staying with him just long enough that he could safely navigate the enclosed space without taking his eyes off of whatever had grabbed his attention in that moment. Once outside she began a determined stride off towards her stagecoach, though she was stopped ere long by the sounds of Freagon and Jaelnec’s private conversation. She’d meant to fetch the potion and give it to Jaelnec, perhaps offer him some encouraging words, but it seemed that would not be necessary (and nor, she felt, her place). Her pace immediately slowed, albeit didn’t stop, until she got some of the tone and content of the words being spoken and her curiosity got the better of her. She swivelled quickly until just in earshot of the event, unsubtly eavesdropping with an apprehensive stare.

She did not speak or make any move to intrude upon the event, resolved only to step in if she thought Jaelnec was being mistreated in any way, but the conversation took an unexpectedly earnest and vulnerable tone that turned Irah’s apprehension to admiration. It was difficult to admit when one was wrong when one was possessed of true conviction, this she was no stranger to, but Freagon seemed the particularly miserly type. For him to offer an earnest nugget of such wisdom meant something quite profound, and it made Irah feel a little quiver of regret for being even peripherally present for such a touching moment. Only a quiver, though–she was far too invested in knowing what happened to let sentiment stop her.

As the ceremony begun, Irah quickly turned away and resumed her journey to the stagecoach–that she did not feel entitled to bear direct witness to, and she did have preparations to make. She greeted Armos with a gentle pat, quickly reaching into a saddlebag attached to him and withdrawing a small fruit they’d picked that morning en route to Borstown before offering it to him with an open palm. He took it gently, as he always did, and Irah gave him a few soft strokes on his side as he chewed. That done, she opened the door to the stagecoach and began to rummage within, looking amidst the clutter for the things she’d mentioned. She found each of them in turn, taking only a moment or two thanks to her familiarity, and returned to the front of the Fadewatcher station in time to see Jaelnec as a new person–a squire, now, rather than a page.

“Here is the healing potion that I mentioned, if you want to take it.” Irah offered, holding a tightly corked glass vial tied with a white silken ribbon. The ribbon was tied in an ornately decorative knot, such that it helped seal the cork within the neck of the vial, and Irah looked at it quite intently as it was proffered. She didn’t want to assume Jaelnec would still need it, given recent events, but it would be silly not to at least offer–and after a few seconds she brought her gaze up to stare into Jaelnec’s distinctive eyes with a wide smile on her face. She did not say the word “congratulations”, suddenly somewhat bashful and uncertain if it was her place, but her beaming smile radiated an almost-motherly affection that she hoped would speak for her. The whys of it mattered little, in her mind–it was plain to see that Jaelnec was starved of positive validation. She would be happy to offer him some to accompany the occasion, and to give him someone to show off to–everyone needed that.

She would offer him instructions if he accepted the vial–to use as small an amount as possible and wait, observe, and administer topically–and would keep it in her hands if he did not. That done, she continued apace to return inside to rendezvous with Madara and potentially Nabi. If Madara still had work to do by the time Irah returned she’d immediately step forward and offer to help in whatever ways were needed–and if not, she’d wait patiently for those assembled.