Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia caught the strange turn of phrase having been repeated by Dietrich--that the Vicar was a nice old man--in exactly the same way, almost down to the very same tone and intonation. It immediately struck her as peculiar, almost... forced, but also very clearly not--Dietrich's affection seemed entirely legitimate and genuine, and she did trust him... But she could not quite cross the bridge into automatically extending that trust to the Vicar, given the peculiarity of the golden lantern and its haunting plinth. She eagerly took his offered arm and walked with him, a little disappointed that they did not pass by the Hunters who'd accosted her earlier to rub it into their belligerent faces again. She made sure to observe the goings-on of the workshop, filing away little nuggets of information about the state of the White Church's supplies and the amount of people working there, in between coy glances at Dietrich. She could not help but feel a little trill of affection blossoming within her, quite amazed that the stories about him were not only true but that the truth very much exceeded them... at least in respect to his gallantry and easy personability... and his physical appearance, too.

It had been such a long time since Ophelia had felt anything remotely carnal in nature--the Paleblood had robbed her of all of that in her teens, just as she'd been growing into it. Following the disappearance of her parents and her being taken in by the Witches, there had simply never been the time nor the inclination--and her body had constantly betrayed her, so she had instead broadened the horizons of her mind. Since the ministration, and the Doll's channelling of blood echoes, she finally had begun to feel like her body was not just a prison for her mind but an integral and real part of her--and part of that was an awakening of desires that had slumbered so deeply within her that she'd forgotten they even existed. By the time she returned from her brief reverie of musing they'd just passed by the two Hunters getting dressed, and Dietrich had made his comment.

"Ahh, the depths of carnal pleasures are too vast to be ignored, hmm? I suppose it is no wonder, for nothing creates bonds like the thrill of danger. I imagine many of them look upon you with such lusts, no? You're so gallant and strong, so full of the vim and vigour of life... I think it would be very easy indeed to fall for you." Ophelia replied to his comment, a soft and musical titter following as she looked him up and down while commenting upon his appearance.

"Your eyes... Oh, they are among the most enchanting I've ever seen. I think I could gaze into them for hours..." she added, almost an afterthought, like thinking aloud.

Dietrich smiled at her, unperturbed by her words and charming as ever. "I would a fool to deny that I am quite blessed indeed, Miss Ophelia. But I must remind myself that the gods gave me these gifts for a greater purpose, lest I risk losing myself in arrogance and narcissism. As the First Hunter, I must be above such things, a symbol of aspiration. Still..." He paused, and his smile somehow managed to get even more charming. "We are allowed to dream."

"That we are, Dietrich, that we are... I slumbered for so long with the Paleblood, dreaming of things that might have been. Take it from me, dear, that dreams sometimes do come true. In realms beyond... we are beyond the laws and strictures that bind."

Ophelia continued to walk with him, though something in her demeanour changed subtly as she suddenly realised that they were heading out towards the entrance again. Her jaw tensed a little and she took a sharp intake of breath through her nose before exhaling just as quickly, though the cadence of her breathing returned to normal immediately thereafter, and she looked over to Dietrich as they were passing the golden plinth and its lantern.

"... can you see that, over there, the golden lantern and plinth?" Ophelia asked suddenly, nodding in the direction of the eerie gold.

"What gold?"

Ophelia blinked once, and then again. "I had expected you not to see the lanterns--they only seem to appear to those of us tied to the Dream, but... It's right there, all of it. A staggering--awesome, even--amount of gold in the form of a plinth beneath the lantern... Maybe a meter high, adorned with eyes, and naked figures striding into the ocean. You... you really can't see it?"

Dietrich stared at her blankly. "No?"

"... Something is very wrong here, Dietrich. One such as you should see... something, have any kind of intuition or sense. I hope that the Vicar can explain it, or... at least make me feel a little less like I'm going mad." Ophelia replied with a nervous chuckle at the end, though it was clear that she looked very deeply unsettled.

Dietrich shrugged. "I'm sorry?"

"Forgive a newly blooded Hunter her rambling... I've seen much in the past hour, and perhaps I'm just a little overwhelmed. Mother Moon above..." she sighed, her voice shakier than it had been mere seconds ago. She shook her head and gave Dietrich a soft smile before turning ahead to continue on towards their destination.

Ophelia audibly gasped when she saw the lumenflowers, instantly and immediately struck by not only their profound beauty, but the tremendous amount of guidance sprites dancing around them.

"Oh, how beautiful... look at how they sparkle, like they each have a beam of Moonlight at their core..." she mused, and as they got closer to them she realised just how much the buds looked like eyes, of all things--and all of them looked like they were looking at her. Most would find the sensation alarming, she thought, but she drew a tremendous amount of comfort from it--as though her Mother Moon was gazing down upon her, communing with her, whispering on rays of light that she was seen and enveloped and embraced. She looked towards the Holy Moonlight Greatsword and placed the gentlest of kisses upon its gleaming form in rapturous appreciation.

When she finally caught sight of the Vicar, she found herself suddenly on guard--the peculiarity of Dietrich's speech earlier came once again to the forefront of her mind, and she found herself filled with both curiosity and wariness... but he was such a nice old man. She blinked to herself, very keenly aware that that thought was most definitively not hers--but amidst her skeptical consideration of it, she found that it had crashed against the ocean of her mind like a rogue wave. She felt the pull of the Holy Moonlight Sword again, as strongly as she had earlier when it had calmed her in the Hunter's Dream, but even its glorious refulgence could not prevent the thought from settling deep into the recesses of her skull. She felt her skepticism melting away into a gentle admiration, and her heart fluttering with affection, and she knew that it was all right. He was just a nice old man, that's what it was.

"Oh, Harold, I'm surprised you know my name! How awfully nice; it's such a pleasure to meet you too, my dear." She replied warmly, taking his hand with her now-free hand after Dietrich's prostration and curtseying regally. She found herself oddly concerned despite the ripples of warmth suffusing themselves throughout her body, though it was at Dietrich's sudden display of submission and nothing to do with Vicar Harold. How could she think ill of such a nice old man?

"Dietrich said that you would want to speak with me before I left, and... well, who could refuse Dietrich of the Shining Wing? I'm so glad that I came--these flowers are almost as beautiful as you are gracious." She replied, smiling warmly at the Vicar.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia beamed at Dietrich's laughter, though her expression darkened slightly and her eyes narrowed just a hair at the hint of bitterness she detected. It could be many things, and Dietrich was a man she had just met--she made no judgements, simply filed it away in her hoard of information to be considered and perused like a precious jewel later on in the context of a collection. She adjusted the brim of her hat with her free hand, tilting it slightly back, and then fidgeted with her long and ornate braid as she spoke:

"Ahh, it most certainly would be improper to leave Victor to travel back here alone, no? He is running perilously low on blood vials, he said, and we can guarantee his safety in a way that no other Hunters can. He was a great help to us during our conflict with the pallid one and his filthy beastman; I most certainly owe him the courtesy of escorting him back. I think I would like to meet with the Vicar now, though, if you'll escort me? I would certainly find it impolite if a visitor with tidings such as mine visited my abode and spoke only to my second-in-command!"

Ophelia then squinted a little, tilting her head slightly to the right, before making a little tsk as she pondered something. She tried to call for the Messengers again, wondering if they would show up here inside the Workshop. If they did, she would ask Dietrich if she could scribe a letter quickly using the materials strewn about--and if not, she would extend her free arm out for Dietrich to take and lead her to the Vicar.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia took stock of the little twitch in Dietrich's mouth when she mentioned Gerlinde, very curious that it carried that same vague whiff of dignified disdain as when she'd mentioned "Soulkeeper" earlier. She added that little tidbit to her hoard of knowledge eagerly, though there was no outward reflection of that (or very little; Dietrich seemed perceptive enough to perhaps understand).

She reacted with unabated shock when he revealed what Paleblood really was, and a sudden look of rapturous epiphany came over her face. So that was what it was; she'd simply known it as a wasting sickness, with very little indication of the true nature of what ran through her veins... but it all made sense. The dreams, her uncanny insights, how she'd taken to the Witches' tutelage so immediately and adeptly. Another mystery crossed off of her list, though it made her wonder how she had never found the answer before.

"Ah, so that's what it is... That... answers a lot of questions I've had over the years. Thank you, Dietrich. The Vicar... would you like us to go and speak with him now? I admit, I feel a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving my companions to tread the breadth of our city on foot on a night like this. I would glean what answers I can, answer what questions of yours I can, and return to them as quickly as possible. I will return, of course, but... later. If it pleases you, I could simply refrain from meeting the vicar until we are all assembled; given that the others are the result of his experiments and I am not, I don't know whether it would be improper." Ophelia replied, giving him a grateful curtsey as she first began to speak.

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.