Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia pondered thoughtfully at the dilemma presented when Victor made it known his intention was to go back immediately to Upper Cathedral Ward, and she turned her head to look at him even as she knelt down and passed the runebrand back to the Messengers for safe keeping.

"... Your report is of little use if you die alone out there, Victor. Come with us, please? Your skills will improve everyone's chances of survival, and then we can return to Dietrich together to deliver the report. He'd want you to be safe and prudent, I'm sure of it, and that means travelling in numbers--even if that involves a small delay."

Victor frowned. "I'm pretty sure I have much better chances sneaking back to the Ward on my own than I do intentionally seeking out an especially dangerous beast."

Ophelia laughed gently. "In the presence of Moira, Liam, Myrna, Birk, and we three Paleblood Hunters? Do you believe your stealth more reliable than our combined might? To say nothing of the fact that we may summon the Moonborn Hunter to aid us. There are no dangers greater than isolation on a Night of the Hunt--they send you out in multiples for a reason, love. I just want to you to be safe."

By then Farren had crossed his arms as Ophelia attempted to convince Victor. “She's right. Running about alone is one thing before the sun has fallen, but now? The moon will rise soon and these streets are dark with bloodstarved beasts waiting for a victim.”

Victor threw up his hands with a groan of frustration. "Yeah, because you, who have been Hunters for a whole hour or so, are perfectly suited to tell me, who have been a Hunter for four years, how to survive a Night of the Hunt. I've seen the kind of thing they're after before, okay? And yes, I absolutely will take my chances alone against whatever rabble comes across me on my way back rather than go up against that!"

Looking back with an expression that was hard to see through the visor of her helmet at this distance, Moira remarked: "You don't have to fight. None of you do. We can handle the beast ourselves."

"Fine!" Victor spat angrily. "If you're so determined to bring me along, I'll go! But don't count on me throwing myself at some giant monster."

Moira nodded her head once. "Also: don't summon the Moonborn Hunter. Too unpredictable. Doesn't listen. Liable to kill people."

Ophelia's face suddenly turned cold as Victor vented the heat of his anger at them, and she blinked two times in quick succession before she affixed him with a piercing gaze. "You saw what happened to Stefan. Will you let the beast called pride take you too, all because you have some absurd idea that because we were only awakened as Hunters recently we don't have a lifetime of experience too? Have some respect and listen to a good idea when it's staring you in the bloody face, Victor." Ophelia retorted, her tone taking on the quality of equal parts chiding mother and dangerous witch. Her withering stare did not end when she finished speaking.

The impatient frustration intermingled with a hint of fear in Victor's expression likewise gave way to something colder and darker, as he looked at Ophelia with eyes smoldering with dull anger. Even though he had already agreed to come with them, at this point he simply turned around and started down the street to the west without another word.

"I guess he's not coming after all," Moira observed.

"Apparently not. Let him die alone, then, if that's what he wants." Ophelia shrugged, turning on her heel in equal measure and moving to follow Moira. She cast a sidelong glance at Farren and Torquil and the harshness on her features began to thaw, and she shot them each a questioning glance as she followed Moira and the other Black Church Hunters.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia branded each of the Hunters dutifully, though only Victor did she give a small and wan smile to. As she performed the work she spoke back to Moira, offering a quick glance to Farren as he spoke but otherwise remaining trained on what she was doing.

"It is mine, after all, since the Witches are gone. They would want me to protect Hemwick, but... my Hemwick is gone. So I turn to you, my new brothers and sisters, and offer you what protection I can. Take any advantage indeed." Ophelia spoke, though her voice was soft and rueful. Memories flitted across her mind's eye like little sprites, happy ones and sad ones, filled with love and grief and light and dark in equal measure--but she did not let herself reminisce about what was. It was gone, now, and there was no bringing it back--there was only this new life that she'd been suddenly thrust into. Practically everyone she'd ever cared about was dead now, dead or... something worse. The Blood Moon had taken so much from her, and even as she avoided letting the memories engulf her she saw the pattern in their traces--that night, years ago, would play out again tonight. She was certain of it, thanks to the little hints offered by the Messengers, and a feeling of almost-deja vu that she couldn't quite shake.

"Ah, I am Ophelia. I had wondered if Victor had shared our names already, but I suppose it's just polite to introduce ourselves either way. We'd be happy to join you on your hunt, love, if you'll have us... green as we are. Freshly turned tonight, and reeling from the magnitude of it all. All that I would ask in return is for a few motes of your guidance, you who have trodden this path before. Shall we move?" Ophelia finished, a sudden sharpness and clarity coming over her as she processed her feelings and let her mind return to the state of sharpness that it required for the task ahead.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Amygdala, you say? I don't know what they are, but your assurances are enough for me. I've seen the statue of you, Moira, in the Dream--it's really quite an honour, I must say." Ophelia began, looking thoughtful but thoroughly excited. She gave Moira a gentle curtsey and even a bow of her head--though she was enamoured with Dietrich, she felt a certain sort of kinship with Moira. She'd heard plenty of tell about the Black Healing Church's creed in her time amongst friends and strangers, about how they served the needs of Hunters in a way that the White Church never had. She never thought that she'd be a Hunter, never mind a Paleblood Hunter, and never mind the only True Paleblood Hunter in their little trio--if anyone could be said to have an experience that mirrored hers, it would be Moira.

"I know you are busy, out on the Hunt, but... Do you think it would be possible for us to carve out some time to talk? You know what it's like, surely, to be bound the Dream and filled with questions but have little in the way of guidance. The Shopkeeper and Doll are lovely, of course, and my the Shopkeeper is terrifying to behold in battle... but despite how darling they are, they lack a certain... familiarity. Ah! Before I forget, I have a gift for you, dear." Ophelia spoke, first addressing Moira and then switching to Victor at the last moment. She bent down briefly with her right arm outstretched and beckoning to the little ones, willing them to bring forth the runebrand. She took it from them gently, whispered a 'thank you', and pointed the tool towards Victor with a firm grip.

"I have a Rune I'd like to anoint you with, love, if you're willing to accept. Something to keep you safe. It will sting quite terribly, but it can offer you a premonition of danger a little before it strikes. I'd be honoured to brand the rest of you, too, good Hunters--if such is your desire. This... this is going to be a long Night. Every little advantage will help. Do you still have a rune, Moira? I assume the brand was there when you were yet tied to the Dream." Ophelia spoke, softly and kindly. She felt obliged to Victor, even if he had only been following orders--and as best as she could tell, he truly had acted sensibly. She wasn't sure why Farren was so huffy all of a sudden, but he'd been getting more terse and gruff the longer things had gone on. Perhaps this was simply who he was, and he was just now remembering... perhaps it was something else.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's face went through a similar series of changes to Victor's: first into a smile of joy at having found who they were looking for, then to curiosity at the brigade of people he'd brought with him (though less why and more who), and finally landing on intrigued curiosity at the assembled personages. Something about the one in black near Victor and leading the others immediately struck her as familiar--from that statue in the Dream, with the saw cleaver and blunderbuss to boot. If she didn't know any better, she'd have put her finger on it being Mother Moira--and at that, the cold and judgmental pallour on her face melted into something warmer.

"Ah, Victor, dear! I'm so pleased that you're safe, and that you brought company! Skinner is dead, so if that's what you were frantically rushing back this way for... There's really no need, now. Though... you could go back and check the body, if such is your wont. I... might be being a little presumptuous here, but are you Moira?" Ophelia asked, looking intently at the one cladded fully in black with the distinct and recognisable weapons. She scanned their frame up and down as she spoke, looking for... something, some hint of recognition. If it truly was her...

"Ah, but we should move away from here. There's... something up there, though I can't see it, and standing in its presence makes me very uneasy. Should we move along? I have no doubt you will want to verify my claim of Skinner's death--his corpse should still be where we left it." Ophelia added, her eyes occasionally glancing up towards that big invisible spot surrounded by sprites. Something about it chilled her to the core, the not knowing, and she turned her head back to Victor with a big smile as she awaited Farren's input or a response from the group.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia caught glimpse of the guidance sprites swarming around... something, something that she couldn't see, and she used her free right hand to point up towards the space above them in the air where they gathered in a swarm. She also spoke Farren's name, just to be safe, though she didn't bother directly informing Torquil. He seemed to be quite content with just tagging along and taking whatever direction was given to him when it was needed, more a follower than anything else, and that suited her just fine--she'd follow her whims for as long as they aligned with Farren's, but that sense of unease pricked at her again from within and returned her from her thoughts to the issue at hand.

"Up there... sprites. A whole swarm of them, too--like... there's something big up there, something of the Nightmare? But I can't see it, only the sprites surrounding it." She mused, keeping her tone above a whisper but below normal speaking volume. She had half a mind to try something, and anoint herself temporarily with the Eye rune once again--perhaps it would reveal some insight to her, now that she knew where to look?

Can you sense what is there, my guiding moonlight? she thought, her right hand returning to give it a tender stroke as she offered her thoughts to it and posed her question. Before anything further could happen, though, Ophelia caught sounds of footsteps approaching from beyond the corner, and her head snapped to attention as her eyes focused and her muscles braced. Something in her posture changed, as though ready to fight, and she rose to her full height and kept herself on guard. Like this, there was almost something regal about her--imposing and bright, but frightfully cold and dispassionate at the same time. It was a curious opposite to her voice, which was always warm and familiar.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia paid Farren close attention while they were speaking, and something uneasy began to rise within her the more that she observed. The misnaming of Gerlinde couldn't have been an accident, not with her having spoken the name mere seconds before... there was a story there, some snag in the proverbial tapestry. She briefly gave thought to pulling at it, but decided that such things could be revisited later--though she resolved to keep more of an eye on Farren in the interim, just to be safe.

"Well, before we set off I should give you the lay of the land, so to speak... I'm not quite sure what the gold means, not yet, but the markers in the Dream that have it have odd lanterns--like the ones we're used to, in the Dream and Rebirth's Rise both, albeit all of their metal is gold. They also rest upon these queer little golden plinths, decorated with eyes and people striding into the ocean naked. The little ones seem unable to show up anywhere this gold has taken root--I didn't get the message you'd sent me until I returned to the Dream, and I tried to call them to send you a message while I was there to no avail. The leader, Vicar Harold, he..." Ophelia began, gesturing for Torquil to come closer as she began speaking and waiting for him to be comfortably in earshot before she continued. When she began speaking about Harold she paused for a moment to gather herself, shuddering slightly at the memory.

"He's doing something to everyone there, worming his way into their minds. They all look at him with dreamy eyes and call him a 'nice old man', with exactly that phrasing, and they all seem unaware of the compulsion that's seeped its way into them. I had the thoughts too, though my... particular affinity for the arcane, my tutelage under the Witches, and my guiding moonlight seems to have let me really see them for what they are. I doubt the two of you would fare as well, and would fall under the same compulsion: so I'll warn you now, loves, don't go near the Vicar. Don't listen to him, don't approach him, don't even think about him--he's more dangerous than anyone else I've ever seen, I'm convinced of it... Other than our dear Shopkeeper, of course." Ophelia added, relaxing somewhat with the catharsis of verbalising how violated she felt--and grateful she could hopefully ward her companions against it.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Mm, it would seem that the Shopkeeper's assistance comes with a price indeed. That's the only thing different as best as I can tell. Ah, well, now we know. Mother Moon gleams all the brighter without cretins such as he to blemish her light, and Dietrich'll be terribly pleased. Oh, he's lovely--a consummate gentleman. Should... should we go after Victor? I'd hate for anything to happen to him. Otherwise, we could retire to the Dream so a proper conversation can be had away from prying eyes... and if so, I've an idea. I'll ask the little ones to send Gerlinde a message, ask her to meet us in the Dream. What I've discovered about the White Healing Church concerns us all, she deserves to know. What do we all think? Try and save Victor from whatever horrors lurk out here, or retire to the Dream?" Ophelia replied, the menace fading from her eyes as she mentioned Dietrich and recalled her time spent earlier. The juxtaposition of scenes like this, bloody and visceral and dangerous, against the clean and organised whiteness of the Healing Church. Against the gentle garden of the Hunter's Dream, where Mother Moon's light shone so abundantly. From bliss to horror and back, with no notion of which was truly which... She could see how such a thing might imperil one's sense of self. Fortunately, she had the glorious light of the cosmos by her side--it would always help her return to clarity and focus, moon-bright thoughts resonating in perfect synchronicity.

She awaited a response from Farren, mostly, as the Shopkeeper and Torquil seemed to be as laconic as they usually were.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia observed the solitary mote of moonlight about Torquil's person with a gentle interest, quickly remembering to hand him one of the antidotes and explaining its purpose in a perfunctory tone: "If you get ashen blood, this'll alleviate things until you can return to the Dream." With that done she began to snake over towards the grisly scene of Skinner's demise with long and loping steps. She peered over Farren to examine the carnage, and gave the Shopkeeper a graceful curtsy as she turned to look at them.

"We're grateful for your assistance, love. The tales of your might weren't exaggerated--I'm glad we could give you an opportunity to hunt once more. Though... this seemed like perhaps not much of a challenge for you!" She said, looking Farren up and down and surveying the scene around them with some interest. It seemed like much had gone on here in quite a short amount of time, and Farren seemed especially put through the ringer with the rips in his clothes and stains of blood strewn all about the scene. She nodded down at him thoughtfully, before presenting him with the five extra blood vials as well as the antidote.

"Seems we've both been busy, dear. Where's Victor?" She smiled, though it was not a particularly kindly smile like he was used to seeing from her. Her eyes seemed focused on the distance, paths that Victor could've travelled, and making assessments about what might've happened here. She still seemed full of energy, or... perhaps wrath, not yet spent on the object of her distaste.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia scarcely had time to blink before the Moonborn Hunter had rocketed off in search of prey--and Ophelia was stunned for a moment by seeing the sheer speed of which they were capable. When she found herself in command of her faculties again she could hear the buildup of something that sounded an awful lot like static, and a quick inhalation through her nose gave her the slightest hint of charge, almost like ozone or the smell of a work of arcane communion about to take place. She pressed herself back against the very rear of the lift, certain to avoid the switch, and not a moment later the fulgurous cascade of energy washed over the area, its cobalt-blue actinic light the only assault that managed to reach her, for the structures and mechanisms of the lift protected her from the rest.

She stepped out after that, eyes looking around for familiarity, and she found Torquil immediately. She rushed over to him, standing by his side, as she watched the Moonborn Hunter and Farren chase up on the whimpering and begging Skinner. Truly, he was a beast even to the end--prompted to fawn, and then when truly backed into a corner having given in to that base savagery she detested so. She gave Torquil a quick visual assessment to see if he was hurt, already counting five vials out from her pack as her eyes did their work. She'd hand them to him hastily and make sure he was okay before turning back to observe the carnage. If they got too far for her to see comfortably she'd follow along, keeping her distance twenty or so feet behind them if it came to that. She also prepared the little vial of quicksilver, ready to anoint the Holy Moonlight Blade and strike out against Skinner if he tried anything untoward.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia hadn't begun sprinting at the first gunshot--that could've been anything at all. Hearing random, errant gunshots on a Night of the Hunt was no more irregular than anything else... but the second was enough to make Ophelia begin to sprint as quickly as she could. The path they'd followed was obvious--not footprints, exactly, but markers of where they'd been and where Ophelia needed to go. She was frighteningly quick now, quicker than she'd ever thought would be possible, but this pace was going to tire even her suddenly extraordinary stamina. It'd be okay--there'd be time to stop and rest before she joined... well, what she presumed was the confrontation, but she really didn't have any idea. She'd heard of this 'Skinner' before, though--hushed and horrified whispers, hearkened to by harrowed and haunted hanger-ons... tales of sadistic violence, of corpses missing entire swathes of their skin. Ophelia knew well the kind of determination and precision that such macabre butchery required from her time in Hemwick taking bodies apart... and she knew that to enjoy it on such a primal level was a sure sign of a beast. Perhaps not by blood, or by disease, but by kinship--but spirit, and sympathy.

She reckoned that beings like that, like the Pallid man and his little runt, like this "Soulkeeper" or "Corval" or "Skinner"... they all needed to die. The heat did not return to her as it did before, her blood cooled as it was by the glorious light of Mother Moon. She felt only a cold and cresting radiance, searing yet frigid, like all the coolness and pitilessness of night but the incandescence of day--and it spurred her to action not in that rash and violent way, but conniving and concentrated. She took the little bell, the Moonborn Bell, and withdrew it from her person right as she stepped onto the elevator. She noticed that it had already returned up for her--and could spot the smudges from footwear having recently padded across it. She rang it soulfully and pleadingly, measured and focused, and she whispered a little prayer under her breath:

"Come, Moonborn Hunter, and let us grace them all with Her radiance. I call you to Hunt, dear, for the night will be long."

After the Moonborn Hunter materialised, Ophelia operated the lift to send it down once again--ready to continue looking for Farren, Torquil and Victor.