Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

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

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

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

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

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

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

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

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

Mother Moon keep you,

Ophelia"

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

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's senses were assaulted by the toxic airs and fumes of the industrial zone of Yharnam--but as one who spent her formative years at the very heart of Hemwick, she was more than used to the stench of death. The stench of the tanneries was fierce, especially now to her keener Hunter's senses, but a mere wrinkling of her nose was all that escaped her before she quickly became used to it. She spent her time looking around, observing details about this area of her city that she'd never been in before. The way the cobblestones had worn down, the wideness of the path compared to her memories of Hemwick Charnel Lane and dense forest paths and even the labyrinthine clusteredness of Central Yharnam. It took her a second to notice the lamp on its little wooden post, though she immediately pointed it out once she'd seen it.

"Ahh, look there loves. A lantern--how wonderful." She mused, speeding up to a jog and weaving her way dextrously through the four Hunters of Moira's party to meet the lantern. She expected the little ones there, crawling up and over each other to meet her and Torquil and Farren, and extended her free right hand out gently towards the lantern.

"Quite convenient. Let's hope the beast is somewhere around here."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia had meant to only spare Torquil and Farren a cursory glance, but something about the way that Torquil looked struck her like a dagger--like a rabbit who'd just realised he'd wandered into a trap. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning her head away from Torquil because she could not bear the shame of looking at him and realising that she was the one who'd made him feel like this with her own anger and pride. She was too proud to back down, she knew that, and she cradled her cheek against the Holy Moonlight Sword. While Farren spoke she let her mind and soul touch it, and she prayed in her heart of hearts to be worthy of its guidance, to let go of that beast within her and return to purity. To know that if she was tested and found wanting, she would earnestly try to be worthy of its blinding grace. There was no mote of pity in her heart for Victor, for she had truly gone out of her way to earnestly protect him as gratitude for what he'd done and what he'd given for them... but then she thought of Torquil's face, the way that his eyes flitted and his expression soured. She sighed softly and her stiffened posture relaxed into a defeated slump of her shoulders, and she knew that she couldn't leave things like this. Not only would it break her heart every time she looked at sweet, simple Torquil... she could not let him down. It made sense to her, in that moment, what Dietrich had said--his overindulgence... the way that he didn't even flinch at the brand... He truly must have lived through a lot, to make it four years as a Hunter. That was no excuse for his rudeness, but her reply to that had been far ruder than he had... and he had just seen his friend dead.

She thought about how scared and angry and sick she'd felt when Torquil had died and she didn't know that he was effectively immortal. How glad she'd been to find him returned hale and whole, what an incredible miracle Mother Moon had provided for them all. She would not get that if Victor died. He'd just be another corpse, another body hauled to her home on a cart that she'd prepare for burial, or for ritual, or for the dogs. She'd be no better than a beast in Torquil's eyes, and unlike almost everyone else in the entire world she was going to be with him for better or for worse. They could go their own separate ways somewhat, certainly, but they would run into one another--and if he looked at her like Victor had, like she had at him, she would not even be able to die from shame. She would have to live with that until... until she became like Moira, she supposed, freed from the Dream. Away from her Mother Moon.

She turned around, and saw Farren tossing a blood vial to Victor. She brought her hand down to her own pouch and felt it, feeling the weight of those extra vials, and she resolved to try and do the right thing.

"Victor... These blood vials are for you. I asked the Vicar to give me some blood vials, so you would have enough for the journey back. Take them, and... I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that, and... you've been very good to us." Ophelia spoke, tone remorseful and shameful, before quickstepping to catch up with him and offer him the five vials in her hand. Her eyes glistened with dew and were cast slightly downward, though she still focused on his person.

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.