Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia blinked, and then blinked again in disbelief as she listened to Harold's words. Some primal and animalistic part of her, embolded by the Old Blood, screamed at her to run--to return to the Hunter's Dream as quickly as possible. To tell the Moonborn Hunter of this epiphany, and to... Well, she didn't know what to do. They wouldn't know either, she figured, they being what they were... But all of that was quelled with soft motes of light, and she looked up at the waxing moon beginning to make itself known in the sky of this world. She breathed in slowly and deeply, and steeled her focus.

"The genius of what you've done is matched only by its recklessness, I fear. The Dream... it is a realm of Nightmare, intimately tied to its source--a Great One that is dead. You are not tapping the source of the Dream, love, but those marked by a Great One... and that diluted power, disconnected from the source of the Dream, might put more strain on it than it can bear. There has never been, to the best of my understanding, more than one Hunter tied to it at any given point--and they are all released in the fullness of time, once they have served whatever inscrutable purpose was deemed necessary of them. I... I know that weather changes seem trivial, dear, but they're not. They represent a loss of control over the nature of the Dream by the forces that steward it in its creator's absence. Is this not the next step of your research? To have made the connection, to know it is possible, and to use the knowledge of those who are tied to the Dream to understand the how and the why? Forgive my ardour, I can... simply feel the consequences of these actions in a way you perhaps cannot--and it is my duty to report them to you, love." Ophelia spoke, choosing her words carefully with a great number of pauses and moments of reflection as she spoke. She tried her level best not to sound confrontational, having picked up on Farren's tension, but the situation was taking a toll on her--and she was struggling very much on the knife's edge between getting all of the knowledge she could and her need to not overplay her hand.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia did her best not to narrow the eyes at the explanation, though she could sense plain in the vicar's speech the bent he was giving his interpretation of facts to suit his own narrative. Ophelia knew she had to be careful in how she responded--and she figured it was best to mostly try and go along with the analogy.

"Mm... the Dream ensnares us for a specific purpose--my concern is the line in this metaphor, dear. Whatever force the Dream ensnares us by, it is of the pond--and I don't think the line and hook you've concocted are. Whatever force is in control of the Dream might not have the ability to manage these extra fishing poles, and the function of the pond might suffer as a result. The realms of Nightmare... you know how dangerous they can be when tampered with, don't you, love? I understand your aim, and the lure of immortal Hunters--don't think me against the idea of your experiments! I simply wish to add my knowledge to its refinement, to a careful and thorough understanding of the forces we tamper with... to avoid another Night of the Blood Moon. We all lost so much with the School of Mensis' overreaching... Yharnam can't endure that kind of loss again, and we must protect it and its people, no? Is that not what we are sworn to, as the stewards of the arcane knowledge of yore?" Ophelia asked in return, her tone thoughtful and melodic but with some undercurrent of serious worry. In many ways, what she was saying was absolutely true--she did not, in principle, have a problem with being able to connect others to the Hunter's Dream. If what Harold had done was hurting her Mother Moon, or her friends, or her birthright... well, that was another story--and it was that story they needed to get to.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia paid everyone close attentiona after she'd set out her introductions and purpose--gathering as much knowledge as possible. It was regrettable, that the Deep Sea rune hadn't helped, but now they knew that it didn't. There was no small degree of animosity between Gerlinde and Harold either--though Farren and Torquil hadn't seemed to notice. It struck her in that moment how chilling the influence Harold had truly was, for Farren was ever-curious and hyper-vigilant... to be able to dull even such keen senses as his, to have enthralled even Dietrich... it made her stomach turn, and some part of her want to scream and run away. The Holy Moonlight Sword buoyed her, though, as it always would--and through the wondrous effulgence of the cosmos resonating in her mind's eye she found the point of clarity she needed and continued unfazed.

"Gerlinde, dear, Harold's our host! While we're guests in this beautiful garden, perhaps we should comport ourselves with a little touch more decorum?" Ophelia began, walking over to Gerlinde and placing a free hand on her shoulder to spin her about such that they could gaze into one another's eyes without Harold being able to see either of their faces clearly. She shot Gerlinde a very particular look, not of chastisement but of pleading, silently asking her to play along.

"Oh, he's used to it," Gerlinde said with a smile and a shrug. "But fine, if that's what you want I'll be nice for once."

"It means the world to me, love, thank you." Ophelia replied, squeezing her shoulders softly and giving her an earnestly warm smile that she immediately transitioned into a beaming gaze at Harold.

"You see, Harold, we've noticed a little something... amiss with the Hunter's Dream. Whenever one of your experiments heads there, the... weather changes? It seems innocuous, I know, but... I have something of an affinity for the realms of Nightmare, perhaps owing to my true Paleblood, and I can feel... ripples. Distortions... Something. I... I know it'd be uncouth of me, to ask your confidence in such delicate matters so soon, but I feel I must. I know that I can trust you, love, so I ask: what is this false Paleblood?" Ophelia began, stumbling a little over her words as she built up purposefully. She reckoned it was something of a gamble, to be so direct, but between Harold's seeming distaste for Gerlinde and his own ignorance of her own true thoughts... She wondered if she might have altered the odds just enough in her favour to get some true answers. She also wondered if he might ask them to take care of something like he had Gerlinde before he answered their questions... there were many possibilities that could unfold from this moment. She found herself wanting to ask Farren, for he had the kind of piercing insight that could cut through the vast and nebulous cloud of what she could see unfolding--and it repulsed her to her core to think that she'd let him be subjected to this creeping influence that took him away from himself.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia prepared herself mentally before touching the golden marker, summoning forth whatever reserves of wit and wiles she possessed to see the situation they were about to enter into clearly. As she woke she cradled the Holy Moonlight Sword to her face, and felt... safe. She could feel the gentle radiance of her guiding moonlight protecting her, her familiarity with and affinity for the strange forces at work in this place inuring her against the insidiousness of its influence.

She opened her eyes, and at once she asked the Holy Moonlight Sword a question that occurred to her in that moment: these Lumenflowers, the aura here... was it a part of the same greater whole that the Holy Moonlight Sword was? Were they of the same being, the same influence, or... were these flowers merely another pretender to the name of Mother Moon? The answer resonated in her mind like a clarion call: it does not know what presence exists here, only that the presence is of the Nightmare. No other part of it is here.

With that answered, Ophelia's gaze grew just a hair colder--whatever force was at play here, it was not one that she venerated. She would not be tricked into doing the bidding of another Great One, nor another person--from the moment she picked up the Holy Moonlight Sword, the very instant that it chose her and she chose it, she had been ever sworn to her Mother Moon. She gave Harold a warm and cordial smile, the chilliness of her thoughts hidden, and greeted him in much the same manner:

"Ah, love, it's so good to see you again! It seems events overtook us, and we got split away from Victor... but I reckon he'll be safer on his own anyway. Gerlinde here is such a delight--we came across one another on our journeys, and I must say, we're all quite enamoured with her... I think we'll end up spending much time in one another's company as the night grows e'er longer. Still! As we agreed, I thought it best to bring them here--you must wish to observe the results of your work, and I know my companions have questions about their condition... And I have some questions of my own for you besides, dear, though they can wait until after." Ophelia smiled, attempting to never give Harold a reason to be suspicious of her in the first place. She could see it plain upon Torquil's face that whatever mysterious force existed here had bewitched him--and she daren't attempt to read anything so subtle on Farren's face. If they were bewitched and she played along, there should be no reason for suspicion--and it hadn't escaped her notice that Harold seemed... much less pleased for Gerlinde to be here, if his little grimace was any indication. She thought it would be quite manageable to keep Harold's trust in her--though she hoped Gerlinde wouldn't give the game away.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia turned to thank Torquil for his observation as he said it, though before much movement could occur between them Farren had already made his way up to them--and had a tense interaction with Gerlinde. Ophelia observed it with keen interest, seeing something of herself in Gerlinde as she forgave Farren the way she'd forgiven the Shopkeeper a few hours earlier... and she cemented in her heart that Gerlinde was a part of their little group. Whatever came, the sweet girl had suffered too much for one so young and Ophelia would not permit anyone or anything to take advantage of her again. And Farren... his earlier actions made more sense to her now, and she knew well that Gerlinde's grace was a sign of acceptance of the way things must be in the absence of any ability to change the past... but the fact that he'd felt compelled to confess his part in what happened to her was irrefutable proof that whoever he was then, he was not that person now. She'd done worse than him, truth be told, and none of them had ever displayed a single doubt about her--she could offer him no less than the understanding and grace she'd been offered. Feeling oddly filled with camaraderie, Ophelia waited for the moment between Gerlinde and Farren to pass before she spoke.

"Whatever happened before, we've got nothing but each other now. Nobody else will understand what we've been through, and what we will soon go through together. You... are all I have left, and I will protect you all however I can. Now, sentiment aside, there have been some developments..." Ophelia began, happy to have some shred of belonging with something that survived the Night of the Blood Moon--and she filled Farren in on all of the developments they'd learned while he'd been absent, letting anyone else who wanted to speak do so.

"So... I think we need to learn as much about this false Paleblood as we can. Whatever it is, if it's a risk to you two or the Dream itself, we need to equip ourselves to mitigate it... and the only person we'll learn a thing from is Harold himself. Gerlinde's been kind enough to share a number of Runes with me, and there's one in particular I'd like to brand you with, Farren. It's the same rune we found on those little trinkets in the Industrial Ward--though I know it now as the Deep Sea Rune. It... insulates you from immaterial forms of harm--like the dreadful frenzy of the Pallid one's bell, or... or Ashen Blood. Harold... he will violate your mind, and I wonder if it might help. You'll find this strange compulsion fill you, that'll tell you he's just a nice old man--but he isn't, and you must remember that. I offer it to you as well, Torquil, if you want it--though... I know how the brand bites; if you don't want to endure the pain, I understand."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia did indeed notice the blades of mercy returned to the wall--and thought it passing strange. She idly stooped down to beckon forth the little ones and scrawled a quick message to Farren: "Blades of Mercy in shop. Write back if you need me to hand them off to little ones."

With that done she turned her attention back to the wide-eyed and frantic Gerlinde, whose excitement could apparently be barely contained. Ophelia nodded gently at her assertion that Farren left, and idly leaned against the podium where the runebrand had once lain. Ophelia's gaze was more more focused than Gerlinde's, still gazing up and down her--she'd felt two distinct emanations of cosmic import upon Gerlinde's person and while she'd gathered that the molted snakeskin was one, she was yet uncertain of the other... but she spoke softly and kindly while she observed.

"He's business with one of the workshops, dear. Firstly, though, I just... want to check in, love--the way you looked at me when I approached you... are you okay? Ever since this happened to you I wonder if anyone's just... asked you how you're doing?" Ophelia began, her face the picture of tender and motherly concern--with Gerlinde's exceptional youth, and Ophelia's renewed but not fully rejuvenated features listing towards the older, it could certainly look to an observer like a mother reaching out to their child.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia, for once, paid little attention to Farren and Torquil--she was both comforted and intrigued by the Holy Moonlight Sword's whispers, and she prayed silently to her Mother Moon in gratitude for its unparalleled guidance. She'd have to ask the Shopkeeper what the Interstice was... she could only make guesses, based upon the name, but the revelation that Gerlinde was 'shifted across realities' interested her greatly--as did the waifish Huntress' greater connection to the Nightmare than hers. She made to follow Gerlinde up the stairs immediately, though her eyes narrowed a little and her wide smile shrank into a hard, thin line. There had been no small amount of fear on Gerlinde's face as she approached, the look of someone who had endured more than one was supposed to, and where (unknown to her) Gerlinde's nature seemed to elicit the darkest and most base impulses in the men of their little group it only coaxed forth a sympathetic and curious concern from Ophelia. She looked at this poor creature, the perfection a porcelain mask hiding something riddled with... something. She wasn't sure what was there--but she reckoned that anyone who tried their hardest to look like that sought the protection within others' infatuation, especially if their reaction when one approached was the reaction that Gerlinde'd had.

After having ascended the path to the cottage Ophelia turned around, to survey the condition of her erstwhile companions whose footsteps she didn't sense behind her. Farren was already gone by that point--which surprised Ophelia somewhat, having missed most of his reactions to Gerlinde--though she was mostly unconcerned. He'd send a message if he needed her--and it seemed to have gone well when she'd gone off to gather information the last time and left him and Torquil to their more... combative desires. Neither Farren or Torquil were particularly subtle... nor Gerlinde, it appeared--Ophelia was grateful that at least one of their group thought about these things, and also that it was her. She couldn't deny enjoying the mysteries, and Gerlinde would no doubt present even more of them to her.

Ophelia shrugged and turned around again, continuing to follow Gerlinde into the little workshop and giving the Doll a customary curtsey on the way.

"Would you come and let me know if Farren returns here before we're done, love?" she asked with a soft smile, and moved inside with Gerlinde.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia looked at Gerlinde with her mouth hanging open just a little--not out of attraction for this elfin and ethereal being (who, despite that, was still perhaps the single most beautiful creature Ophelia had laid eyes upon), but for sheer shock. She almost didn't seem real - and Ophelia instinctively whispered to the Holy Moonlight Sword while Farren got his gruff and awkward interaction out of the way.

"... Is... is she even human? Do her veins sing with Glory too?" she asked it, cradling it to her cheek for a brief moment, before she finally regained enough of her wits and wherewithal to step forward and actually participate in the conversation. She barely even noticed the clouds changing, being so focused on Gerlinde, but as soon as the warm and wet spatters--warm?--fell from the sky and filled the Dream with that hematic and heady scent. She blinked once, looked up, and then blinked again before returning her gaze to Gerlinde. She hopped over to Gerlinde with jubilance in her steps and on her face, and she immediately moved to give Gerlinde a hug if she accepted--though she'd only let it last for a couple of seconds, unless Gerlinde desired more. The full glory of the Holy Moonlight Sword cradled against her chest would be slightly uncomfortable, but she also wondered if letting the blade touch her might give it some more insights into her that could be passed on.

"That's me--my, my, love, look at you! Aren't you just the most splendid thing I've ever seen? Ah, it's so nice to meet you, dear--I think we four are the only ones currently bound to this Dream, and so... we're sort of stuck together, aren't we? I hope we'll come to think of each other as friends and allies, once we know more about each other!" Ophelia beamed in return, giving Gerlinde much of the energy that she projected back.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia & Farren & Torquil

"Walk? To the workshop? Don't be daft, love--I'm just having a little natter with the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde. Why don't you and Torquil hop over to the workshop through the Dream, pick up this experimental weapon, and then go off on your Hunt? Then you can take as much time as you like, and not stray too far from a lantern--remember, when the echoes flow into you, you will only keep them if you return to the Dream through one." Ophelia replied in turn, bemused at Farren's suggestion and voice resonating with the telltale warbling of gentle confusion.

Farren's eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned as she replied, not even mentioning the vials. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of discomfort as he looked away. “...I'd rather not...” he replied, for once seeming rather...cagey.

"... Do you have a particular reason? You're just... normally all about being efficient and practical, and this... why, it's almost sentimental! If you need to take some time for yourself I've no objection there, love, do what you must--but we'll want to be together before we head out into the woods. I'll wait in the Dream after I'm done chatting, just keep me apprised, mm?" Ophelia retorted, walking up to Farren and putting her free right hand on his shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. She let it remain there only for a second or so before awkwardly retreating, her gaze lingering on him for a few seconds before she turned away.

Though he didn't shrug off her touch, Farren almost winced at the contact, as if it was the weight of guilt made manifest as it settled on his shoulders. He swallowed, stiffened and as she withdrew squared his shoulders and seemed to stand a bit taller with a certain deliberateness. Taking a deep breath, Farren closed his eyes and then let out a long sigh. “Gerlinde...we may have some...history,” he said, leaving vague what he meant for a pregnant moment, punctuated by him almost unwillingly meeting Ophelia's gaze. “...if she recognizes me, it could get...ugly. Might sour relations,” he said, grimacing at his own words. Really he knew he was still underselling the reality of things. With the clarity of his current perspective, it was somehow even more clear to him that what he'd done back then had been...deeply wrong. It was much harder to justify, especially with the event existing mostly out of context, without the other memories and experiences of his former life.

Awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally shuffling a bit forward, back or sideways just to get the sense that he was moving, Torquil did what he usually did: watched and listened. Only after Farren had admitted to why he was trying to avoid the Hunter's Dream - or rather Gerlinde, as it turned out - did he take a firmer step toward them and spoke up:

"We stick together, right?" he asserted, echoing the compliment Farren had given him earlier. "So we'll figure it out. Right?"

Ophelia nodded along with Torquil's statement, having stopped moving away from the group and turned back.

"Not like we can avoid it forever, is it, love? Whatever will be will be--best to find that out now where we have some control over the circumstances."

Their words washed over him and with even Torquil saying they ought to stick together and figure things out...well, it was hard not to see the logic of it. “Pain now, or pain later...” Farren muttered to himself, seeming to recite the beginning of some old adage. After a moment, his head tilting back as if to regard the skies above, but with his eyes closed, he nodded slightly and then looked to Ophelia briefly. However, rather than speak, he pulled his gaze away and then strode past her in the direction of the lantern.

“Let's get this over with,” he said gruffly, teeth slightly gritted, his guard up once more. She was right. He'd have to face her sometime, and running away would make him no better than Victor running from a fight.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia felt the creaks and tremors in the timeworn wood of this ancient ladder before she heard the almost-shriek of the wood splitting. The world exploded into a flurry of motion: Farren's reflexes kicked in, and he assessed the situation quickly. He chose to simply ride the falling ladder down, and Ophelia quickly made her way far enough back to get out of the arc of his fall. She looked at him with her usual smile, not a single feature of her expression changed after the little incident.

After Farren's near-fall and angry outburst, a chorus of crows started cawing raucously out in the midst. If you did not know better, it would sound almost as though they were laughing.

Ophelia cracked a slight chuckle at that, and instinctively went to offer Farren a hand up but caught herself before he could lash out at her. She supposed it was quite embarrassing, if one felt the capacity to be embarrassed, and that the sting on his pride would best be ameliorated by a victory of some kind.

"... Well, looks like we're leaving the roof alone. I think we got more than enough information out of our little exchange, though--this path leads on toward the mountains, and to a crow-garbed Hunter. I've... a different plan in mind: see, Moira's going to take her time and pursue this to wherever it leads... why should we hasten that along? Let's investigate a little more of the lay of the land, hmm? I'd quite like to go back to the Woods, via the Dream. I... I remember a path, clear as day, that we would walk to leave offerings to... something like this Crowmother, I suppose, in that they were what kept the beasts away from Hemwick, back in the day. Fancy it?" Ophelia asked, shifting her gaze between Farren and Torquil. She knew Torquil didn't really want to make the decisions, but... she just didn't feel like it was fair to leave him out.