Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Upon awakening, Ophelia immediately went to check on both Torquil and Farren--though the sudden constriction and dilation of Farren's pupils and his expressions of torment made certain she checked over Torquil first. Farren clearly needed his space to process what had just happened.

"Mm, quite right. I... I'm sorry to have sent you there--it'll never happen again. Gerlinde and I, it seems, can visit freely... but until we have some means to protect you two from whatever influence exists there, you can't ever go back. Remember, always, that he isn't a nice old man. Remember that what he's done to you is a violation, and it will never stop sickening me that I allowed you to be introduced to it too. Whatever's in that cathedral, though... Gerlinde and I need to see it." Ophelia began, making movements as though she was going to offer Farren or Torquil a hug but not quite able to make herself go through with it.

Ophelia then quickly looked around for the doll and the Shopkeeper, and made a beeline towards them.

"So--Harold got a hold of Djura's blood. And Moira's blood. And about a week ago, here's the real bit of news, your blood. That's what let him perform this false Paleblood experiment--the Great Ones that died on the Night of the Blood Moon: their names are Venara, Seraph, and the Orphan of Kos. There's apparently some secret in the cathedral, and I have questions I fear only Harold can answer--I need to head back there now, so we can learn the extent of the meddling that's gone on with your blood. After that... we regroup, and we work out what the most pressing thing going on in Yharnam right now is. Doll, could you look after dear Farren and Torquil? They've had... a deeply unpleasant experience, and..." Ophelia spoke, her voice frenzied and hurried. Her mind was spinning quickly, but still moon-bright and with utmost clarity. The brisk winds filling the Dream had something of an energising effect on her, innervating her reserves, and she turned to look at Gerlinde expectantly as she headed over to the headstones once more.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"No splitting up, then. Simple enough. It's been a most enchanting experience, as always, Harold." Ophelia replied, stiffly and curtly, before beginning to corral the others towards the lantern waiting not terribly far from them. Torquil and Gerlinde would be easy to herd towards the lantern, for they wanted to go, but Farren... Ophelia stuck especially close to Farren and attempted to guide him towards the lantern with all of the energy of an exhausted mother attempting to round up her wayward children.

"We'll return to the lantern near the start of the workshop, so we can access the cathedral... and I'll come back after we're done to ask my questions, dear. I do truly think that we'll be able to have a very enlightening conversation." Ophelia called over to the Vicar, just as they were about to collectively leave (assuming there was no resistance from any of the party).

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Far be it from me to direct you how to best use your resources, dear, but I think very little will come of searching for the Crowmother. I do have something to ask of you... though it's relevant to our mutual interest in the arcane, and we wouldn't want to bore dear Farren and Torquil! Why don't we visit the Cathedral, stop for a moment to admire the beauty of the garden, and then send these two back to the Dream so they can begin preparing for our imminent visit to Yahar'gul? There are some revelations best shared in private, and I do hope you'll tell me all about the Lumenflowers!" Ophelia replied, very quickly as though to not leave the others room to suggest anything else first.

Ophelia studied Farren and Torquil quite closesly with occasional side glances and careful use of her periphery, trying to keep tabs on them and their positions. She positioned herself such that she was a little ahead of the others, too, as though about to lead them onward but halting until it seemed there was ample permission to do so.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia felt a sense of panic rising in her, distant and as though preserved in amber, at the realisation that Farren was going to overplay their hand and there was nothing that she could do about it. She reckoned that Harold must rely very much on his ability to manipulate the minds of the people around him, and that his role was one of a puppetmaster--though as she turned to look at the Lumenflowers in passing as her gaze wandered over to Gerlinde, she could not help but feel there was some truth to what Moira had said and that this frail old man was nothing more than an affable front for a more sinister force.

Still--there were rare jewels of knowledge in what he imparted to her: the names of the three Great Ones that perished. In names there was power, and they provided pinpricks of distant starlight for her to aspire to and travel towards. She gave Gerlinde a look, one of a peer recognising a peer in... either contempt or pity for those around them who were not able to resist the influence of Harold--though she did not attempt to incite the girl to violence, just shared a knowing look and offered a rare moment of connection.

"Lovely--such an invitation is quite the honour, dear. I'll wait until we can all visit, though--these secrets pertain most of all to Farren and to Torquil. They need to see it as well. This Crowmother is something we're looking into, of course, but Moira seemed to have most of it handled herself. A Hunter will Hunt, after all, and she's caught a whiff of prey!" Ophelia replied, curtseying to the Vicar slightly more stiffly than she usually did. She kept the act up less for him, knowing that he knew about her resistance to him by now, but for Farren. He seemed... deferent in a way that she had not expected of him, and had felt his presence move towards her in a heated moment earlier--she would keep whatever peace seemed to exist in his addled mind, for she did not for even a second consider leaving him alone in the presence of the Vicar. She would truly sooner slay him and Torquil both to safely return them to the Dream than give Harold even a single instant of unsupervised access to them, vulnerable as they were. Something about the Holy Moonlight Sword seemed to resonate with that feeling, and Ophelia wondered if the feelings of virtue gleaming within her were the same chivalry that the sword's previous chosen had felt. If they had stood under Mother Moon too, and either meted out her justice or served as the agent of her protection. She stood, watching over the situation hawkishly, exhibiting something of the particular mixture of paranoia and vigilance that Farren normally did.

"We don't think it's a particular priority, right now, certainly not compared to this threat at Yahar'gul... but we will keep you updated, of course. I know that it must be difficult to ascertain the truth of what is happening out there from these lofty heights, and that the reports of those of us closer to the ground are what keep you connected to your extant flock." Ophelia added, not trying to steer the conversation away from the Crowmother, per se, but simply wanting to hasten it to its end so they could all proceed together.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia listened to Harold's tangent about the safety of Yharnam, internally sighing at the realisation that she would have to participate in this conversation many moments more to get everything that she needed. She wanted to get away from this place, despite how enchanting the Lumenflowers were, and she especially wanted to get Torquil and Farren away--she was about reaching the limit of how much of Farren's nauseating obsequiousness she could stomach, and wanted to spare him the indignity of it besides.

"That is a pressing concern, yes, and we will most certainly investigate... but, imagine this, we are fighting our way through Yahar'gul--no doubt defended by an army of Followers with arcane relics at their disposal--and the results of your experiments... sever our connection to the Dream, or disrupt it somehow for even a moment. The hook slips loose, and we sink beneath the waters never to be seen again... and this is a real possibility, love. I cannot allow us to take on so immensely dangerous a proposition while a threat to our safety lurks in the reaches of my mind... so I will need to be caught up to speed on your experiments and results, dear, and pick your brain besides. Then... we can stop whatever's happening in Yahar'gul. I know, being such a nice old man, that you want what's best for us all--and that you know keeping us in the dark can't possibly be best for everyone." Ophelia spoke, her voice beginning to sound a little weary at the edges. She managed to retain her positive affect, and tried her best to be respectful, but her patience truly was wearing thin--and looking at Gerlinde's no-doubt mischievous countenance out of the corner of her eye wasn't helping. She hoped the Vicar would just acquiesce, but a sinking feeling in her stomach whispered to her that he wouldn't, that this tired charade would continue, and she tried very hard to suppress how that made her feel.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's gaze travelled up towards her Mother Moon, brighter in the sky now but still not at her full glory, and she felt a serenity envelop her that mere words lacked the capacity to describe. It was more like a Caryll Rune than it was their unworthy language, like when the Holy Moonlight Sword had first revealed the Guidance rune to her, like a hundred books condensed into a single instant and allowed to wash over her. She turned to meet Vicar Harold's gaze not with the growing frustration she'd had a moment ago, but with a moon-bright sparkle in her eyes that would no doubt betray her own sharpness--and she smiled just as softly and wisely as he did.

"You're right, love, there is so much that I don't know... and I hope you see my outburst only as the concerns of a devoted witch whose sight yet lacks the clarity and discernment you embody. If you would elevate this humble servant to a higher plane of understanding, I can in turn offer you insights about the Dream that only one truly connected to it by its own means could offer--as well as one who has direct communion with the Moonborn Hunter. I know that together we can reach the greatest understanding, and your vision for a safer Yharnam can be executed." Ophelia spoke, her tone suddenly reproachful and reverent. There was too much that she needed from Harold, too many resources and connections to forfeit, for her to declare war on him and end him utterly here and now--though some part of her yearned for the violence, it too had seen the light. It knew that its time would come, and that clarity was not 'no', it was simply 'not now'--and in that, it contentedly rested beneath the placid lake of Ophelia's mind, biding its time and waiting for the moment to strike. She was no experiment, and sworn wholly to her Mother Moon. Harold would rue this day, and face the pitiless judgment of this lunar witch when and only when Mother Moon desired it so.

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.