[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5164508][img]https://i.imgur.com/g1MscJk.png[/img][/url]
[h3][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5265402]Eastern Yharnam, Hunter's clinic, reception[/url][/h3]
“Following? Hey, the lamp'll be there come the day.”
Torquil looked slowly from the woman's face to the hand on his shoulder, to the door leading to the outside, past which Victor would lead them to the Cathedral Ward. But even when the most recently awakened Hunter turned to follow their church-ordained guide, Torquil remained rooted in place, struggling with an internal conflict that felt as though it was on the verge of tearing him apart.

“The lantern'll be there come the day,” the female Hunter had said, as though it was purely curiosity driving him, which could not be further from the truth. Torquil was, at his core, a fairly unimaginative person and was mostly unburdened by things like inquisitiveness and the desire to explore. It was probably a big part of why he so readily accepted the loss of his memories and his new role in life: he did not have the ability nor the desire to imagine what his life might have been like before, nor to conjure up alternatives for what his new life was to be used for. His past was gone? Fine, it was not as though he was using it for anything. He was a Hunter employed by the Healing Church now? Sure. Then that was what he was. He did not second-guess or deliberate over things he had no ability or reason to change. In that respect Victor might have been right: Torquil might actually be considered a simple person. He was content with what he knew and how things were. Simple.
But he was not stupid, nor incapable of making basic logical deductions. Victor could not see the lantern nor the little men, which meant that both of these entities were probably unrelated to him entirely, making them separate actors. Victor wanted them to follow him to the headquarters of the Healing Church to be briefed, armed and resupplied; this was logical. Strategically sound. Conductive of survival on a “Night of the Hunt” such as this.
But Victor was also not there [I]for their sake[/I]; he was just here as an escort for the blood saint and had stressed, right from the start, how indifferent he was concerning the rest of them. Rats, just a moment ago he had called Torquil a “mumbling imbecile”! They had found him laying in a pool of blood, on the verge of death, and had saved him by using a blood vial on him... a blood vial that they had only found in time because of the little men.
And the little men... they were an enigma, which had initially caused Torquil to treat them as a potential threat, but since then he had had time to observe them. Though inhuman and scary-looking, they seemed to treat the sleeping Hunters with equal parts curiosity and affection, and though occasionally rude they had always seemed to try to show the Hunters things that were useful. Trapped in the back room, the little men had had insisted that they try to break out, before the clinic had come under attack. Later, when they had decided they needed to find the key for the front door, the little men had immediately endeavored to show them where the key was hidden, along with the location of even more blood vials.
[I]They[/I] were the ones that had insisted on the Hunters to examine the lantern, and [I]they[/I] had been the ones that had shown him how to light it. They had warned against the blood saint, the blood of which Victor kept trying to offer them, and they had promised that the lantern would offer “safe haven in the Hunter's Dream.” Following Victor towards a safety he knew existed was the logical, obvious choice, and thus the one Torquil would have normally picked without a second thought... but the little men had done nothing but proving themselves helpful and trustworthy. The lantern was an uncertain safety, an unknown; picking it was not logical. It was a decision made on a basis of faith.

Torquil turned fully towards the lantern. Uncertainty. The lantern appeared to actually take them somewhere; the disappearance of the large man was evidence of that much, but they had only the word – which, though it was a word they had no reason not to believe, was still only a word – of the little men that it lead to safety. The other side could be anything. It could be dangerous. A trap.
The big man had gone through it.
He could be in danger.
If Torquil went with Victor, they would travel to the Cathedral Ward. Known. But the big man would be left alone, possibly in danger, possibly unable to return. Possibly safe. Unknown. If Torquil went, he would either rejoin the big man and be there to save him, or he would rejoin him and be safe in the haven promised by the little men.

Stepping forward with determined strides, Torquil approached the lantern, his eyes locked on its glowing form. He clutched the hatchet in his right hand, licked his lips. The little men at the base of the lantern-wielding skeletal arm beckoned him closer, eagerly invited him to traverse its light. He continued closer.
Only once he had gotten so close that he could reach out and touch the lantern if he so desired did Torquil feel had he had felt earlier, the first time he had stared at the lantern; the embrace of the light, the assailing drowsiness. It was quick, yet felt gentle.
And then Torquil, too, vanished from the Hunter's clinic.

[hr]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/jotfnlR.png[/img]
[I][color=black]Torquil senses a power inside him stir, shrouding his being before dispersing.[/color][/i]

[h3][url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/ed/dc/2f/eddc2f73ea1fa74878cb00a094cf1d14.jpg]Hunter's Dream[/url][/h3]
Torquil immediately reawakened in a new, strange place, where he immediately registered several things:
The world seemed to be covered in blood, despite it raining.
There were two figures ahead of him, a woman and a Hunter of indeterminate sex, moving towards a house atop a stairway before him.
The big man was right next to him.
And Torquil's hatchet was gone.