Slowly nodding her head, the queen declared: “Thou'rt to deliver the arm onto us. Immediately.” Once more she snapped her fingers, and once more the dark figure emerged from the shaded corner of the chamber, only to this time approach Farren rather than kneeling and awaiting orders, suggesting that they had overheard the conversation.
“We've no cause to invade Yahar'gul, nor any need for the aid even of moon-scented Hunters as thyselves,” was her answer to Ophelia's other offer. “Our champions will reclaim my son and bring him home, and will destroy any who'd defy my command. Once this has been achieved, thou'rt welcome to as much or little that might remain of that place.”

_Farren

gritted his teeth hard, the corner of his eye twitching, but he made no audible complaint. Instead, he just gave the cloaked figure a tight smell and bent nearly to one knee, hovering in a crouch as he murmured to the Messengers. A moment passed and then the pale eyeless helpers rose bearing the arm of the Darkbeast they had slain. Farren thanked them in his quiet way and took the limb in hand, hefting it with some strain to offer to the robed figure. It took an effort of will not to clutch the faintly crackling limb in all its rotten, withered glory, with clawed fingers, and instead to try at a measure of graciousness. “Had I known, I’d not have rent it from its place,” Farren offered by way of paltry apology. He managed to keep most of the tension from his voice, but a faint note of strain remained nonetheless.

He wished to say more, but thought better of it, his jaw clicking shut with the sound of teeth striking eachother. When the limb was received, Farren notably did not fall to a kneel. Furthermore, when he’d bent to beckon the Messengers, he had not knelt as he usually would, but quite deliberately kept his knees from touching the floor at all.

It was a small thing, most likely, but it was perhaps Farren’s sole small act of rebellion. Swiftly he was finding that he did not much like the idea of being considered beneath others. He wondered why. Perhaps all men felt that way? Yet…Ophelia did not seem to mind kneeling before the Queen. His frown had formed anew, and his eyes were slightly distance, the thoughtfulness of earlier returning–though his ears and nose remained pricked, ready to pick up any sign of threat.

Was it an echo of his former self, he wondered, had that man felt lowly? Certainly Farren thought it had seemed that way. Those memories were of a man who had been forced to bow, to grovel, to scrape up whatever meager resources he could, to claw out a place for himself in society where before none had truly been. A flash of emotion hit him then and Farren nearly staggered, but instead just bent in on himself for a moment, as if someone had punched him in the gut. He grunted softly, barely audible, then straightened again with a grimace.

It had been something deep seated and ugly: Hate….perhaps Resentment. Something pervasive, yet…it would have been more subtle back then, sublimated into other emotions, buried by something else? Drink perhaps. Farren shook his head and focused his gaze once more, casting it about before looking once more to the Queen.

He did not much like that they might sack, raze, and loot Yahar’gul before they’d even had the chance. Liked less that they might destroy valuable knowledge, kill valuable persons that could offer them more alive than they might by rotting somewhere in that horrible place. At the same time…there was a faint relief. He had not truly wished to return there, if he was being honest.

Farren wasn’t a coward, but still, there was an eerie, horrid, unseemliness about that place and even thinking about it now made his skin itch. Perhaps it was better this way….

Ophelia had grown accustomed enough to Farren to know that he was deeply unhappy with the arrangement of things, and thought perhaps that she had potentially... not misspoken, for obtaining the Chalice here in Cainhurst was of a higher priority than even her relationship with her fellows, but something like that. She made a mental note to apologise to him after they left this place, not meaning to deny him his prize but equally unwilling to risk offending this imperious monarch who might know much about her own past, her parents. Papa. Perhaps even Mama, though she found the memories containing the answer fuzzy at best and did not trust what she might glean from them. At least, the Chalice was immediately able to be resolved.

"Very well, Your Majesty. As I said before, one of my reasons for coming here is that a Chalice is here somewhere. If it pleases you, might we borrow it? Once our communion is done and its purpose fulfilled, I would be happy to return it here--or to keep it, as Your Majesty wishes. Forgive my lack of courtly manners, but if you consider the information we've brought tribute enough that is that, though I would also be happy to provide you leal service to obtain the relic I seek?" Ophelia spoke, still kneeling and still not looking up at the Queen. Though her language was refined and her manner could be considered relatively genteel, Ophelia was no noble at heart--she was a witch, down in the muck with the people like Farren and Torquil, used to viscera and death. She truly did not know how to speak to one such as the Queen, though she did not feel the same compunctions about displays of deference that Farren did--it was simply an accessory, a tool, a rune. A thing to help her accomplish her goals--and in service of her goals, she would do almost anything.

The black figure took the darkbeast's arm from Farren without a word, holding it out in front of them in their arms with reverence as if they had received something truly precious rather than the half-rotted limb of an undead beast. Rather than slink back into the shadows from whence they had come, the figure this time walked back them and toward the back of the chamber, toward the great doors of the chamber.

When Ophelia spoke the Vileblood Queen scoffed, slowly and weakly slumping back into her seat. “Thou hast received my forgiveness for lack of etiquette already, distant kin, and thou shalt keep it. But do not presume that my gratitude for thy unexpected service is boundless; thou delivered thy news thinking that thou brought grave tidings of the defilement and death of my son, ignorant of the true vitality of darkbeasts. Thou'st earned a boon, but not one so great that I would grant thou a most sacred relic of Cainhurst.”
She sighed before continuing: “To my shame, I must also confess that I withhold the reward thou desire because I yet desire thy aid, so I am glad that thou offer leal service. For now, I offer thee this: thou'rt henceforth welcome in Castle Cainhurst, and if thou so desire, I shall grant thee my royal blood and my immortal oath, and make thee true Vileblood.”

Ophelia sighed internally at the delay, impatient to get this over with so that they could retrieve her weapon's lost twin. Sacred relic or not, they needed the chalice only for a scant few hours--having to do even more to earn it was tiresome. Still, she supposed it could not be helped--one such as the Queen seemed quite unable to leave the chamber, and aid like theirs as Paleblood Hunters was exceptionally rare. Were the roles reversed, Ophelia could at least understand why one would be keen to put an offer of service to work.

"I'm afraid I don't really know what that would entail, Your Majesty, and am typically loath to agree to something I do not understand. Still, the fruits of your lineage blossom within my blood already; if you wish to further anoint me I shall gratefully accept. I will do whatever needs be done for the Chalice, and would take the opportunity to learn of my august lineage. Though... I know not which of my parents passed down the legacy of Cainhurst to me, for both died when I was very young."

“Thy blood is of Cainhurst, forsooth,” the queen conceded, “but not of my line. Thou are of noble stock, sired by one of our knights, but thou'st no royal blood, no oath and thus aren't Vileblood. I wouldst grant thee my blood, my oath and my rune; the curse inflicted upon me by the foul Healing Church, to be wielded against them. Ah, but thou didst not journey here for that, thou seek the chalice. I shall bestow the same quests upon thee as I did your companion, fair Lady Gerlinde.”
Gerlinde – who had been dutifully kneeling this entire time, next to a similarly kneeling but eternally confused Torquil – stifled a giggle.
“I have long been a prisoner, Lady Ophelia,” the queen told her. “Trapped within this room, on this throne, and within this accursed mask. Though I am Annalise, the Vileblood Queen, I am currently powerless against the woe that has befallen me, and have been for many years. I would defy this imprisonment at last. Due to the generous aid of thy Moonborn Hunter 'neath the blood moon, I achieved what my ancestors have always wished for and conceived our Child of Blood... yet I have not even seen my daughter's face. I would be free at last, to truly be a queen to my people and a mother to my children. I would be rid of my restraints. I would be rid of this mask.”
She made a wide, sweeping gesture toward all of them. “I bestow three quests, each of which may achieve this goal, moon-scented Hunters. The key that unlocks this mask will doubtlessly be found in the heart of the Healing Church, either in the Orphanage of the Choir, the Grand Cathedral or their Hunter workshop. Thou could also deliver me the power to defy the mask by retrieving the tools that make men Hunters. A single dose would suffice, though more is eternally better. Or, thou could travel the path of the Moonborn Hunter into the Old Labyrinth, to where they once did battle with my ancestor, Divine Queen Yharnam. The Moonborn already vanquished her, I hear, but they failed to retrieve a precious relic she has kept all these centuries: the dagger called Bloodblade, a weapon whose true power is only expressed by royal blood.”
She paused, coughing quietly. “Perform any one of these quests and I shall bestow thee the chalice thou seek. Perform more than one, and thou can count the Vilebloods as thy most stalwart ally.”

Ophelia found herself very sympathetic to the Queen's goals and to her plight of suffering, knowing well what it was like to grow up without parents. This Child of Blood, whatever they were, was innocent of any crime--and Ophelia would not see her go without a mother. Whatever Queen Annalise had done, the world was very different now. The legacy of those who'd imprisoned her had already been tarnished, their status one of disrepute and their works now viewed as contemptible--what right had they to keep a mother from her children, when all they wrought was wickedness?

"I know too well what it is like for a daughter to be bereft of a mother, Your Majesty. I will not let the same fate befall your daughter, and will not rest until you are freed from your confinement. There is something I should mention, however, for it is of grave concern to all: there is a new threat that lurks at the heart of the Healing Church. A Great One known as the Lord of Providence, whose name is known to us but must not be spoken lest they be invoked. Unleashed from the labyrinth by the streak of carnage cut across the land by the Moonborn Hunter and the deaths of Great Ones, they scheme at the heart of the Grand Cathedral and we dare not intrude while much remains undone. The supplies necessary to make a Hunter, however, should be within our grasp--as is the Old Labyrinth. We will depart posthaste to scour the Healing Church clean, and free you from your prison. Though... Divine Queen Yharnam? So the city is named after her, or was she named after the city? It must be the former, surely, for a lineage as ancient as this one seems to be... Ah, but I digress. We shall return soon, Your Majesty." Ophelia replied, thoughtful but full of conviction, and if there was no reply from the Queen regarding the information she'd brought would stand and wait for the others to do so before curtseying and heading back to the Lantern.

While Ophelia spoke, Annalise's head seemed to abruptly perk back up again, and with a surge of effort she pushed herself back into a straight and attentive position. “Wait,” she urged. “Thou speak of the Lord of Providence? Thou'rt certain?” She shook her head, a note of distress sneaking its way into her voice. “Gods help us... we had read about the baneful Gilded Trickster, but that thou know to speak his title and not his name, thee must speak true. He has awakened again. This changes things.”

"Grave tidings indeed, Your Majesty. If you know of him, I implore you, please share your findings with us. I had not wished to act too overtly against him without knowing what he is and what he wants, but that you grant him the appellation of 'Golden Trickster' speaks to his character. We have, if it pleases your Majesty, been fortunate enough to come across a Rune that protects against eldritch influence and enables one to see through illusions--should you wish me to brand you with this Rune, or any members of your household, it would be a privilege and an honour. We have made the first move against him, in that we have freed the First Hunter from his thrall, and will continue to muster allies. It is more imperative than ever that you must be freed from your confinement, Your Majesty, if you are to stand with us--I will fulfill all three of your quests." Ophelia replied, bowing her head lower and more reverently. Pride--one might even say Ego--was a trap that she would not allow to get in the way of her goals. She would debase herself thoroughly to see the work done, though there was not even the faintest pricking of that sensation that she had to overcome as she knelt before Queen Annalise.

Ruling because one's family had always ruled was, to Ophelia's mind, no point of merit--but Yharnam did need a leader outside of the failing system of the Healing Church. Perhaps this was why the Healing Church had sought to vilify her lineage and her right to rule, that the reign of power in the old order would never have allowed the trespasses that they committed... though the fact she never once heard about Cainhurst while growing up suggested that her parents had tried to leave that life behind. She wondered why, and would do her best to get to the bottom of that, but could not ignore the present reality that Cainhurst could prove to be exceptionally valuable allies.

“Though I am grateful for thy offer, I already bear an incidental protection against such influences,” the queen told her, lightly tapping a long fingernail on the mask encasing her head, “and from the scarce bits I know of the Gilded Trickster, his powers of manipulation are not infinite. The more creatures he attempts to influence, the weaker that influence becomes. Last time he graced this world with his presence he focused all his effort on the queen and controlled her subjects through her. But yes, I shall tell thee what I know of this divine miscreant.”
She paused and turned her head to the side as if looking away in spite of her inflicted blindness. “It has been many years since I read this, so my recollection is vague, but even so I truthfully claim that I am highly familiar with thy so-called 'Great One'. He is only a kin Great One, a demigod among gods, yet his power is undeniable. He serves the true Great One named Cael, the Lord of Ascension, the Purifier and the Master of the Labyrinth. The Gilded Trickster is Cael's servant and herald, but also its keeper, for he is the one who awakens Cael when the Old Blood has run amok, and Cael wipes it away and returns it to the Old Labyrinth.”
She heaved a sigh and turned back to face them. “But thus is only his official duties and the charge placed upon him by the gods. His last awakening was during the rule of Queen Yharnam, when he sent forth an agent to stand by the Divine Queen's side as her foremost advisor. This villain poured poison into my ancestor's ears, and though it is true that he guided her in the use of the Old Blood, he led her to doom, not ascension. It was because of him that Pthumeru saw its own Night of the Blood Moon, after which the nation was wiped from the Earth save ruins and scattered souls. He is a vile creature who promises salvation but delivers damnation, who harbors naught but disdain for humanity.”

Ophelia listened attentively as the Queen spoke, luxuriating in the ancient wisdom dispensed to her. At last, something she--no, they--could truly work with. Once Annalise finished Ophelia permitted herself to laugh, a musical and rich thing like the dulcet fragrance of honeysuckle late on a summer's night. Like she used to when she would walk the path to the shrine in the woods, where all the birds would join her and the world was simple and small. The kind of laugh that Torquil might've heard from behind his arboreal nooks as he wandered the woods, that Ophelia hadn't uttered since they first awoke in Rebirth's Rise what felt like far longer ago than it had been.

"If he is but kin, then I believe he can be killed without consequence? If that is true, Your Majesty, then he is already dead. Between ourselves and the Moonborn Hunter, we have as many tries as we like--he will have to get lucky every few minutes for the rest of his exceedingly short life. We need only do so once. We will not underestimate him, however, nor shall I squander an opportunity to wrest his power from him and use it to serve that which he so desperately feels contempt for. To know of this Cael is also a tremendous boon, for which I am eminently grateful. It would seem that the 'Golden Bastard', as my companion so accurately if crassly refers to him, is not what we are fighting--the awakening of his master is... but he has tampered with our minds, and for that he will die an ignominious death. For us, for Divine Queen Yharnam, and for you, Your Majesty. For a world where your child may burgeon and blossom without the rotten influence of Gold." Ophelia spoke, reverently and powerfully. For what felt like the first time in the entire night she felt like they had a real chance, a modicum of understanding enough to not be entirely unmoored in the vast world they'd awakened themselves to.

“Take heed that thou not take the Trickster lightly for his incomplete ascension,” the queen cautioned with a raised finger. “He is as troublesome to kill as a true Great One, and not just for the danger he represents. He yet possesses the gods' immortality; if slaying him was a simple task, my family would have done so after his treachery destroyed our kingdom. Even so we share thy conviction: the Gilded Trickster must fall either back into dormancy or into oblivion, and that before he awakens his master. I know not why he has not called upon Cael already, given how rampant the spread of the Old Blood has become under the Healing Church... but I know that he must be stopped before he has the chance.”
Finally she slumped back into her throne, her preciously scant stamina spent. “As an aside, thou'st not to concern thyself with the Lord of Ascension. Our understanding is that Cael dost not share its herald's vile temperament; it is neither malevolent nor benevolent, it simply is, not unlike a hurricane or an earthquake. There are many Great Ones like it, and though thy Moonborn may harbor ambitions to do so, slaying them all is a fool's errand. The Gilded Trickster is our foe; vanquish him, and his master will remain in its sleep eternal.”

"I share not the bloodthirst of the Moonborn Hunter, Your Majesty, fear not. I am a witch more than I am a Hunter, and accepted the Old Blood only to stave off a long and painful death by Paleblood. The Great Ones are vital to the Waking World in their own way, and I would not see one slaughtered lest it was necessary and they could be replaced. One who is merely kin, however, is a perfectly eligible target for death; their immortality matters not, for we are immortal also. The Moonborn Hunter has slain a true Great One before, so it is possible, and it is a feat that we shall repeat. I share your concern that action has not already been taken, however... There must be a reason, and we shall do our best to divine it discreetly. We shall return with the means of your freedom at hand, Your Majesty, and I thank you for granting us audience. It has been most auspicious." Ophelia replied, happy to conclude the conversation there. Once again assuming that the Queen did not reply, she would rise from her position and return to the lantern, beckoning for the others to follow.

_Farren

had began to turn as Ophelia had originally, well and ready to depart and even as the Queen had urged them to tarry a moment longer, he had ignored her. Thus, half turned, the words washed over him “Thou speak of the Lord of Providence”.

So froze the Azure-eyed Hunter.

He grew still, features hard, as if he were a statue whose grim features promised death.

“Gods help us… we had read about the baneful Gilded Trickster…”

That deathly stillness, like stone briefly embodied within his flesh, fell away, the faint twitching of his fingers occurring momentarily before he turned once more to face the Queen. A smile shimmered in his eyes, his lips barely upturned.

An ally against the Bastard wrought of Gold.

How fortuitous that the Queen’s grace might be matched only by her wisdom. Further, as Ophelia and she exchanged further words, it was more than a relief–a boon for true–that Queen Analise had her own protections against the Golden Bastard.

Further, the tidings that she brought, speaking of something she had once read, surely before the forcing of that horrid mask upon her, only made Farren’s gladness grow.

Ophelia laughed.

Farren smiled, broad and true, teeth bared. A predator’s rictus joined with the smug amusement of a man finally–conclusively–proven right.

As Ophelia’s own laughter tapered away, Farren’s deeper chuckle could be briefly heard. Vanishingly rare, and gone as soon as it had come.

Farren did not kneel, but even as the Queen offered her warnings and advice–and Ophelia replied, then rose and began to turn towards the lantern once more–Farren, still smiling, though perhaps less sinister than before, swept into a bow nearly to the waist. “My thanks, your grace. To know with greater certainty the bent of the Golden Bastard’s mien gladdens me. Indeed, the Church’s ill words of you and yours must indeed be utter tripe, for I see before me only wisdom and temperance veiled beneath thy cage of iron. Assuredly…we shall see to it that you are burdened no longer by your mask.”

Then, though his bow was no truly noble thing, Farren rose, gave her a respectful nod, and waited a beat to ensure that any response of hers was held in his regard, before he turned away.

It was a measure of respect that before that moment he’d merely played at, his prior manner a faint ghost of proper etiquette.

With their immediate business with Queen Annalise concluded, the four Hunters simply turned and walked the several steps it took them to reach the lantern they had arrived at, and easily returned to the Hunter's Dream. Upon arriving, Farren would experience the same sensation as he had the time before last, as if he had just had the doll channel blood echoes to amplify his physical strength.
But while Ophelia hurried over and began eagerly reporting their findings to the doll and the Shopkeeper, Torquil found himself somewhat... confused. Because he felt weird on a whole other scale than he ever had on returning to the Dream. Specifically he suddenly felt like his mask and hat did not fit properly anymore, that it felt odd against his skin, and all of it just generally wrong and uncomfortable. A second later he realized that even his mouth felt different, and for a brief moment he feared that his jaw had become defective again before it dawned on him that it was more comprehensive than that. His teeth felt weird, and when he reflexively tried pressing his tongue against them to feel them more, he discovered that his tongue was off, too!

Moving frantically and urgently, Torquil turned to Farren and asked in a panicked voice that sounded only vaguely similar to Torquil's voice, as if it had been distorted by passing through a long metal pipe: “Something is wrong... something is very wrong!”
Torquil pulled down his mask with one hand and tore off his cap with the other, and revealed a head that no longer looked human. The skin on his face had turned a pale shade of blue and looked unnaturally smooth, except some odd randomly scattered chitinous patches on his cheeks. His lips were thinner than before and, as he opened his mouth, revealed that his once-human teeth were now needle-like in shape, and behind them a very long, very thin appendage that almost seemed to resemble a proboscis more than a tongue. His nose was much less pronounced than before, having seemingly partway flattened into his face, whereas his eyes were nearly twice as large as before and almost completely black... all three of them. Because a third eye had appeared and opened in the center of his forehead.

_Farren

‘awoke’ once more within the Dream and a strange surge passed through his blood, a feeling that was now familiar. It must have been whatever strangeness was in his manufactured paleblood. Unlike before, where he’d felt strangely foggy of mind, his reactions slower, now it was like…like every muscle in his body briefly sang with new strength.

It had happened once before, and it made him wonder how precisely it was happening at all. Without any echoes…some force was imbuing him with strength…and perhaps taking away from elsewhere at its leisure.

Intent on finding an explanation, Farren considered asking Ophelia, only to notice Torquil’s seeming discomfort. He frowned, his good spirits shifting to a strange unease he couldn’t quite explain. An unease that only intensified when Torquil spoke. It didn’t sound like him at all, it sounded warped and…hollow. Constrained somehow. Farren couldn’t help but take an instinctual step back, his hand finding the hilt of one of his blades by reflex.

It got worse.

So so much worse.

Farren’s eyes widened as Torquil removed his mask and he sucked in a sharp, almost hissing breath. He’d never seen anything remotely like the horror he now beheld…a head of…a fly, a mosquito, or some other foul pest seemed to have…replaced Torquil’s human visage…or, Farren supposed that his head had transformed wholesale.

His throat and mouth were dry all of the sudden and a dawning horror swept through him as an anxiety manifested itself deep in his bones. If this was a result of the Vicar’s actions…this very thing could happen to him too.

And it was horrible enough that it had happened at all, let alone to poor Torquil. “Godsblood,” Farren swore quietly as he stared, unable to look away.

“O-ophelia!”

Farren called out—it was perhaps the only time he’d yelled her name outside of a combat situation, if he’d even done so then. Even as his voice rang out, he forced himself to tear his eyes away, looking to Gerlinde, hoping she wouldn’t take any drastic actions.

Ophelia was mid-way through her explanation when Farren's shouting got her attention--she was too engrossed in her story to have heard Torquil's softer cries of lament--and turned around to look at what had happened only to be momentarily struck dumb. She had none of the instinctive reaction that Farren did, instantly recognising that it must be Torquil from the rest of his form, and blinked twice before she jogged over to take a look.

"My, this is... Mother Moon above, these kinds of changes must be a potential result of the Vicar's experiments... It's alright, love, you seem to be breathing fine. Are you experiencing any other physical symptoms? I know you must be frightfully upset, but let's try and work out what's happened before we go assuming the worst." Ophelia spoke, trying to be as reassuring as she could as she rested a hand on Torquil's shoulder and gave him what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.

"Three eyes... Needle-like teeth... Blue skin with patches of chitin... My, I'd say you've taken on an aspect of Kin. This is certainly alien physiology... It stands to reason that if the changes false Paleblood wreaks can be caused by entering the Dream that they can be undone by entering the Dream... but who knows if worse will happen besides? Oh, my sweet Quilly..." Ophelia spoke softly, examining him carefully. She turned her head over her shoulder to get a quick look at the Moonborn and the Doll and beckoned them over with a nod. It truly did not really matter to her what Torquil looked like--he was still Torquil--but she was at something of a loss for what to do about his predicament.

“I'm... not human?” Torquil said nervously, and was once again deeply unsettled by how his voice not only sounded different, but even felt different in his throat. He felt his face with his hands for a moment, discovering for himself a few of the elements everyone else could see by looking at him. He blinked rapidly and felt tears welling up in his eyes – all three of them. “No... I... I think I feel okay? I mean... my vision is weird. I can't really explain it, but it's like I'm seeing double, sort of? And my face and throat feel weird. But...”
A sudden thought occurred to him, and Torquil quickly set down Fulmen beside him and took off his gloves, only to let out a sigh of relief that his hands still looked normal. A second later a different thought struck him, and he grabbed the waistband of his trousers to pull them out a little, and heaved an even heavier sigh of relief.

Not only the doll and the Shopkeeper came over to investigate what had happened, but Gerlinde – who had initially started wandering off in disinterest – had also been coming back over with wide, fascinated eyes ever since Farren had called for Ophelia.
“Cute,” she evaluated, seemingly completely unconcerned with the circumstance. She looked around at them all and their worried expressions. “What's the big deal? He just looks a bit different. If he doesn't like it, we can just visit the basin I found in the Nightmare and he can go back to normal, or look any way he wants.”

"It's less about that and more about how he feels, dear, it was quite the unexpected shock. Gerlinde is right, though, we can just go over to the Halls of the Old Lords and get you changed back. We can go now if you just want to get it done with?" Ophelia offered, chortling slightly as Torquil checked himself. She shared the sentiment that there wasn't anything to worry about, but it was clear that he needed some emotional support and, well, who could blame him? It would be quite a horrifying thing to suddenly have happen, though at least it appeared to have been painless.

With a plan of action ready in her mind for whether Torquil accepted or refused, Ophelia turned to the Moonborn Hunter and continued relaying details of what they'd learned in Cainhurst.

"Annalise seems quite pleasant, if imperious. We can ask Dietrich about how to fulfil her quests, if anyone would know I'd suspect it'd be him... And I feel something of an obligation to disabuse him of his notions about the Vilebloods. Especially seeing as I've lineage from that place! Ah, and on that note, I mean to ask you about Bloodblade, dear. Have we still the chalice where it might be found, to the best of your recollection, or need we go hunting?" Ophelia commented after she'd finished relaying the facts, immediately segueing into the plan of action.

Moving over to the Yharnam Headstone, Torquil put his back against it and allowed himself to slide down to sit on the ground, staring ahead of him with his three inhumanly large, wide eyes, trying his best to reconcile with what had happened and what he had been told. It had helped somewhat to be reminded that they had the means to change him back, though it was still a lot for him to deal with. Part of him wanted to say that they should obviously go as soon as possible so that he could correct... whatever this was. It had not yet even occurred to him how people in the Waking World might react to someone looking like he did, but even without that concern it still troubled him deeply that he had changed.
But he also wondered if this was all that bad in the first place. Torquil had never been fond of his own appearance, he felt like, just as he resented most aspects of himself. Even if they did go to this basin Gerlinde spoke of, and even if it worked to undo whatever foul magic had done this to him... he would probably change his face to something else rather than go back to his own. And he wondered if this new form came with any benefits. Even just running his fingers over what had replaced his skin, Torquil could feel that his face was significantly tougher than before, as if his exterior had become hardened leather. His teeth would obviously do a lot of damage if he were to bite someone, and he could easily tell that his new tongue was not only longer, but a lot more dexterous than it was before. And his eyes? Not only did he have three of them, but what if they were different somehow? Maybe kin saw the world differently? All this time especially Ophelia and Gerlinde, but also Farren, had been going around seeing things Torquil could not. What if this now allowed him to see more?
He did not know the full effects of what had happened to him, nor did he know what benefits there were from the changes he did know, but the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that they should at least wait a little while before going to the basin. Who knew, maybe it would turn out that this was actually a boon? Cosmetic damage in return for some kind of superpower? Maybe he could fly now? Turn invisible? Shoot lightning out of his eyes? The possibilities were endless.

Over with Ophelia, the Shopkeeper nodded at her words as the doll responded: “Yes, many versions of the Shopkeeper were quite fond of her as well. A number of them even delved into the Old Labyrinth to retrieve an arcane Ring of Betrothal to propose to her, though she rejected them all. But your Bloodblade...”
She glanced uncomfortably at the Shopkeeper. “We did as you asked and began preparing chalices, but we had assumed that you would delve into the safer ones closer to the surface first. The one you ask for, where they slew Pthumerian Queen Yharnam, is one of the deepest, most perilous parts of the Old Labyrinth. Not only will going there be extremely dangerous, the ritual to awaken its power is very expensive. We will need time to gather the supplies and perform the rites... but yes, we have it and can open the way for you. Just not immediately.”