[center][h2][b]Ophelia[/b][/h2][/center]

[i]Mother Moon... it makes Castle Cainhurst look small, and even that seems like it was built for the big pallid ones... and those bones... another darkbeast? Given the size and shape... My, my. Wrath to our Serenity indeed.[/i] Ophelia thought to herself, and found herself somewhat dismayed at the lack of response from the Holy Moonlight Sword. It was her own fault, of course, for stripping herself of the Guidance rune... but she'd expected combat sooner rather than later and nothing immediately leapt out at her heightened senses. She split off to the right as she wandered, ushering Gerlinde close so they might share in any arcane findings and whisper feverishly to one another, and found herself immediately attracted to the walls of the place. It took a good ten, twenty seconds of curious head tilting, squinting, and furrowed brows before she came to the realisation that they were Caryll Runes. The image of the Guidance rune flashed across her mind's eye, accompanied by a phantom tingle of the focusing pain of the runebrand that rippled across her senses--the imagined shock of it brought her to kneel and beckon the Messengers forth. She bade them retrieve the brand, then to stay, and imagined the Guidance rune in the projection case as she pressed the metal to her flesh. The real thing gave her a burst of intense focus, and she let the two images overlap in her mind as the ever-eager resonance of the serene whispers returned and she posed to her blade the question that had consumed her perception entirely.

[i]Your sister-rune... carved by the one who wields your wrath?[/i] she asked, letting her gaze trail up across the sublime vastness of the structure's wall and her eyes sweep across the runes. One was the sister-rune, she was certain. She could almost feel it vibrating within her, eliciting a shudder as she briefly recalled the frenzy of the Winter Lantern and let the soothing light of her blessed blade banish it before she could even consider it again. The soothing radiance of the whispers made her consider what the true form of Mother Moon's Wrath would look like, and what would wield it. These imitations on the wall were just... shapes, not the sterling clarity and distillation of knowledge that a Caryll Rune was... but the shapes [i]meant[/i] something, and vague feelings could be strummed like an instrument to find what harmonised with the allusions of the pattern if one was learned in the right runes and attuned enough to their particularities.