[h3]Western ancient Yharnam, ancient Pthumeru[/h3]
Riccas raised his rifle in a casual salute as the four Hunters departed from the gate and entered Yharnam proper, finally setting foot in the spiritual predecessor to the Yharnam they knew. Their boots trod a cobbled street bathed in bluish, arcane light rather than the orange glow of pyres to burn the dead; the wind carried hints of the scent of delicious and exotic foods from all over the land rather than the stench of blood and soot; and in the distance they could pick out music and laughter rather than howling and screaming. Though the full moon was high in the sky and the Night of the Hunt well underway, this city had no fear for the scourge of beasts, and now they knew why. The Divine Queen, Queen Yharnam whose name had been granted to the city, had the power to ward the corruption.
Gerlinde in particular wondered just how immense the Pthumerian queen must have been to accomplish such a feat, and she wondered even more how such a powerful protector of the realm had failed to the point of allowing the ushering in of a Blood Moon. She had been a Paleblood Hunter longer than any of the others, and she had likely spent more time in the Nightmare and the Interstice than any other Hunterm, except Skinner, perhaps. But even without the voice of an eldritch artifact in her head she could feel the Nightmare hanging over this city. The tension of many Great Ones watching with bated breath, waiting for... something.

Traversing the city streets and following the directions Riccas had given them, everything was remarkably peaceful, yet some of the Hunters doubtlessly remained rather conscious of the passage of time. They did not truly know for certain whether the Great Serpent had truly sent them to a place where time flowed independently from their own world, or if the clock was still ticking toward the completion of Naira's ritual in Yahar'gul. About ten minutes had been spent in the forest, and another fifteen minutes talking to Riccas and the guards. Now they walked another five minutes to get to the Hunter Workshop, meaning that they had already spent half an hour in ancient Pthumeru.
“[I]The ritual is not progressing,[/I]” the voice reported as they walked, sounding slightly bewildered. “[I]It appears to be in stasis. Perhaps the earlier estimate was wrong. It feels as though the city dangles by a hair over the abyss, but something is holding back its impending doom.[/I]”
And indeed, the city remained at the height of joyous celebration of the so-called Divine Prince. On a night like this, the Hunter Workshop – little more than a shack among larger buildings, manned by a single armor-clad Pthumerian attendant – was all but abandoned.

But there were definitely weapons, and Pthumerian weapons at that. Long, slender curved swords that looked as elegant as they looked deadly; long, feeble-looking canes made of white wood; graceful rapiers; swords, maces and shields that were quite obviously too large for a human-sized wielder; there were pistols, rifles and cannons, some of which were bigger than they were.
Quite notably, though, none of the weapons they saw there looked anything like the exquisite rifle and mace Riccas had had. There was, however, a rack of [url=https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/c10b162b-749d-4db8-b8be-af47136e2712/ddl8wns-35097a28-61f0-4c3c-b8a2-e13a5bb0674d.jpg/v1/fill/w_1280,h_2350,q_75,strp/church_glaive_by_mobiusu14_ddl8wns-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MjM1MCIsInBhdGgiOiIvZi9jMTBiMTYyYi03NDlkLTRkYjgtYjhiZS1hZjQ3MTM2ZTI3MTIvZGRsOHducy0zNTA5N2EyOC02MWYwLTRjM2MtYjhhMi1lMTNhNWJiMDY3NGQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.8IPbcoNb63sJIMYkoUbS5N73eZTOrC0WPOkps7yXwF8]trick-glaives[/url] like the ones the guards had been using.