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Farren found himself paying more attention to their surroundings even than was typical for him, for the walk to the ultimately humble Workshop was a strange thing. Enlightening? In a sense. Surreal? Certainly. Most of all though…he felt equally comfortable and uneasy, a dissonance which he had seldom known in his life, if at all–a fractured memory certainly did not help in ascertaining such.

On the one hand, it was oddly heartening to see so many people in good cheer, and on what he’d come to know as a harrowing time. On the other…. The sight of reveling was in direct contrast to the cowering and wariness that he could recall from his life before–and in regards to the latter, his current one as well. It made his blood itch–his altered arms too, though for their part that may have been simple disharmony with the rest of his form.

“Such a strange thing…” the azure-eyed hunter murmured to himself as they walked. It wasn’t a long way, but time felt…uniquely stretched somehow, like it was rewinding on itself even as events progressed forward, resulting in a strange almost-stasis. Look at the events and nothing appeared amiss, but look at the grander picture–the movement of the moon and stars (or lack thereof) and the sky itself betrayed the truth. Farren shook his head slightly and turned his mind to their destination. After a brief time–if any time at all was passing–they arrived. It was a small affair, practically a shack, especially in comparison to the Workshops he remembered from their age. He glanced about the place, taking in the fine weapons of this age long past. When he approached one of the trick-glaives, a Pthumerian attendant glanced his way, speaking up when Farren reached out for one of the weapons.

The attendant - unnaturally tall like most Pthumerians and clad in silver armor - smiled politely at Farren. He spoke in Pthumerian, but the voice in their heads translated: "The blessing blades caught your eye? Fine weapons, a specialty of the Divine City, and cheap, too. Just ten gold coins and one can be yours."

Farren tilted his head, nodding once gruffly as he crossed his arms, “Fine blades, I can tell,” he offered, knowing the voice would translate, “...this the whole lot, then?” He inquired, gesturing with one hand in a vague motion that was meant to encompass the weapons visible to them.

The attendant frowned. "This is awkward... I thought foreigners would be assigned translators if they didn't speak Pthumerian." Instead of answering Farren's question the attendant just shook his head and made a dismissive gesture for Farren and the others to leave.

Farren tilted his head a fraction, frowning before he glanced in Ophelia’s general direction as subtly as he could. He sighed and held up a finger to the man in a gesture to signify he wait a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled one of his Hunter’s Pistols from its place on the hook at his side. Farren unloaded its Quicksilver and placed the bullet back into the tube before he offered it to the attendant as he gestured towards the glaive with his other hand.

“Ophelia. I heard the blade translate him, but…did it translate for me?”

"Ah, yes, it won't translate to anybody that I haven't revealed myself to." Ophelia replied with a small smile. "Would you like me to reveal myself?"

“Ah, yeah. Maybe leave the building and talk as you come in though. No need to startle them unduly,” Farren replied.

"No need to startle them at all, dear. I can just take one of the glaives for you if you want, or I can go ahead and reveal myself." Ophelia offered as she began to move away from the entrance.

Gerlinde smiled charmingly at the attendant, but spoke to Ophelia: "If you're stealing stuff already, grab me one of those beautiful falchions, too."

A phrase, whispered, echoed in his mind, as if it were being blown in by a far away wind: 'Take every advantage.' Farren didn't have coin. He could certainly trade away from what he had, but even if they accepted such, he might have to give something he didn't feel was worth it. Further, even if he'd had coin, he had no idea of the value of what he might obtain that way. “Do it, but let us leave first. You can hand the weapons off, then come back,” he didn't offer up why he wanted her to come back. He'd already spoken enough and it felt like it was unwise to just be speaking plans out loud...even if they couldn't understand him, nor hear Ophelia.

That said, he glanced at the weapons again, grimaced, glared at the man, shoved his weapon back onto its hook, spun on his heel, and left the place. Farren didn't walk far, just a street over, to ensure they were properly out of sight of the place. Once there, he waited.

Ophelia moved to action while Farren was still contemplating and fiddling with his weapons, ignoring his instruction to wait--at least so she could get into position behind the attendant where the weapons were kept. She ignored the disassembled one and waited for Farren to leave, picked up three of the completed weapons, then casually walked out a few seconds after holding their prizes together in her free hand. She wondered for a brief moment if she should return her blade to its standard arcane form, missing the comfortable weight of the Holy Moonlight Sword pressed against her, and not wanting to suffer another nasty shock by touching the blade... but without the ability to acquire more quicksilver easily, she thought better of it... and found herself quickly catching up with the others.

"I didn't want to leave you out, love..." she spoke as she handed one of them off to Torquil, and then the others to Gerlinde and Farren.

Torquil received his Blessing Blade eyes that were wide in surprise, handling the weapon hesitantly and carefully as though he was afraid he might break it. Gerlinde's smile diminished for but a split-second when she saw Ophelia emerging from the workshop with three glaives and none of the long, slender falchions she had wanted, but she swiftly caught herself and grinned widely as she accepted the Blessing Blade offered to her.”

"Thank you, Filly," handling the relatively heavy weapon a little awkwardly. "I appreciate that."

Ophelia did catch Gerlinde's smile diminish for a split second and she frowned momentarily in response. "Is it not what you wanted? Oh! You meant just the blade, then, I see... would you like me to go back and get one? I feel rather silly, it's obvious in hindsight..."

"I admit, I did mean the long, slender sword that looks like the one we saw that warrior wielding in the Old Labyrinth," Gerlinde confessed with a giggle. "I've met several of them, but theirs have always been ancient and worn, and I could never manage to get them to use fire-powers like they can. But maybe a pristine one works better!"

"Ah, yes! I'll tell you what--you three should move on before anyone comes looking. Most people won't think twice and will assume you've paid for these if you hurry along now--but sticking around for them to come looking seems foolish. I'll go grab the extra blade and meet up with you... any idea where you want to go so I can head there after?"

Farren, for his part, seemed rather pleased as he accepted the weapon. Though he was listening to their conversation, he immediately took to looking over the craftsmanship of the glaive. “Lingering does seem unwise,” Farren said absently, tearing his gaze from the weapon before he activated its mechanism and split it into its two parts. He pushed the large haft into a section of the sling on his back, then hung the sword-half on one of the hooks at his left hip.

“If you're going back...perhaps ask that blade of yours if it senses anything else hiding in that little workshop. Ah...and if you would grab another of the blades, the ones Gerlinde fancies.” He cast Gerlinde a small grin, before his face grew serious again and he cast his eyes out far afield, down the length of the street. “I say we simply move down the road a few blocks then meet up and consider next steps.”

He wet his lips, “The palace seems...a good destination, but without another implement to inscribe runes, only Ophelia's equipped to slip past their defenses.” Farren shook his head, “Either way...let's get to moving.”

Ophelia nodded at the request with her usual smile, easy and unforced, though unfocused. "I must assume that the palace has protections against arcane illusions, so I wouldn't count on my ability to slip by unhindered there... but that can wait. A few blocks over seems fine--I'm sure my blade can guide me to you. Now, quick-quick, time's of the essence!" she spoke quickly, hurrying them along with a flippant shooing motion with her free hand as she turned and went back the way she came. "Blast the lack of the little ones..." she muttered to herself as she went to retrace her steps and check what was going on with the lone attendant, if the Blessing Blades had been noticed as missing, and if the guard was alert.

Returning to the workshop, Ophelia would in fact be met by the armored attendant hurrying out of the area and toward the street where she had just left the other Hunters. He walked with quick, determined strides and carried a Blessing Blade of his own... though even now he did not appear to notice her.

Farren–and presumably the others–had of course already made their way along the street. Since they couldn't truly blend into the crowd, he made a point of turning down another street rather than staying in easy view if they were followed.

With only a quick flash of a look around Ophelia found nothing like a coin box that she might be able to pilfer quickly and instead focused on taking her prize--picking up the pair of falchions as directed--and then immediately made her way to follow the guard that had gone to follow her companions. Hopefully on such an auspicious night he would not give particular chase, though she doubted their luck. One with so little to do was more likely to be dogged in their pursuit, to her mind.

By the time Ophelia had retrieved the falchions and went to leave, she would already find the workshop attendant sullenly returning from the street. His fists were clenched and he wore a scowl, making it clear that he was far from at peace with what had happened, but also did not appear to be willing to scour the entire city to find the thieves... especially if that meant leaving the workshop unattended.

Ophelia almost felt bad for the attendant, but only almost, as she skulked by unseen once again with more ill-gotten goods. She thought no more of him and his woes as she made for the street she knew her companions and went about following where they had gone, dreamily taking in the assorted sights and smells and sounds of a bustling city at celebration as she did--and asking her blade if it could sense where they had gone when she reached their last known location to avoid dallying unnecessarily.

"You last saw them here," the voice reported in Ophelia's head. "None of them have presences that are distinct enough to locate through arcane senses, especially not in this city and at this time."

Ophelia chuckled to herself at the thought, finding a certain amusement in their lack of uniqueness from a certain perspective, before continuing her search manually. She looked for any little signs that might betray their passage in the more mundane sense--a whiff of that particular moon-scent, a footprint or hurried smearing of dirt, or the like.

Finding the rest of the party was not particularly difficult, just a little time and effort. From them arriving at the workshop to the point where Ophelia had joined back up with the three other Hunters, about fifteen minutes had passed, meaning they had now been in ancient Pthumeru for 45 minutes.

Ophelia handed the new arms off to her companions happily, though she did find herself eager to get things moving.

"We had better head to the palace, then, hadn't we? I do find myself quite eager to hear this lesser vicar speak, too, but with our currently uncertain relationship to time perhaps it's an indulgence we simply can't afford. Though... by my reckoning, it'd take us more time to find Tempus and return than there is left for the ritual to finish, so it probably matters little. The Moonborn Hunter will be eager for the fight, if nothing else--if we're lucky, perhaps they'll take care of everything for us?" Ophelia mused as she caught up, once again aware of the irony of rambling while talking about wasted time but once again powerless to do anything about it.

Farren simply nodded and then they were on their way, heading for the Palace.

And so the four Hunters began to truly venture into ancient Yharnam, traveling past the relatively lightly populated outskirts and into the denser regions, heading east toward the heart of the city: the palace. The three of them that could be noticed – since everyone they met were bidden by the empowered Truth Rune to ignore Ophelia – each drew stares from the crowd for different reasons. With Farren, attention was divided between the remarkable arsenal of weapons he was carrying with him, and his inhuman arms. With Gerlinde there seemed to be some outrage with her choice of attire, and though some seemed appreciative of the display, many also seemed amused with the obvious difficulty she had with carrying her threaded cane, Blessing Blade and new falchion all at the same time. Torquil, unusually, was the one who attracted the most positive attention. With his new body his size was almost comparable to that of true Pthumerians, and he was ruggedly handsome in a way that was refreshingly different from the otherworldly beauty innate to them. It also helped that he was carrying a suitable set of armaments – an axe on his hip, a glaive in his right hand and a shield in his left – that gave off the (rather inaccurate) impression that he was the only out of the three of them that knew what he was doing.
But for as many glances that were thrown at them, no one seemed to object to their presence. The streets were filled with Pthumerians and regular humans alike, clad in garb from different lands near and far. Travelers were here from across great Pthumeru and beyond to celebrate the impending birth of their new prince. Thus the Hunters, despite how distinctive they were, soon barely stood out as the crowds grew thicker and more diverse.
Soon they entered streets where the air was filled with music from countless instruments and the sound of innumerable voices. People chatting casually; people peddling their goods from storefronts or stalls; people laughing and gasping at performing artists of all kinds; people singing and slurring drunkenly as they partook in alcohol or blood. Under the full moon the city was vibrant with life, with everything brimming with movement, noise and color.

The densely populated streets only made traversing ancient Yharnam all the slower, which meant that traveling any distance was a time-consuming affair... and the distances to travel in a city this immense were not small. Every now and then they would be able to catch glimpses of the spires of the palace past the looming structures that lined every street, which told them that even fifteen minutes later that they had only gotten about one third of the way there.

But at that time, something happened.

They all felt it; a strange, brief pulse of some kind like a single resonant tone too deep to hear, but powerful enough to make all of their hearts skip a beat and their bones ache. Irrespective of their interpretation of that phenomenon, all of them felt as though their blood turned to ice, and they were all gripped by a fierce, primal sense of dread even before the voice spoke in their minds.
“The queen's protection just vanished,” it told them.
Someone nearby screamed in agony. Then multiple someones. And soon, the streets of ancient Yharnam filled with the cries of countless thousands of souls as the moon above seemed to grow bigger, come closer... and turned blood red.
It all happened in but a handful of seconds, and before anyone had any chance to understand what was happening, the violence began. Everywhere they looked, the people who had been celebrating happily moments earlier were now brutally murdering each other with whatever they had available... even their hands and teeth if necessary.

And they, having traveled among the crowd, found themselves completely enveloped in the surge of murder.