Dark Jack

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara – Borstown, Bor Manor, dining room

“I agree,” Vela declared with a nod of her head when Yanin pointed out the urgency in getting to Wenal and hunting down the vampire, “but it's a lot easier to get where you need to be when you know where it is. As I said before, he's been going around all over Wenal, pickin' off a victim here and there every several days without leavin' any clue as to where he came from or where he's goin'. I know how you feel; back in the day I'd have been wantin' to go immediately, too, but we don't have all the information we need. The duchess' people will, and they'll be able to help figure out where to look.” She shrugged. “If you all want to go right away I won't stop you, but I'd recommend taking a breath and waiting for support from Nemhim.”

A short while later the baroness paused eating for long enough to examine the pictures Yanin had offered her and, once she realized what they were, smiled at him gratefully. “Good idea. I will make sure these get to someone who can copy them and distribute them to the 'watchers. If there's anyone looking in Nemhim, I'll be sure they find them.”

“That's not what I meant,” Vela chuckled when Yanin bluntly suggested that she ask whatever questions she might have for him. “I don't really do the whole 'get to know someone over dinner'-thing... at least it'd have to be a really long dinner! I don't really know anything about any of you yet, so I wouldn't even know what to ask.” She sighed. “But since you offered: what brought you here? I assume you answered my summons, but why'd you do that?”

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara – Borstown, Bor Manor, dining room

Freagon turned his head to fix his blank stare at Yanin, only to then turn back to Vela again. “Not particularly,” he grumbled, though his lack of alternative courses of action did not appear to deter him. “Nor is it relevant. Think back to your days with the Melody of Freedom, baroness; back then, would you and your party have accepted an offer like this for such a task? Would you not have haggled?”
Meanwhile Jaelnec kept his eyes firmly locked on his food, all while trying his best to stop himself from visibly cringing with discomfort. This was nothing new, of course; in the past, any task offered to them – or more accurately to just Freagon – that was not of great enough urgency for every minute to be precious, the old knight would try to argue his way to a better reward before accepting. The amount offered was not the motive for doing it, he knew, since Freagon did this even when his would-be employer offered a reward that was clearly more than the task was worth.
Of course the young nightwalker, having been with his master for as long as he had, knew very well that Freagon's protest was not as firm as it might sound. For a task that promised to actually provide a benefit to the innocent, which hunting down this vampire absolutely would, he was almost guaranteed to relent even if negotiating a higher reward proved impossible. As abrasive as he might seem, Jaelnec was firmly convinced that his master was not actually a bad person, he just did not care what most people thought about him. It just frustrated him that Freagon was acting like this in front of all these other adventurers and making himself look even more callous than he already had.

At the head of the table, Baroness Bor poured herself a cup of wine and drank a mouthful before setting it back down again. She drummed her fingers quickly on the table. “I'll be candid with you: I could afford to pay you more, but my resources aren't infinite, and I'd rather have that money for later than spend it all now. I know that I wrote in my invitation that I'd give worthy successors to the Melody of Freedom all the treasure we collected... but frankly, you haven't proven to be worthy yet. That's part of why I'd like you to stay here a few days waitin' for help from Nemhim City: so I can get a good look at you all and figure out if I've struck gold or need to keep diggin'. If you're as good as I'm hopin', I'll make all my resources available to you, offer my manor as your base of operations and help you figure out where you can do the most good. I'm hopin' that you – all of you – together could be a party of heroes for this new era, the protectors the lands need. So many adventurers nowadays are barely any better than the crusaders we fought earlier...” She shook her head grimly. “The lands need heroes.”
Freagon cocked his head. “So that's a 'no' to increasing the reward?”
Vela let out a groan of frustration. “Here's what I can do: when I write the duchess for help, I'll also suggest she pitches in to increase the reward. And since all the attacks have been in Wenal, I'll write the noble assembly there, too, though it'll probably be weeks before they reach a decision. Otherwise, all I'll promise is that if you all keep impressin' me, I'll make sure you're some of the most well-supported adventurers in Kirirak.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ancient Yharnam, ancient Pthumeru

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.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Western ancient Yharnam, ancient Pthumeru

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.
“The ritual is not progressing,” the voice reported as they walked, sounding slightly bewildered. “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.”
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 trick-glaives like the ones the guards had been using.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Forest, near ancient Yharnam, ancient Pthumeru

While Ophelia and Farren took in the breathtaking sight of ancient Pthumeru Yharnam, Torquil and Gerlinde shared a moment of relative lack of appreciation for the view. For Torquil, this change meant next to nothing because even though what little he knew of his old life suggested that he had lived in this forest his entire life, he remembered next to nothing of it, and what little he did remember brought him nothing but agony. Part of him actually figured it was good riddance to remove himself further from what had brought him such pain, and separation through time was possibly even better than separation across distance. This new old city looked fancy, but besides that it meant nothing to him. It was a big city – though he did not fully comprehend how big, having no recognition as to whether it was bigger or smaller than modern Yharnam – and that was about the extent of his thoughts.
Gerlinde had significantly greater insight into what they were looking at, understood what it was and how it differed from modern Yharnam. She understood... but did not particularly care. She was much too distracted to feel much of anything at the sight of ancient Yharnam, and anyone looking her way might be struck by the fact that she – the woman who had been laughing as the fluids in her eyes boiled, who had always seemed fearless and relentless – now seemed... worried. The smile that had never left her face had faded to a faint compulsive curve at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes that had always been wide and eager were now alert and almost fearful. Her thoughts kept returning to how she had knelt to summon the Messengers, only for their absence to send shockwaves through her that threatened to shatter the spirit of steel she had cultivated for herself. Because if the little ones of the Dream did not come, what did that mean? Was the entirety of this city blanketed by the same kind of protection that held them off in the Cathedral Ward? Or... was it that this time did not have little ones of the Dream? Because it had no Dream? And if there was no Dream...
Would they reawaken if they died?

Even so the four Hunters descended from the hill, delving beneath the canopy again as they headed for the nearby city gate. After walking about a hundred meters the forest came to an abrupt stop, and they suddenly found themselves walking on flat, open ground as they approached the gate. As they got closer, they would get a better look at the guards they had seen from afar.
On the ground, standing on either side of the open gateway, were two figures in scarlet cloaks and silver-plated armor. Getting closer, the perspective on them became clearer and they would realize that both men were very tall, with slender builds and long limbs. They were both men with the characteristics they had already come to associate with Pthumerians from the Old Labyrinth: black eyes and pale skin... but unlike the ones from the Old Labyrinth, these Pthumerians were young and almost unspeakably beautiful. Each of these two random men, assigned to the illustrious duty of standing next to an open gate, was easily as handsome as Dietrich.
They were also both armed; the one on the left side of the gate was leaning on a lethal-looking glaive, whereas the other carried a falchion in his right hand and some manner of pistol in his left... and a mace on his right hip? Though with all of them being familiar with the concept of trick weapons, and realizing that this practice had its origin in ancient Pthumeru, they would surely notice the similarities in design between their weaponry. It would not be difficult to conclude that the falchion could combine with the mace and become a glaive.

Much more subtle from afar, but more obvious as they got closer and it became silhouetted against the moon- and starlit sky, they might also notice a figure sitting cross-legged on top of the gatehouse. The conditions made it challenging to pick out details about this figure, but they would be able to see a shadow lying in the figure's lap that looked a lot like an unusually long rifle.

“What is this?” the voice translated as the guard on the left spoke in Pthumerian. He seemed puzzled by their approach, but did not brandish his weapon. “Foreigners? In the Godswood? How did they get there?” Though the words were alien to them, his tone was outraged.
“They smell like Hunters,” the other remarked, sounding much less interested. His black gaze swept over them, lingering on Farren. “One of them is even an experiment. Must be from one of the other cities.”
“Whatever.” The first guard sighed, then straightened his head and raised his voice to address them: “Strangers! Do you speak Pthumerian? If not, just say something so we know which kind of translator we need.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Forest, near ancient Yharnam, ancient Pthumeru

Going through the landscape, there might be just the faintest hint of similarity from just watching the landscape itself – a slope here they recognized from the Forbidden Woods, a rock that looked vaguely familiar, a stream that was in approximately the same place as it had been where they came from – but these details only served to enhance how stark a contrast there was between what they had come to realize were two versions of the same place. Over the presumably vast period of time they had been displaced by the Great Serpent, practically everything in the two places had changed. Even things that people tended to view as permanent and use as landmarks for navigation, like trees, rocks or even just the shape of the landscape, had observably changed. It was a perhaps shocking reminder to some of them that even the world itself, if viewed over a long enough span of time, was naturally shifting and changing. Rocks and sediment moves and erodes, water carves new paths through the land, trees – even long-lived ones – are not eternal, but eventually expire to be replaced with new plants. Even things as foundational as the quality of the soil changed, and with enough of a shift the entire ecosystem could morph in ways that would render previously native life unsustainable, and new migratory life flourish instead.
This was still a forest, but it was effectively an entirely different forest. The trees were not just another generation of the same sorts of trees, but entirely different families. The undergrowth beneath the canopy were not just the same selection of plants redistributed, but a different configuration of bushes and ferns entirely. And the hill – when they reached it after just a couple of minutes of walking – was much taller than it had been in the Forbidden Woods, and much more sparsely wooded. Not only did climbing it get them higher than most of the trees around the hill, but the hill itself had very little to obstruct their view.

The Hunters climbed the hill, looked around... and discovered just how much this was not the Yharnam they knew.
Further north, where they all knew – but Ophelia would be particularly familiar with – Hemwick usually was, with Yahar'gul even further north, was now a huge, sprawling city the kind of which none of them had ever seen before. It stretched all the way to the water's edge – which was further west than it had been last they saw it – and all the way in front them from left to right, continuing off eastward and northward almost as far as they could see. Modern Yharnam was dwarfed by this absurd behemoth of a metropolis.
Not only did the city cover massive amounts of land, but even looking at individual constituents of the city there was a huge and obvious difference. Very little was where they expected them to be, with the only immediately recognizable landmarks being the mountains and the distant island that normally housed Castle Cainhurst... but even the castle, which was quite possibly the oldest part of modern Yharnam, did not feature in what they now saw. There was no bridge to the island, and rather than a castle it just featured what appeared to be a small fishing village whose numbers of scattered boats paled in comparison to the fleet of boats and ships occupying a harbor that was not supposed to be there.
Every house and building in the city was of a completely different make and design than what they were familiar with, and even the most humble residence was larger than most homes in modern Yharnam, and made entirely from stone, and looked to have far more ornamentation than they were used to. Far to the north, about where modern Yahar'gul would have been, they could make out an incredible cathedral that would put the Grand Cathedral of the Healing Church to shame. It lacked the weird bridges and platforms that allowed for the existence of the modern Upper Cathedral Ward, but was much larger and built from white stone, with such enormous and colorful mosaic windows that they could make them out even from kilometers away in moonlight. And to the east, toward what appeared to be the heart of the city, was a palace of unspeakable majesty. Its spires towered above everything else, seemingly competing with even the surrounding mountains to see which would be tallest, adorned with countless fluttering banners and surrounded by beautiful gardens and orchards. Its walls were built from a mix of black, white and red stone, with the distribution of the colors being so deliberate and the design of each and every detail, from the amazing, sweeping arches to the simplest doors and windows, displayed an ancient beauty that had long been lost to this land.

“There,” the voice told them, once again speaking in all of their heads. “That palace; that is where the ritual is taking place.”

But it was not just that the buildings of the city were different. Despite where they were and what they knew of ancient Pthumeru... despite the prominent full moon above them, which marked this clearly as a Night of the Hunt... when they looked past the outer wall of the city, they saw life. Where the streets of modern Yharnam were deserted on a night like this, this city was brimming with activity. Under the blue light of the eternal fires they had seen in the Old Labyrinth, the streets of this city were full of what appeared to be people, many of whom manned stalls or worked their crafts out in the open, but most were just idling around. It looked like a festival of some kind, which coupled with the distinct lack of pyres, screaming and howling, made for a bizarre contrast to the Yharnam they knew.
Just several hundred meters to their northeast, they would see a gate in the outer wall that separated the city from the forest. It was manned, but its doors were open. And there was not a single censer in sight.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Hidden Shrine, Forbidden Woods, southwest of Yharnam

Returning to her former abode for the second time was no less thought-provoking than the first, and a sense of melancholy seemed to hang about Ophelia as they continued on their journey as though she were mired by memories. By the time they'd gotten to where Nayra--or whatever she'd become, for she was evidently no longer human--had ambushed them the last time her wariness and apprehension had grown to the point that the melancholy was largely forgotten. As they continued along the path Ophelia watched it with new eyes, and used senses that she'd never possessed as a girl. How different it looked in this new light, so many years later... she navigated the hidden path with such ease and dexterity that she could never have even fathomed possessing before, to say nothing of how her studies of the arcane had progressed. When they arrived at the shrine, Ophelia felt a familiar anxious reverence welling up inside her, though her visit this time was much different compared to the last.
“Do you sense the Great Serpent nearby? Have you any idea how we might call its attention? Farren has a Snakescale Hourglass on his person--perhaps like can call to like?” she asked her blade while she glanced around the place languidly, looking for anything that might serve them in their quest.
“It is here,” the voice reported dutifully. “It is already watching you.”
Ophelia thanked her blade for its dutiful service with a silent prayer, taking a moment to breathe in and focus before she continued.
“O Great Serpent, we have come to entreat you on behalf of our world. A ritual is underway to beckon forth Obcasus, the Worldbreaker, who will surely reduce our world to nothing to slip back into slumber. It is our intention to stop this ritual, but... we are running out of time. Time I pray that you can grant us more of.” Ophelia spoke aloud, falling to her knees before the altar in a pose of supplication. She hoped that simple words would be enough for it to grace them with its presence, and that the price it asked was not too steep to pay.
At this point even Farren, who had previously been about as impudent in the face of authority figures as he could get away with – particularly with the Vileblood Queen – acted on the gravity of the situation. In a show of deference he knelt willingly, stowing one piercing rifle in the holster on his back and laying the other on the ground beside him, bowing his head.
There was a moment's pause before the voice spoke to Ophelia again: “No reaction... It likely does not understand human speech. It is still watching and listening, but it doesn't seem to understand what you are trying to tell it.”
Ophelia considered for a moment the things a Great One might understand if not their paltry language. They had a rune that afflicted one with the eyes of Obcasus--perhaps they could present it? Perhaps the hourglass could tell it what they needed? The thought of such vague communications put her mind ill at ease.
Can you perhaps translate for us? Or... I don't know. I fear I cannot fathom what such a powerful being might understand if not our words. I could show it the Oblivion rune, but how would it know that we are trying to stop such a thing rather than cause it? Ophelia replied, beckoning forth the little ones to retrieve the runebrand just in case.
“Even the runes are just human interpretations of the words of the Great Ones,” the voice explained. “The rune would be no more meaningful to a Great One than if you wrote with your own letters. And the sword cannot commune with Great Ones anymore than you can.” There was a thoughtful pause. “Great Ones are simultaneously complex beyond comprehension and very simple. Show it emotions. Communicate with it as though it was an animal. The Great Ones are sympathetic in spirit; if it senses that you need help, it will likely try to grant it.”
Ophelia thought on her blade's words for a moment, and did her best to follow its suggestion. She looked up into the canopy plaintively, and let herself feel all of the things that she had previously only been thinking about. She was not truly certain where thought transitioned into feeling, or what the difference between them was exactly, but she forced herself to think of Nayra's awful cosmic eyes. The vastness, the emptiness, the indifference of the cosmos as she was devoured and caressed and crushed by something so unfathomable that it surely thought of her no more than she thought of specks of dust as she moved through the world. She let the panic rise up in her chest and her breaths heave with weight, let the helplessness run rampant through her... but never at any point did she give up. She shed a few defiant tears as she clung to hope, staring up into the canopy as she tried her best to project her desperation and her desire to fight. If the Great Serpent could not offer them more time... everything would die. Though she'd said to Farren that the golden bastard was a last resort, her heart was not truly in that idea--if they were reduced to having to rely on him, it was as good as over. The mere thought of it echoed through her and replaced the feeling of helplessness with anger. She would not allow him to win for as long as she drew breath, having tried to use her love for her mentors against her. Against the whole world... a world she was part of and wanted desperately to save from a truly horrible fate.
“It understands emotions, not words. Show the Great Serpent how we feel, how desperately we need its help.” Ophelia added, to help give her companions some grounding.
Hearing Ophelia's instructions, for once, Gerlinde's smile faltered. Show how she feels? How desperately she needed its help? What a joke. That was the old her; the new her always smiled and laughed boldly even in the face of adversity, and she never needed anyone else's help. Old her had needed help, but never got any. Old her had showed emotion, and no one ever cared. Old her was weak and submissive, and she suffered for it. She would never be that girl again. Could never be her again.
But even so, the aid of this creature would be useful. Though she could not fully comply with Ophelia's request, she would do what she could. So Gerlinde got down on her hands and knees – a sight that made Torquil look as though his eyes might pop out of his head – and touched her forehead to the ground, prostrating herself to this supposed Great One.
Distracted though he was by Gerlinde's display, Torquil still made an effort to try to think of what to do. Show it how he felt? He was confused, mostly, and had never made any attempt to hide that fact. He spent a moment trying to think of a way to make himself cry like Ophelia was, but could not manage it. The most he could do was to think of all the horrible ways he had died this night, which filled his heart with fear and left him shuddering and trembling.
Then he got down on his knees and prostrated himself as well... wondering all the while if he was doing it right.

“It moves,” the voice told Ophelia, a hint of excitement in its tone. She would likely note that the whispers of the Holy Moonlight Sword were never as emotive as the voice of the Cosmic Sword of Truth had been. “It is close... on the slab!”
And sure enough, anyone who deemed to look at the stone slab serving as a naturalistic shrine might notice an old, weathered canine skull wiggled back and forth a little. A second later something emerged from one of its vacant eye-sockets: the tiny head of a bright blue snake. It was so incredibly small, only some twelve centimeters long or so, and appeared to be small even for a hatchling. It writhed its way out of the skull and dropped gracelessly to the stone... only to start growing larger, very, very quickly. In the space of no more than five seconds, what had previously been a young and puny creature had grown into a snake that looked like it was at least three meters long, though it coiled to still fit on the stone slab. It seemed that it had just gone from a minuscule hatchling to a large adult in the space of a couple of heartbeats.
The creature raised its head and looked around at them, and it would be quite apparent that it had only looked like a snake before increasing in size. Though its body was clad in bright blue scales, it also seemed to be at least partially made up by tangled tendrils of some kind, like the roots of some sort of unknown plant, and though the shape of its head was reminiscent of that of a snake, it had no mouth. And while one might initially assume that it had only the two eyes one would expect a snake to have, a second glance revealed that what might appear to just be part of the pattern in its scales were actually neatly arranged, evenly spaced eyes spread out across the length of its body, staring at them all.

The Great Serpent cocked its head, its snout turning from one to the next of the Hunters... and then they would all feel the air crackle, the entire area permeating with immense eldritch power. The creature's eyes glowed with an inner light of their own, and the entire clearing filled with swirling purplish light. Their ears filled with a loud noise that was like a mix between the rumble of an earthquake and the roar of a storm, until the entire world was consumed by the light.

And then, quite abruptly, the light vanished, and the Hunters found themselves somewhere else. They were still in a forest, but the trees did not look the same. There were several rocks nearby that looked somewhat similar to the ones they had just seen scattered in the clearing, but otherwise this seemed like an entirely different place.
There was no shrine and no Great Serpent here.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

Ophelia listened to both Gerlinde's explanation and her blade's imploration with her whole attention, nodding along as she did while she pondered their shared revelations.
“My blade tells me that she was able to commune with it from a distance and bend even its will--that she could even prevent me from using its incantations. We require greater protection. I... we must entreat the Great Serpent, either way--we will need time to find this manner of protection. I am willing to parley with Harold and his golden master, and I suspect they will be willing to aid us as Obcasus is just as much a threat to them as it is to us... though I did not want to tip him off that I possess this artefact, nor reveal any of its powers... but I think that is perhaps a last resort.”
“Have you any idea what might provide us with such protection, or where we can find it? The only thing greater than the runes are those that produce them: must it be a Great One that we entreat for aid?” she asked her blade in silent communion, uneasily shifting her weight between her legs as she did.
“Perhaps,” the voice replied hesitantly. “Although... ancient Pthumeru had a different kind of relationship with the Great Ones than the people of modern Yharnam. They may have possessed such protections.”
“Yes,” Ophelia began to muse aloud, “my blade is quite right... the ancient Pthumerians, like the one Gerlinde and I faced in the lower levels, had a rather different relationship to the Great Ones. It's almost certain that they possessed some manner of protection against even manifested Great Ones, and we may find it either in the Interstice proper or the bits of it that have fallen totally into the Nightmare? Moonborn, your other selves have explored much of the labyrinth and beyond: have you ever encountered such protections, or have you any idea where we might start looking? Or you, Gerlinde? You're the most knowledgeable of us on the Nightmare, after all.”
“Well...” Gerlinde grimaced. “If we're looking for a Pthumerian with a personal relationship with the Great Ones, I guess our best bet would be Soulkeeper. You know, the leader of the Harrow.”
“The Shopkeeper regrets that they cannot share their protection with you,” the doll conveyed, “but points out that other Great Ones might. If you could could manage to commune with one that isn't hostile, they may also be able to aid you, good Hunter.”
“Well, best to start with the Great Serpent that we need to visit regardless... I used to bring offerings to a higher power in the woods on behalf of the witches; it's unlikely there's another higher power there, mm? If that doesn't work... I suppose we should at least try Soulkeeper. They were very interested in we Palebloods, as I recall, seeing as they tried to kidnap us when we first awakened. It's up to you whether you come with us or not, Farren--if you wish to visit the basin and return your arms to their proper form, it would be an efficient use of time to do that while we head to the woods? Or you can come with us and we can go together after; I'd certainly not refuse the treasures and blood echoes if we succeed in getting more time.”
Farren grimaced in response to Gerlinde's words, then sighed and twitched as he had to force down the strong desire to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was an act that would have once been a small relief, that now his clawed digits would merely make a deeply unpleasant debacle. “If...Harold's Golden Bastard can protect us, then he likely protect others too. I doubt they would give such power freely. Any cost they require, no matter how deceptively reasonable it might appear, is likely more than we ought to give.” His words held a distaste and dismissal for Harold and his master that was certainly a reflection of his hatred for the lost, still...Farren felt it was based more in logical deduction than in his own intensely negative bias for the Bastard and his thrall. He glanced to Gerlinde then, eyeing her briefly, “When you...clashed with this...Nayra. Was she specifically trying to stop your progress somewhere, or were these more meetings of chance?”
“Well... yes,” Gerlinde claimed with a shrug. “It was mostly when I was trying to steal relics from the Followers. Or when I had found something really nice and rare, like Snakey or the horn... which I'd like back, by the way,” she added, shooting Farren a pretty smile.
“You're right, I think, dear: which is why they're only a last resort. I must say, this makes me tremendously wary of us taking relics like my blade to Yahar'gul... but that is a conversation for later. Farren, are you coming to the Great Serpent with us or going to the basin? We should set off again very soon.” Ophelia commented, before quickly dashing over to the workshop and taking the Rakuyo from the wall and a Chikage, storing them with the messengers, and returning quickly.
“'Nayra' may well try to ambush us again; from now on, we try to kill her on sight, before she drops her blindfold. Averting our gaze didn't work, so I'm afraid it's eyes closed: but with our hunters' senses, that should be less harrowing than it sounds.” She added as she returned, and headed towards the Frontier headstone to embark on their journey once more.
Farren cracked the smallest of grins in response to Gerlinde's very deliberate smile, designed to disarm and beguile, even if she knew such things seldom worked on him. He chuckled, removed the Horn from his belt and handed it over, though the action was a measure less smooth than what was usual for him. Eyelid twitching faintly, he looked to the headstone, adjusted the sling that held the Beastflayer on his back, knelt, and called upon the Messengers. A moment later they rose up with two of his new Piercing Rifles, both of which he carefully loaded, one with a lead bullet, the other with quicksilver. He stood then, one in each hand before he looked to Gerlinde once more.
“That smile as pretty as your aim?” He asked archly, raising a single brow, a slight grin at one corner of his lips.
“I sure hope not,” she told him, stowing the Horn of the Old Lords into the little bag on her hip. With her other hand she lightly tapped the pistol on her other hip. “Don't count on me hitting anything unless the projectile is homing or the target is point blank. Until a week ago I had never so much as touched a gun.”
He nodded without even a shred of judgement, and kept both guns, “Guess it'll be luck of the draw then,” he replied, tucking the rifle loaded with quicksilver under his right arm, pointed forward, and briefly practiced holding the other with both hands while the quicksilver rifle remained nestled in the pit of his arm. After perhaps thirty seconds, he was satisfied with his ability to adjust his aim, finally truly growing more used to the strange limbs that had been forced upon him. Finally, he walked to the gravestone beside Ophelia and shook his head, “I'll push through, for now. Time's ticking,” then he nodded at the gravestone and reached out once more.

Hidden Shrine, Forbidden Woods, southwest of Yharnam

Once more the four Hunters set out, going along the same route with the same plan. There was likely some tension among them as they emerged from the Witch's Abode and headed for the Forbidden Woods again, but even after having walked in the shade of the trees for several minutes they saw no trace of Nayra.
Even in the darkness, their sharp Hunter-senses picked up that the forest was far from empty. Beasts in all shapes and sizes lurked among the wilderness... but ironically nearly all the beasts out here were of the natural kind, not those warped by the Old Blood. Unlike the time before, when there had been plenty of people living in the Forbidden Woods despite them being expressly forbidden, the new Healing Church had actually made an effort to keep people out of there. Thus while the Hunters noticed a few oversized crows, feral wolves and tangled, wobbling knots of snakes, they did not happen upon anything especially dangerous... and more importantly, nothing bold enough to approach and attack four Hunters on a Night of the Hunt.
They ignored the beasts and made haste toward their objective, and about twenty minutes after arriving in the Witch's Abode for the second time, they arrived at the Hidden Shrine.

There, deep in the dense forest, was a clearing with several large white rocks strewn about. In the center of the clearing was an especially big flat slab of rock, arranged so that its surface was mostly horizontal, which was decorated in all manner of naturalistic symbols. Feathers, bones, snake molts, hides and all manner of trinkets were arranged around the slab, though the middle of it was conspicuously vacant. Ophelia would know that this was where offerings used to be left: basketfulls of eggs, ideally, though all manner of produce had been left over the decades.
This was the place... but of course, Ophelia had never heard of anyone actually seeing the supposed guardian deity of the forest. She did not know where to look for it nor how to summon it, just that it likely resided nearby... whatever “nearby” meant for a Great One.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

“The Shopkeeper is a Great One, good Hunter,” the doll answered Ophelia's question while she and the Shopkeeper walked down the stairs from the workshop to meet them. “They are so highly resistant to eldritch influence that they may as well be wholly immune.” She glanced to the master of the Dream and then back at Ophelia. “They point out that that is why they were able to perceive Arrayah. As for this Obcasus mentioned in the scroll...” She wrung her hands uncomfortably. “The Shopkeeper eagerly awaits its arrival. They cannot wait for the opportunity to hunt such prey.”

“That was a first,” Gerlinde sighed, scratching the back of her neck with an awkward grin. “I've clashed with Nayra before, obviously, but that's the first time she's taken off her blindfold. To think she had a trick like that up her sleeve all this time...”
She shook her head, turning to Farren. She glanced briefly at his altered arms, but apparently deemed to not comment on them for the time being. “I can probably shed some light on things without us spending time experimenting while the ritual progresses. As I said I've clashed with her before, and she has killed me several times... and I have killed her at least once. But as you just saw, she's obviously not dead. I beheaded her – she's surprisingly fragile, by the way – and her body just sort of... melted into the ground? Not like when one of us get sent back to the Dream, she actually liquefied right before my eyes. I also know that she definitely has some weird way of moving from place to place that is probably as fast as our lanterns, if not faster.”
Gerlinde turned away and threw up her hands in what appeared to be frustration, though her tone of voice sounded genuinely amused: “If only we'd learned Harry-poo's trick to control what can and cannot pop out of the ether before we pissed him off. But I doubt Nayra will keep hanging around in the forest; while I won't claim to know her – I don't think anyone knows her anymore – I do know that she hates wasting time, and she does have a ritual to work on. As soon as we disappeared and she confirmed that you took the sword with you, she probably went right back to Yahar'gul.”

“Champion,” the voice spoke in Ophelia's mind, “lend your ear, if you would. That creature you just encountered is unfathomably dangerous. You told it that it is desperately unworthy, but in truth it exerts an unimaginable influence even over the Cosmic Sword of Truth. While you spoke with it, it communed with the sword from a distance! Its voice overwhelmed the sword, bending its will effortlessly. Champion... not only would that creature be able to wield the sword to its full potential, it will even prevent the sword from using incantations while its many minds invade the sword. Greater protection is definitely necessary.”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Hunter's Dream

On their way to the Forbidden Woods through the Hunter's Dream, however, the Hunters hit a minor snag as returning there meant another activation of the disruptive influence of the false Paleblood. For Torquil's part he merely sensed himself filling with vital energy like when he channeled the strength of their fallen enemies through the doll, but for Farren this sent a ripple through the Dream itself. The result of this soon became obvious as they found the Shopkeeper and the doll... with the latter having crumbled once more into an inanimate heap, the eldritch life drained from her remains.
“We will return to rouse her, but it may be some time. The Ritual has progressed, time is short, and the Great One they are calling is a dire threat,” Farren told them.
“I might be able to revive her now if it's tremendously important to you? Just nod or shake your head, love.” Ophelia asked the Moonborn.
The Shopkeeper, kneeling by the inanimate doll, immediately nodded their head without so much as turning from the porcelain homunculus.
Retrieving the runebrand, Ophelia handed it to Farren alongside the Echo of Agony. “Apply the Heir rune and crush this: I think it should give us enough to bring her back.”
Farren simply nodded, envisioned the Heir Rune in his mind's eye and then used the brand with not a sign of discomfort. Once he felt its power in his skull, a faint, but distinct vibration, Farren turned his attention to the Echo and crushed it in his hand.
It felt...like a brief rush, and then the ghostly weight of the echoes settled in his veins. It felt like enough. Farren drew over to Amaris, took to one knee and pressed a hand to the top of her head, opening himself and pushing the echoes to her with his will.
Once again the doll blinked her eyes as whatever semblance of life she possessed returned to her. “Ah, again... I am sorry to be such a burden, good Hunters.”
Farren shook his head and rose, “Don't be, it is a failing of my false paleblood, not of your being.” He glanced to Ophelia, jaw set, ready to go if she and the others were.
“We're all Mother Moon's children here, dear. We would abandon you no more than we'd abandon each other, no matter how many times something happens. We'll see you soon.” Ophelia chuckled, her smile warm for just a moment before the sense of urgency overcame her features again and she made ready to set out.

Witch's Abode, Hemwick, west of Yharnam

Though their destination was in the Forbidden Woods, the only one out of the party with any idea where in the Forbidden Woods they were going was Ophelia. As such it was quickly determined that they would have a much better chance of getting to where they might find the Great Serpent if they went from a location she was intimately familiar with rather than some – to Ophelia – random place in the expansive forest. Looking at the markers on the headstones in the Dream, it became obvious that out of all of them, there was one place Ophelia was likely more familiar with than any other: the home of her old teachers, the Witch's Abode.
Awakening after touching the marker, the Hunters could observe that the structure they found themselves in only bore a superficial resemblance to the lair of the Witches of Hemwick. During the time of resurgence Hemwick had experienced in the wake of the Night of the Blood Moon, the now-vacant largest building in of the village had swiftly been claimed and repurposed as a workshop for the morticians performing their grim duties. The abode had been thoroughly cleaned and renovated, and at the height of its prosperity it had been a bustling place of business, with dozens of people happily processing multitudes of corpses.
Then things had taken a turn for the worse, of course. With the witches dead and their Mad Ones absent, Hemwick lost the protection they had had from the scourge of beasts, and with the mountain of victims of the Blood Moon being moved through Hemwick, beasts were an inevitability. The dead brought beasts and beasts brought Hunters, and some of those Hunters deserted the Healing Church and aided in rebuilding the Vilebloods, revitalizing the war between the two would-be rulers of Yharnam.
Nowadays the Witch's Abode, though still in much better condition than when the witches had lived there, was abandoned, and the briefly prosperous Hemwick Charnel Lane was reduced to a few scattered devoted, twisted souls who dutifully maintained the functions of the village.

But as nostalgic as this return likely was for Ophelia and for as many thoughts and feelings she might have about it, the Hunters were determined to make haste to their destination. They quickly exited the abode, stepping out under the night's sky into the moonlit grounds...
And indeed, straight above them – exactly where they had last seen it, rooted in place despite hours having passed – was the moon. Only, the moon would quite obviously not look how they were used to it looking. Though still pale and giving off its cold radiance, there was now a large, churning pitch-black splotch in its center, its edges slowly undulating and pulsating. Like the pupil of a staring eye in the sky, this dark mark looked as though it had already filled up about three fourths of the moon... with small, shimmering tether stretching down from it and to the ground, somewhere to their north. The distance was hard to determine from this vantage, but the direction and circumstances seemed to suggest that the other end of that ephemeral trail was rooted in Yahar'gul.

Spurred on by this reminder of their haste, the Hunters headed southward through the empty streets of Hemwick, climbed rocks and descended slopes before they, after traveling for about ten minutes, officially found themselves under the shaded canopy of the Forbidden Woods. Ophelia would know that it would likely take about another ten minutes or so to get to where people usually left offerings to their guardian deity, and so they hastened into the murk, toward the Great Serpant's shrine.
But before they had traveled for more than two minutes or so, they would encounter something quite unexpected: standing plainly among the trees off to their right, fingers steepled and a small smirk on her lips, was what appeared to be a civilian woman. She was wearing the garb of a student and had short, messy brown hair... and as if the fact that she was just calmly standing here in the midst of the Forbidden Woods was odd enough, she was also blindfolded.
It was made a little harder by the blindfold, but ultimately Ophelia would likely have little trouble recognizing this woman as the one she had seen in the Memory of Stars, and the one she had known from her old life. This appeared to be Nayra.