White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam
With one last suspicious glare – and a quick appreciative glance at Gerlinde – the cleric walked off in the direction of the Lumenflower Garden, leaving the party under the watchful eyes of a dozen civilians and five different White Church Hunters. Though people around the room seemed to somewhat resume what they had been doing, chatting among themselves, refilling supplies from the tables or performing maintenance on Hunter gear, it was also quite clear that people were now paying close attention to them. It was quite clear just from observing everyone that they had crossed a line and teetered on the verge of committing taboo by trying to get into the storage room while not being affiliated with the White Healing Church. Even so, Farren leaving only earned a few glances to check what he was doing. No one did anything to halt his exit, nor did anyone seem particularly concerned with what he was doing. He was permitted to leave without incident, and as soon as he left the building attention refocused on those who remained waiting for the cleric to return.
A couple of minutes passed, with Torquil restlessly fidgeting and Gerlinde calmly humming a cheerful tune for most of the duration, until finally the cleric rounded the corner and returned to the main room. Only, the cleric was not alone. Right behind him followed Vicar Harold himself, fingers steepled in front of him and an impatient frown on his face. And right behind him followed a third, who they might struggle to recognize... but at closer inspection would realize was Victor. Though Victor was still wearing the uniform of a White Church Hunter, he now also wore weird golden plates of armor on top of it on his arms, legs and torso; pieces of armor that did not appear to be strapped onto him, but rather looked as though the metal itself somehow enveloped each part of him in a way that raised questions as to how he put it on and how he could get it off. Strangest of all was that he also wore some manner of ornament on his head that looked like some bizarre mix of a golden crown and a five-legged spider, with legs or tendrils extending from the golden mass on top of his scalp and down along the sides and back of his head. Even his armaments had changed, as the Holy Sword he usually carried on his back had been replaced by a golden zweihander, and the blunderbuss on his hip had been switched with some manner of gilded and ruby-adorned, vaguely firearm-like device. It was not just his garb and weaponry that had changed either. Whereas the Victor they had seen in the past had appeared quite well-groomed – as much as the circumstances allowed, at least – he now seemed rather disheveled. His usually tidy beard and combed hair were tangled messes; his once-neat uniform was crumpled and bore several obvious stains; and his normally hyper-attentive, paranoid eyes looked dull, his expression was blank, and he did not appear to display any kind of recognition of Ophelia or Torquil even as they came into view.
“The sheer audacity,” Vicar Harold sighed, lowering his hands and shaking his head grimly. “Gods help you... I knew Gerlinde was insane, but I never expected the rest of you to come here after what you had done. Is it out of madness or foolishness, I wonder?” His expression hardened. “Get out of here. Now. And I don't recommend coming back.”
White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam
Though the cleric had been rather distracted by Gerlinde's display as well, his attention quickly returned to Ophelia. “All Hunters are made by the Healing Church, even the Vilebloods,” he pointed out grimly. “By your logic, we'd welcome those bastards in to take our supplies to use against us, too. Rules are rules: only official members of the White Healing Church are allowed in the storage.” His eyes narrowed. “What is it you're after that you absolutely have to retrieve yourselves rather than letting someone else get it for you? If it's that important, I can go ask the Lord Vicar if he wants to grant you access.”
White Church Workshop, Upper Cathedral Ward, high above western Yharnam
The cleric frowned, his eyes shifting momentarily around the room as if to confirm that he was surrounded by Hunters of the White Healing Church that were paying close attention to what was happening. “Yeah, that is a problem. Only White Church members allowed, by order of the Lord Vicar and the First Hunter.” He shook his head in resignation. “Look, lady, just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you. We also have orders to get you freaks whatever you need, after all.”
Torquil, meanwhile, was getting rather fidgety with the scrutiny they were under by the people assembled in the room. He had to stop himself from nervously pulling up his mask and pulling down his cap, at once afraid that they would notice him looking less than human but also aware that him doing something like that would only draw more attention to it and increase chances of discovery. Standing next to him, Gerlinde shot Torquil a sidelong glance, scanned him up and down momentarily and then shot him a fiendish smile and a wink. Moving in a way that managed to seem mostly natural, she deliberately turned so that she stood in profile to most of the people in the room, making sure that her left side with her mostly exposed leg was facing them. Pretending to yawn, she then stretched languidly, raising her arms high above her head while arching her back, exposing more of her midriff and making her chest strain even more against the confines of her vest than usual. After that simple display, no one were paying attention to Torquil anymore as their eyes were instead glued to the unrealistically gorgeous woman showing off her body. Even Torquil was much too transfixed on her to realize the other benefit of the display, and too appreciative of the view he had been offered to be grateful for the diversion.
Arriving in the garden of Crow's Nest, Ophelia would find the place mostly unchanged since their first visit there. Crowmother was no longer perched among the outcropping of rocks above the cabin and was instead back on its spot further up the mountain, reduced to a relatively distant looming shadow keeping a watchful eye on everything around them, with special attention to the direction of Yharnam. Gehrman was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but from where she appeared next to the lantern she would be able to spot Eileen and Dietrich around the side of the cabin. Eileen was standing in her full Crow Hunter garb still, while Dietrich was sitting on a stool several meters from her, leaning over a small brass tub. His hair and face appeared to be clean again, and judging by the fact that he had a bare torso - revealing a lean, muscular and athletic body - it could be surmised that he was in the process of cleaning his coat and shirt.
"Hello, loves." Ophelia called out, offering a friendly wave to the pair as she spoke. She reacquainted herself with the surrounds and began to walk over to them with a soft smile on her face. "I had a few questions that I think you'd be best served to answer, Dietrich, if you don't mind indulging me?"
Looking up and seeing Ophelia, Dietrich promptly offered her a smile, though he also shot Eileen a regretful glance. Abandoning the clothes he had been washing, leaving them to presumably soak, he beckoned her over. He did not seem uncomfortable with his relative nudity at all. "Of course," he told her. "How can I be of service?"
"We've just visited Castle Cainhurst and spoken with Queen Annalise. I know, I know, the Healing Church and the Vilebloods have... tensions, to be diplomatic, but the Queen gave us some tremendously helpful information. It seems she knows of our golden foe, for it was him who toppled the original society present here under the rule of Divine Queen Yharnam. I can go into the history later, though. She gave us a series of quests before she will release the Chalice I need to recover the Holy Moonlight Sword's twin, quests that involve granting her freedom from the bondage placed upon her by the Healing Church. I intend to grant her that freedom and recruit her in our fight, for we need every ally that we can get and she is a sworn enemy of the 'Gilded Trickster', as she calls him. I obviously cannot ask the Vicar for information about where such a means of freeing her might exist within the White Church, so I turn to you." Ophelia asked, rambling on as she usually did with background information before she got to the point. For her part, her gaze did not stray once to anywhere untoward on Dietrich.
"I... okay." Dietrich leaned back on his stool and rubbed his face with both hands, taking a moment to struggle and absorb everything he had just been told. "So the Vileblood Queen is not only alive even though she's supposed to have died five years ago, but you want to set her free."
"Yes. The enemy of our enemy is our ally, love, not our friend. I suspect that we'll need her if we're to prevail. I also don't really know the roots of the vilification of the Vilebloods, exactly, but... given what we know about the awful trespasses committed by the Healing Church, does it not strike you as a blatant power grab?" Ophelia asked in reply, clearly thoughtful on the issue herself. "I go into this with no prejudice, no dogma. Heresy is but a contrivance; perhaps all things can coexist."
"I suppose that is fair," he said with a sigh. "It's just difficult to discard everything I was taught in the Healing Church all at once. But a means of freeing her, you say? How is she imprisoned?"
"She is locked in a queer iron mask, and she referred to it as a 'curse', I believe, placed upon her by the Church. She indicated that the means to free her would likely be kept in the Workshop, the Orphanage of the Choir, or the Grand Cathedral. Of course, we must hope that it is not in the Grand Cathedral for obvious reasons... but I didn't get the sense that she knows precisely what this key is. I can't imagine that you would either, per se, but it would be a closely guarded secret. As First Hunter, I had hoped you would be familiar with such a secret, if not its contents."
He shrugged. "This mask was something the old Healing Church made, and it's not as though they left behind instructions on where they kept all their things. Although..." He winced. "If it's a literal key and someone from the church found it, we would keep it in our key box at the workshop. That's where we have all the old keys we haven't found the matching lock with yet."
"No, indeed not, but my blessed blade grants me sight of things unseen. If there are traces of the Nightmare, I will be able to see them, and I hope that will guide me... Though the box of keys is a good idea, thank you. She also indicated that the tools required to make Hunters could be used--might you know where those are kept? I wouldn't want to cripple the Church's ability to make new Hunters, of course, but taking a couple of doses should suffice for my purposes if you think such a thing would be possible?" Ophelia spoke, her gaze shifting up to look at the moon as she spoke of her blade. It did not return to Dietrich until she finished speaking.
"Of course. Normally there would be a locked case of Hunter's Old Blood in each blood ministration clinic, but since it's a Night of the Hunt they'll all have been moved to the workshop, too."
"That makes sense. Might you give me directions to where specifically it's kept? Ah, and would you like me to fetch anything from your office while I'm there? My hope is that you are still officially the First Hunter, and that we might be able to use that authority to dissuade people from stopping us. I'd hate to have to fight our way out--the people there under the thrall of gold are innocent. Perhaps I can fetch some pen and paper and you could write a little note? I could also take your clothes with me to the Dream and pop back--I believe that should restore them to perfect cleanliness and functionality?"
"Oh, that would be neat," Dietrich said with a chuckle. "I don't think I need anything, but the doses... actually..." His eyes widened and the hint of a fiendish grin spread over his face. "Normally the Hunter Old Blood is kept in a locked room past the regular supply storage, but it just so happens that I received a case earlier. That case should still be in my office."
"Ah, perfect, I think I should be able to slip into and out of your office with a minimum of fuss. In fact... Gerlinde mentioned that she came across a relic in the Nightmare--a basin that allows one to change one's appearance in entirety. I could even assume your form briefly, and none would be the wiser that aught was amiss. Speaking of Gerlinde... the Vicar seems to dislike her intensely, and I got the sense that you and your fellows bear her no love either--why is that? I know she's an odd duck, utterly irreverent, but she... gods, she's had it rough. You must have heard what happened to her... what they did to her at Byrgenwerth. Harrowing." Ophelia replied, a similar grin sneaking onto her face as she spoke--until she spoke of Gerlinde, where her eyes began to shimmer and water just a little.
"I don't know exactly what happened to her, but I've guessed it was horrible. I heard they found her in a room all alone with some sort of half-human larva..." Dietrich shuddered. "But Gerlinde is just... an agent of chaos, to put it bluntly. She doesn't care about what anyone else wants or needs, she lives solely for herself and is willing to entertain herself even at the cost of human lives. Any time she showed up anywhere this past week she has managed to complicate things. We've just learned that she is bad news."
Ophelia sighed ruefully. "You're right, sadly, I fear she has left the Waking World behind... But she is my sister in blood. What happened to her could've been me, had I not the protection of the Witches of Hemwick and the commensurate anonymity they provided. I... don't know that I can leave her behind. I will do my very best to make sure that she behaves." Ophelia spoke, though she was interrupted by the telltale moaning and grasping of the little ones that revealed a scroll for her to read. She bent down to read it and thanked them, then turned again to Dietrich. "Ah, Farren has asked I inquire about the materials you used to make the false Palebloods. It might be a good idea for me to... liberate that from the Church too, have the Moonborn Hunter study it or contain it. Keeping it out of their hands does seem important, and... well, it's proven unpredictable. Torquil, bless his heart, has been... partially transmogrified. Nothing we can't fix, but these sorts of random effects can afflict the false Palebloods whenever they go back to the Dream--hence why I've come alone!"
Dietrich's eyes flicked to Eileen for a second at the mention of Gerlinde being Ophelia's "sister in blood", but if he had anything to say it was cut off by her continuing to speak. "I suppose that makes sense," he said at the end of her speech, though his tone suggested that it was rather far from making sense to him. "As luck would have it, the false Paleblood is in the same case as the Hunter Old Blood in my office... though I don't know if that is our only false Paleblood."
Ophelia noticed the glance and her expression changed to one of thoughtfulness again as she listened to Dietrich's reply. "Ah, how fortuitous. Anything we can get our hands on will help--though I doubt the Vicar will dare awaken any more false Palebloods now. I will be waiting with the Rune, and they will turn against their makers as surely as we have. I caught your little glance, by the by, does my sentiment strike you as odd?"
"Ah, no, it's just..." Dietrich winced. "You discovered you are descended from Cainhurst nobles at the same time I heard, yes?"
"I learned of our mutual Paleblood before I learned of that--but the first I'd ever heard of it was here when Gehrman sniffed it out, yes."
Dietrich nodded. "According to... to Miss Eileen here, it turns out that I am as well. My father was Vileblood."
Ophelia's expression shifted to one of surprise, though of the pleasant sort. "Then we're fellows too, it seems. I still don't know which of my parents was, truth be told. I intended to ask the Queen after we'd freed her. Gosh, we... have a very similar story, don't we? Did you grow up with adoptive parents too?"
"I did," Dietrich admitted. "In a mountain village to the north. I never knew they weren't my birth parents, of course - not until tonight." He sighed. "I was always just... better than everyone else. Stronger, faster and more agile, with endless stamina. I never knew why, and now it turns out that it's because I was never fully human." He glanced at Eileen. "That my father was a Hunter of Cainhurst, and my mother was a Paleblood Hunter... and both of them were Hunters of Hunters, powerful enough to kill others like them that had gone mad." He chuckled. "Tonight has been... enlightening to me, to say the least."
"That feels like something of an understatement. I feel the same way. Ah, but I don't want to intrude further on what must be a tender moment between you two--I'm sure you've much catching up to do. I... this is a selfish request, but... treasure this, please, both of you? My parents, both sets of them, are long gone. It would do my heart good to live vicariously through you." Ophelia smiled, though a single tear formed in both of her eyes and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve. "Ah, one last thing. I want to teach you a Rune. The Guidance rune, the very wisdom and essence of the Holy Moonlight Sword."
Again Dietrich glanced at Eileen, though the Crow Hunter seemed to avert her gaze. "Perhaps," the once-First Hunter said hesitantly. "Time will have to tell, I'm afraid. Even if Eileen claims she gave birth to me, she is also still a stranger to me. I grew up without her, was raised without her. I already have a mother. For now I am mostly just curious. It is up to her if our relationship will go beyond that." Eileen sighed. "Aye, that's fair. Even if I had good reason and wanted to stay, I still abandoned you." "We will talk," Dietrich declared firmly. "That is the most I can promise. As for this Guidance of yours... will that not remove the protection from the Mask Rune?"
Ophelia smiled and nodded as Dietrich offered his explanation as to how he felt. "I understand. Don't let me foist my feelings onto you--it's just a rare thing, the chance you've been given. That's all. It gladdens me to think you have that chance, no matter what you do with it." Ophelia smiled, taking a sharp breath in to compose herself somewhat. "I don't mean to brand the rune into your mind to take the place of the Mask rune, love. Just as I taught the Mask rune to Moira which gave her knowledge of what it is and can do, I mean to teach you the Guidance rune, that's all. It is no substitute for the real thing, naturally, but it is the closest I can get you for now. Ah, and I would be happy to brand you, Eileen, if you wish. I have many runes at my disposal." Ophelia replied, pulling the runebrand out and going primarily for the projection case.
"Oh. I guess there's no reason to say no, then," Dietrich shrugged, cooperating with Ophelia to learn the Guidance Rune. "Ya already branded me with the Mask Rune," Eileen responded to the offer. "I don't know if it'd be wise to switch that out while yer big bad squid is still around."
"Ah, yes, how silly of me. Consider it an open offer, then, for when our gilded foe kicks the proverbial bucket. Ah--and I'll be sending someone else here soon enough. Her name is Adelaide, a white-furred beast. She's the source of the Mask rune, and we owe her all a great deal. If you could warn Crowmother to let such an individual pass I'd be most grateful. Though I think she cannot speak, she can understand us. She possesses a tremendous power of healing, which will no doubt be useful for anyone else we send here. Let me fetch a paper and pen from the Dream and I'll ask you to write me a little something asking me to fetch supplies from your office, if you think that'd prove a decent enough cover?"
"I can do that," Dietrich agreed hesitantly, "but it's not as though I have a unique signet to mark it with so everyone will know it's authentic. We also don't know if I'm still the First Hunter, or if I've already been discarded then how many people knows about it. But if it has happened, the workshop would definitely be the first place to disseminate the information."
"If it's happened already, conflict is inevitable in either case. Perception is reality, my dear--people have seen us together before, and enough brazen confidence will get you anywhere. A little something to help sell the lie--and if they were never going to accept a lie in either case... we hope for peace but prepare for war." Ophelia retorted with a chuckle.
He shrugged. "If that's your plan, I doubt any scribble I make will help much."
"Is there another option you think will give us the best shot of walking out of there unbloodied? We'll leave with what we came for one way or another--I simply want to preserve as many innocent lives as possible in the process. The lanterns that exist in the Church are a lie, you see--they're really these queer mannequin heads with eyes that follow us. They don't work while we bear the Mask rune, so I believe they allow the golden one a glimpse into our minds to return us to the Dream... which means we have to leave on foot. We can't risk alerting him to the existence of this sanctuary. With all of that in mind... anything we can use, anything at all, to get this done without combat is paramount."
Again Dietrich shrugged apologetically. "If they have already disseminated information, nothing any of us could prepare would get us in peacefully short of relying on the better nature of the people there. And honestly," he added, a tinge of regret in his voice, "few of the White Church Hunters care much about that. And if they haven't gotten word out, they'll let you in with or without something signifying my permission."
"I suppose we leave it up to Mother Moon, then. May she illuminate our path and shroud the eyes of those who'd stand against us... Would you like me to take your clothes, by the by? I admit, I'm curious to see if the Dream will repair them if I'm not wearing them..." Ophelia responded, a hint of resignation in her voice--but also a hint of hope.
"Ah, right. Yes," Dietrich agreed, retrieving the half of his clothes he was not wearing from the tub. They were soaking wet and predictably still far from clean. "I'll just see if Gehrman has a spare pair of trousers I can wear in the meantime..."
Ophelia waited dutifully for Dietrich to change, taking the sodden clothes without any fuss. She gave Eileen a rueful if friendly smile while she waited, and then turned her gaze up to the moon.
Ophelia, being more attuned to and attentive of the moon than most, would most likely notice that the moon was not where it was supposed to be. In fact, the moon seemed to be in the exact same place in the sky she had seen it on her last visit to Crow's Nest: right at its zenith, seemingly fixed in place.
"She should've moved by now... Does the moon always hang at her zenith here, dear?" she asked, not turning her gaze away as she spoke to Eileen.
Eileen turned to look at the moon as well. "Hang at its zenith? Now that ya mention it... it hasn't moved for an hour or two now, has it?" She walked over to the front of the cabin, still looking at the moon. "Yer right, it's still where it was on ya first visit. Weird." She paused, then pointed. "Do ya see something?"
"Just her lack of motion, that's all... Though..." Ophelia began, before reaching her mind out to the soothing resonance of the Holy Moonlight Sword. Mother Moon has not moved from her position... is something the matter with her?
There was a brief pause before the whispers replied: "Not the moon... the stars, the sun... the sky. The very Cosmos. Something has anchored it... Powerful arcane forces are at work... Reaching through the Nightmare... calling... something."
"... well, shit." Ophelia said flatly after a pregnant ten or fifteen seconds.
"The very Cosmos are arrested, just like the Night of the Blood Moon. They beckon a Great One here at Yahar'gul. We have to go and stop them. Ready yourselves for combat--we will almost certainly have to call on you ere long." Ophelia finally said, her face suddenly contorted into a grimace.
"We'll make sure our blades are sharp and firearms are loaded," Eileen confirmed, just as Dietrich emerged from the cabin with his bloodstained trousers and boots in hand, wearing a pair of baggy dark trousers. The whispers commented again: "You have time... the process is slow... but the ritual is underway. A Great One is being called... one that yet slumbers... but who stirs at their summons. A Great One of the Cosmos."
"Ahh, it seems we've a little time, but we will have to go before too long. Let me pop to the Dream and get these clothes sorted for you, love." Ophelia smiled, taking the rest of his clothes and giving them both a nod as she walked over to the lantern to return to the Dream.
Ophelia looked down at the clothes in her hand and felt that they were dry, but upon closer inspection they still bore the tears and rips from his fight with Crowmother. "Ah, well..." she mumbled to herself, before quickly heading over to the headstones to return. "Just came to fix Dietrich's clothes, will be back shortly." She called out to the others before she returned, and upon waking proffered the clothes to Dietrich. "Cleaned and dried, though they might require a touch of haberdashery as the rips weren't fixed."
"That is excellent," Dietrich said with a smile, taking back his clothes. "Just them being clean and dry is a huge help. Thank you once again, Miss Ophelia. And fear not: should the need arise, Shining Wing and I will be at your disposal."
"Happy to help, my brother in blood." Ophelia replied with a laugh and a curtsey. "Ah, it'll be a joy to witness you in the flesh. I've only had the privilege of seeing you fight in a memory that we obtained in the Dream--when you first proved yourself as a Hunter by taking down an awful plague-ridden thing alone." she added, a mischievous grin creeping at the corners of her mouth.
"I'm going to pretend that I understand what you just told me," Dietrich said with a smile. He looked down at himself and his half-naked state and let out a soft chuckle. "Though whatever you witnessed, I certainly hope you saw no more flesh than this."
"I suppose it is the sort of thing that beggars belief, to witness the memories of the dead. It's like we were there, watching it from the perspective of a bystander... Ah, no matter, I prefer to make new memories than to pilfer old ones in any case. Try not to show me up too terribly when we call upon you, mm? I'd say I'm not doing bad for someone who could barely stand eight hours ago, but I've a long way to go before I catch up with you! I've only one last question before I return, for you, Eileen: if it's not terribly insensitive of me to ask, Dietrich's birth father... what was his name?" Ophelia smiled, waving Dietrich's confusion off with a smile before turning to Eileen at the end.
Eileen averted her gaze once more, but still answered: "His name was Lavrentios... though by the end, he was better known as the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst."
Ophelia nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you. I admit, knowing that Dietrich and I are both half-Vileblood and around the same age... My mind had begun to race. But no, heh, that wasn't Papa's name. It was sort of similar, though: Laertes. I... Think. My memories of the time are cloudy at best. Gods, that would've been dramatic, like we're in some sort of thrilling novel!" she laughed, though the joy did not reach her eyes. "Mother Moon watch over you both, and Gehrman too. Please look out for Adelaide, when she comes. She was chained up and abused by the wretches at Yahar'gul, so... a little gentleness will go a long way." Ophelia added as an afterthought, briefly remembering the sight of her imprisonment and wincing. She gave them both a final curtsey, and turned to return to the Dream via the lantern.
"We'll try," Eileen replied as Ophelia went to leave, "just tell her to be a bit subtle 'bout it. Not only to avoid people noticing us living here, but also to not provoke Crowmother. The moon makes her a bit extra bloodthirsty tonight."
"She can become invisible, not to worry, just don't be surprised. Ta-ta for now!" Ophelia replied as she stood near the lantern, waving briefly before she gazed into it and returned to the Dream.
Manifesting in the Dream once more, Ophelia's face this time was one of concern rather than levity as she jogged over to a more central position and began to speak. "They've begun their ritual at Yahar'gul. They beckon a slumbering Great One of the Cosmos here. We've time, Mother Moon has whispered it to me, but we cannot put it off for too long. Only... I can't work out why Harold set us this mission. It could just be that his gilded master doesn't want another repeat of the Blood Moon, but... I don't know, it feels like there's more to it than that? And the question Queen Annalise posed us still gnaws at me: why has he not awoken his master yet? I wonder if he tires of being a herald, and wishes to take his master's place? Or another's?" Ophelia asked, posing the question mostly to the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde. Farren and Torquil were not likely to have an answer, after all, though she by no means excluded them.
Once he’d sent off his message, Farren had moved up the stairs and then sat down on the top stair, his back against one side of the open threshold that led into the cabin on the hill. He took a deep breath and for once he let himself briefly relax. He’d leave things to Ophelia and let his mind just…drift for a bit while they waited. However, as he attempted to just lean his head back against the smooth wood, Farren found that there was just too much nervous energy in him to allow him to be entirely idle. Thus, he swung off his pack beside him and fished in it, drawing forth a small chunk of wood and the wood carving knife he’d acquired. Slowly, carefully, he began to carve at the wood, intent on shaping it into a handle for a new knife. The activity, though not yet mindless, let the rest of him relax as he let the task solely hold his focus. The minutes drifted away and by the time Ophelia returned the second time–the first time he barely even looked up upon hearing her voice–he’d admittedly made very little progress. Still, the wood looked marginally more like a handle than a chunk now. He grunted a bit at his word, running his fingers over it as he listened to his comrade. Farren began to put the tool and wood away as he listened and after a moment, his brow creased in though, he spoke, “I’d think the bastard would want another Great One about…if only to have us slay it, perhaps to create a power vacuum it might fill. Then again, perhaps it doesn’t work that way and he would rather have as few cosmic forces meddling with his schemes as possible.”
The doll and the Shopkeeper approached to join the discussion. "The Shopkeeper had been confused as to why they could not find anything about Ego in the records of Byrgenwerth, but this explains some. They have found mention of this Cael you speak of, though they have not read about it since that was not the focus of their investigation. The Cainhurst records have significantly more information on Ego, though they wrote out of less scholarly interest and with significant bias. Something they have found already is that Ego apparently did not end Pthumeru immediately either last time. So chances are that whatever cause he had to wait back then is also why he is waiting now."
Ophelia flinched and recoiled as though struck at the mention of Ego's true name, even though she knew that it had been safe whenever they'd said the name in the Dream before--though only the first time the doll said it. "Could you... not say the name, dear? I know his tentacles don't spring up here, but... I don't know if that will always be the case. It makes me uneasy. He wants to usurp you, dear Shopkeeper, of that I am growing increasingly certain--I suspect he tires of his role as herald, of his incomplete ascension. His very name is one of pride, of arrogance... Though that does seem somewhat at odds with his wanting the wretches at Yahar'gul to cease their ritual. Perhaps whatever they beckon cannot be usurped, or... perhaps he's simply done more work with you. He got access to your blood, and to the Paleblood of the Dream's prior residents. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he fancies this realm of ours for his own. That would explain why he so desperately sought to create false Palebloods, in my mind?"
“A worthy theory,” Farren commented in brief, pushing to his feet and slinging his pack back on.
"Attire of the Choir, high-ranking members of the Healing Church. Members of the Choir are both the highest-ranking clerics of the Healing Church, and scholars who continue the work that began at Byrgenwerth. The eye covering indicates their debt to the teachings of Master Willem, even though their paths diverged."
The doll lowered her head sadly. "Regardless, the Shopkeeper has not had much luck in terms of learning how to slay a Great One, I am afraid. A death among their kind is extremely rare, and the only one Byrgenwerth have studied was Kos, and she only washed up on shore after her death. The records left by the Choir or the School of Mensis might have more information, but they daren't try to look there while hostile forces rule the Orphanage and Yahar'gul, respectively."
Farren nodded near the end of the doll’s words, stretching briefly before he cracked his neck. “Well then, since both locales may possess valuable knowledge that might assist us against our foe, I believe our next course of action is quite clear, yes?” He glanced to Ophelia then, a small, slightly feral, smile playing on his lips and in the glimmer of his azure eyes.
"It is?" Gerlinde asked, abruptly poking her head out from behind one of the headstones. In the time she had been left alone, she appeared to have added several black ribbons to her hair. "Where are we going?"
"Yahar'gul, it seems. I think we should get there before Cainhurst mobilises and potentially destroys what we're looking for, and the Mask rune seeing through all illusions will render a lot of their defences obsolete if our initial experience is anything to go by. Disrupting this ritual seems sensible, no?" Ophelia opined.
Farren’s smile turned more lopsided and a small one-note laugh lightly rocked his figure, “Indeed.” Then, however, he recalled the feel of that wretched place and his eyelid twitched at one edge, a shiver going through him. His smile waned slightly, but remained nonetheless. “Wretched place though, but worthy of our time I think.” he added. His gaze briefly fell on Ophelia’s blade where she cradled it, as ever, near her person. The glow of moonlight and the subtle flow of something arcane through it. “Better that we attend this first anyways, despite the assurances of your blade. If only for the other boons that doing so might offer.” That said, his eyes flicked back to hers, then to the other two in their little group, managing to suppress a faint twitch as he laid eyes once more on Torquil’s bulbous head.
"Ah, but let me inform you of what Dietrich told me: in his office, there's a crate of both enough Old Blood to fulfil Annalise's request, and the false Paleblood. Recovering it and bringing it here will be good: not only so the Shopkeeper can study it, but to deny them the tools of their wickedness." Ophelia added quickly.
“Ah, yes that does seem prudent. So…the White Church Workshop first. Given the potential danger…ought we all go or had you some witchly scheme to weave?” Farren asked, his good spirits tinging his words with a faint playfulness that was a rare thing for him. For as grave as things could be seen to be, and despite the forces rallied against them…he felt oddly, hopeful? Strange.
Gerlinde's eyes widened in excitement and she pointed to Torquil. "We're going to get the thing that made that happen and bring it here? How fun!"
"Quite possibly..." Ophelia began, smiling at Farren. "It all depends on whether or not they've announced Dietrich's... fall from grace, shall we say? If they have... that's bad. We might well have to fight our way in and out, and it seems cruel to hurt our fellow Hunters who don't know any better. If not... well, it'll be a breeze. With one exception: we can use the headstones to get there, but we'll have to make it to a real lantern and not some golden mannequin. If using them is like saying his name, he'll read our thoughts--and we can't let him know of the existence of the sanctuary."
"That shouldn't be too hard," Gerlinde assured them. "The Oedon Chapel-one isn't all that far from the workshop."
"Perfect," Ophelia nodded at Gerlinde. "Dietrich also told me that they have a box of keys for anything that they haven't been able to work out the purpose of. It's unlikely that the key to Annalise's mask is so simple, but that's the only lead we've got. Shopkeeper, have you any ideas about the key? Ah, and let's all get the Mask rune." Ophelia continued, retrieving the runebrand and letting the little ones reverently hold her sword for a moment while she applied it to herself.
"I suppose that makes sense. Let's do it," Gerlinde agreed. Torquil pulled up his mask and put his cap back on - making sure to pull it down far enough that it hid his third eye, trying his best to conceal his inhuman features - checked the straps on his Loch Shield, retrieved Fulmen and got ready as well. All without uttering a word.
Cathedral Ward, western Yharnam
As the Hunters prepared to venture out from the Dream once again, Farren made some final preparations to make sure he was equipped for whatever might occur. He asked the Shopkeeper for another Effigial Blade of Mercy and, upon receiving one, discarded the half of his old one he had left – allowing it to vanish in a flash of bluish light – and replaced it with a fresh, whole version. Then he called upon the Messengers and gave them his piercing rifle and beast flayer to free up his back, and retrieved the old bag he had gotten from the Black Church Workshop, figuring that if they were going to be retrieving the case of blood and box of keys it was better to have a way to carry them without occupying their hands.
With that out of the way they all assembled at the Yharnam Headstone and touched the Oedon Chapel-marker, and immediately found themselves waking in a surprisingly large and impressive building. The room they found themselves in was immensely tall, taller than any room any of them had ever seen before, with ornately carved walls bearing both imitations of pillars, delicate patterns of flowers and vines among statues of robed figures, some reaching their hands skyward pleadingly while others clasped their hands as if in prayer. Higher up, at the top of the fake columns, sat numerous avian gargoyles watching the room with stone eyes beneath numerous impressive, yet also old and dusty drapes hanging between the walls and from the distant ceiling itself. The dust hanging in the air mingled with smoke that they would immediately recognize as the thick scent of beast repellent incense, catching the light of the full moon falling through the tall windows at the head of the chapel and creating a very visible and eerily beautiful shaft of light amidst the room. They found themselves surrounded by numerous urns, but otherwise... otherwise the chapel seemed quite empty. “This way,” Gerlinde offered, and they all moved to a door just off to the side of where they had awakened, which promptly led them to a short hallway out of the chapel arriving at the foot of an interior elevator. It took them up quite a ways, only for them to emerge in a new empty room that seemed entirely pointless, before leaving through the only exit to find themselves crossing a bridge under the open sky to a tower. “This is the old workshop,” Gerlinde told them as they crossed the threshold and made for the bottom of a set of stairs ascending the tower. Farren might faintly recall the place, as he had also gone here for work in his former life. “Specifically Ludwig's workshop, I think. It was where the Healing Church Hunters called their headquarters until the Night of the Blood Moon.” They climbed several floors until they reached the top, where they found an open door allowing access to the Upper Cathedral Ward. They left through it and found themselves approaching and soon crossing the bridge they were familiar with, which necessitated them walking past the golden lantern they had opted not to use... though they did not currently see it as a lantern, of course, since they were all branded with the Mask Rune, but as a golden mannequin head. As upon their first visit the head sprouted eyes to stare at them as soon as they came within ten meters of it, but that was all that happened. They crossed the bridge and arrived at the doorstep of the enormous structure that had once been the Orphanage.
Here Ophelia took over guiding their group as they went inside, heading directly for the stair and aiming to go to Dietrich's office. The scattered workers, clerics and Hunters in the workshop glanced at them as they passed and shot a displeased look or two at them, but did not stop them; despite the disruption they had caused by essentially stealing the First Hunter of the White Healing Church, it appeared that the party was allowed to pass unmolested. They arrived at Dietrich's office to find the door unlocked and unguarded, and upon entering found what they were looking for: a 30 by 70 by 15 centimeter ornate metal case, engraved with flowing patterns and what they would now recognize as Caryll Runes, specifically the Communion Rune, the Hunter Rune, the Eye Rune... and the Sun Rune. It had a robust lock built into the case itself rather than a padlock, and trying it would reveal that it was quite resistant to attempts at opening it.
Farren stowed the case in his bag, and the party promptly left the office to head back downstairs again and head for the storage area, where Dietrich had told Ophelia they would find the box of keys. “Hey!” a middle-aged man in a cleric's garb called out as they approached the door, calling attention not only from them but from everyone else in the room while running to intercept them. “That area is off limits! Only the White Church is allowed!”
“That is a complex and layered question, good Hunter,” the doll told Farren hesitantly. “The echoes are an expression of the dying will of those who fall, empowered and made eternal by the Old Blood in their veins. By their very nature they are bound in blood forever. You produce no such echoes when you fall, of course, for you cannot die... but echoes clinging to you are not part of you. If you are forcibly returned to the Dream without a proper conduit, the connection will fail and those echoes will be left behind. If there is someone nearby to inherit them, they will receive those echoes to feed their power; if there is no one, the echoes will simply linger in the location. That much you seem to have gleaned already, good Hunter. As I said, the echoes are eternal... but they are not immutable, as you have already seen for yourselves. I make them part of you to grant you strength, and through the little ones you can manifest concepts of the Nightmare through the birdbath with them. Similarly, any echoes left behind are unlikely to retain their neutral state for long. Lingering echoes will bind not just to you, but to any creature with the Old Blood that happens to pass by... and any creature that have received your lost echoes might fall to something else, to leave them lingering elsewhere or pass them on to their killer. Even echoes that are not absorbed but left to linger do not remain immaterial for long, but will in an hour's time solidify as coldblood, which can be challenging to find. So, good Hunter,” the doll told him solemnly, “you can technically always retrieve the echoes you lose... but in practice, tracking them down may quickly become impossible.”
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.”
“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.”
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.
Vileblood Queen's Chamber, Castle Cainhurst, west of Yharnam
“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.”
Vileblood Queen's Chamber, Castle Cainhurst, west of Yharnam
“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.”
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