Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's face went through a similar series of changes to Victor's: first into a smile of joy at having found who they were looking for, then to curiosity at the brigade of people he'd brought with him (though less why and more who), and finally landing on intrigued curiosity at the assembled personages. Something about the one in black near Victor and leading the others immediately struck her as familiar--from that statue in the Dream, with the saw cleaver and blunderbuss to boot. If she didn't know any better, she'd have put her finger on it being Mother Moira--and at that, the cold and judgmental pallour on her face melted into something warmer.

"Ah, Victor, dear! I'm so pleased that you're safe, and that you brought company! Skinner is dead, so if that's what you were frantically rushing back this way for... There's really no need, now. Though... you could go back and check the body, if such is your wont. I... might be being a little presumptuous here, but are you Moira?" Ophelia asked, looking intently at the one cladded fully in black with the distinct and recognisable weapons. She scanned their frame up and down as she spoke, looking for... something, some hint of recognition. If it truly was her...

"Ah, but we should move away from here. There's... something up there, though I can't see it, and standing in its presence makes me very uneasy. Should we move along? I have no doubt you will want to verify my claim of Skinner's death--his corpse should still be where we left it." Ophelia added, her eyes occasionally glancing up towards that big invisible spot surrounded by sprites. Something about it chilled her to the core, the not knowing, and she turned her head back to Victor with a big smile as she awaited Farren's input or a response from the group.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia caught glimpse of the guidance sprites swarming around... something, something that she couldn't see, and she used her free right hand to point up towards the space above them in the air where they gathered in a swarm. She also spoke Farren's name, just to be safe, though she didn't bother directly informing Torquil. He seemed to be quite content with just tagging along and taking whatever direction was given to him when it was needed, more a follower than anything else, and that suited her just fine--she'd follow her whims for as long as they aligned with Farren's, but that sense of unease pricked at her again from within and returned her from her thoughts to the issue at hand.

"Up there... sprites. A whole swarm of them, too--like... there's something big up there, something of the Nightmare? But I can't see it, only the sprites surrounding it." She mused, keeping her tone above a whisper but below normal speaking volume. She had half a mind to try something, and anoint herself temporarily with the Eye rune once again--perhaps it would reveal some insight to her, now that she knew where to look?

Can you sense what is there, my guiding moonlight? she thought, her right hand returning to give it a tender stroke as she offered her thoughts to it and posed her question. Before anything further could happen, though, Ophelia caught sounds of footsteps approaching from beyond the corner, and her head snapped to attention as her eyes focused and her muscles braced. Something in her posture changed, as though ready to fight, and she rose to her full height and kept herself on guard. Like this, there was almost something regal about her--imposing and bright, but frightfully cold and dispassionate at the same time. It was a curious opposite to her voice, which was always warm and familiar.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia paid Farren close attention while they were speaking, and something uneasy began to rise within her the more that she observed. The misnaming of Gerlinde couldn't have been an accident, not with her having spoken the name mere seconds before... there was a story there, some snag in the proverbial tapestry. She briefly gave thought to pulling at it, but decided that such things could be revisited later--though she resolved to keep more of an eye on Farren in the interim, just to be safe.

"Well, before we set off I should give you the lay of the land, so to speak... I'm not quite sure what the gold means, not yet, but the markers in the Dream that have it have odd lanterns--like the ones we're used to, in the Dream and Rebirth's Rise both, albeit all of their metal is gold. They also rest upon these queer little golden plinths, decorated with eyes and people striding into the ocean naked. The little ones seem unable to show up anywhere this gold has taken root--I didn't get the message you'd sent me until I returned to the Dream, and I tried to call them to send you a message while I was there to no avail. The leader, Vicar Harold, he..." Ophelia began, gesturing for Torquil to come closer as she began speaking and waiting for him to be comfortably in earshot before she continued. When she began speaking about Harold she paused for a moment to gather herself, shuddering slightly at the memory.

"He's doing something to everyone there, worming his way into their minds. They all look at him with dreamy eyes and call him a 'nice old man', with exactly that phrasing, and they all seem unaware of the compulsion that's seeped its way into them. I had the thoughts too, though my... particular affinity for the arcane, my tutelage under the Witches, and my guiding moonlight seems to have let me really see them for what they are. I doubt the two of you would fare as well, and would fall under the same compulsion: so I'll warn you now, loves, don't go near the Vicar. Don't listen to him, don't approach him, don't even think about him--he's more dangerous than anyone else I've ever seen, I'm convinced of it... Other than our dear Shopkeeper, of course." Ophelia added, relaxing somewhat with the catharsis of verbalising how violated she felt--and grateful she could hopefully ward her companions against it.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Mm, it would seem that the Shopkeeper's assistance comes with a price indeed. That's the only thing different as best as I can tell. Ah, well, now we know. Mother Moon gleams all the brighter without cretins such as he to blemish her light, and Dietrich'll be terribly pleased. Oh, he's lovely--a consummate gentleman. Should... should we go after Victor? I'd hate for anything to happen to him. Otherwise, we could retire to the Dream so a proper conversation can be had away from prying eyes... and if so, I've an idea. I'll ask the little ones to send Gerlinde a message, ask her to meet us in the Dream. What I've discovered about the White Healing Church concerns us all, she deserves to know. What do we all think? Try and save Victor from whatever horrors lurk out here, or retire to the Dream?" Ophelia replied, the menace fading from her eyes as she mentioned Dietrich and recalled her time spent earlier. The juxtaposition of scenes like this, bloody and visceral and dangerous, against the clean and organised whiteness of the Healing Church. Against the gentle garden of the Hunter's Dream, where Mother Moon's light shone so abundantly. From bliss to horror and back, with no notion of which was truly which... She could see how such a thing might imperil one's sense of self. Fortunately, she had the glorious light of the cosmos by her side--it would always help her return to clarity and focus, moon-bright thoughts resonating in perfect synchronicity.

She awaited a response from Farren, mostly, as the Shopkeeper and Torquil seemed to be as laconic as they usually were.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia observed the solitary mote of moonlight about Torquil's person with a gentle interest, quickly remembering to hand him one of the antidotes and explaining its purpose in a perfunctory tone: "If you get ashen blood, this'll alleviate things until you can return to the Dream." With that done she began to snake over towards the grisly scene of Skinner's demise with long and loping steps. She peered over Farren to examine the carnage, and gave the Shopkeeper a graceful curtsy as she turned to look at them.

"We're grateful for your assistance, love. The tales of your might weren't exaggerated--I'm glad we could give you an opportunity to hunt once more. Though... this seemed like perhaps not much of a challenge for you!" She said, looking Farren up and down and surveying the scene around them with some interest. It seemed like much had gone on here in quite a short amount of time, and Farren seemed especially put through the ringer with the rips in his clothes and stains of blood strewn all about the scene. She nodded down at him thoughtfully, before presenting him with the five extra blood vials as well as the antidote.

"Seems we've both been busy, dear. Where's Victor?" She smiled, though it was not a particularly kindly smile like he was used to seeing from her. Her eyes seemed focused on the distance, paths that Victor could've travelled, and making assessments about what might've happened here. She still seemed full of energy, or... perhaps wrath, not yet spent on the object of her distaste.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia scarcely had time to blink before the Moonborn Hunter had rocketed off in search of prey--and Ophelia was stunned for a moment by seeing the sheer speed of which they were capable. When she found herself in command of her faculties again she could hear the buildup of something that sounded an awful lot like static, and a quick inhalation through her nose gave her the slightest hint of charge, almost like ozone or the smell of a work of arcane communion about to take place. She pressed herself back against the very rear of the lift, certain to avoid the switch, and not a moment later the fulgurous cascade of energy washed over the area, its cobalt-blue actinic light the only assault that managed to reach her, for the structures and mechanisms of the lift protected her from the rest.

She stepped out after that, eyes looking around for familiarity, and she found Torquil immediately. She rushed over to him, standing by his side, as she watched the Moonborn Hunter and Farren chase up on the whimpering and begging Skinner. Truly, he was a beast even to the end--prompted to fawn, and then when truly backed into a corner having given in to that base savagery she detested so. She gave Torquil a quick visual assessment to see if he was hurt, already counting five vials out from her pack as her eyes did their work. She'd hand them to him hastily and make sure he was okay before turning back to observe the carnage. If they got too far for her to see comfortably she'd follow along, keeping her distance twenty or so feet behind them if it came to that. She also prepared the little vial of quicksilver, ready to anoint the Holy Moonlight Blade and strike out against Skinner if he tried anything untoward.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia hadn't begun sprinting at the first gunshot--that could've been anything at all. Hearing random, errant gunshots on a Night of the Hunt was no more irregular than anything else... but the second was enough to make Ophelia begin to sprint as quickly as she could. The path they'd followed was obvious--not footprints, exactly, but markers of where they'd been and where Ophelia needed to go. She was frighteningly quick now, quicker than she'd ever thought would be possible, but this pace was going to tire even her suddenly extraordinary stamina. It'd be okay--there'd be time to stop and rest before she joined... well, what she presumed was the confrontation, but she really didn't have any idea. She'd heard of this 'Skinner' before, though--hushed and horrified whispers, hearkened to by harrowed and haunted hanger-ons... tales of sadistic violence, of corpses missing entire swathes of their skin. Ophelia knew well the kind of determination and precision that such macabre butchery required from her time in Hemwick taking bodies apart... and she knew that to enjoy it on such a primal level was a sure sign of a beast. Perhaps not by blood, or by disease, but by kinship--but spirit, and sympathy.

She reckoned that beings like that, like the Pallid man and his little runt, like this "Soulkeeper" or "Corval" or "Skinner"... they all needed to die. The heat did not return to her as it did before, her blood cooled as it was by the glorious light of Mother Moon. She felt only a cold and cresting radiance, searing yet frigid, like all the coolness and pitilessness of night but the incandescence of day--and it spurred her to action not in that rash and violent way, but conniving and concentrated. She took the little bell, the Moonborn Bell, and withdrew it from her person right as she stepped onto the elevator. She noticed that it had already returned up for her--and could spot the smudges from footwear having recently padded across it. She rang it soulfully and pleadingly, measured and focused, and she whispered a little prayer under her breath:

"Come, Moonborn Hunter, and let us grace them all with Her radiance. I call you to Hunt, dear, for the night will be long."

After the Moonborn Hunter materialised, Ophelia operated the lift to send it down once again--ready to continue looking for Farren, Torquil and Victor.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia giggled softly at the explanation, nodding her head towards the Shopkeeper. "Whenever we face an exceptional foe, I shall summon you. If it is within my grasp to help you achieve your desires, I would be honoured to repay your kindness. It would indeed be a shame to miss the Hunt, wouldn't it? And don't worry about the runebrand, love, I'll bring it back safe and sound. There's a power in these rituals, sentimental and foolish though they seem." Ophelia spoke and then quickly darted up into the small workshop to grab the rune workshop tool, immediately bending down to call forth the messengers in the same movement.

"Look after this for me, please, little ones--keep it safe."

Then Ophelia rushed down to the headstone that they'd all used to leave earlier, gave the Doll a grateful curtsey, and pressed a spindly finger to Rebirth's Rise. She felt the sleep overtaking her again, and she took one long last look at her Mother Moon in the sky before slipping into the depths of slumber to awaken in the waking world. Upon waking she loped quickly over to the entrance and its makeshift barricade, before using a quicksilver bullet like the Holy Moonlight Sword had whispered to her earlier. She bade its light come forth to cleanse the mundane dross of the waking world that stood between her and her goal, thrusting the heft of the blade forward directly into the a gap towards the top right corner of the pile. She didn't know how big this explosion would be, yet, and thought it prudent to learn--she studied it eagerly, awaiting the rapturous sight of the cosmos gracing her once more with feverish desire.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia took the offered gun with a grateful curtsey, before using that same motion to crouch down and beckon the little ones--only to find them already clamouring at her feet with a scroll. She found herself unable to concentrate on it initially, for the Holy Moonlight Sword's whispers had resonated sonorously with her mind and informed her of its extended arcane abilities. She blinked a couple of times rapidly and shook her head, taking a deep breath in, and refocused on the scroll from the Messengers as she exhaled slowly and methodically.

She nodded her head and bade the little ones reply once more: "Going to break barricade. We're in only entrance. Got to protect sleepers from 'Skinner'."

Ophelia then turned to the Doll and the Shopkeeper once more, eyes wide and bright and filled with curiosity that sparkled like moonlit dew.

"The bells you gave us, to summon you into the waking world... Do you enjoy the fight, Shopkeeper? Is it... a boon that we can grant you, to live again outside this Dream, or a failsafe to be used only in moments of direst need? What do you have to say, little ones?" Ophelia asked, first to the Shopkeeper (and Doll), and then down to the little ones that would no doubt come as soon as her intentions were made clear.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded thoughtfully as the Doll relayed information about Gerlinde, and Ophelia's face softened somewhat and a gentle smile revealed just a hint of her teeth.

"Ah--having never spoken with her, I'm simply scrambling to put bits of information together. I'm relieved to hear that she sees it too, and that Moira did in her time here. I thank you both for your wisdom, loves. Now... I have a little request: the runebrand, might I take it into the waking world for a brief time? I wish to mark those Hunters who'd fight beside us with what protection I can offer, and... Well, I know it sounds silly, but some time I'd like to take it back to Hemwick. Just for a moment, just for myself, to... I don't know, really. Honour the Witches' memory? Something like that; it would... comfort me, I think." Ophelia spoke, the smile not leaving her face but a mournful twinkle sparking within her eyes.

"I... Suppose I should take a gun, too... Do you have a recommendation, Shopkeeper? I find myself quite unfamiliar with them, and would appreciate your sage guidance." Ophelia added, blinking twice in rapid succession as the wistfulness left her and was replaced with determined grit. While she waited for them to speak their piece in return she idly fidgeted with the mercury-filled canister that Dietrich had filled for her, taking it from its resting place and popping the cap open. She ran her finger delicately along the sharpened edge of the Holy Moonlight Sword to draw blood, though the wound healed nearly instananeously, and let the few drops of blood that emerged beforehand to drip gently into the phial.