Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Yes, you're right, it seems delving directly into Isz would be a fool's errand. I think we'll have to build some experience with the labyrinth first. Gehrman said something I found terribly interesting, too, that Rom was once a scholar who ascended and became something... lesser than they were before, it seems. Whereas you seem to have changed in rather a more positive manner--why is that? Is there something you did that caused your ascension? Some knowledge, or artefact, or..? If we pseudo-immortals can take the place of the gods, perhaps the world can yet be put to rights. It seems killing Great Ones has consequences beyond what could've been imagined. Ah, it also turns out I'm one of these 'Vilebloods' by birth--so we'll be heading to Cainhurst imminently. Could you prepare whatever chalices yet remain here while we're gone, please, loves?" Ophelia replied, her eyes glistening as her mind worked behind them.

She looked over her shoulder at the others intermittently while she spoke too, in the natural pauses and lulls of her speech. She noticed a particular slump in Torquil's posture, and though his headwear and the distance between them conspired to hide the look on his face she was quite sure it was the same melancholy that had gripped him ever since the wraith had manifested here. She wished that she could help him through whatever battle was going on in his mind, but knew that he was responsible for his own salvation--or destruction, as it were. He would get to decide for himself. She hoped he'd let her help, that there was something she could do to help. The poor lad... They needed to go back to the forest anyway, as had been planned earlier. Maybe they could find wherever it was he used to live, perhaps some clues yet remained there.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

After viewing the memory Ophelia staggered back a little, the sudden changing of perspectives a little disorienting at the best of times. She smiled as she came to, though, for it was at least a reasonably pleasant memory--an awful Hunt, to be certain, but to see Dietrich fight... She felt like she was only beginning to understand the depths of his ability, and still remained fairly awed. She wondered what it would be like to watch him fight with a Holy Moonlight Sword of his own, how beautiful the dancing of the moonmotes would be as his blade acted as conductor and usher of the deceased both.

"My, he's exceptional... it makes sense, I suppose, given that he's Eileen's son, or grandson. That's what those little sprites around him were, echoes of a vow so strong it can be passed down in blood. Blood... a truly holy medium, isn't it? It makes me wonder... Cainhurst, Vilebloods, their... our blood must carry an influence too--an influence the old Healing Church needed to wipe out. I wonder..." Ophelia began, before quickly jogging over to the Shopkeeper and the Doll.

"Hello, loves, I've a little question: your prior Hunter-selves must've done no shortage of labyrinth crawling, no? Is there aught you can tell us of Isz? Also--we've worked out what causes the tentacles to spawn: saying the Golden One's name. And I suppose we should inform you about the little sanctuary..." Ophelia began, stating that she had one question to ask and coming out with more than that--as was her wont. She proceeded to inform the Shopkeeper of all that'd happened there and awaited a reply to her initial question.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's reaction was not to be panicked like Farren's, but to be deeply curious. They had little cause to be afraid, really--yes, they could be murdered at a moment's notice with no recourse... but that wasn't permanent for them. She approached the situation with caution, but fear was only meant to keep her alive and alert during dangerous times. She was no longer at risk of dying, so danger's definition had expanded somewhat and in her mind this did not really count. The others, though... bereft of the silver sheen of moonlight, she knew that they could not ignore the imperative of their bodies. Excepting Gerlinde who, of course, was not tethered enough to reality to become untethered--it was a potent shield, so long as she remained mostly in the more benign realms of madness.

Ophelia curtseyed in respect up at the Crowmother, looking up at its form with rapt attention. She noticed well how Crowmother was not mostly avian as she'd suspected, but rather in the beginning stages of a transformation towards that state of being. She seemed beastly enough in form already to be outwardly called a beast, but was intelligent enough and capable of reason enough that Ophelia would not call her as such. Truthfully, she reminded Ophelia perhaps more of what she imagined a nascent Great One might look like--and indeed, she knew well that power abhors a vacuum. After the Blood Moon new forces would fill in those gaps, and the manifestation of that power was not something she thought had ever truly been studied--she would need to see more and learn more if she was to unlock its mysteries.

"My, you're really something... I feel empty-handed, to have not brought a suitable offering! Thank you for granting us passage, Crowmother. Is there something I might do to aid you in return?" Ophelia asked, looking up at the massive creature somewhat sheepishly. This whole experience brought back foggy memories of that narrow path in the woods, of the particular bends of crooked and gnarled trees that infused the shadows with strange life. Of a rich and succulent offering held heavy in her arms, proffered reverently... She was afraid, then, too... but not just afraid. It felt like a brush with the sublime; all brushes with the sublime required that one suddenly become aware of how incredibly small they are, and the fear and awe that go with it. If she'd not had that moment so long ago she would have had it now--and when she looked at Farren, that was exactly what she saw on his face. It was a good experience to have, when they faced the threats now arrayed against them--but Farren was a rigid fellow. She wasn't sure if he'd break before he'd bend, and she placed a hand on his shoulder to offer him some comfort and ground him.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The journey outside of the city gave Ophelia much cause for relief--though it was not her Hemwick, it was the closest they'd been yet to anything approaching a Yharnam she really remembered. She would not, before, have been particularly suited to make this climb--but now she reckoned she had stamina beyond what most could ever really dream of and strange new physical instincts. Becoming a Hunter really was something, but there was a restlessness to it too. She could imagine why those who'd received of the Old Blood had delved more deeply into dark and dangerous things as the caution and reason dimmed within them, and how slippery a slope it truly was. She supposed the fact that she was having these thoughts at all precluded her from beasthood at all, though it was funny how she'd begun to re-evaluate that term. She truly was interested in what the so-called Lord of Providence's creed was, what it preached, and what it wanted. She reckoned she could spent weeks or even months pontificating upon the permutations, and in so doing entirely miss the ability to interact with it at all. There was a line between doing exactly the right thing and doing nothing at all that she would have to walk, and she feared so much had happened so quickly that she had entirely lost her sense of scope.

That being said, she did think that Dietrich's assessment of the situation was rather dramatic. Sure, the Golden One was aware of their meeting and some unknown extent of their thoughts or feelings... but that singular and elevated consciousness could not transmit its knowledge to every member of the Church in a moment. The message would have to be spread around that Dietrich had been excommunicated, and people would have to believe it, and they would have to refuse him in person. For some time, at least, they still had the advantages of his station. Assuming that Harold would even issue such an order--what benefit would a sudden regime change in the middle of a Night of the Hunt do for anyone who needed stability for their plans? Harold's concerns in Yahar'gul seemed legitimate enough, and sensible besides... Then there was the point of the invitation. No, in the calmness that this walk and the moonlight provided she finally felt whatever fever had gripped her mind pass, and the influence of the Holy Moonlight Sword return to her in force.

When they finally reached the Crowmother, Ophelia nodded along to Moira's words and simply moved to follow without speaking. Whatever answers were coming could not be found here, in this moment--that was the job of the one they were on their way to meet.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia had learned by then that strange looks were always going to accompany her, and she had as little interest in paying attention to the concerns of those Hunters as they seemed to have with stopping her. They all had things to do, all had more important focuses, though some of the looks she received--particularly by White Church Hunters--almost made Ophelia wish they had tried something. The walk gave her plenty of time to think in relative silence, to ponder and consider, and she found herself wondering how many of those Hunters had ever done such a thing. Oh, yes, the work was noble and difficult and necessary--everyone knew that--but she came to realise as they travelled that so many of those Hunters were not people who knew better. They were violent people, scared people, people whose only true talents were the judicious application of violence... not thinkers, or scientists, or those steeped in the kinds of arcane knowledge and experimentation that had plagued Byrgenwerth and the former Choir both (not that she knew particularly of the Choir, and certainly not by name). They were people who'd been given a great gift, the raw strength of the Old Blood, but without the eyes to see it for what it was and what it did to them--she wondered how many of them would end up burning their friends on those pyres, how many of those charred and ashen hunks of carbonised matter had been people before... before it hit her that the answer was "all of them".

It made her feel unsteady. A grim chain of affliction, subdual, and resurgence--they had to bring people closer to beasts to fight beasts, and ended up making more beasts than people--she wondered idly if the proportion of living beasts was now greater than the proportion of living Yharnamites. They were a dying subsection of people in the city, now, with truly only Ophelia being from among their ranks--perhaps Torquil, too, though he didn't seem to know and certainly wasn't a Yharnamite culturally. She supposed she wasn't either, not really. She struggled to believe that Ego had succeeded: he'd been a great king of Isz, but the nation had still fallen--and from what little she'd been able to piece together from her studies and her dreams and the notes from the little ones, that others had fallen even after he'd become Ego. Whatever he offered, it seemed to Ophelia that it was quite distinctly not a solution--at least, not the one that she imagined... but if he took the Old Blood away, perhaps that would be for the best... though that was condemning any born with Paleblood to wither and die, and she idly wondered if people would still be born with it at all.

When they reached the Industrial Ward Ophelia had a similar reaction to Torquil, though she could only cover one of her ears and she winced and gritted her teeth with the immense of pain of having to listen to the unfiltered scream.

"Shit, have they already found her? We have to stop him from killing the Crowmother, at least--if she's smart, she's no true beast. Come!" Ophelia spoke through gritted teeth after the noise had faded enough for speech to be heard once more, and immediately began running south towards the source of the sound. She didn't expressly know where she was going, per se, but she could follow the evidence--there must have been freshly trodden prints or other signs of a large number of people passing through. She was suddenly very glad that she'd given herself a ludicrous amount of stamina.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The golden note caught Ophelia initially off guard, though as soon as she saw the golden ink she beckoned the others to look and turned to face Gerlinde specifically. Farren looked... well, about what Ophelia expected from anything to do with Ego, and Gerlinde had her usual mania. Torquil... rarely had any reaction worth noting, for his was almost always based on theirs. She read the golden message with a curious yet wary eye, feeling initially a pinprick of resentment at the idea that Ego might be able to read their thoughts and feelings. She did not take very kindly to anyone using the Witches' name to attempt to manipulate her, but her curiosity overwhelmed her pride in short order.

"I'm going to visit him after we're done here. Whatever it is he has to show us is worth seeing, if only to summarily reject it." She said, though the last section was added mostly to appease Farren. She did not know what to think about Ego, really, given that the Great Ones often had influence that was warping and maddening to simple mortals like they--and the praise he'd given gave her pause for thought, too. Presumably he thought that what he offered was so compelling that finding out more would bring them into the fold, allow him to manipulate them further... or perhaps he earnestly did see something in them worthy of ascension. She could not say, not without interacting with him directly, and it was made up in her mind at that moment that she would at least hear him out.

"I wonder why he's focused on Farren and I, though? If it were just the type of Paleblood we have, it wouldn't be both of us... If it were just insight and knowledge of the Arcane, it'd be me and Gerlinde. What about us is it that draws his attention so?"

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia watched the golden tentacle of Ego with fascination, recalling that odd sensation of feeling observed and scrutinised from when she'd been walking with Dietrich. She wondered what might have caused it to occur now--clearly there was some sort of reason for the sudden intrusion. It was interesting to her that the tentacle could appear here, too, for she'd previously operated under the assumption that perhaps Ego had to "colonise" a place to manifest within it if it could prevent the little ones. Curiously, Ophelia stopped and knelt down to beckon the little ones forth. When they came she smiled with relief, and quickly scrawled a message to the Shopkeeper.

"Golden Tentacle of Ego just observed us on our way about. Didn't think they could manifest outside of the Cathedral. Little ones able to visit, so not mutually exclusive. Figure you should be kept apprised of his movements."

"... maybe still him. He was definitely human and can definitively speak to us--finding another Great One who meets those criteria might be frightfully difficult... either way, we can learn something from him. We just can't learn from only him. Everything we learn gets us closer, even what doesn't work tells us something about the rules--I think communion with him is inevitable even if our goals aren't aligned. Perhaps we go have a very frank conversation with Harold... even when he lies through his teeth, working out what he wants us to believe and why are still tools we can use. Perhaps we can channel something through Farren's bond, or the Sun rune, or... perhaps we need one of those golden weapons. We cannot be meek and afraid."

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"It's already ruined, Farren. Has been since long before you came here. I don't know how much it's worth trying to save a ruin." Ophelia replied, something in her shifting again. So much loss and destruction hung over this place like a pall--it wasn't like Yahar'gul, where it was obvious and tangible and palpable, but kept behind a very thin barrier indeed: one that Ophelia was starting to feel like she could see through. Ego... or perhaps those at Yahar'gul, would penetrate it soon enough unless they stopped it from happening. It did have to be them, she reckoned, for all the reasons Farren had mentioned--but it struck her in that moment that even though attempting to stop such a thing from happening would cost any mortal their lives, it was only an agent of Ego that had urged them to do anything about it. None of the mortals of this city, that she'd seen, had been lining up to rebuke the possibility of another Blood Moon--and if they weren't willing to lay down their lives for it, if they weren't willing to suffer for it, why should she? She'd felt so noble earlier, a proud protector of that which she valued, but recent events had caused her to question that value--what had Yharnam ever done for her? What had its people done, really? All that she'd held dear had been ripped from her in one way or another, and she ached terribly to fill that loss. Was that how the Great Ones felt too? She half-remembered a saying, perhaps from a dream, that the gods inevitably lost their children and sought out surrogates to fill that void... or perhaps that was just the workings of a feverish mind.

"... after this, we go to Cainhurst and get the chalice. The labyrinth must hold secrets of ascension, relics of gods past--things we can use. If this world will offer us no succour, then we will transcend it." Ophelia said after a moment's pause, looking at Gerlinde with some glimmer of determination behind her eyes.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Who knows what we might do to get what we want? Especially if what we want is to become a god... The world didn't survive the last Blood Moon, Gerlinde, not really. You never saw Yharnam as it really was, before all of this... Though I am in agreement with you that becoming a god sounds like the best outcome we might hope for. We as true Palebloods, that is, I don't know enough about the false Palebloods to say for sure whether it's possible for them." Ophelia replied, waiting a few seconds before she continued.

"Ascending... We need to know how those who came before ascended, don't we? The knowledge of the past is crucial, love." Ophelia added, taking on a tinge of animated feeling but still retaining much of the morose and still qualities from before as she spoke. Ascension... she had no idea what one had to do to become a god - the way that the Shopkeeper had described their experience sounded quite unusual. She supposed that the category of "gods" was, itself, perhaps merely a function of their paltry understanding--there were scant few sources to consult on such a matter. More reasons to understand how those who had come before had done it, she supposed.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia didn't look Farren's way, nor did she respond to his praise for fifteen or twenty seconds. She simply stared up at the Moon, her pace slowing slightly, and finally let out a heavy sigh.

"I can't guide us, not to salvation. Not to a world where you wake up one day and all of this is behind us. I usher in an Age of Light beneath Mother Moon or I stay in the Dream forever. The Waking World... what does it have to offer me now? How much more must I lose? My parents wandered into the woods and never came back, and my mentors were slaughtered by the almost-god who shepherds the Dream. I have no friends or family left in the Waking World, nobody that would give me purpose... I only have this. All that is behind me is ash, and all that is afore me is light... is that the path you want to walk?" She spoke, softly and resignedly. Gerlinde was the only one in remotely a similar position to her, really. She knew nothing substantial of Farren or Torquil's past, nothing that would give her some hope that they wanted what she wanted. Their paltry insight and lack of familiarity with the Arcane led her to assume that they did not seek connection with the other worlds, did not seek to ascend this base level of reality to something greater and brighter--they were experiments who'd turned against their creator, and it wasn't like any of them had ever discussed how this ended before. It had only been a couple of hours, though Ophelia could swear that it felt like days or weeks.

"I suppose we've never given any thought to what comes after. After our purpose is done and the Dream no longer has need of us... If there is an after at all. I... don't know if I want to leave and come back here. Come back to being nothing..." Ophelia added after a few seconds, turning to look at Farren only for a passing moment as she did so before she cradled her head to the Holy Moonlight Sword and lost herself in her thoughts once more.