Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia looked around the new and unfamiliar surroundings with curiosity and awe, uncertain she'd ever seen such grandeur in her life. Even the more resplendent things she'd seen very recently--like the White Healing Church--paled in comparison to the finery and luxury of this strange place. There was a tinge of something beneath it, however, as there always was in Yharnam. Something that Ophelia could feel but not identify, no matter how hard she looked. She barely had the time to take it in before she was drawn to the two thrones and their single inhabitant, bathed in moonlight filtered through the stained glass above, and she began to approach--though only took a few steps before she began to speak.

"I am Ophelia, your Majesty," she began, quite unsure of how to refer to this being but doing her best to be as reverent as the surrounds felt like were deserved, "and I have come to seek audience with you. I have recently discovered my lineage is of Cainhurst, and also seek a chalice that I have been told resides here. Please forgive my impertinence, for I do not know how to address one such as yourself properly, nor to whom I have the privilege of speaking save that you are Queen of Cainhurst and the so-called Vilebloods." Ophelia spoke, offering a curtsey as she did, though she felt as clumsy as a newborn lamb before such a being in such a regal setting. She hoped that revelations of her lineage might buy her some grace, or knowledge as esoteric as a chalice might earn her curiosity and attention. She instinctively turned to Gerlinde, realising that she must've been the one to light the lantern here, with an unspoken question on her lips--though she almost immediately turned back to the Queen, as in her mind it would be rude to not pay proper attention.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"An orphan would stand to inherit Kos' realm, I suppose. And a wet nurse... I suppose they don't seem the sort to have one either. Only Flora... who is not my Mother Moon, it seems. Thank you, dears, I'll look forward to examining the chalices upon our return. Shall we?" Ophelia replied, giving them both a curtsey and a smile before turning to walk towards the others--presumably at the Headstones.

As she walked she reached her mind out to the Holy Moonlight Sword once more, knowing that it had information seemingly no other beings they'd so far encountered had--and as she remembered the blinding nebula that had been revealed to her upon claiming it as her own she thought that a realm of such surpassing beauty would not be a bad thing at all. O Mother Moon, do you have a realm of your own here in the Nightmare? Might we ascend together, to usher in an Age of Light? Guide me towards the right path, and let us bring Glory to this world.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded along with the dispensed wisdom, occasionally frowning or furrowing her brows or even smiling--but when Gerlinde asked her question Ophelia turned to face her for a moment and gave her an appraising look.

"Yes, that makes sense... A King of Isz must've had a queen, and children, no? If the golden one did have children, then not only can we slay it but perhaps we can inherit its realm. Or, indeed, perhaps there are other Great Ones whose children might be used. If we are to ascend, it will not be as some half-measure. Our aureate foe retains even the ability to speak directly to us, albeit via a medium--and, indeed, was once mortal. We must seek the path he trod, understand how he became what he is, and dismantle him and his rotten influence--but it is clear to me now that his place must be taken if he is to die. The Vicar gave me names earlier: Seraph and Vanara among them, I believe... Do we know aught of their realms? Are they vacant, or gone? Can new realms be made? If this place is merely the dream of a Great One... perhaps those who have gone have pockets of the Nightmare they dreamed into being? Or... Forgive me if this sounds impertinent, but, are you happy here, love? Your state of being is quite unusual, and if there's aught I can do to help I'd consider it a fair trade for the wealth of knowledge you've bestowed upon us already and will continue to do so." Ophelia asked, though she turned her gaze quickly to the headstones and then to Farren and Torquil.

"Would you two name the little sanctuary, loves?"

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."