Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

When Farren came into sight, Ophelia did not really know how to feel. Tense hope and barely held back fury (though not at Farren, of course) clashed in her mind's eye, but when she saw his face and heard an uncharacteristic choking sob... she knew something was very deeply wrong. Whatever else might have been happening, to see one as often aloof and unfazed as Farren like this meant something portentous and disastrous had happened--something she immediately realised was connected to the tremor she'd felt, that they must have been feeling this entire time. The False Paleblood, it must have been. She barely even registered Farren's words, only snapping back to attention at 'Amaris', the pet name he'd given the doll, and she paid no further attention to him as she moved inward to the workshop as he implored her.

Seeing the doll lying there, inanimate, on the floor broke something inside of her. She whimpered and began to cry once more, falling to her knees, mouth agape and eyes wildly looking about. She daren't even touch the doll, uncertain of how any of this had happened and not wishing to somehow make things worse, and then looked up at the mute and sullen Shopkeeper. Then back down. Then up again. It was him, the Lord of Providence had done this to her somehow. He'd taken another of their friends and allies, someone truly and wholly innocent who only ever tried to help. She screamed and let out all of her sorrow and fury and pain, unable to keep it within herself any longer without falling apart, and fell to her knees. She grasped the Holy Moonlight Sword tightly, knuckles turning white, as she calmed herself down enough to try and reach out to it.

Mother Moon... My Guiding Moonlight... Please, tell me, what has happened here? How can we fix it? Please... please..." she thought, burying her face into the gleaming blade and closing her eyes. The position looked something oddly like prayer, though she quickly collapsed from being on her knees and simply sat on the floor, holding the blade just barely aloft, waiting. Hoping beyond hope.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's pace quickened from simple storming off to a brisk jog to an all-out sprint in very rapid succession, thoughts of vengeance and dismay and guilt eating away at her. Indirectly they'd been the cause of... whatever happened to Victor, and she'd managed to catch a glimpse of him coming to awareness for only a brief second before slipping back beneath his gilded prison. That gave her hope for restoration, at least, but she felt deeply personally responsible for something she truly could not abide--to see others kept under thrall, robbed of themselves. Especially in the service of their enemy. She'd done everything she could to free Dietrich, perhaps acted hastily in hindsight, only for the golden bastard to take another, and it would not stop there.

When her much extended stamina gave out she slipped back into a gentle jog to recover, wiping away blinding hot tears with the sleeve of her right arm, and repeated the process again as her thoughts became ever-increasingly feverish. They eventually returned to the lantern at Oedon Chapel, where she had expected to see Farren. She found it odd that he hadn't waited for them, but supposed it was simply a matter of eagerness that she couldn't fault him for--it had been the plan to return everything to the Dream, though she would've written a message to the Shopkeeper first to ensure everything was ready for their volatile and strange cargo... well, normally she would have. Given what she'd just seen she wasn't sure what she'd have done if they'd had the blood and all been together. She instead just sighed, and longing for some semblance of comfort, withdrew the runebrand and gave herself the Guidance rune once more--it was the only thing she didn't like about the Mask rune, to have such a powerful wall between her and the soothing light of her blessed blade. Once it returned to her in force she felt much better, a subtle undercurrent of terror that had been brewing within her washed away by glittering moonlight.

Returning to the Dream, Ophelia felt something she had never felt before--a keening, warbling tremor through her very blood... and then suddenly she felt a bottle, heavy with fluid, in the crook of her arm. She blinked, and then again, and then despite the comforting presence of the Holy Moonlight Sword a terrible panic came over her--something was horribly wrong. She could see the smouldering corpses of... something in the distance, and a patch of still-lingering flames that suggested cannon fire or a molotov cocktail or something like that, and none of the others could be seen.

"... Farren?! Farren?!" she shouted, her normally lilting and musical voice suddenly shrill and shaky, and she ran up towards the only place she thought they might be if she couldn't see them--towards the little workshop.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia wore a neutral expression until the cleric and Harold returned with someone that, from a distance, seemed completely new. It was only as they got closer and closer that a pit began to form in Ophelia's stomach and her breathing intensified by an order of magnitude. At first she wondered what poor soul was unlucky enough to have endured a gilded transformation, only for it to dawn on her as they got closer precisely who it was, and things changed very rapidly from there. That they had done this to someone who'd only followed their orders and done their best, someone that Ophelia had grown fond of and bestowed a boon upon, made her absolutely furious. She supposed it was obvious, really, that something like this was in their power and purview to do--but that they'd chosen to do it to poor Victor... It did not bode well for Harold, whatever he was, that he had felt emboldened to taunt them like this.

There were many things that Ophelia wished to say to Harold in that moment, all of them fighting one another for the chance to pass her lips first, but she simply swallowed instead and made towards the place from whence they'd come. When a bit of distance was between her (and presumably Gerlinde and Torquil, if they followed her) and the Vicar and she was within distance to have a clear shot at the exit, she stopped and turned her head over her shoulder to face him. Her lip quivered as she held back a barrage of vitriol and she chose her words carefully.

"Whatever happens now, you have brought upon yourself. There is no force upon the face of this world or any other that will forestall the reckoning you have now set in motion. Make your peace, for you will not survive the night." she all but spat, before continuing to storm out of there. Part of her hoped that they would attack--that he'd set not-Victor upon them--if only so that they could be forewarned about what the gold-clad monstrosity could do... but she didn't imagine they'd take kindly to her threat in any case, and both hands rested upon the hilt of her blade. Farren was gone, absconded with their prize, and dying would only spare them some walking--and one could be certain that they'd take out plenty of the assembled chaff here with them. Abandoning all pretense of civility suited Ophelia just fine, she supposed, for she'd been ready to drive her blade through Harold's inhuman chest the moment his master had dared take the Witches' name in vain to manipulate her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

It struck Ophelia how the cleric had notably not mentioned the part of her retort where she had mentioned that they were doing the Lord Vicar's work, and that he clearly had no intention of ever simply letting them pass. She weighed up their options in that split second: there was every chance that going to get permission from Harold would work out in their favour--they could offer a false report on Crowmother, and perhaps get permission to move about freely too. There was also every chance that it wouldn't, and she would not see them squander one success for a miniscule chance at another. They could forfeit this battle to win the war and let their enemies be none the wiser: this was a war of information and subtlety, not might.

"Asking the Lord Vicar seems a wonderful idea. I trust that he'll set everything right--he's such a nice old man, isn't he?" Ophelia spoke, her eyes sparkling with thoughts unspoken as she looked around. "I'm truthfully very glad that you've such a mind for security--it's a dangerous night, and we all must play our part to see it through. Shall we wait here?" she added, inviting the cleric to go ahead. Once the cleric left and was out of earshot, Ophelia surveyed the people about her and saw that even should she speak as softly as possible there was every chance that they'd hear... and that would scupper their plans of subtlety. She looked over at Farren and gave him a pointed stare as her smile dropped and her eyes very briefly flicked over to the bag--her head was turned such that any onlookers wouldn't be in a position to see it, so she felt safe doing that much, at least, and waited to see if a familiar glint of recognition could be glanced in Farren's eyes.

Farren watched the exchange with what appeared to be bored disinterest and faint annoyance. When the cleric told those about to watch them and left to ask the Vicar, Farren glanced to Ophelia and he knew, before she’d even turned what the best course of action was. It was time to leave. So, lightly nudging her shoulder as he passed her—before her eyes even fully landed on his features—Farren moved with an air of dismissive unflappable swagger. “Tell the Lord Vicar I wish him a fine night,” Farren managed to say, the words coming out dismissive and bored rather than fulled with righteous fury. He’d been in a good mood before this and while their interaction with the cleric was rather annoying, this didn’t sour his mood enough to make it impossible to lie as easily as he breathed.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's outward appearance changed not a jot in response to the blatant disrespect of this nobody cleric, though internally she began to roil and seethe. The nerve, the unabashed gall, of this random lowlife to call them freaks! She didn't let her smile falter for even a second, and took the opportunity that Gerlinde had afforded them to inhale a steadying breath before she deigned to reply.

"We were made Hunters by the White Church, and we labour at the Lord Vicar's command. At the behest of the First Hunter. We are members of the White Church, my dear, in all of the ways that matter. In fact, it would be good to have a guide--would you mind showing us around the workshop? I, for one, would feel much better knowing that we had such an attentive and eagle-eyed chaperone for this labyrinthine place." Ophelia smiled, trying her best to take advantage of Gerlinde's distraction and reframe the conversation in such a way that their permission was simply implied. It helped that what she said was technically true, in the right light--she would not push back any further, though, and if they encountered further resistance Ophelia would simply comply. It was better that they came out with one prize than none at all, and she did figure that Dietrich would need blood vials--hell, it couldn't hurt to hand some off to Gehrman and Eileen too.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia marvelled at the sights of Oedon Chapel, having passed by the building some small number of times that she could recall but never having really paid the interior much notice: it was a truly magnificent building, and the architecture alone seemed like it could provide a lifetime's worth of study and mystery. She did her very best to push all of that down, though, in favour of sheer practicality.

When they arrived at the White Church, Ophelia was all business--she did her very best to simply look as though she had every right in the world to go where she was going and paid only dim attention to the relative positions of the other assembled Hunters, clerics, and other workers. She felt comfortable leaving the situational awareness to Farren--whatever the state of their relationship (which was entirely repaired in her mind) he'd consistently proven his value in that aspect of dealing with other people in the world, and she trusted him implicitly. Should things go south, she knew she could rely on him to act quickly, intelligently, and decisively. Retrieving the supplies from Dietrich's office went without a hitch, though Ophelia did pay especial attention to the Caryll runes and made a mental note. She'd normally have handed the box off to the little ones, or at least scribed a note to the Shopkeeper, but that was not possible in their current location... so off they went to the Workshop proper.

When they were at last accosted by the cleric, Ophelia turned to him with her most charming smile. "The First Hunter bid us fetch some things for him. He went out to investigate a beast at the Lord Vicar's command and ran into some difficulty--we Paleblood Hunters can traverse the world much more quickly than he can and were in the area, so we offered to fetch them for him. Will that be a problem?" Ophelia retorted, stopping in her tracks to address him. She always cradled her holy blade in such a position that it did not need to be drawn--and though she made no moves to remove it from its resting place she was ready to utilise it if things did escalate towards violence.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"I'll go and ask Dietrich what he knows about where we might find the things Annalise requested... and I'd like us to go to Old Yharnam, too, send Adelaide to the Crow's Nest. Her tremendous power of healing would surely be a boon, and we owe it to her besides. The sooner we get the chalice and fetch the other half of my blessed blade, the better a position we'll be in. It's about time we had some fun in the labyrinth, isn't it, Gerlinde?" Ophelia spoke as she let go of Torquil's hand and gave him a soft smile as she stood up, then turned her gaze back to Farren.

Gaze locked on her as she spoke, Farren nodded slightly, “Makes sense. Perhaps check with the Crowmother...if only to ensure she won't attack the Lightbe--Adelaide on her approach.”

Farren's fingers drummed against his thigh for a tick and then he spoke again, “Perhaps we ought to take a layer less deep within the Interstice of the Labyrinth...before we venture to acquire the Moonblade's twin.” His words sounded thoughtful, seeming more a suggestion than any sort of decision on her behalf.

"Ah, yes, that's a good point. I shall speak with her too. As for the labyrinth--it and the Interstice are interchangeable terms, dear--we'll see what the Doll has to say. If it seems a bit beyond us, to begin with, then certainly we'll take it easy. We could do with the practice and the echoes both." Ophelia replied.

“Ah,” he said as he filed that bit away for later, he'd found that bit rather confusing, so the clarification helped. He paused a moment, fingers playing across the hilt of the sole remaining Effigial Blade of Mercy. “Indeed, that makes sense enough,” he nodded idly, as if to himself, before meeting her gaze once more with his azure eyes. “We'll remain here then, Torquil and I. Perhaps Gerlinde should accompany you, just in case.” He'd hate for violence to find Ophelia on her lonesome, though he knew she could largely take care of herself...and was immortal besides.

"She's always welcome to, of course, but I can't imagine there'll be any fighting. I'm heading right to the sanctuary and back, after all." Ophelia offered, and moved to the appropriate headstone, ready to leave with or without Gerlinde.

"The Old Labyrinth and the Interstice are not interchangeable, good Hunters," the doll pointed out as soon as there was a lull in the conversation. "The Old Labyrinth exists in the Interstice, but the Interstice is any place where the Waking World and the Nightmare overlap."

"Ah, that makes sense--seems we've both a lesson to learn! Thank you kindly, dear." Ophelia replied, giving the doll a quick curtsey before selecting the 'Crow's Nest' marker.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Your concern is touching, love, but fear not. We wouldn't head there immediately in any case--there are other things to do first. I simply wanted to know whether we'd have to chase the chalice down in the Waking World! No, first we shall fulfil the most basic of the Queen's requests and obtain the chalice there. Once we've obtained that, you seem to have a good sense of how perilous the corresponding bits of labyrinth are and I would be glad for your guidance. If even that chalice is a little beyond us, we can certainly go through easier ones first and obtain blood echoes to become stronger with... That'd serve us well for our tasks in the Waking World too. I'd like to have the Holy Moonlight Sword back at its full strength before we traipse into the deeper parts of the labyrinth, not only for the benefits in combat but also for its profound wisdom." Ophelia retorted with a gentle smile. Much knowledge had been gleaned from the Old Labyrinth by a great many people over the years, and Ophelia intended for them to join those illustrious ranks--albeit with a much healthier dose of caution than they had exercised. With that done she offered the Doll and the Shopkeeper a curtsey and headed over to Torquil once more and sat beside him.

"Your new eyes are quite beautiful, in their own way, dear. Whatever choice you make, we're with you." She began, before slipping her right hand into his left hand if he'd let her and interlacing their fingers. "I won't ever forget that you sacrificed yourself to save us without knowing that you'd come back, you know? It was a very sweet and noble thing to do, and I'm so very grateful to have you with us. I couldn't ask for better company." She spoke, looking up at the moon with wide eyes. She'd done better for herself than he had, or... at least had been luckier, but from what little she knew of his past she felt a particular kinship with this strange man from the woods. They were both outsiders who'd never really fit in--one could say many things about the Witches of Hemwick, but never that they were typical or ordinary in any sense. She sensed a certain feeling of loss and melancholy from him that she knew well, though she wasn't certain that he'd ever found anything resembling meaningful connection before tonight. He had helped them a great deal, even when he didn't understand what was going on. He'd put his trust in them, in her, and she hoped he knew that she did truly value that connection--she valued it with all of them.

"I'm sorry about you having to give up the arm, Farren. I didn't dare attempt to mislead her, and figured her favour was worth more to us than some piece of a corpse we had no guarantee of being able to use. Still, I feel like I've snatched a prize away from you, and if I can make it up to you somehow I'd be glad to." She called out to Farren after a few seconds, suddenly remembering her earlier convictions amidst the sudden strangeness that had occurred.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"It's less about that and more about how he feels, dear, it was quite the unexpected shock. Gerlinde is right, though, we can just go over to the Halls of the Old Lords and get you changed back. We can go now if you just want to get it done with?" Ophelia offered, chortling slightly as Torquil checked himself. She shared the sentiment that there wasn't anything to worry about, but it was clear that he needed some emotional support and, well, who could blame him? It would be quite a horrifying thing to suddenly have happen, though at least it appeared to have been painless.

With a plan of action ready in her mind for whether Torquil accepted or refused, Ophelia turned to the Moonborn Hunter and continued relaying details of what they'd learned in Cainhurst.

"Annalise seems quite pleasant, if imperious. We can ask Dietrich about how to fulfil her quests, if anyone would know I'd suspect it'd be him... And I feel something of an obligation to disabuse him of his notions about the Vilebloods. Especially seeing as I've lineage from that place! Ah, and on that note, I mean to ask you about Bloodblade, dear. Have we still the chalice where it might be found, to the best of your recollection, or need we go hunting?" Ophelia commented after she'd finished relaying the facts, immediately segueing into the plan of action.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia was mid-way through her explanation when Farren's shouting got her attention--she was too engrossed in her story to have heard Torquil's softer cries of lament--and turned around to look at what had happened only to be momentarily struck dumb. She had none of the instinctive reaction that Farren did, instantly recognising that it must be Torquil from the rest of his form, and blinked twice before she jogged over to take a look.

"My, this is... Mother Moon above, these kinds of changes must be a potential result of the Vicar's experiments... It's alright, love, you seem to be breathing fine. Are you experiencing any other physical symptoms? I know you must be frightfully upset, but let's try and work out what's happened before we go assuming the worst." Ophelia spoke, trying to be as reassuring as she could as she rested a hand on Torquil's shoulder and gave him what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.

"Three eyes... Needle-like teeth... Blue skin with patches of chitin... My, I'd say you've taken on an aspect of Kin. This is certainly alien physiology... It stands to reason that if the changes false Paleblood wreaks can be caused by entering the Dream that they can be undone by entering the Dream... but who knows if worse will happen besides? Oh, my sweet Quilly..." Ophelia spoke softly, examining him carefully. She turned her head over her shoulder to get a quick look at the Moonborn and the Doll and beckoned them over with a nod. It truly did not really matter to her what Torquil looked like--he was still Torquil--but she was at something of a loss for what to do about his predicament.