Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia gave Torquil a guilty look and took a few seconds to compose her thoughts before speaking--which was fairly unusual for her, as she normally found words positively spilling from her without so much as a second's consideration.

"I'm so sorry, love, that was my fault--I was so scared by that thing, I misunderstood Mother Moon's whispers and told you wrong... I hope you can forgive me. I tried to save you, but... gods, what an awful thing. At least we know now that death here isn't permanent, I suppose... If--when--we ever encounter one of those things again, I think we simply have to rush it and kill it before it can afflict us with frenzy. Gods, what a horrible sensation--I knew it looked bad from seeing it affect Farren in Rebirth's Rise, but I wasn't prepared for how phenomenally awful it feels. I'm glad you're back and safe, though, dear." Ophelia confessed, hoping that the admission of it being her fault--which she earnestly felt it was, knowing that Torquil relied on her for guidance--would at least assuage some of whatever he felt in this moment.

"I suppose now we wait for the Moonborn to get back with the chalice materials... Gods, and have you noticed that the little ones are slower to appear than normal? They, like this Dream, come from Flora--and as the Dream's connection to Flora is weakened by the false Paleblood, so too must they be. Has anything else odd happened with them? I wonder if the Golden Bastard has taken her hostage, or done something else to her..." Ophelia followed up, loudly enough that Gerlinde in the shop would be able to hear too. She didn't really have a point, just felt compelled to speak her findings out loud to get them out of the jumble that was her mind and into reality. Farren and Torquil weren't versed in the esoteric topics she and Gerlinde were, but often that presented an opportunity for them to make connections that the womens' minds simply wouldn't.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

There was no experience Ophelia possessed that prepared her for the feeling of frenzy. It was as though every atom of her body had split off from one another, and all of them occupied the same space in a superposition of each of their others. Uncountable instances of every possible configuration and permutation of her body, her mind, her very being overlaid on top of one another like sheets of metal, forged into a single alloy that was every alloy that had ever been--and it was only her quick thinking earlier than prevented her from immediately expiring. Once she'd recovered from the experience--physically, at least--her resumed assault combined with that of the others took the monstrosity she now knew to be called a Winter Lantern and she joined Farren in his wordless expression of rage. Gerlinde, with her usual lack of self-regard, also expired from her injuries; as she dissipated and vanished into nothing, Ophelia silently mourned the loss of her sister too. She was still uncertain whether a death in the Dream was a true death, and in the absence of information assumed the worst after her ordeal.

Her hand idly scratched at the places the phantom quills--though real enough to cause physical injury--had skewered her as she panted and recovered her stamina. She felt the telltale weight of blood echoes settle about her person, and after a full minute or so of convalescence and steady breathing she grabbed the chalice. She hastily checked it to ensure it had avoided damage in the corner she'd stowed it, before kneeling down to beckon the messengers to inquire about it. Besides being interesting, items like the chalice offered an insight into the very nature of the Old Labyrinth--and given everything they knew and that they'd encountered, Ophelia was beginning to believe that learning of the Labyrinth, its origins, its nature, and its contents were what would reveal their path forward. Indeed, even the twin of her blessed blade was to be found there.

Once that was done and she'd read the description offered by the messengers, she left the workshop and surveyed the Dream. Seeing Torquil rose her spirits immediately, and she visibly let out an exhalation of relief as she waved him over with a bright, wide smile.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The room for strategy was over, it seemed--as Torquil vanished, and the horrid creature looked no worse for wear having feasted upon him, Ophelia knew that it was that simple. Do as much as she could before the quivering rapidly within her escalated to the point that it felt it would tear her asunder from within every miniscule part of her. She knew such things about the body, how they worked, how frail and fragile and strong they were, and it felt like all of that knowledge had turned traitor as she could feel things inside her that she was not supposed to be able to feel coming apart at their most basic and fundamental level. She'd gotten the blood vial out for Torquil, and not knowing whether or not she'd survive she jammed the thing into her thigh and depressed it slightly, hoping the rest of the crimson ichor that gave them their supernatural vitality would flow into her after she came apart.

Her sword was still inside this thing's head, so feeding it another quicksilver bullet to trigger another explosion--hopefully where its many toothy maws were, perhaps a weak point--was trivial. She did so, knowing that she was about to reach the end of her stamina, and would quickstep directly back only to try and avoid getting grabbed by this thing if, indeed, it did target her next. With her goal clear and her mind and body so overloaded by everything going on, she simply did what Gerlinde had done and attacked wildly until one of the few things she could still keep in her mind happened while everything else fell apart. Torquil had vanished, at least, which gave her a comforting sense that he was not gone forever... but she would seek vengeance upon this thing as a proxy for the Golden Bastard and his minions, for sweet Quilly (though that name was somewhat tainted now by the feeling of these quills pricking at her like needles), for all of them. There was little else to do: their combined assault would simply have to destroy this wretched creature before it could do any more damage to them.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia darted into action the very instant she realised that the blast of light would miss, quickstepping up to the top of the stairs to go through the other end while Farren dallied in his panic. It turned out that the idea of sweet Torquil contending with that thing motivated her to move even more than fear demanded she delay like Farren, having lost too many people already to even consider letting another fall. She grabbed the Evelyn from her hip as she quickstepped and upon arrival at the entrance where she could see what was going on aimed it at the largest of the bulbous eyes that she could see atop the thing's head-brain and fired the loaded quicksilver bullet within directly into the its pupil--and then quickstepped again, holstering the gun again while she loaded another quicksilver bullet into the Holy Moonlight Sword. It was less than ideal to do what she was doing with Torquil so close, but as she witnessed the dawning horror of the Winter Lantern grabbing her friend she shrieked to match its own, her sudden movement bringing her to a crouching position by Torquil's left side, where she immediately attempted to thrust the Holy Moonlight Sword's luminescent point upwards into the centre of the bulbous mass and loose its devastating explosion within its head. It mattered not that they were close by, that Torquil was, perhaps even that Farren was by that time. It mattered not whether she felt the quivering tension of Frenzy's riotous influence building within her, nor the puncturing of the queer feathery quills that she had briefly seen within Torquil, she would see it through no matter the cost to save him from the snapping jaws of death itself.

She made herself ready to follow up again, either by bearing down with her strikes or dodging the Winter Lantern's retaliation--but more pressingly, if Torquil was injured enough to warrant it and not clearly dead, she'd swiftly grab a blood vial and stab him with it to preserve his life even at the cost of becoming the Lantern's next victim. They had lost too much already, and not knowing whether a death in the Dream was final, she would take no chances.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

As soon as the combat started in earnest and the horrifying screech filled the air, as soon as she had unleashed her blade's power, she realised her mistake as her mind caught up to what the whispers had been telling her: it was the Lantern's gaze that was to be avoided, not theirs. Otherwise she'd not have been able to so much as look at it, and she hadn't felt a thing in the brief moment she'd let herself focus on it. She shouted to Torquil as best as she could, knowing how little time she had to give him a tool he desperately needed to act.

"You can look! Its gaze hurts you!" she shouted, hoping he'd understand, from the other entrance of the Workshop. Torquil was between them, thankfully, so a quick plan formed in her mind: Torquil's presence in the doorway, and his inevitable hitting of it, would no doubt cause its ire to focus on him for a brief moment. The thing appeared to be able to see in all direction, but a pincer manoeuvre was her only real hope nevertheless. She sprinted out from the second exit, leaping off the edge above the birdbath where the messengers gathered to sell them wares, and midair quickstepped downwards at approximately a 45 degree angle to direct the momentum of her movement somewhere useful rather than sailing through the air--every tiny fraction of time counted for something. While quickstepping she loaded another quicksilver bullet into the Holy Moonlight Sword. By this time she was hoping that Torquil would be ready with a strike, or at least that the Winter Lantern would've seen him and directed its ire at him, and as she landed on the ground and her blade warbled with arcane power she carried her momentum on and readied herself to loose another refulgent scythe of light up at the bulbous head of the Winter Lantern looming around the doorway as she made it nearly to the bottom of the curved staircase up into the workshop and stopped there as best as she could, ending up near the headstones on the other side of the stairs. She controlled the undulating and rippling power in her blade as best as she could, waiting up to a precious two seconds to see if Torquil had hit it or if it made any offensive moves towards her before letting her attack fly--she'd once again aim for its centre mass vertically, unless Torquil somehow managed to knock the thing back far enough with his inhumanly vast strength that she'd have to compensate. If Torquil still hadn't struck within those two seconds she'd unleash the attack regardless--hoping that Torquil would then follow up while it focused on her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Don't look at it. Avert your gaze, or frenzy will take you. Hit it with your eyes closed." she whispered feverishly to Torquil, knowing they had scant little time before something happened. Every fibre in her body still screamed at her to run, to not let its gaze take them, even to wait and brand herself with the rune of the Deep Sea to stave off the Frenzy. She didn't know how much time they had, how long before this eerie and dreadful interlude would be over and the slaughter--theirs, and its--would begin. She loaded a bloodied quicksilver bullet into her Evelyn for the first time, readied herself to loose a blast of light, and nodded at Torquil. There was so much more she felt like she should say, but time was slipping through their fingers like sand. Hadn't Farren bought some sand from the birdbath? She wondered if he'd remember, but the thought didn't get far as the numbing guilt of leaving him froze her synapses and left her entirely locked in to the combat that was about to begin.

Gerlinde was always so fearless, even in the face of the terror that had been Paarl. Ophelia wondered how she fared, if she could lead the charge and grab its focus for long enough that Ophelia could brand a rune... but even the deliberation had taken precious seconds, seconds they needed desperately, and she was about to fish out the runebrand before she heard the telltale sound of a gun firing in the distance. Someone had broken the wretched spell of fear, the dirge that called them to the grave, and Ophelia stiffened as though ready to pounce. She nodded wordlessly at Torquil for the last time and was ready to go. Agility was her only answer to danger, and not being able to so much as look at this thing without that horrible thing happening to her--visions of Farren in Rebirth's Rise threatened to assault her if not for the imminent danger--meant that she would simply have to fire off whatever projectiles she could and escape far from its range. She'd have to call out to the others, warn them too, but not until everything began.

When she heard combat begin in earnest from the other side too (hoping the song would at least end), she'd press a quicksilver bullet into the light of her blade, let it build, and look just long enough to aim before scything her sword down and loosing the projectile at the centre mass of the Winter Lantern's head. She'd shout out: "Don't look! Frenzy!" before darting back--quickstepping if necessary--into the Workshop and out of the way of its gaze. Her mind tried to recall other spots that might be good to hide behind if they needed to vacate the cottage (which they would, for she could not risk the chalice) and could only really think of the clustered headstones and the statues of previous Palebloods.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia placed the chalice down on a table or some other stable surface as quickly as she could, and then turned to actually take stock of the situation. She noticed Torquil in here for the first time and felt a measure of relief that he was safe, and even though his face was much harder to read with its recent transmogrification everything about Torquil's otherwise normal body language betrayed the same fear she felt--perhaps even moreso, given his general disposition and the fact that he'd not noticed her for being transfixed on whatever it was that she'd run from. With the chalice safe, not at risk of being damaged during the inevitable combat, she darted over to the wall and pressed herself against it next to Torquil to both observe what he was and give them both a much-needed sense of not being alone. Rather than actively look at what he was, she first turned her head to him, and whispered.

"I don't know what this is, but we have to kill it. We'll let the others engage and move in when it's focusing on them."

Torquil always did best with direction, after all, and it made sense to let the people actually near this thing make the first move. Ophelia fiddled with the tube of quicksilver at her hip and made ready with it, figuring that if there was any time to truly unleash the power of the Holy Moonlight Sword, it was against anything that could make them feel like this. With that, Ophelia finally turned to observe what Torquil was, and prayed to Mother Moon that her courage would not fail her. Even the soothing presence of the Holy Moonlight Sword felt insufficient to quell the dread that the haunting melody had instilled in her, but grim necessity spurred her onward as she held her body tense and ready to strike when the correct opening revealed itself. She found herself quite unsure what would happen if they might die in the Dream, and supposed that she might well have her answer ere long.

Within the pall of darkness hanging over their Dream, Ophelia recalled the description of the Guidance rune and the visions of Ludwig finding the sword for the first time. Even within the deepest darkness the moon-motes remained, a sure sign to Ophelia's mind that Mother Moon had not abandoned her (and indeed never would), and their presence dampened the fear enough for her to think... and to beseech the power that buoyed her flagging spirit. What is this thing? Must we slay it, bring it low before our Glory? she whispered to the Holy Moonlight Sword as she held it close and poised to strike.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's first thoughts were those of victory, and of continuance of duty--and then relief at not feeling the queer sensation in her blood (she didn't know how Farren and Torquil stomached it)--both of which were exceedingly short-lived indeed. Shadow dawned across the peace of the Hunter's Dream as some force conspired to shroud the source of light in this place from them, and all of the colour and vibrancy in their surroundings seemed to drain away.

Then... the song. Whatever it was it keened in lilting, off-key melodies, and Ophelia barely heard more than two notes before she quickstepped immediately towards the little Workshop to stow the chalice away. She tried to summon her thoughts, to work out what had happened, but amidst the unnatural dampening of light and life she found her faculties failing her and sought only to protect their prize before some other horrible creature could invade their sanctum and potentially ruin everything they had worked for. Fear was a woefully insufficient word to describe what she felt in that moment, for it was as though nothing in the world was right or ever would be again. As though the very essence of hope had been extinguished, and all that was left to them was the bitter reality of their ultimately futile efforts... that all things would suffer as a gilded sun dawned and the world fell under the thrall of their greatest enemy. Visions of that awful crab-like device upon Victor's head assaulted Ophelia's mind, as though His tendrils could insert themselves into her very brain and steal her away too... and as she finished her quickstep, she sprinted as quickly as she could make her body move into the Workshop both to stow away her prize and get away from whatever the horrible thing that had invaded their Dream was.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded at Farren's words, but took especial notice of him--of his eyes, his tears, and of a familiar guilt she could see beneath it all. She turned to him after he'd finished speaking, seemingly able to sense the unspoken thing he daren't let pass his lips for fear that might make it true. She walked over to him and pulled him close, holding him, and embracing him tightly and fiercely with her free arm as she buried her head in the nook of his shoulder for a moment in commiseration, in truly shared pain.

"Victor... they trapped him in this Golden armour, took control of his body. I think they tortured him... I think... he probably didn't turn on us, and they stole him away instead. The doll, those corpses... it wasn't your fault. We agreed this, the Moonborn assented in their silence. It was him, all him." she whispered into his ear amidst sniffles and sobs of rage and sadness both. She didn't want him to feel alone in this, knew that it would serve no purpose but the bastard's, and... Farren was a good man. Not before, no, but was she good before either? Were any of them? It didn't matter--he'd chosen them, to stick by them, to share in their trials and tribulations. The world was huge and they had the power to hop across it in mere moments; solitude was an easy thing to come by, if one wanted it.

"We'll get her back. We will. We will." she affirmed before she released him, gingerly took the sack from him with a knowing nod (assuming his assent) and moved to grab Gerlinde before heading to the Vileblood Queen's Chamber.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The soothing flow of the whispers into her mind helped anchor Ophelia in this otherwise fraught moment, and she looked up at the Shopkeeper grimly once again.

"Prepare for a chalice ritual. If anything will know how to fix her, it will be my blade made whole." Ophelia said flatly, climbing to her feet as she did so, and storming out of the workshop as quickly as she could muster with no heed for whether the Shopkeeper acknowledged her or not. Once outside she turned to Farren, and Torquil nearby, and looked over to find Gerlinde approaching the patches of lingering flame before shouting out.

"The Doll is... dead? Inanimate? We need to get the false Paleblood out, now. Castle Cainhurst. Annalise knows blood well. She will keep it safe. We will get the chalice. We will restore my blade, and maybe it can help us get her back. Now." she spoke, though much like Farren earlier her voice was flat and terse, not to mention hoarse from her screaming... though it was still imbued with an impressive amount of urgency. For all that Ophelia liked to take charge normally, something was different now--they were no longer safe here in their Dream, able to take things at their leisure, and with that safety gone so was an element of Ophelia's geniality. They had lost something truly, truly precious and she would do anything to get it back, no matter the cost, no matter how much she had to trample on any of her fellows' feelings. She was done losing people to the influence of gold, done letting this bastard toy with them and treat people like playthings to steal something that was never his... and her tone very much reflected her new warpath.

It struck Ophelia in that moment that if introducing false Paleblood into the Dream had allowed the usurper to gain more influence over it and disrupt its connection to its owner, Flora, perhaps obtaining more of Flora's blood or essence or something might tip the connection back in its favour.

"Do you know where Flora is?" she asked of the whispers.

"Elsewhere." they replied.

"Somewhere we can get to?"

"It does not know. It does not know where Flora is... just that she is not in this Nightmare... nor any realm you have brought it."

That reply scuppered her idea of attempting to find Flora and introduce more of her essence to the Dream to set it to rights--at least for the moment, until they might get a lead. Perhaps it was time to return to Yahar'gul, and learn the methodology of their ritual. They beckoned a different Great One entirely, one not even of the same type as Flora, but perhaps what they were doing could be repurposed...

"What can you tell me of the false Paleblood?" she whispered again.

"It feels similar to Paleblood... but different. It tries to be Paleblood... but is imperfect... destabilizes the Dream. Not much... only temporarily... but enough to hinder." came the reply.

"Could the ritual at Yahar'gul be used to beckon something else? Flora?"

"The ritual... no. Not Flora. Slumbering Great One. Deep in the Cosmos. Powerful."

Throughout all of this, Ophelia simply stood waiting for the others.