Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia turned to Farren as he spoke, raising her right eyebrow a little as his little outburst interrupted them briefly--though it didn't stop them from finishing speaking. Once there was a suitable gap in the conversation for her to actually reply she did, looking thoughtful the whole time.

"As I happened to be near her, I felt... the same sort of pull on my blood echoes that we feel at the birdbath when browsing items. The remainder of them after I'd stocked up on supplies, but they're hardly a difficult thing to come by! Then... here she was." she replied to Farren, heading over to the southern doorway to peer out and watch the Moonborn's activities while she continued to chat.

"We cannot sacrifice ourselves, dear, not really--as you say, we cannot die, so think not such thoughts. You were rendered inert by us bringing a larger volume of false Paleblood into the Dream as we sought to move it to a safer place. We left it with Queen Annalise, knowing that it will be far out of the reach of the White Church and with hope that her knowledge of the Old Blood might prove beneficial... and a Winter Lantern appeared here while you were gone. Wretched thing; if I never see one again it will be too soon. The White Church have declared war on us, and the world, as we have freed Dietrich from their grasp... and they enslaved our friend, Victor. Their golden markers on the headstones have faded... and there were some problems with the little ones. The false Paleblood disrupts the Dream's connection to Flora, it seems. I think that is part of its design, perhaps, or at least its intended purpose... the Golden Bastard wishes to usurp our Dream for his own vile ends, I'm now beyond certain of it. I had idly wondered if perhaps he has taken Flora hostage somehow, but... I do not know if she is even alive still. I know that she is not in any of the realms we have visited... but... why does the Interstice exist at all? Great Ones seem to traverse realms as easily as we can walk, no? Perhaps Annalise will know; it was... the Pthumeru that built it, I think? Knowing that it was the tainted influence of Gold that spurred that civilisation's ruin, I wonder... did He have a hand in the creation of the Interstice itself for some reason? Ah, but look at me talking your ears off..." Ophelia spoke, easily settling in to her usual excitable rambling as she observed the Shopkeeper.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia looked around with a sense of comfort at the churning of the Dream, finally feeling like something went well for them... but also as though this was a more natural function of the Dream, and not some insidious manipulation by the charlatan that would usurp them. Those soft and fluttering feelings of comfort culminated in an audible sigh of relief when the doll finally seemed to awake and rise, and she immediately went to apologise for inconveniencing them Ophelia couldn't help but crack a smile and let out a short, halting laugh.

"No, love, we... we simply were worried we'd lost you. Think not such thoughts, it turns out that you are loved very much indeed: I, for one, was ready to wage war upon the whole world just to bring you back. I know we're an odd bunch, really, but we are Mother Moon's children one and all. She has not abandoned us, and we will not abandon you. Never." She smiled, giving the doll's hand a gentle squeeze as she stood up and offered to help the doll up as well.

"Moonborn, have you made progress? I'd quite like to see one of these chalice rituals, I must admit, they seem rather in my wheelhouse... but take your time. Enjoy the fact we're hale and whole once more, there's no rush... In fact, might you take a look at the chalice, love?" Ophelia asked, turning back to the doll for her last question. "I wonder if you think we're ready for it now, or if we might need to get a bit stronger first?"

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Best not to, mm? The only reason the Moonborn would leave is if bidden, and I did tell them to prepare for a Chalice ritual... Do you know what happened, Torquil? You were here and we weren't, after all." Ophelia responded to Gerlinde, giving her a bigger smile than she could muster for Torquil when she turned to speak to her.

"Find anything interesting rifling through that thing's remains?" Ophelia queried almost as an afterthought. Her mind was still recovering from their ordeal with the Winter Lantern to truly think through the implications of her most recent observations, and she felt better for occupying her mind thinking about other things for the moment. She had much less of Farren's spiritual weariness, now buoyed by the fact that death even in their Dream was not permanent... though she thought back to when she'd brought her concerns to Harold, and how she worried that something might loose the false Paleblood Hunters from their tie to the Dream. How he'd said that unless they did something very stupid, such a thing were impossible; how, in hindsight, that seemed awfully like a threat to her mind.

"In the absence of the doll to convert our echoes to power, perhaps we should spend up at the shop? We don't want to lose them to the labyrinth, after all." Ophelia spoke, quickly walking over to the shop and perusing the wares for a moment before she made a few purchases. She refilled her store of Quicksilver Bullets, the Blood Vial she'd used, and got a few extra besides and promptly stored the excess with the Messengers (or would be happy to share it with the others, if they inquired after them)--it was never a bad idea to have more. She looped back around by walking up past the headstones, giving all of them a quick pass over as she did, seeking to confirm what she expected--that the golden markers for the White Church had disappeared.

As she entered through the southern door she felt... something, a tug, much like she had moments before while browsing through the echoes. She looked down immediately at the doll, laid nearby in her position of repose, and knelt as she considered the sensation. She took the doll's hand in hers and let the echoes flow from her person, happy to give them up for even the slightest hint of a chance at restoring their friend and ally's life. Without her they could not grow stronger, and they could not communicate with the Moonborn--but more than that, the Dream felt lonely without her. She was one of Mother Moon's children, and she would not be left behind--not now, and not ever.

Purchases

-25 - 5 Quicksilver Bullets
-75 - 5 Blood Vials

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.