Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

At first Ophelia couldn't believe her eyes--the others were just... missing? It looked almost intentional, but she supposed the effect that hid Arrayah from their ability to perceive it at all would look like someone consciously choosing to miss... that was the preferable reaction, at least, compared to simply leaving her to suffer whatever most assuredly unwholesome intrusion upon her person was about to happen with the way it was grabbing her. "Illusion!" Ophelia wheezed out as loudly as she could as she struggled feebly against the grip of Arrayah's many awful limbs. "The brand, ah, Mask!" she gibbered quickly, struggling to remain serene as Arrayah likely simply overpowered her--and she continued to fight to escape with all of her might, unwilling to simply let whatever the monster wanted to do to her happen. She had no advice nor words of wisdom for her companions, knowing that whatever was happening to her they simply could not yet perceive--and for that, she was grateful. At least they would not know the suffering inflicted upon her, and it could instead fester within the madness that had long been growing within her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The first thing that Ophelia felt was the immediate concussive impact, incredible force passing through her and carrying her along with it. It knocked the air from her lungs and strained, creaked, and cracked through her ribcage as another impact from the back seared through–and then a burst of brightness as the cutting edge of the blade sprayed forth her lifeblood and the ruinous forces now exiting her body faded. She gasped awfully, her regeneration already knitting together her wounds enough for her to draw air back in, and the pain brought forth another wave of sweet revelation: the deception to her guidance, the shadow to her light! It was suddenly all so obvious! The next breath she drew in through her nose carried a grave-stench even her hardened senses protested against, she could feel the impacts of its movement against the ground and through the wall and vibrating through its chest, hear the madness that oozed from its lips as bile and pus did from every other aspect of the horrid creature she espied as she opened her eyes.

“Arrayah…” she repeated, her voice gasping and straining as she stared at this thing that wielded the other half of her blade. She… hadn’t expected it to be so… unimpressive, compared to the splendour of her blade–but it hadn’t been half as luminous until she’d truly wielded it for the first time either. But its power was not in the bearing of brightness like hers was–no, it was Mother Moon’s shadow. To have the power to reveal, one must also have the power to conceal–and it was a mightily powerful illusion. There was no way any of them wouldn’t have heard, felt, smelled, and tasted this thing on the air long before it ever reached them–it was as though her mind had simply refused to register its existence, and she guessed it was only by the grace of her Guidance that she could perceive it now. Well, that poses rather a problem, she thought, waiting for a moment to be able to wriggle free enough from the rather precarious position she found herself in to administer herself a blood vial and quickstep away to relative safety.

“It’s invisible!” was all she could command herself to shout to the others, and even then she wasn’t sure if anyone but Gerlinde who’d been close to her already might have heard it–her mind was spinning, as though compensating for all the loss of perception before, and she reeled as the waves of surprise and surges of sudden information fought for control of her faculties.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The frantic nature of the whispers soon drew Ophelia into alertness as her reverie was broken, and she used the time she had to quickly hand the runebrand off to the little ones while shouting "It's here!". There was no point in stealth now, only in preparedness and what little they could muster. Ophelia sprang up from kneeling into action, blade bared, and fought through the sudden clarity of her heart thundering inher chest and the now-familiar feeling of adrenaline beginning to flow. Do you remember what it does? The blade of wrath? she queried, hoping the increasingly slick whispers made her suddenly recall how wet her neck felt--her whole head, really--and she could not discern whether it was sweat or simply the whispers in this place so-tinged with Nightmare.

Ophelia felt in her bones that she would be the immediate target of this thing's ire, her shadowy counterpart. She would be prepared to react defensively, hoping to use the advantage of her relative sanity and increased numbers to outwit the thing rather than overpower it. This was an opportunity to learn, if nothing else... though every death untethered one from the waking world more and more. Ophelia's periphery flicked to Gerlinde to observe her for a brief instant, and she considered how willing to become like Gerlinde or their new foe she was... or she would have, if that thought lasted for longer than she'd looked over. She had to be present in the moment, steady, observant... and she had to use every advantage the blade of serenity could give her.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Mother Moon... it makes Castle Cainhurst look small, and even that seems like it was built for the big pallid ones... and those bones... another darkbeast? Given the size and shape... My, my. Wrath to our Serenity indeed. Ophelia thought to herself, and found herself somewhat dismayed at the lack of response from the Holy Moonlight Sword. It was her own fault, of course, for stripping herself of the Guidance rune... but she'd expected combat sooner rather than later and nothing immediately leapt out at her heightened senses. She split off to the right as she wandered, ushering Gerlinde close so they might share in any arcane findings and whisper feverishly to one another, and found herself immediately attracted to the walls of the place. It took a good ten, twenty seconds of curious head tilting, squinting, and furrowed brows before she came to the realisation that they were Caryll Runes. The image of the Guidance rune flashed across her mind's eye, accompanied by a phantom tingle of the focusing pain of the runebrand that rippled across her senses--the imagined shock of it brought her to kneel and beckon the Messengers forth. She bade them retrieve the brand, then to stay, and imagined the Guidance rune in the projection case as she pressed the metal to her flesh. The real thing gave her a burst of intense focus, and she let the two images overlap in her mind as the ever-eager resonance of the serene whispers returned and she posed to her blade the question that had consumed her perception entirely.

Your sister-rune... carved by the one who wields your wrath? she asked, letting her gaze trail up across the sublime vastness of the structure's wall and her eyes sweep across the runes. One was the sister-rune, she was certain. She could almost feel it vibrating within her, eliciting a shudder as she briefly recalled the frenzy of the Winter Lantern and let the soothing light of her blessed blade banish it before she could even consider it again. The soothing radiance of the whispers made her consider what the true form of Mother Moon's Wrath would look like, and what would wield it. These imitations on the wall were just... shapes, not the sterling clarity and distillation of knowledge that a Caryll Rune was... but the shapes meant something, and vague feelings could be strummed like an instrument to find what harmonised with the allusions of the pattern if one was learned in the right runes and attuned enough to their particularities.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia nodded at everyone's preparations individually, though she did take a particular interest in Gerlinde obviously using the Hunger rune. A thought idly nagged at her about the Kos Parasite, wondering if it might be a good idea to give it to her to take advantage of its power... but it was the only one left in existence, as far as the little ones knew. Wasting something that might contain a wealth of knowledge on Gerlinde's madness and lack of foresight made Ophelia uneasy enough that she thought better of it and kept the idea to herself.

"Mmm, no better than the blood we've got. We can always come back and try again, we don't have to succeed on the first time--that's the trick of these things. Watch what the enemy can do, learn its patterns, and use that to avoid them in the future. I'll be keeping an eye out myself, but why don't you try too, Torquil? It's hard to talk during pitched combat, so I'll do what I can, but I think it'll help for you to start learning these lessons yourself, mm?" Ophelia offered before taking the runebrand back and handing it off to the Messengers if everyone was done with it--knowing it was safe put her mind at ease.

She then shifted her grip and stance with her blessed blade to be more combat focused and proceeded through the opening to the next room carefully, observing her surroundings closely and ready to quickstep away from any sort of imminent danger. She opened all her senses to the task of understanding what was happening in there, sight and sound and smell... taste and touch would likely come later, no doubt.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's investigation presented a couple of bits of useful information and she relayed those with her usual excitedness to the group while she went about the grisly work of poking and prodding the corpses as though she were doing something as benign as tending a garden.

"Mmm... bladed weapon, very broad... wielded with colossal strength... reminds me of Skinner, somewhat. Knights have been dead for longer than we've been alive, I'd guess. Everything else is fresh, though, and something down here is hungry... I think we've quite the fight on our hands. Torquil, dear, I want you to stick with Farren, and put that strength to work when there's an opportunity--you can let him know when, Farren, mm? Gerlinde... unrelenting assault is your forte, and I see no reason to deviate now." Ophelia opined, though her tone was one of suggesting more than demanding--she was curious what the others might make of the situation, and what insights they might have into the fight. She, of course, would dash around the battlefield and observe to make use of her consistent and powerful ranged abilities while learning what their foe could do. The memory of Dietrich's fight had inspired her somewhat, on that front--he seemed to know what enemies were capable of and leverage their points of greatest weakness against them. If it was a sound enough strategy for the former First Hunter, Ophelia saw no reason to not do the same... and it had mostly worked with Paarl.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

The sensation of falling into the chalice was unlike almost everything Ophelia had ever experienced--almost. She'd dreamt of experiences like it, though that was simply a tumble into a fathomless pit within the earth, and she initially felt... not comfortable, but at least metaphorically somewhat grounded. The sensation quickly cascaded in intensity to levels she could not have imagined, even in the world of Dreams where one's imagination was unbound, and only that feeling of surreality stopped it from overwhelming her terribly. She made out brief glimpses of... matter, she presumed, coming into view and falling away just as quickly without enough time having elapsed to give her any true sense of proportion or detail. She assumed it must have been layers of the Labyrinth, for she understood enough to know that this little shortcut was simply skipping massive amounts of a real physical structure, but between the overwhelming sensations and the inability to perceive detail soon even the speed of her thoughts could not keep up and the only recourse left to her was simply to let it happen.

When they arrived she teetered unsteadily on her feet for a moment, as if afflicted with vertigo, and took a couple of seconds to properly steady herself before the whispers sang to her and she steeled herself, wondering what precisely her blade's wrath would look like if all she had been unleashing thus far was its serenity. Treading carefully over the treacherous cobblestones she took a few tentative steps forward, peering at the remnants of what had come before and failed. Wretched husks not unlike the pallid one in appearance, though emaciated from time's uncaring embrace after their demise; much larger beings defeated by something much larger (or at least stronger) still, that reminded her of the scene in the Industrial Region's square where Crowmother had made even horrendous beasts look like children's dolls; further still Knights of Cainhurst, from a time long ago... it made Ophelia wonder precisely when this might have happened. Such mortals would have to have made the journey here on foot, and she did not have a good understanding of how deep they were and thus how arduous the journey must have been... but it seemed to be deeper than when Ludwig and Izzy had found moonlight's serenity, if she had to guess, and that had taken two exceptional individuals to get that far. Ophelia surmised they might have made the journey here in a time where there simply was less physical distance to traverse, and beckoned the others over as she carefully made her way towards the corpses.

If they had anything on them that might identify who they once were, or mementos that belonged back at Castle Cainhurst, Ophelia was curious to find out: if there seemed to be no danger in the low, eerie light she would take some time to give the corpses a thorough look. After that, she'd have look at the larger corpses against the wall to see if she could glean any idea what kind of weapon might be used against them, or if any signs of the struggle that she could parse had survived the passing of ages since it'd happened.

"Let's see if we can get an idea of what we'll be facing, mm? I think it's time to review our runes, too..." Ophelia spoke as softly as she could while still letting the others hear, and assuming safety pulled out the runebrand to change her own rune to something more appropriate for combat: the rune that Dietrich had revealed to them, the Hunter. She'd apply that to herself and wait for the others, and if no other revelations were forthcoming she would ensure everyone was prepared before moving to enter the room at the very end of the hallway.

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