Tuujaimaa

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"I wonder if the Dream recreates them, seeing as they weren't yet part of you? Can you still taste them?" Ophelia replied to Gerlinde's question with a small grin of her own but no light in her eyes, branding her quickly if she desired and then taking the brand over to Torquil.

"Are you okay, dear? That thing... her name is Arrayah. She bears a rune that makes it so that... she might as well not exist to you, until she interacts with you in some way. Let's switch back to the Mask rune, and then we'll be able to fight properly... Do you want to try staying back and looking for a good opportunity to put your strength to work this time? Arrayah will ignore you and go straight for me every time, if you stay with me you should be able to seize a weakness and get a really good couple of hits in. If you can knock her down, give her that moment of vulnerability we've seen in other foes, we'll get her. Sound good, love?" Ophelia asked, giving Torquil her best impression of a warm smile. She felt somewhat... dissociated, dreamlike, still--but this, her desire for vengeance and earnest desire to see her blade made whole, remained. They were what remained of her in this moment, the things she could cling to with certainty and focus while everything else... settled back into place. Her little bit of exposition was aimed at Farren too, and she gave him a couple of knowing glances to include him in the conversation too--though still with that hollow, not altogther there sort of fugue in its last moments before dissipating.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

"Mm... you haven't the half of it, dear, what an awful creature..." Ophelia replied to Farren, though she didn't turn to face him. Her mind instead drifted to the whispers as they returned, joyed to hear them though darkly resolved to not let such a disadvantaged situation happen again. She replied back in her mind: I understand, it's alright. We weren't prepared before... but we are now. We will make you whole, and claim Mother Moon's shadow as well as her light. Neither has the answers we need alone... there is much and more to make whole.

"Arrayah, the moon's shadow. Profane Champion. Our enemy. You were trying to hit him, weren't you? But your minds simply refused to perceive where he was... as I wield light, he wields the dark. But we will be fine, for we have a Mask to shatter his deception... and we only have to succeed once." Ophelia replied after hearing Gerlinde and Torquil reform, turning to them with the runebrand in her hand and a grim determination upon her face. "Seems like we should switch our runes back, mm?"

Can I defeat him with the Guidance rune? Need I sacrifice your whispers to shatter his illusion? she asked the whispers, while beckoning the others to come forth and receive the rune they'd need to even participate in the fight.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

Ophelia

Ophelia's world had narrowed down to Arrayah's chilling gaze in that instant, as the whispers in her mind lost the sense of surety and serenity she'd relied on so far. It panicked her like nothing else, and feeble though her grip was before a monstrosity like Arrayah her grip on the Holy Moonlight Sword did not relent or yield for a second, almost as though rigor mortis had already set in. The breaking and repairing of her wrist repeating over and over was some dull background concern compared to the final reserves of stubborn defiance and adrenaline she felt surging, and she did not even hear the gunshot that ended her grip on consciousness nor feel its sultry kiss any more than the other torments visited upon her leading up to the crescendo as nothingness overtook her... and she awoke within the Dream, as though from a slumber that never was.

She could feel the comforting grip of the Holy Moonlight Sword in her hands, see its sidereal radiance, hear its whispers... she was whole, preserved, and had another chance. Most of the panic had been chemical, her body pushed to the very brink of expiration and desperation, and here in the Dream there was a haziness that made those final moments feel so... far away, like she only had to focus upon them if she truly wished to. Again she reflected on how many times Gerlinde must have done this, how the promise of constancy afforded her the luxury of abandon... how easy it could be, truly, to forget that the Waking World had ever existed at all... or to forget that it was distinct and different from these realms of Dream.

A good ten seconds passed in solemn reflection before she knelt to beckon forth the Messengers, bidding them deliver the runebrand. She was amazed not only by the efficacy of Arrayah's power, by how it seemed to convince their minds so thoroughly it was not there that they physically weren't capable of reacting to it, but by the prospect of obtaining that power for herself. Against such a power, what could possibly stand? Adelaide's gift once again had proven its worth, and her mind drifted towards the sweet lightbeast even as her right hand gripped the brand firmly. After they were done... they had to go and direct Adelaide to the Crow's Nest... and explore the Woods. She'd been foolish, she realised in hindsight, to delve so deeply into the mystery behind it all--anonymity would have afforded them ample advantages, let them learn the lay of the land in peace before their enemy knew to mobilise. Arrayah's rune and the Holy Moonlight Sword made whole would make up for it, though, of that Ophelia was certain.

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.