[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]                   raised a single brow in response to Victor's outburst, or should he call it a tantrum? He shrugged internally, but what really surprised him was when Ophelia responded with a far colder, far more vicious sort of air. He reassessed her--for while he'd known she was capable of incredible violence, even butchery, he found that to be true of all Hunters. This though? This was something else, a stirring of something in her that he had only seen small glimmers of prior.

Victor, it seemed, had had enough though, she'd pushed too hard and the man's pride had reared back up, stronger than his sense of social cohesion. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Viktor,”[/b][/color] Farren said--his voice sharp and clear in the night air, only reaching the more seasoned hunter after he'd taken a few strides from them.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“...there should be a Kastavan at the workshop. Black hair, weathered and broad of shoulder. Goatee. Amber eyes.”[/b][/color] Farren was frowning, focusing hard to pull up the recollection of details. He’d only gotten the name at first, but as he’d considered passing on a message, more had started to come to him. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Tell him I’m well and to pass on the message to anyone it might matter to. Ah, and don’t waste that vial,”[/b][/color] Farren said, before he extracted one from his pouch and tossed it to Viktor.

Farren wasn’t sure if his family had been estranged or not…if they were even alive–not everyone lived long healthy lives after all–but if they were, if they cared at all, they’d want to know. Besides…for him to seek out blood ministration, he must have been desperate, he just didn’t remember why. Surely he’d have told them, through mail or maybe even a visit…wherever they were.

That done, Farren turned, glancing at Torquil before he nodded his head towards Ophelia and Moira’s group of hunters and then set to catching up with the others. As he sped up slightly, Farren patted the Blade of Mercy, then Bulwark, where he’d slid it into a leather loop that was part of the harness attached to his belt at his right hip, the inner ring of the loop reinforced with thin strips of driven in metal and denser material to resist a blade’s edge. He’d decided to keep it on hand as a backup close-range armament and while he didn’t have a proper sheath for it, this would do just fine.