[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    left the others behind, not because he wanted to, but because even if they fell, they would merely return to the Dream. Plus, it seemed prudent that he get his cargo somewhere that the Vicar and his forces could not reach him. After all, even if this was not the Puppet’s sole supply of False Pale Blood, they’d do well to deprive the bastard of any resources they could. As he headed back to Oedon Chapel he found that the trip was an uneventful one—something of a relief in some ways, though the [i]hunger[/i] in his blood had began to niggle at the edges of his mind.

He was less aware of it than he had been in the past, so Farren naturally did not attempt to suppress it. With any luck, that predatory instinct would not be left unsated long enough to intermingle with the paranoia that roiled, slithered, and crawled upon itself in a knotted coil deep [i]deep[/i] within his mind, beyond his notice.

Eventually he reached the lantern and, mostly to test if normal lanterns not within the hold of the Golden Bastard’s power would respond, he stretched an arm out towards its faint warmth. Moments later he found himself waking in the Hunter’s Dream and—to his brief pleasure—he experienced a thrum of thrilling vivacity course through his body. He felt suddenly lighter somehow, more energetic, yet oddly not more ‘awake,’ though in another sense he’d never felt less fatigued—which was to say that he felt no tiredness at all, quite the opposite really.

However, that tremulous thrill wasn’t something that Farren got to enjoy for more than a few brief, immeasurable instants, for almost as it began, Farren became aware of the uncanny [i]shaking[/i] of the Dream. The mild annoyance he’d largely moved past on his way back—which had briefly ceded to the energy of the power imparted to his blood—now returned like a quiet murmur echoing off a far off structure. It was swiftly overshadowed by a tinge of fear, the subtle tendrils of paranoia reaching from somewhere within him to lightly graze over his heart. Then…suspicion.

Farren’s azure eyes narrowed, the almost blinding flash of luminescent [i][b]yellow[/b][/i] light sending a sharper stitch of terror through him. A terror that roused the simpering, jibbering ghost nestled within him. Farren swallowed hard, his jaw tightened and without hesitation, he drew the Effigial Blade of Mercy, splitting it into two hands with a sharp jerk and a twist.

Then he registered the screaming, his eyes swiveling until his gaze came to fitful rest upon the writhing Messengers. His frown deepened, his heartbeat sped, his fear grew and a realization struck him in the same instant that the Messengers began to swell and grow. [i]‘It was the blood’[/i] he thought, [i]‘…just a little disturbed the Dream, called things…empowered us on occasion…twisted Torquil’s form. This much had twisted the Dream’s occupants themselves, though mercifully few of them.

The power that had touched them here—it seemed—[i]must[/i] have been the wretched touch of the Golden Bastard. He recalled them; the Runes he’d noticed adorning the case of False Pale Blood they’d pilfered. The Sun Rune had been among them. [i]Ego’s Rune.[/i] So as the Messengers rapidly changed—his weapons already drawn—Farren did two things nearly in the same moment.

He quickstepped—not to retreat, but to attack—working to cross the distance between himself and the Twisted Messengers, and he called out in a roar that was half a call to arms and half a battlecry of sorts.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“Moonborn!”[/b][/color]

Both creatures finished their transformation before Farren reached them, and one raised its finger as he watched—almost in slow motion—and some fell power gathered there…then fired. Farren’s left foot shifted trajectory, he began to twist, and then he slammed the foot down in a push to the right, attempting to enter a second quickstep to interrupt the first and circumvent the attack or at least take the hit somewhere less vital. Either way, he’d likely bull forward, quickstepping again if necessary to maintain sufficient speed not just to reach the Twisted Messengers, but to pass behind them in a blur.