[color=#007FFF][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    reached down to touch the chalice with the others, then—

He fell.

Endless Black, like the half remembered dream at the inception of his new self upon that clinic sickbed.

Unmoored.

Plummeting fast. Fast. Faster.

Sickeningly swift.

As if pulled by an unseen force through space, through distances he could not conceptualize, let alone count.

His mind wheeled upon itself, an intense gut-deep unease growing.

They passed something, a flash of substance, impossible to identify, there and then gone in less than an instant.

Then—

His feet touched uneven stone, Farren stumbled, reached out, gripped bare stone to steady himself. His gorge rose as the depth and breadth of that not-movement slammed through his entire body all at once, like he’d not had a vessel until just then.

He tasted bile, but clamped his teeth down and swallowed. Hard. Eyes too wide for an instant, Farren shuddered, gagged, then swallowed a second time.

A sharp exhale. He wet his lips, the unease began to fade, the nausea followed, overtook it, then was gone even more swiftly.

Farren shuddered, full body, visible, then shook himself and forced himself to pay attention.

A long hall of stone.

Bloodied bodies. Fresh.

Bare skeletons, garbed in torn and ruined garments, older, half buried in the detritus of strewn gorey ruin.

[color=#007FFF][b]“Inviting,”[/b][/color] he muttered sarcastically, feeling the urge to retch once more for a moment before he forced it down and straightened, his hand leaving the wall.

When Ophelia spoke, mentioning their Caryll Runes, Farren lightly brushed her shoulder with his fingertips and nodded once, [color=#007FFF][b]“Metamorphosis,”[/b][/color] he offered in his usual gruff manner, offering the back of his hand.

He didn’t flinch.

When it was done and a surge of vigorous energy finished suffusing through him, Farren knelt and quietly called upon the Messengers.

No longer burdened by the case of stolen blood, he requested his other armaments: The Beastflayer and Piercing Rifle. Thanking the helpers with a brief nod as was his way, Farren rearranged his gear and affixed the two weapons to his back as before so that he could swiftly draw them if needed–the firearm he made sure to load with quicksilver before stowing it away.

As Farren rose to his feet he drew first his Blunderbuss and then his Hunter’s Pistol, loading both, before replacing them to their hooks at his belt.

Satisfied, Farren drew the True Blade of Mercy in one hand and then followed Ophelia once Torquil had recovered, keeping his senses peeled for any telltale signs of threat or interest.