[color=#007FFF][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    stopped in place, standing roughly between Ophelia and Torquil in the hall, watching as Gerlinde began her macabre feast. A surprisingly tactical choice, it had him smiling as he uttered familiar words, [color=#007FFF][b]“Take any advantage.”[/b][/color]

Farren was beginning to wonder how Madness and Intellect related and if they perhaps coincided more than he could have known. At Torquil’s actions he nodded as well, just barely catching sight of the Lake Rune in the projector as the man engraved it upon his mind. Recalling his own earlier words, it made sense to him. Why endure a foe’s strength, when you could avoid it and turn any attack into a potential opening. It was…surprisingly wise for Torquil, he silently observed, making note of how his ally had made the decision on his own, without any visible guidance.

Like each of them in their own ways, Torquil too seemed to slowly be changing.

Farren took a deep breath then, closing his eyes as he focused on [i]why[/i] they were here. He called upon the image of Amaris, slumped upon the ground; the Winter Lantern–as Ophelia had called it, the horrid thing–and what its presence in the Dream entailed; the Vicar’s words and how they’d twisted at his mind and his freedom; the seeking tendrils of the Golden Bastard, Ego, and what he would do when they stood before its twisted radiance.

Rage shifted.
Fear roiled then smoothed.
The bonds he’d forged with his companions warped and solidified and strengthened in his mind.

Farren opened his eyes and the emotions [i]cooled[/i], yet intensified all at once into something else.

His jaw set, his posture straightened and grew just the slightest bit more confident, and where before a slight sense of despair had still clouded his azure eyes, now they cleared once more.

Determination, forged and earned and reaffirmed swept through him not like a tumultuous river, but like a slow stream pooling into a placid lake.

His eyes did not shine, not as they had–though he knew naught of the phenomena–but where they had been faintly dull for a time, they were clear and pure once more. Farren turned those eyes on their surroundings a second time, then between his allies, then finally back down the hall.

He smiled. Just slightly. Then spoke.


[color=#007FFF][b]“I’ll adapt, but as before with Paarl…Gerlinde and I can take point.”[/b][/color]

A pause, a glance a third time over the corpses, new and old. Their wounds, their positioning, and the physical nature of their wounds.

[color=#007FFF][b]“I’d wager your observations well worth their weight. Whatever struck these down…mmm…a savage foe, but likely either quite swift, quite slippery, or hardy beyond belief.”[/b][/color]

Farren turned his head and spat onto the edge of the hall, [color=#007FFF][b]“Or all three, I suppose. Reckon it weren’t large as some we’ve faced, but no less deadly for its lack in size.”[/b][/color]

Farren’s gaze shifted up ahead, past his allies, [color=#007FFF][b]“Shall we?”[/b][/color]

Though his words were a question, Farren only waited a brief handful of instants before he stepped forwards and headed for the hall’s end, grudgingly curious–and wary–of what they’d find beyond within the fell corridors and rooms of the Labyrinth. He didn’t bother to look the bodies over for materials, but perhaps a few steps in he paused, stopped in place and glanced back at Ophelia–having tread only several paces past her.

[color=#007FFF][b]“Think this lot’s blood remains of any worth?”[/b][/color]

He awaited her reply, but didn’t remain idle, pulling out the extraction tool the Moonborn Hunter had granted them some hours ago as he stepped towards the nearest still-warm corpse, seeking value in its blood.