[color=#007FFF][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    relief when Ophelia’s form faded–Greatsword with it–was short lived and had he been a normal hunter…so too would he have been. In the next instant, whatever had beset Ophelia sent him tumbling, or…at least, that’s how it felt. Then he seemed to be…rolling. Profoundly disoriented, Farren didn’t even have time to realize what had happened before his consciousness faded and was reclaimed.[hr]
Farren resolved into shape in the Hunter’s Dream, not terribly long after Ophelia, but he felt oddly…disembodied, unmoored, disoriented, and…out of breath?

Farren put a hand to his chest and slowed his breathing, eyes screwed up in a frown of concentration as he tried to parse his last few memories. Only as he glanced down and saw his boots did he understand.

They were the same boots he’d seen in the corner of his slightly reddened vision before he’d been dragged back to the Dream. He shuddered, his bile rose, but Farren’s left hand covered his mouth even as he stumbled forwards and laid a hand on a tall tombstone’s zenith to steady himself. He swallowed, hard, several times, knuckles whitening, and then took another long, slow, breath.

He slowly turned, glancing at Ophelia–looking slightly nauseated–and then to their hosts. [color=#007FFF][b]“That…”[/b][/color] he began hoarsely, [color=#007FFF][b]“...was profoundly unpleasant,”[/b][/color] he said, and then as the flash of pain he’d felt at his neck seconds before the disorienting experience of his head being severed came back to him, Farren doubled over and threw up.