yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

unfortunately found himself caught in the outer expanse of the electrical conflagration as it slashed through the air in every direction like violent actinic roots branching at strange and arcane angles. In the instant before he was struck, Farren had three thoughts, first that Gerlinde and Torquil hadn’t retreated, second being a simple set of expletives, and third being that the sight was a form of violent beauty that he knew he’d never bore witness to in his prior life.

A strange sense of appreciation thus washed through him in the instant right before roots of searing voltaic pain cascaded through his flesh. Farren’s muscles, eyelids included, twitched and spasmed, but he managed not to allow that to entirely throw him off, landing with more grace than one might expect given when he’d endured. Farren slid to a halt some 4 meters from the Darkbeast, jaw tight, pupils blown wide even as his eyes almost bulged from how wide he was holding them. A beat passed, and then he managed to extract a blood vial, stab it into his leg, and depress it with a pained hiss. “Agh…” he snarled out as his regeneration kicked back into action, going from a sluggish pace to a rapid reinvigoration of his earthly vessel.

The vial returned to his pouch as he pressed forwards, inhaling sharply before he began to pick up speed until he was fully running at the Darkbeast. “Ragged bastard,” Farren growled out just before reaching it, then he was next to its head. Without hesitation, his flesh renewed by then, Farren stabbed the twin unified Blades of Mercy into its eye sockets and then wrenched out the Blades. Yet, a jerk of his wrists during the motion allowed him to deliberately split his Blades, leaving one Effigial Blade and one True Blade of Mercy embedded in the creature’s head, while he withdrew their twins.

With a wrath that might have surprised even him if he’d had any mind to reflect in that moment, Farren then began to lay blow after blow upon the monster’s neck, slicing away flesh and fur as he repeatedly scoured and split away at its vertebrae once more. Finally…he’d found an outlet for the rage that had bubbled in his gut ever since the violation of the Garden.

Finally he had prey.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

took it all in–Torquil’s heavy strike, Gerlinde’s lashing of the beast, and finally Ophelia’s attack on its hindleg. As it collapsed, Farren was perhaps a paltry two meters from its form, and so took the chance to lunge at it. Drawing the True Blades of Mercy as he did so, Farren slid the Effigial Blade and True Blade each into one of the beast’s vertebrae and then cleaved with all his might, levering them as far apart as he slashed while pulling the blades from its form. However, he felt the crackle of voltaic energy build and noticed the actinic light that sparked across its form growing in intensity. So, as he withdrew the blades in a savage motion, Farren pushed backwards in a twisting jump that covered perhaps two meters of ground, where he’d land in a half-turned position. This, in turn, allowed the azure-eyed hunter to immediately break into a sprint, quickly adding an additional 4 meters between the Darkbeast and himself before he slid an additional meter as he pivoted at the last moment, letting him come to face the creature with his eyes half lidded against the lightning’s glare.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

for once, had taken a particularly high risk gamble, and it hadn’t paid off…at least not in the way that he’d have liked. Instead, the Darkbeast’s gnarled bony, lightning wreathed claws slammed down into his shoulder. He felt his arm, some of his ribs, creak and then fracture violently beneath the pressure even as the creature slammed him into the ground so fast that he would have gotten a mouthful of silt had his mouth not been closed.

The pain actually had only just began to hit him before suddenly the world went from grey silt and gnarled bone and matted fur to stark white and whirling. He was moving and something between numbness and unbearable heat had snaked through his veins and flesh in a searing instant. He hadn’t been looking in the claw’s direction when the voltaic eruption had occurred so those went unscathed, but his eardrums had ruptured and so the world was eerily quiet.

Farren felt himself—almost in a detached manner—strike a surface and slide a bit before stopping. His flesh began to knit better even as pain assaulted his senses, burns and painfully severe pins and needles coursed through his entire body. Sound went from absent, to distant, to dull, until after a few moments his hearing returned first to ‘normal’ and then to the enhanced state that he’d begun to really get accustomed to. Only as he pushed off the ground and into a half crouch, with one knee pressed to the silt-covered ground. Farren clenched his white-knuckled fingers on the shaft of Fulmen—which he’d managed to keep hold of—registering the sound he’d heard from it as it had struck the creature’s forearm. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then his gaze snapped back to the beast. Farren let the mechanism close back around the core of the hammer and sized the monster up. He noted Gerlinde’s inflamed cane and nodded, his mind whirring over what might be points of vulnerability for a creature like this. It hadn’t even hesitated when he’d struck it with the hammer…and it was fast.

Making a snap decision, Farren swung Fulmen back over his shoulder and secured it in place even as he drew the True Blade of Mercy as his right arm finished practically reknitting itself together. Once Fulmen was no longer taking up a hand he forced his shoulder joint back into the correct position with a slight wince before he pushed fully to his feet. With Ophelia closer to the beast now, Torquil and Gerlinde approaching it from different directions, Farren decided to try and keep its attention. Holding the Effigial Blade in his right hand, Farren shoved the quicksilver bullet he’d extracted earlier and reloaded the Blunderbuss as he pushed into a run to cover the 5 meters between himself and the beast.

Running in from the darkbeast’s left side, his left arm down by his hip, hovering between the stock of his blunderbuss and the hilt of the Effigial Blade. Rather than aim to attack immediately, Farren watched the beast closely as he quickly approached, looking to capitalize on however it decided to respond to the hunters bearing down upon it.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched intently, keeping the chosen positions of his comrades in mind as he made a point of memorizing the layout–and singular obstacle–of the space. He made some rough intuitive measurements of the space in his head–nothing truly mathematical in precision, but nonetheless useful–and allowed that impression of the spatial dimensions of the alcove imprint itself in his mind. When the chain stopped moving for a time, Farren’s blue eyes narrowed and he lifted one foot from the ground, bending the knee and putting that foot flat against the wall behind him. He didn’t push off it though, instead, he waited quietly alongside the others.

Then the chain moved, all at once, and the sound of something sharp scrabbling or scraping against a surface out of sight reached his ears, followed immediately by a desiccated tangle of long fur, stringy rotten flesh, and white-grey bones hurtling through the air before it slammed down into the center of the alcove.

Farren tensed, then took a single breath even as it snarled viciously in his direction, letting some of that tension ease away despite the obvious threat. His brow half-furrowed, Farren regarded the Darkbeast with a piercing intensity that belied the sinking feeling in his gut, the slowly growing hunger in his stomach, and the tightly leashed fear at the back of his mind.

Several beads of sweat broke out on his countenance, but they were barely notable. Farren regarded the thing as it too sized him up, then he noticed it shifting slightly, not approaching, not tensing–for it barely had any flesh–but perhaps winding up.

Then it moved.

Farren’s hand had already slid down from the hilt of the Effigial Blade to the stock of his blunderbus. Thus, in the moment as it wound up and just barely initiated its swing, the Azure-eyed hunter swung the firearm up and let loose a shot, the sound reverberating off the walls of the alcove. At the same time, his other hand had taken a firmer grip on Fulmen and so at almost the same time as he fired, Farren pushed off the wall with one foot, entering something of a dash. As his first foot came down during the maneuver, Farren had already recovered from the kickback of the gun and hooked it back at his hip. He palmed a silver bullet once that was done, but noticed immediately that the creature’s swing had continued.

Like back at the clinic, things almost seemed to slow down, as if so he could really take in everything going on at once. Farren himself didn’t slow though, instead he leaned into his Hunter’s instincts and quickstepped, first covering 4 meters. As he crossed that space, Farren’s sudden movement dragged the hefty hammer in his right hand somewhat back. He started a swing partway through the motion of his forwards charge. As he came out of the first, he performed a second and as he exited that, Farren’s swing had come into full force. His feet planted, hips twisting to add torque, as he swing as hard as he could so the hammer would hit midway up the forearm of the attacking Darkbeast.

Before Fulmen struck, Farren activated its mechanism, causing the cube to split at its seams and expand, partially exposing the mechanism–though hitting it would have required precision that the Darkbeast wouldn’t have in the moment. What he wondered was if perhaps he could sap some of the energy using the internal part of the coil as he struck the lightning wreathed monstrosity.

He’d know in a moment…and if his strike wasn’t firm enough, he’d also know what it felt like to be sent hurtling across the alcove as the Darkbeast’s arm connected with his body.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded idly in response to Gerlinde’s words, then shifted his gaze as Ophelia indicated the slackening of the chain. His eyes narrowed briefly, then he nodded once more, “I’d agree, but there’s not much in the way of options as concealment goes,” Farren offered, glancing around to ensure that he hadn’t missed something. Truthfully…they could use the withered beast’s body as cover, but he had no intention of doing so. Despite its seemingly docile nature, there was no telling if that could change at a moment’s notice.

"Well, we can't really hide, per se, but enough of us can be out of view that we can make a passable ambush... At least take out the glowing ones, or disadvantage them all terribly by being closer than they expected?" Ophelia offered in return.

Farren wet his lips briefly, his piercing gaze moving to the pitiful withered beast once more. “I suppose some of us could use the...creature to obscure their view, or step past the barrier and hide just beyond the arch to either side. I think I'll stay in view, if it's all the same to you,” he said, offering some options. It wasn't fear that had him implicitly refusing to use the beast as cover, but rather a mixture of subtle paranoia and a longstanding habitual wariness. With that established, Farren decided to position himself along the leftmost wall from his prior position. Before he reached the wall he slipped Fulmen from his back, leaning it against his shoulder before he turned his back to the wall, levered the experimental hammer in front of him, and then promptly leaned against the wall as Fulmen swung down from his right side like a pendulum. As it neared a vertical position, Farren slowed its swing and then pressed the end of the hammer against the silt-covered earth, letting one palm keep a grasp on the weapon, while his left hand fell to the grip of the Effigial Blades of Mercy at his left hip.

Then, keeping his senses honed, Farren followed the chain's path, watching it gradually slacken while the others positioned themselves.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

had expected it to cede to his ‘touch’ as it had for the two women, but still it made his brows rise quickly as his hand passed and then waved through the wall. Or, rather, he supposed it wasn’t a wall at all, but just a visual illusion conjured by some unknown power. He felt nothing even moving his hand through it, only open air, and so after a moment he nodded to Torquil after Gerlinde and Ophelia had passed through and he’d heard them speak on the other side. “Seems safe enough,” he commented simply–his blue eyes on the other man–then he turned from Torquil and pressed through the illusory barrier, entering the alcove beyond.

His eyes began to scan, but as soon as he saw the withered beast, a hand went to the hilt of one pair of unified blades, the one on at his right hip. However, as he watched, Ophelia–then Gerlinde–approached it, and the thing barely reacted except to release a frankly pitiful sound as Ophelia attempted to address it. His blood calmed and his brief anxiety–channeled into caution–faded and then sputtered out, becoming only practiced wariness.

Farren’s fingers relaxed on the hilt, but he didn’t release it as he walked forth. Whatever was happening here, the creature appeared thoroughly immobilized, and honestly rather pitiful. In fact, oddly, Farren almost felt bad for the thing. Almost. The fact that, if it were free, it could likely tear them limb from limb with surprising ferocity despite its withered state kept him from feeling entirely sympathetic towards the strange emaciated thing.

Glancing about, Farren took in the massive chains that stretched from its form and the stakes that kept it in place. Yet…somehow it seemed less that the stakes or chains kept it there, and rather something else. He didn’t know why he thought that however, but given Ophelia’s words, it seemed his intuition–or was it insight–wasn’t entirely unfounded.

Looking past the pitiful beast, Farren took in the guardhouse, its impressive gate, and the strange barrier of fog that had formed in the small opening between the slightly parted doors. His brows furrowed for a long moment as he fixated upon that point, eventually coming to a stop to the left side of the beast (from Farren’s perspective), though he gave it a wide berth of roughly 3 meters. He knew that if it were suddenly able to move…and perhaps pushed to aggression–for a force could likely compel it so if it so desired–that he’d still likely be within its reach. Equally though, he would be close enough that dodging either away or closer would put him out of harm’s way quite easily.

If anyone noticed, they might appreciate the precision with which Farren’s instincts–and experience, remembered and otherwise–allowed him to tactically position himself in space.

“I’d definitely be prudent to know what else this creature is…powering, I agree,” he concurred, though his eyes didn’t shift from the fog gate. “More pressingly…Gerlinde, have you ever seen anything like that fog before?” As he asked the question, Farren gestured at the fog gate before lowering his left arm.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched the exchange with some amusement, particularly when Ophelia couldn’t seem to come up with an adequate nickname for Gerlinde. After only the briefest consideration, Farren shrugged slightly as he glanced at Gerlinde. “Lin, perhaps,” he offered, his head tilting slightly as he watched the huntresses threaded cane pass through the apparently solid wall. “Some kind of illusion?” He pondered aloud, before walking up and moving his hand to a place near the threaded cane and slowly moving his hand as he applied slight ‘pressure’ attempting to ‘push through’ the solid stone experimentally.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded, acknowledging which of their enemies to prioritize when they inevitably showed themselves. As they walked–once she’d gotten his attention–Farren assisted Ophelia with the particulars of her weapon, advising her on its use and having her practice loading and unloading the Evelyn several times until she could do it fairly smoothly. Once satisfied he made sure she understood roughly how much recoil the weapon would have, how best to hold it, and the specifics of aiming and the like, he nodded and moved away to give her a bit more space–though he stayed close to the group as a whole.

For the most part he tried to tune out the talk of the supposed ‘Amygdala’ because it aligned too closely with the sense of being watched that kept pricking at his neck. Despite the discomfort, Farren controlled his breathing and reminded himself that he was well equipped to deal with such things, and that Ophelia had the brand if he needed to see them in order to fight. When eventually Ophelia pointed out a seemingly normal portion of the wall, Farren just glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem at all special to him, but he was beginning to understand that in their world, not all was always as it seemed.

So he glanced to Gerlinde for confirmation, “Look any different to you?” He asked, nodding his head towards the section of wall Ophelia had indicated.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

shifted between states, a process which had began to be familiar, and ‘came to’ along with the others outside the massive walls of Yahar’gul. It was quite the sight, he had to admit. However, he made sure to not fixate on the imposing structure, his gaze roving about briefly to take in the rest of the wasteland around them…and the distant landmarks of Yharnam proper. He frowned slightly for a moment, then shook his head, glad they hadn’t had to walk here…not wanting to know if anything hid in the wasteland between here and Yharnam…waiting to pounce. Directing his gaze back to the Hidden Village and its imposing barrier, he remained quiet while the two ladies spoke.

Only when they’d both finished did he find himself muttering something mostly to himself, “The wall’s bigger…” he murmured, his eyes narrowing somewhat to form his more familiar glower.

As his gaze shifted slowly over the black stone he felt something almost… scratch at the back of his mind when his gaze moved over certain areas. Given what Ophelia and Gerlinde had said, he had to wonder if he might be almost sensing whatever these ‘Amygdala’ were. He recalled Moira referring to them as some sort of Great One. Farren shivered slightly and averted his gaze from those spots, not wanting to think about it too hard for the moment.

Farren’s gaze shifted back to the group, though he kept his ears peeled in case anything tried to approach. He doubted it’d be able to move silently–not that there was anywhere for much of anything to hide in this place. “Well, either of you been here before?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Echoes of Gold

---

Both Gerlinde and Torquil reacted when Ophelia called attention to Farren's fitful meditation, with Torquil immediately donning an expression of worry and concern while Gerlinde's eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile broadened into a grin. Torquil - having no idea how to help or if such a thing was even possible - opted to just stay out of the way for the moment, whereas Gerlinde rushed to him alongside Ophelia.

"Well now," Gerlinde chuckled, glancing at the unfamiliar rune appearing in the projection case, "that's unusual."

"Shopkeeper, do you have any idea?" Ophelia called out, as loudly as she thought was necessary for them to hear, as she continued to observe the rune with morbid curiosity. Her gaze flitted between Farren, the projection case, and Gerlinde.

"You've the Dream rune right now, did you see anything at all?" She asked Gerlinde.

Farren's gaze shifted as well, moving to Gerlinde's visage, curious if she had been able to pick up on anything in particular. There was a look of focus in his gaze as he continued to hold the Rune in focus within the Projection Case.

"I saw him spasming, which I assume you saw you," Gerlinde shrugged. "Nothing else."
Meanwhile the doll and the Shopkeeper started making their way down the stairs toward the rest through the rain and wind.
"We sensed a faint disturbance in the Dream, good Hunter," the doll informed them, "but nothing else. We are not certain what, if anything, occurred."

Farren looked thoughtful for a moment, but before he could say anything further, a small group of Messengers emerged from the ground just right of his leg and hoisted up a scroll, unfurling it for him to read.

He turned his azure gaze to the parchment and--though slower than the others might have--began to read through its contents.

Sun Rune

---

Since ancient times, gold has been a symbol of purity, wealth and immortality; the human ideals. So it is that the last king of Isz was ascended as Ego the Golden One, Lord of Providence, and kin to the Great Ones.

Those who bear this mark on their mind can unlock the true power of Ego's Gold weapons, enhancing them with cleansing fire that burns away bloodwraiths.

"Hello Farren. Do you think your little friends are secret from me? Enjoy my rune."

Messenger Scroll

As he finished reading, his eyes grew wide and a spike of unease made him shift away from the Messengers even as he grew tense. Nervously, he wet his lips, “Well...that's...disconcerting,” he said, and though his voice wasn't shaky in the least, there was a quiet fear in his eyes before he managed to recapture his wits.

Ophelia read the scroll voraciously, her eyes widening in some mixture of dread and awe. She blinked, and then again, and then again. She inhaled through her nose shakily, and motioned with her head for the doll and Shopkeeper to read it.

"... Lost Isz had a king. A man who became a Great One, or at least kin to them... Possessed of such knowledge it can only be communicated as a rune, but... Gold. Ego. A portion of themselves divested... Mother Moon above..." she babbled, the words spilling from her mouth without her really even thinking about it as she struggled to process what was going on.

"Isz was a long time ago," Gerlinde pointed out, still smiling and seemingly completely unworried by everything that had happened. "Before Pthumeru, even. I've barely even heard mention of the name and don't really know anything about it besides that. Haven't heard of this 'Ego' either."

"I am afraid we are not familiar with this Golden One either, and know very little of Isz," the doll reported as the Shopkeeper leaned in to presumably take a closer look at the note. "But this is troubling indeed. We sense that the little ones are correct and that this creature is a Kin Great One, powerful enough to leave such a mark on the Nightmare that the little ones were compelled to convey its message... but it is unusual. Great Ones normally lose the ability to communicate as mortals do."

"Perhaps Ego has a doll, too. That's what's happening with you two, isn't it?" Ophelia replied, before crouching to get a better look at Farren. She squeezed his shoulder again and gave him a plaintive and worried look, as though urging him to tell her that he was okay.

"Ah, you misunderstand, good Hunter," the doll started explaining with an apologetic bow of her head. "I do not belong to the Shopkeeper, I belong to the Hunter's Dream. I serve you as much as I serve them."

Farren raised his empty left hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, glad to feel nothing there. He shook his head slightly and met Ophelia's gaze before reaching out, for once desiring a steadying hand to get up. Once on his feet, Farren would offer her the tool he'd borrowed. “'M alright, just...well, didn't expect that,” though truthfully he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He could tell that this 'little revelation' was actually far more meaningful than he'd have considered...so perhaps he ought to tell them what he could recall.

“I...after we returned from the Garden and...whatever influence was there, its serenity left me and...well, I could feel it.” He shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a slight headache building. “I hadn't noticed it before, but...there's a small thread of that thing's influence nestled in my skull. It wasn't the Garden...or anything else, it's been there since I woke in the clinic, I just hadn't noticed.”

He wanted to say more, but he paused there, shaking himself slightly, “Let's go inside...I hadn't really felt it before, but the rain's grating on my nerves.” That said he nodded toward the cottage atop the small hill and then led the way.

"Ah, I wasn't being so literal, love. Ego could have something like yourself, a translator... And the Shopkeeper is no mere mortal, but perhaps not a Great One, yes? Something betwixt; perhaps like Ego, albeit on a lesser scale? After Yahar'gul, we must go to the Old Labyrinth. To find the ruins of Isz, to get... something. Anything. Not knowing is the worst option, even if that influence taints us--Farren's already got the taint. We should try to avoid the grace of gold ourselves, of course, but... If we do not know, we are truly at their mercy. The Sun only blinds and burns, reveals too much. It is only moonlight that reveals just enough, that blurs the boundaries so we might know peace. But... yes, let's." Ophelia replied, helping Farren get up if he needed it before following. She hadn't even noticed the wind or the rain, as though her mind had stepped beyond the bounds of her body--but when Farren mentioned it, she felt it all at once and shivered.

"I translate into human speech, good Hunter, but I could never shape the Nightmare so that the little ones would find my words when seeking information about something," the doll explained as she, the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde all started walking along with everyone toward the workshop. Torquil had pretty much bolted ahead of everyone to get inside, quite frustrated not only with being wet, but with the incessant sound of rain hitting his metal armor.

"There is no doubt in our minds that those words were from a Great One, not an interpreter," the doll continued.

"I'm not sure why you think there are ruins of Isz in the Old Labyrinth," Gerlinde remarked, "but I haven't found any yet, and I've spent a fair bit of time in there already. I'm not sure just heading in there and hoping we stumble upon the right place is a good idea. The Old Labyrinth is huge!"

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, then, as they entered the cottage, he moved to the left side of the fireplace and took a seat to take advantage of the warmth. “I don't figure going there will do us much good either...just a hunch though,” Farren offered.

“That aside...I'm beginning to think that this 'Ego' or at least its blasted influence is why my past self submitted to Blood Ministration. When I focused on the feeling...the strange thread of Gold I can see if I really focus...well, I could tell it could see me too. More than that though...I felt it. Not just on my skin or in my mind...it was like it was in my body, coiled about my spine...strangling my heart,” an intense, full body shudder cut off his words there and he didn't start back up, shivering faintly--but not from the cold.

Gerlinde's eyes widened eagerly. "Should we open you up and check?"

"We haven't the instruments to detect the influences within him here... Maybe when we go to Byrgenwerth? Ego must be what's influencing Harold, if you saw a golden tentacle there observe us... And that must be what the message means. Paleblood... it's like the Dream, and the Great One it belongs to, marking us as its own. Whatever happened to Farren before... he must have been marked by Ego, no? If Ego was a king, once, does... he perhaps think Farren is his subject? His by divine right? Ah, but I always look to the distance when what we need, what we really need, is to see what's right in front of us. After we get some blood echoes and enhance ourselves we'll be in a better position. Gerlinde and I must achieve heights of the Arcane most mortals are incapable of--the only plan I sense any surety in is the one in which we gain insight." Ophelia mused, before requesting the runebrand from Farren so she could reapply the Guidance rune to herself. Once that was done, she posed the question to the Holy Moonlight Sword: What do you know of Ego? Of Gold?

"Ego is the shepherd," the whispers replied. "The one tasked with guiding humanity when they discover the Old Blood, and the one tasked with taking the Old Blood back if they prove unworthy. It slept in the Old Labyrinth until recently, when it was awoken by the slaying of Great Ones."

"Mother Moon whispers to me, loves, listen close: Ego is the shepherd. The one tasked with guiding humanity when we discover the Old Blood, and the one tasked with taking the Old Blood back if we prove unworthy. Until recently it slept in the Old Labyrinth, but the slaying of Great Ones reawakened it." Ophelia recalled, speaking to everyone but specifically looking at the Doll and the Shopkeeper.

"Truly? Then it is unusually involved for a Great One," the doll mused, looking nervously to Farren. "We already knew that several slumbering Great Ones had awoken, but they rarely interact with humanity directly. It does make sense, though; the Great Ones are sympathetic in spirit, but their idea of what is helpful can vary greatly. It sounds as though Ego, too, desires to aid humanity in achieving evolution... or protect humanity from it if it is allowed to run amok."

Still not entirely used to Gerlinde's madness, Farren gave her a wary look when she mentioned 'opening him up,' but oddly he wasn't worried. If she had intended to do it, she likely would not have been asking so he didn't bother justifying her question with a response. Ophelia handled it well enough anyways. When she recited what the Moonlight Greatsword told her--something he still found strange...moreso after the Memory of Skinner--Farren frowned slightly. He rubbed his hands together before him, warming them by the fire.

The Doll's words didn't buoy him at all either, in fact the idea that their sympathy could take any form due to the inscrutable nature of the Great Ones just unsettled him further. Still, Farren shook his head slightly and tried to dismiss those thoughts. “Whatever foothold it has in me...it seems weaker after I harnessed its Rune,” Farren said, “...but despite that I think we either keep me from markers of its touch or...only allow me to investigate such things so that the rest of you can avoid falling beneath its purview. Perhaps...perhaps that way one of you might find a way to free me from its sway if things come to that.”

"I... don't know how to feel about this Ego, truth be told. If they are a shepherd, their intentions for us and our evolution might be benign and gracious; it isn't until we know what the shape of that evolution is that we can make that judgement. The sympathy of the Great Ones, as the Doll says, is often in a form that we struggle to connect to its true intention."

Gerlinde just stood there for a little while smiling at Farren, only to eventually look away once she determined that they were not, in fact, going to open up Farren. For a moment she pouted a bit, disappointed that she would not get to explore this mystery at the moment, but she quickly bounced back and brightened into a new smile.
"Well, I say we don't need a shepherd," she chirped. "Good intentions or not, I don't want some god wiping me from the face of the Earth because it's deemed us 'unworthy' of the Old Blood."

"The problem is, love, slaying Great Ones is both extremely difficult and terrible for reality itself. I have no doubt we could do it, immortal as we are, but the path of least resistance might be wisest. I certainly won't be letting some golden god destroy me... but on the face of it, it does seem like we have some of the same goals: evolution, transcendence, knowledge. You and I stand above regular mortals, though, Gerlinde--marked by Nightmare as we are, and not by the meddling of mortals. Well... I think, at least--you were born with Paleblood too, weren't you? I do not think what Ego wants for us is necessarily benign, at all, and I don't take kindly to the implicit threat... but we must take every advantage, mustn't we?" Ophelia countered, giving Farren a knowing look at her last statement.

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, though the gesture was somewhat subdued as he stared into the dancing flame of the hearth. His ears almost pricked up when Ophelia spoke those central words and he couldn't help but smile and while it was nothing like the dreamy-eyed serenity of the Lumenflower Garden, it was an honest thing with a note of satisfaction to it. “Stole the words right from under me,” Farren replied with a brief chuckle. He'd gotten his bearings once more and the strange experience he'd willingly leaned into now left him feeling somehow more himself.

“Since we've all traded Runes, knowledge, and hashed out the rough beginnings of a plan, I think the time for talking alone is done,” he said, his easy confidence coming back to him now that he'd recovered. Knowing they'd leave soon if the others agreed, Farren pushed himself to his feet and almost began brushing himself off, only to stop before disturbing his drenched clothes. It wouldn't do any good...and he'd be dry as soon as they returned to the Waking World. Taking account of his armaments, Farren noted each of his weapons and tools and even briefly shut his eyes to allow himself to 'feel' the strange imprint of the Heir Rune upon his mind. He felt far more grounded and prepared than he had before their meeting with the Vicar...though likely not at all because of any of the nice old man's actions.

Shuffling in through the door, trailing behind as usual, Torquil belatedly asked: "Hey, uh... should we go get the weapon Moira mentioned before going somewhere scary like that? Because that Harhar-place sounds kinda scary."

Farren glanced to the man and smiled, the look somewhere between mischief and cunning. “From the Black Church Workshop? I went and got it already. The Messengers are holding it for now,” he explained, “Why, did you want a look?”

Torquil shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know. I'm probably better off with just the axe."

Gerlinde's eyes widened with renewed interest. "What weapon are you talking about?"

Farren nodded, nearly disappointed, but as Gerlinde showed clear interest, his grin grew slightly. Kneeling down, Farren held his hand near the floor, murmuring a request as he'd taken to doing, beseeching the Messenger's retrieve Fulmen. After a brief moment, they rose, the handle slipping up from between them as they shifted it from wherever they kept it in the nightmare, bringing it back to him. Farren's azure eyes lit upon it and he grasped it firmly with both hands and stood, lifting it just above the Messengers. They retreated back into the nightmare and Farren let the great cube of the Voltaic Hammer come to rest with a thunk against the floor, his palm on the butt of its handle. “That'd be Fulmen. Builds Voltaic charge with each strike. Gets rather volatile quite fast though...liable to destroy its wielder after 10 or so hits when discharged...along with whatever is nearby. Apparently killed a Cleric Beast in a single discharge after building charge for 12 hits.”

Ophelia observed the weapon with clear interest as it was withdrawn from wherever the Messengers went to, though Farren had seen the look of true adulation and exaltation that she had when she looked upon the Holy Moonlight Sword--eerily similar to Ludwig's from the memory they'd just experienced--and it was most certainly not that... But it was a genuine sort of interest nevertheless. Perhaps more to do with how interested in it he was than interest in the weapon itself, but she gave him a warm smile nevertheless and expressed clear interest in its functionality.

"Fascinating... I think perhaps you should put it to the test in Yahar'gul, hmm? Let's really give them some data."

Farren nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he considered Ophelia's words. Then a slight smirk formed on his lips and he gave a more firm nod in confirmation, “I'll have to rearrange what I bring with me...but I think I just might.”

Ophelia turned to Gerlinde again, kindly smile still on her face, and reiterated her previous question: "Were you born with Paleblood, love? All I really know is that Farren delivered you to Byrgenwerth, and... Well, it might matter."

"Oh right, you asked about that," Gerlinde giggled. "I guess I was, yeah. Was always sort of weak and sickly before. I figure that's why Byrgenwerth wanted me in the first place; because they figured out I had Paleblood."

"Our minds and tongues move so quickly it's difficult to focus on the little things sometimes, isn't it? Yes... that makes sense. Ahh, to have another Sister 'neath Mother Moon's gaze... I'm very glad I reached out to you, Gerlinde. You're a wonder to behold, and we're enriched immensely by your presence. Now... let's go slaughter some Followers, and show them what the Glory of the cosmos truly looks like."

For his part, Farren nodded, his attention having shifted while the ladies spoke. It wasn't that he didn't care about the contents of their conversation, but rather that before they could leave he'd need to decide how to arrange his gear. It didn't take him long though, and by the time Ophelia finished speaking Farren had divested himself of the Beastflayer and Piercing Rifle (which he'd first unloaded), after which he carefully positioned something to hold Fulmen in place at his back. Farren then carefully slid the weapon into place at his back, the head of the hammer downward in something like a sling or cradle at his lower back, while the shaft extended upwards just above his shoulder. The shaft was kept in place by the tension of a hook as it tried to pull away from his body due to gravity. It was fairly secure there...and if he wanted to wield it, he could handily adjust the shaft's position out of the hook and then bring the hammer to bear in a single crushing swing.

Satisfied, Farren glanced up at the others, looking between them. If they all looked suitably ready to depart, he'd nod once and then turn towards the Headstones, intending to figure out which Lantern would be best for their excursion. While he walked, he loaded the Hunter's Pistol with a lead bullet.