[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		  stood before the barrels of weapons and the table of ministration instruments, his eyes shifting between the various implements as the other two–mostly the woman–shared words.Idly he noted that the woman had actually listened–responded even–to his suggestion. Drumming his fingers across the surface of the table, Farren took a breath and then–having no idea if they were the right decisions–snatched up a pair of curved blades. Unable to find sheaths for them–there weren’t any in the room, surprisingly–he was surprised and gladdened to find that he was at least equipped to slip them into treated leather loops which were part of harness-belt around his waist. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Huh…”[/b][/color] he exhaled, wondering if perhaps he’d wielded such weapons before. He swung one–not towards anything in particular, but in a direction that surely would not strike anything–and didn’t feel anything in particular. The weight of the weapons felt…comfortable, but there was no familiar twinge and he reckoned that perhaps he’d never trained with such a weapon. Farren shrugged and slipped each blade into the sheaths at his waist and then eyed one of the spears. It would likely suit for some range, but…it felt wrong somehow as he took a step closer to the barrel and wrapped his fingers around it. Farren shook his head and let it go. However, he did grab one of the axes, carrying it just below the blade in his left hand so he could easily ensure he didn't accidentally cut anything. He didn’t prefer them–the newborn hunter felt–but an axe was a practical tool with many uses.

Turning away from the barrels and tools, Farren cast his gaze back across the room. He noted the woman–Ophelia, if he’d heard right–digging her delicate fingers into the eye socket of what must have been a corpse. His eyes narrowed fractionally and he tilted his head, wondering whatever could possess someone to–[quote=???][i]Curiosity[/i][/quote] Farren paused, blinked, shifted his eyes to the other figure in the room–Torquil, he’d heard. Still, as he tried to banish that almost intrusive word from his mind, he found himself wondering if it had been his own internal voice, a memory, or something else entirely.

Farren frowned slightly, but the expression faded as he took in Torquil’s appearance from where he stood nearby. Nothing too strange, he supposed. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Farren,”[/b][/color] he offered to the room, his bright piercing, intense azure gaze shifting away from his fellow man as he stopped being idle and moved between cots. He gave each nascent, sleeping, Hunter a slight glance, as for the failures…he pitied them. What a shame to go through the trouble of blood ministration, to come all this way, or to take such a risk, and to die as a result. Such a rarity as well, as he understood it. As he passed one or two of said corpses, Farren dragged his fingertips down their eyelids, closing their eyes. It was the least he could do.

Then, Farren turned his gaze to the sole exit. He strode to it, placed a hand on the wood and turned his ear towards it, listening. He’d heard the cry of beasts–near and far–earlier, along with the Toll of the Hunt…the great bell the church rang on such nights. Farren wondered what lay on the other side of that door, but he resolved not to find out alone. He was a Hunter now, certainly, but he had nothing but civilian tools…he frowned. That was odd.

Farren glanced down at his sheathed blades, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He felt…disdain for the weapons…but why? Had he been familiar with the tools of the Hunter’s trade? Hmm, something to consider later, he supposed.