[h3]Back room, Hunter's Clinic, somewhere in Yharnam[/h3]
Though Torquil followed Ophelia with his eyes at first, he averted his gaze uncomfortably the moment she returned after putting on gloves and went to examine the corpse's eyes. He winced, trying to hold back the bile he felt rising up his throat... and was surprised to find that as the nausea passed, it left him feeling strangely hungry.

Puzzled by this but lacking the desire to try to explore this sensation, Torquil instead decided to distract himself by following the two others' example and getting a weapon from the barrels. Looking at them, his first inclination was to grab a longsword; those were the weapons of knights, after all, and knights were respected and admired. Knights rode in parades and participated in tournaments to the cheering adoration of the crowds. Torquil liked the idea of himself as a knight in shining armor, valiantly rushing to the rescue of the innocent, slaying evil beasts and being showered in praise and gifts. A sword was a nice symbol. He liked that symbol.
Even just picking up the sword felt weird, though. He tried holding it with one and two hands, trying switching the positions of his hands, adjusted his grip this way and that... but no matter how he tried, wielding a sword like this felt [I]wrong[/I]. It felt much too light, fragile and tiny in his big, rough hands. Even giving it a couple of experimental swings sent shudders of bizarre wrongness up his spine, prompting him to quickly toss it back into the barrel it had come from.
He hesitated. The spear, maybe? That was also a sort of knightly weapon, right? But even as he started reaching out for a spear, he felt his eyes being drawn to the jutting wooden handle of one of the axes right next to it. He paused, staring at the axe-handle. At its curvature and heft. Even just looking at it, he instinctively knew exactly how it would feel in his hands; the comfortable weight and balance, the grain of the wood against his calloused skin. He knew how it would feel to swing it, what movements to make to generate the greatest possible amount of force and strike precisely.
Torquil took the axe, held it, and instantly felt as though he had come home. A knight's weapon or not, an axe was the weapon for him.

Somewhere in the far distance, in the direction of the back wall of the room they were currently in, a long, shrill, inhuman wail cut through the relative silence of the night. It was a sound that would be vaguely familiar to Ophelia in particular, who had lived in Yharnam for most of her life; a sound produced not by just any beast, but one of the most dangerous and terrible ones in existence. She would have never seen one herself, but stories of these frenzied behemoths were common, especially in the years after the Night of the Blood Moon. The sound seemed to agitate the Messengers in the room somewhat, but they calmed back down as soon as it ceased.

Listening at the door, Farren found the other side to be mostly silent... though as the echoes of the bestial shriek slowly faded, he could faintly hear the voices of several men. Agitated voices... that were coming closer.