[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		  finished his preparations, slipping the axe into its new holster at his back once it was on. As he heard the rattling of the door and the repeated request, Farren found his eyes narrowing. Then the loud sharp sound of the butt of her spear hitting the ground forced his gaze over to her. Farren winced slightly at the volume and sharpness of the noise, but he understood her intent—at least somewhat—as he watched her travel to the door and slam a fist against it in reply. He couldn’t help but smirk as he heard the choice words she gave the likely church forces on the other side of the door. As an unveiled threat rolled from Ophelia’s lips, Farren found himself smirking, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He realized that one of his hands—his left—had wrapped tightly around the grip of his curved blade. His mouth was watering slightly and though he wouldn’t realize it right away, his eyes were slightly manic.

Farren gritted his teeth as he stared at the paltry barrier of wood between them and the interlopers. Some shred of empathy in him said he ought to try and protect the remaining potential hunters in the room from those outside. Another part of him said that was foolish, idiotic even…if they couldn’t defend themselves then fuck ‘em…that voice felt more familiar, more deeply ingrained. His past self perhaps? However…there were two louder voices, one sang in his mind, its voice somewhere between true music and a bestial howling. It was the loudest amongst the two voices, it sang for carnage…that was what was making his skin itch.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“Be ready,”[/b][/color] the blue-eyed hunter said, his voice low and filled with a subtle danger that almost sounded like a growl. Slowly, he drew one of his two swords, flipping it from reverse to normal grip.