[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		     saw the confusion in Torquil’s eyes at Ophelia’s initial explanation. Truthfully, he understood that to a degree, all of this was rather arcane…and he could hardly blame anyone for not following. He had a feeling that had he not had the background he did–though mostly forgotten–that he’d struggle far more in understanding almost everything that left Ophelia’s lips. Nodding slightly, Farren outstretched his hand to Ophelia, holding it in place even as her attention was pulled to the Shopkeeper and his Doll. Farren’s head tilted slightly at the display that ensued, but was grateful that Ophelia seemed the forgiving sort. Even if this Shopkeep had willingly submitted, it was better to have someone like them on their side, rather than holding even a hint of lingering resentment. As things concluded he braced himself then felt the sudden hot bite of the brand upon his flesh–despite the fact that at no point had he seen the woman heat it.

Oddly, he noticed, that while typically pain might cloud his mind, this pain brought a sort of clarity with it, and the burn was not so much one in his flesh. It felt like a sear in his head, causing his other hand to snap upwards and clutch at his temples, almost clawing at his own skin before the sensation rapidly began to fade. As it faded though, the clarity became more intense and it felt as if some unseen skein were shifted away from his eyes. Farren blinked and shook his head. By the time he’d began to adjust, the Doll was explaining the offerings the strange Hunter had bequeathed unto them.

Farren gritted his teeth slightly, not in response to any of the man’s boons, but rather on account of the lingering memory of searing pain. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Damn that’s unpleasant,”[/b][/color] the azure eyed hunter muttered under his breath, giving Ophelia a nod nonetheless. He reckoned that the Rune would benefit him, maybe even serve the group as well, but gaining it was patently agonizing, if mercifully brief.

Still rubbing his head with the base of one palm, Farren approached the pouches and the offered bell–quickly fastening the former to his right hip before gratefully accepting the latter from the Shopkeep. He gave the man a respectful nod, for while Farren knew little of the Night of the Blood Moon, he knew enough from the mutterings of others that whispered through his mind that it was a significant thing, one worthy of great gratitude and esteem.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“Appreciate the tools and…your hospitality,”[/b][/color] Farren managed, though the words felt awkward, sounding a bit gruff, as they slipped from his lips.