If the Shopkeeper heard Farren's words they did not show it, but appeared to be completely focused on Skinner, who in turn kept backing up and trying to maintain distance between himself and his opponents. Rather than allow themselves to be inconvenienced by this, however, the Shopkeeper reacted by raising both arms in front of them, only for another blue flash to mark the appearance of a Bowblade, from which they immediately loosed an arrow.
Not expecting this at all, Skinner caught the arrow center-mass, right in the middle of his chest, which prompted him to let out another roar of frustration. Noting that Farren was still a few meters away, Skinner took this opportunity to quickstep closer and attack the Shopkeeper, who was seemingly using primarily mid-ranged weapons. Claws raised and bared for mauling, Skinner failed to realize that – in the brief instant it had taken him to get close to the Shopkeeper – the Bowblade had vanished and been replaced with a Stake Driver, which the Shopkeeper immediately shoved into Skinner's abdomen and released the spring-loaded mechanism, ripping another large hole in the man and sending him stumbling backward and away.
The Stake Driver disappeared as the Shopkeeper swung their right arm out behind them, only for them to grasp the handle of a Boomhammer that spawned out of another flash, which immediately came down at Skinner in another huge overhead swing. Skinner only barely had time to skitter back a regular step to get out of the way of the physical hammerhead, only for the ensuing fiery explosion to once again send him reeling.

All of this happened in a matter of just a handful of seconds, in the time it would take Farren to catch up. And by the time he even got close, he might notice that Skinner's fur had lost its electric gleam... and that the burns were healing much slower than before.

_Farren

would have been stunned at the sheer speed with which the Moonborn Hunter subdued Skinner if it had not been for what the azure-eyed hunter knew about the now-Shopkeeper’s mysterious, but infamous mythology–so to speak. While not much was stone-solid about the man, one thing that had always been clear–from the rumors, whispers, and speculation he could recall impressions of–was the figure’s exceptionally dangerous nature. The rest was all hearsay.

That said, there was nothing quite like seeing it in person. Nonetheless, Farren continued his approach, tracking where Skinner would land, and adjusting accordingly so that he’d have nearly arrived by the time the man was flat on his back, attempting to recover–his beastly regeneration slowed to a crawl that spoke of exhaustion. For his part, Farren moved into a half slide that should bring him right up beside Skinner’s left side, at which point he raised one foot and pressed it on the man’s chest between the sides of his ribcage slightly below his heart, but above the majority of his lower organs. He pressed with enough strength to brace himself, but not so much as to cause undue pain. In the same motion, he aimed the tip of his sword over the center of the murderer’s chest, the tip poised to pierce him. Meanwhile, his left hand shifted his blunderbuss’ barrel, training it–point blank–at Skinner’s abdomen, the weapon’s flared end nearly touching the man’s bare flesh.

Farren didn’t speak, just locked his eyes on Skinner’s features, keeping his senses stretched out to detect the slightest movement–even as his mind kept subconsciously checking for the telltale sensation of the Lake Rune’s minor precognizance.

Ophelia scarcely had time to blink before the Moonborn Hunter had rocketed off in search of prey--and Ophelia was stunned for a moment by seeing the sheer speed of which they were capable. When she found herself in command of her faculties again she could hear the buildup of something that sounded an awful lot like static, and a quick inhalation through her nose gave her the slightest hint of charge, almost like ozone or the smell of a work of arcane communion about to take place. She pressed herself back against the very rear of the lift, certain to avoid the switch, and not a moment later the fulgurous cascade of energy washed over the area, its cobalt-blue actinic light the only assault that managed to reach her, for the structures and mechanisms of the lift protected her from the rest.

She stepped out after that, eyes looking around for familiarity, and she found Torquil immediately. She rushed over to him, standing by his side, as she watched the Moonborn Hunter and Farren chase up on the whimpering and begging Skinner. Truly, he was a beast even to the end--prompted to fawn, and then when truly backed into a corner having given in to that base savagery she detested so. She gave Torquil a quick visual assessment to see if he was hurt, already counting five vials out from her pack as her eyes did their work. She'd hand them to him hastily and make sure he was okay before turning back to observe the carnage. If they got too far for her to see comfortably she'd follow along, keeping her distance twenty or so feet behind them if it came to that. She also prepared the little vial of quicksilver, ready to anoint the Holy Moonlight Blade and strike out against Skinner if he tried anything untoward.

“Thanks,” Torquil said awkwardly as he accepted the offered blood vials and transferred them to his own satchel, though he was rather distracted by watching the Shopkeeper dominating the Hunter that he and Farren had only barely managed to fend off with their combined efforts. Despite having been hit by Skinner's lightning-waves twice now, Torquil was surprisingly fine; lightly singed, that was all. Any actual damage he had taken had obviously regenerated immediately after taking it, but even his clothes only had faint traces of something that would suggest that he had been subjected to anything dangerous. Blocking with the Loch Shield had absorbed most of the damage he would have taken, which was a pleasant surprise.
This was also the first time Ophelia saw Torquil and Farren outside the Hunter's Dream since obtaining and memorizing the Guidance Rune, and so the first time she had a chance to notice that, even here in the Waking World, each of them had one or two little guidance sprites hovering around them. Much more noticeably, however, the Shopkeeper was surrounded by an entire swarm of them; what looked to be dozens, if not hundreds of little motes of moonlight swirling around their form.

A bit down the street Farren took up his position on top of Skinner, holding him down, threatening him and glared at him wordlessly. Skinner met his gaze with one filled with desperation, but made no attempt at breaking free or attacking.
“Why?!” he whined pathetically. “I've told – NO!”
But before Skinner or Farren could say or do anything else, the Shopkeeper stepped around and past Farren, only to raise their arms over their head. A blue flash announced the summoning of another weapon: a Kirkhammer. And with tremendous force, the massive stone-head of the hammer fell directly onto Skinner's head with a horrible wet noise.
Skinner's body tensed up for a second, a series of random spasms going through his muscles, before going limp. His left arm shrank back down to a normal size and lost its claws, and he shed not only the fur that had grown on him, but surprisingly a lot of his bulk, until his huge, muscular frame came to look thin and emaciated instead. And as the Shopkeeper dismissed their Kirkhammer with another flash of light, Farren could confirm that Skinner's head was now a messy smear on the cobblestone.

Farren has obtained the Hunger Caryll Rune. While branded onto a Hunter's mind, devouring the flesh of a living or recently deceased creature restores regenerative potential, similar to how a blood vial would have. Additionally, after devouring part of a creature you gain a small measure of its power as long as you are near it or its remains. If used in conjunction with a living weapon, this rune allows that weapon to have a second awakening that lasts for 60 seconds, at the cost of permanently erasing the last currently active benefit from an eaten creature.

_Farren

was too stunned to act as the Shopkeeper slammed down his kirkhammer, but he recovered moments after, embracing the reality he’d ended up in with surprising swiftness. “Good fucking riddance,” Farren said, before he spat on the man’s headless corpse. Taking his foot off the man, Farren holstered his blunderbuss and knelt down and picked up the roughshod Beast Claw that Skinner had once wielded. He looked the crude implement over with distaste, but ultimately he gestured towards the ground and after a moment the Messengers rose from the damaged cobblestones and took the weapon away for him as they disappeared to wherever they truly dwelled.

Despite his earlier gesture of disgust, Farren offered a silent prayer while he was on one knee and as he did it was almost like something answered him. It was like experiencing an entire hour, or perhaps a day, in the space of a single instant, without any of the benefit of time to process what occurred. In the next instant he took in a sharp breath–not quite a gasp–and his eyes snapped open as if he’d been roused forcefully from a nightmare. A sense of understanding washed through his mind, but bereft of what context had allowed him to glean it. Farren frowned, for it felt like…a warbling, like a whisper, a vibration in his mind and with it came a sort of…symbol.

Brow still furrowed, he muttered to himself, “...a Rune?” Strange, but he supposed at least this way they had not lost the opportunity to learn it from the man. Farren thought it better that Skinner–or whatever his true name had been–was gone. He’d been a menace for quite some time and the idea of his continued existence had put a sour taste upon his tongue, one that only now he felt fading. Shaking his head slightly, Farren finally pushed to his feet, giving the Moonborn Hunter a nod of respect for his swift action. The man was even more fierce than the rumors said–a rare thing indeed for rumors tended towards exaggeration.

“Any chance that trick of yours is teachable? The one with the flash of light…” the azure-eyed Hunter asked, cracking a small grin, despite the grisly scene at their feet.

Ophelia observed the solitary mote of moonlight about Torquil's person with a gentle interest, quickly remembering to hand him one of the antidotes and explaining its purpose in a perfunctory tone: "If you get ashen blood, this'll alleviate things until you can return to the Dream." With that done she began to snake over towards the grisly scene of Skinner's demise with long and loping steps. She peered over Farren to examine the carnage, and gave the Shopkeeper a graceful curtsy as she turned to look at them.

"We're grateful for your assistance, love. The tales of your might weren't exaggerated--I'm glad we could give you an opportunity to hunt once more. Though... this seemed like perhaps not much of a challenge for you!" She said, looking Farren up and down and surveying the scene around them with some interest. It seemed like much had gone on here in quite a short amount of time, and Farren seemed especially put through the ringer with the rips in his clothes and stains of blood strewn all about the scene. She nodded down at him thoughtfully, before presenting him with the five extra blood vials as well as the antidote.

"Seems we've both been busy, dear. Where's Victor?" She smiled, though it was not a particularly kindly smile like he was used to seeing from her. Her eyes seemed focused on the distance, paths that Victor could've travelled, and making assessments about what might've happened here. She still seemed full of energy, or... perhaps wrath, not yet spent on the object of her distaste.

_Farren

turned his head slightly, eyes shifting to Ophelia as she spoke, asking him her own question. Blue eyes darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly as a flash of irritation crossed his previously neutral–almost hopeful–features. As he took in Ophelia’s smile–and the coldness behind her eyes–Farren shook his head, his gaze shifting to the street the man had fled down. Yet, before replying, Farren seemed to wrestle with the reality of things, for while he may have initially condemned Victor’s actions–and they had certainly put them at a greater disadvantage–looking back at them with the benefit of experience had him reconsidering. So, rather than an outright condemnation, Farren’s reply was more measured than even he would have initially expected, “He made a…tactical retreat, likely intending to notify the First Hunter.”

As he finished the words, he caught a slight shrug from the Shopkeeper, certainly in reply to his earlier question. The reaction elicited a slightly deeper frown from the one he’d already affected, before his features relaxed and he glanced down the central street of the three way intersection. “Bastard threw my swords,” he commented idly, squinting to try and pick out the telltale glint of their distinctive metal. He didn’t much fancy traversing the space on his own, not because he was afraid, but because he wasn’t an idiot. While the noise of battle likely would have alerted any nearby beasts and drawn them in, it wasn’t entirely beyond possibility that some had remained in place preferring to ambush their prey rather than risk involving themselves in the melee. Equally possible was the fact that Skinner’s mere presence–and now that of the Moonborn Hunter–might be enough to sufficiently deter any nearby creatures of the night from assailing them.

Farren sighed, glancing back at the Shopkeeper, “No chance you could just…’summon’ the Blades of Mercy back to you, is there?” He asked, not sounding at all hopeful.

The Shopkeeper cocked their head at Farren's request, then held out their right hand and, with yet another flash of blue light, was suddenly holding the Blades of Mercy. Interestingly, while the blades had been separated into two individual knives when Farren had last used them and when Skinner threw them away, they manifested now in their combined form. They were also completely pristine, without the smallest trace of blood nor the faintest sign of wear on them despite the fierce bout of combat they had just been through.
Walking up slowly and joining everyone else, staring perturbed at the headless, still-smoking corpse that used to be Skinner, Torquil abruptly had a thought. “Oh hey, since he died we get those echo-things, right?”
But quite interestingly, though especially Farren had been extremely close to Skinner when he had been killed, neither he nor Ophelia had felt the sensation they had back at the clinic when Pallid and his minions had been killed. The notion of something invisible and weightless gathering around them from then was conspicuously absent.
Again the Shopkeeper cocked their head, then shook it in... disagreement? Simply to tell them no?

"Mm, it would seem that the Shopkeeper's assistance comes with a price indeed. That's the only thing different as best as I can tell. Ah, well, now we know. Mother Moon gleams all the brighter without cretins such as he to blemish her light, and Dietrich'll be terribly pleased. Oh, he's lovely--a consummate gentleman. Should... should we go after Victor? I'd hate for anything to happen to him. Otherwise, we could retire to the Dream so a proper conversation can be had away from prying eyes... and if so, I've an idea. I'll ask the little ones to send Gerlinde a message, ask her to meet us in the Dream. What I've discovered about the White Healing Church concerns us all, she deserves to know. What do we all think? Try and save Victor from whatever horrors lurk out here, or retire to the Dream?" Ophelia replied, the menace fading from her eyes as she mentioned Dietrich and recalled her time spent earlier. The juxtaposition of scenes like this, bloody and visceral and dangerous, against the clean and organised whiteness of the Healing Church. Against the gentle garden of the Hunter's Dream, where Mother Moon's light shone so abundantly. From bliss to horror and back, with no notion of which was truly which... She could see how such a thing might imperil one's sense of self. Fortunately, she had the glorious light of the cosmos by her side--it would always help her return to clarity and focus, moon-bright thoughts resonating in perfect synchronicity.

She awaited a response from Farren, mostly, as the Shopkeeper and Torquil seemed to be as laconic as they usually were.

_Farren

stared, shocked, then pleasantly surprised as the Moonborn Hunter conjured the Blades–in pristine condition at that–and he smiled and accepted them with another nod. While Farren did not feel as if he had ever been overly sentimental, the small gesture from the Hunter and the various boons he’d already offered them had him rather liking the silent man. “Thank you,” Farren offered in a more open show of thanks, giving the Shopkeeper a brief smile before he redirected his attention to Torquil, and then Ophelia once more. The former appeared to just be listening, whereas Ophelia had confirmed Farren’s growing suspicion. He swore under his breath, then moved on, he’d rather hoped to attain what potency Skinner had gleaned in life, but it seemed that was simply not in the cards.

Farren took in the rest of her words as well, considering what options and intel she had to offer, before he glanced back down the street that Victor had chosen for his retreat. “We may as well follow Victor, see if we can reconvene. Besides, I’d quite like to give him a piece of my mind…or the back of my hand, ” Farren replied, the last words half-muttered. “As for…Greta, perhaps later,” he added, seeming somewhat…dismissive?

Ophelia paid Farren close attention while they were speaking, and something uneasy began to rise within her the more that she observed. The misnaming of Gerlinde couldn't have been an accident, not with her having spoken the name mere seconds before... there was a story there, some snag in the proverbial tapestry. She briefly gave thought to pulling at it, but decided that such things could be revisited later--though she resolved to keep more of an eye on Farren in the interim, just to be safe.

"Well, before we set off I should give you the lay of the land, so to speak... I'm not quite sure what the gold means, not yet, but the markers in the Dream that have it have odd lanterns--like the ones we're used to, in the Dream and Rebirth's Rise both, albeit all of their metal is gold. They also rest upon these queer little golden plinths, decorated with eyes and people striding into the ocean naked. The little ones seem unable to show up anywhere this gold has taken root--I didn't get the message you'd sent me until I returned to the Dream, and I tried to call them to send you a message while I was there to no avail. The leader, Vicar Harold, he..." Ophelia began, gesturing for Torquil to come closer as she began speaking and waiting for him to be comfortably in earshot before she continued. When she began speaking about Harold she paused for a moment to gather herself, shuddering slightly at the memory.

"He's doing something to everyone there, worming his way into their minds. They all look at him with dreamy eyes and call him a 'nice old man', with exactly that phrasing, and they all seem unaware of the compulsion that's seeped its way into them. I had the thoughts too, though my... particular affinity for the arcane, my tutelage under the Witches, and my guiding moonlight seems to have let me really see them for what they are. I doubt the two of you would fare as well, and would fall under the same compulsion: so I'll warn you now, loves, don't go near the Vicar. Don't listen to him, don't approach him, don't even think about him--he's more dangerous than anyone else I've ever seen, I'm convinced of it... Other than our dear Shopkeeper, of course." Ophelia added, relaxing somewhat with the catharsis of verbalising how violated she felt--and grateful she could hopefully ward her companions against it.

_Farren

continued to stare down the long, rather wide, thoroughfare even as Ophelia began to speak. He seemed uncharacteristically distracted, but in truth he was very much listening to her every word. Yet, as he did so…that name seemed to resonate within his skull, each ‘bounce’ of the proverbial vibration like a susurration of clawing birds within his brain. He gritted his teeth.



That damned name.

Farren’s eyelid twitched slightly and his grip on the Blade of Mercy tightened significantly, the material of its grip making a slight–but noticeable–noise. He swallowed, deliberately forced himself to glance in Ophelia’s direction as she spoke, and then briefly closed his eyes as she was nearly finished, nodding slightly as if in recognition.

While he’d heard her, the truth was that he’d closed his eyes to gather his wits rather than his thoughts. Still, by and large he managed to play much of it off, speaking even before he opened his eyes again.

“Well done. Excuse my earlier…reticence at our splitting up, it seems you gleaned valuable intel by going ahead of us,” he offered, opening his eyes as he finished speaking, meeting her gaze with a look that spoke of apology. It was gone the next moment as those bright sapphire eyes turned on Torquil, then focused further on his rather ornate shield. “Useful thing, you’re hardly singed,” he commented, his gaze roving over the glass of the implement. He’d never seen anything like it before–at least that he could remember, which he supposed wasn’t really saying much.



He’d began to relax, but his jaw tightened again, teeth pressing against eachother in his closed mouth with painful pressure, but he forced a smile, then turned to stare down the road again. [color=#1A1A3B]“I’ll just have to keep my distance then, you too, of course–”[/color ]he added the last as he gave Torquil a sidelong glance before returning his piercing gaze to the road, his body partially turning in its direction. He felt…antsy, and moreso than he probably ever had before becoming a hunter, he really wanted to kill something…if only for the distraction.

That thought though…it brought something to mind and he sighed, turning back to Ophelia. “Ah…think I learned one of those Runes when our friend here killed Skinner.”