[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    was glad to be heard, and truthfully as the others spoke–Doll included–he was quietly grateful for the distraction. For beneath his tense, but mostly controlled exterior, his mind was a roiling sea of fear, unease, intense rage, and a tingling writhing [i]something[/i] that he’d been largely unaware of until they’d encountered and then departed the Garden. That forced serenity…it had awakened him, after a fashion, to the slippery oil of madness that had sunk deep into the cracks and crevices of his consciousness, hiding from the light.

So when Gerlinde mentioned going to Yahar’gul, if only to investigate and kill Followers, Farren’s eyes shifted to her, growing intense to a point near desperate mania. The fiery rage roiled in his belly and for a few moments drowned out the sense of all else as his blood sang with the hunter’s need for violence. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“Let’s go to Yahar’gul first. There are a great many factions and forces aside that are moving without our awareness. We know only the barest outline of the Followers’ true aims and machinations…and the echoes would make any of our other ventures easier by far.”[/b][/color] Though his voice was steady, the look in his eye spoke not of a decision derived largely from logic, but rather from raw need.

Farren needed to kill something. Needed the exquisite, all-consuming experience of echoes flowing into his blood as a body was torn or crushed or splintered through the direct enacting of his will. Somehow, he knew it would ground him in the here and now…take him away from the terrible powerlessness he’d felt. His words were just a justification…a rationalization for that need, and he said little else as he waited with barely veiled impatience for their reply.