yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

absorbed as much as he could of what was said, and what was going on, but ultimately he found himself relieved when Ophelia asked for some privacy. As the others took their leave, Farren bowed his head to Ophelia in a brief show of respect, “No shame in it,” he said simply, then he took his leave as well, his mind wandering back to the pool overflowing with Messengers as he departed the building.

Shifting his destination with that in mind, the azure-eyed hunter passed Torquil in the others, his stride purposeful as he walked over to the pool. Idly he reached down to the Messengers…and swiftly found that they reached toward him, showing him what they had to offer. “Hmm…” he murmured with a slow exhale as he considered the various items. He saw some things that perhaps Ophelia would be more interested in, but he left those well alone instead eyeing the Quicksilver bullets and the strange hourglass. Ultimately, he decided to abstain from the serpent’s temptation, perhaps he might obtain it later, but for now he’d rather have a series of other more standard, essential tools.

Feeling out the ethereal research that clung to the veins beneath his flesh, Farren made clear his intent, focusing his mind as he willed the blood echoes to transfer to the little eyeless Messengers that clamoured within the pool. In a moment he felt, then saw, the manifestation of what he’d given them leave to conjure via the power of the echoes that had lay within his blood.

Hand outstretched, Farren watched as the withered helpers deposited items into his hand as they faded into existence–or perhaps were pulled from some other realm? He didn’t know, and did away with the thought a moment later, finding either possibility rather disquieting. Eventually, seven(7) vials of pristine blood had formed and were deposited upon his palm. As they came into being, Farren stowed them away safely. The vials were swiftly followed by quicksilver bullets, for which he proffered the container he’d been given by the Blood Moon Hunter. Rather than quicksilver bullets manifesting individually, the Messengers seemed to graze their clambering little digits repeatedly over the glass. Each point of contact seemed to cause more shimmering metallic liquid to spontaneously fill the interior. When he was satisfied he had enough for at least ten(10) Quicksilver bullets, he stopped and refocused even as he stowed the tube away. Reaching out a final time, Farren received nine(9) Lead bullets from the messengers and then stowed them away. Satisfied, Farren turned away from the pool, still feeling at least a third of those strange writhing echoes shifting about his body, almost–but not quite–in sync with the beat of his heart.

As he looked, he saw that Ophelia had not yet joined them outside. He supposed it hadn’t taken him particularly long, so he headed for the Doll to make good on the remaining power latent within him. He eyed her as he approached, stepping in slightly closer than was perhaps polite, before he met her blank-artificial gaze. Farren wondered, as he looked upon her, how much of a mind she truly had, how much will. However, as with many things before, he cast the thought aside and addressed her, though it felt strange to do so.

“I…need more stamina. Can these…echoes serve that purpose?” His bright eyes watched her, almost shining in concert with the moonlight. Then, he watched as the Doll nodded her head. "Indeed. Let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close." She reached to take Farren's hand in her own. "Now shut your eyes…” and he did, though only after a brief hesitation and a look of slight discomfort.

Immediately, Farren felt the vague, ephemeral presence that had been clinging to him begin to drain. As the power that the deaths of Pallid and his ilk back in the clinic was siphoned away into the doll...Farren felt strangely bereft. A faint pang of Hunger beat through him in concert with his heart, but the impression was swiftly scattered as an entirely different power flowed in reverse–pouring back into his person. Something warm and pleasant radiated from the cool porcelain of the doll-hand that held his. It felt like it was pressing itself into his very veins, following the current of his blood as it rapidly circulated throughout his body. Eventually, the feeling diminished, leaving him feeling…normal, yet different somehow. Farren took a deep breath, and his lungs felt larger? No, that wasn’t quite right. Stronger perhaps? It was hard to say, strange as the feeling was. It seemed that the very pathways of his blood and the bellows in his chest had spontaneously improved.

Farren opened his eyes and his hand fell from the Doll’s grasp as he glanced down at himself. He didn’t look any diff–no, his skin, it seemed more lively somehow. It was like the vigor within him had brought new color to his complexion, new energy to his frame. He couldn’t help but smile, “Miraculous…” he whispered, a quiet awe in his voice.

After a moment’s quiet, the revelation began to fade, taking that strange new awe with it, and the Azure-eyed hunter gave the Doll a respectful nod. Whether she were truly alive or not, she had done them many services and he appreciated greatly her contributions towards their betterment. “Blessings, miss,” Farren said softly. Delicately, he brought her hand–with his own–to his lips and lightly ghosted a kiss upon the porcelain that served as her skin. The warmth of before was largely gone and he did not linger, letting the Doll’s hand go before he turned and walked towards Torquil.

He hoped they could depart soon, for the Hunger in his blood quietly itched to find more beasts….

Total Contents of Messenger Pool

[name] - [cost in blood echoes]
[description if necessary]):
Blood vial – 15

Quicksilver bullet – 5

Lead bullet - 5

10 copper coins - 10

2 silver coins - 15

1 gold coin - 60

Memory of Desperation – 50
Skull of a Hunter who lost their mind hunting beasts.
Crush to obtain the insight within.
Though monsters can be found lurking everywhere in the city, nowhere is as thoroughly infested as Old Yharnam. Amidst such terrible beasts, even a Hunter may wish for a hero.

Memory of Stars – 50
Skull of a Yharnamite consumed by the wisdom of the Great Ones.
Crush to obtain the insight within.
Need and greed alike can drive people to do unspeakable things. Even so, there are places so dangerous only a fool would brave them.

Snakescale hourglass – 200
A small hourglass filled with snake scales ground to dust.
Break the glass to gain five seconds during which you can act freely, but the rest of the world is frozen.
The Great Serpent of the woods is a chronophage, devouring time as it passes. How could a being with such a power be anything less than a god?

Beast blood pellet – 25

Blood Echo Expenditure

Starting Blood Echoes: 300.

• 7 Blood Vials[Pure Church Blood] - 105 echoes
• 10 Quicksilver Bullets - 50 echoes
• 9 Lead Bullets - 45 echoes
• 1 “Level” towards Stamina - 100 echoes

Ending Blood Echoes: 0.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

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. “Damn that’s unpleasant,” 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.

“Appreciate the tools and…your hospitality,” Farren managed, though the words felt awkward, sounding a bit gruff, as they slipped from his lips.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

listened carefully to Ophelia’s explanation, but despite his diligent attention, he found his understanding falling somewhat short. Nonetheless, though his nature was of a less studious sort, he did understand one essential thing: their utility. “I see,” he replied, a thoughtful half-frown on his visage as he stared at the ground for a moment. Then, it seemed he came to a decision as his eyes flicked up to meet hers once more. “Very well. This Lake rune you spoke of, I will endure the…pain for the boon it provides. It’s only practical that we increase our odds after all,” he said, his hands clenching briefly into fists before they relaxed once more at his sides.

He glanced at the tools required for the application of this…‘rune’, nodded once, then met her eyes again. Farren felt he was no stranger to pain, and even if it marked his flesh…he was a Hunter, it would be a temporary thing, a flesh wound. That aside, though Torquil’s reappearance within this…place after he’d been slain implied they were essentially immortal, Farren nonetheless found that his survival instinct was entirely intact. He would not be rushing recklessly to his death, even if it were a temporary affair, so any advantage he could eke to prevent such a circumstance, he would gladly take so long as the price were not too great.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

took a deep breath, and felt himself relax despite the added weight of the gear he’d donned. With his eyes shut for a long moment, he tried to understand why this felt so much more comfortable, so much more…right. Was it just that he was a hunter and now his weapons and garments suited that newfound nature? Farren’s brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head, no that wasn’t quite it. He drew in another slow breath, running a hand over the scabbard at his left hip, and the butt of the pistol that hung at his from the hook on his right. The feel of the materials somehow took him back, eliciting a feeling of comfort, of preparedness that apparently he was used to.

Farren wasn’t sure what business he’d had in the Workshops of Hunters prior, nor did he know what he’d done when away from them, but it must have been…strenuous, even dangerous. Farren’s azure eyes opened once more and he found Torquil had properly equipped himself as well. He gave the man a smile, “Good choices,” he commented, gesturing at the armor…and the axe, “the axe suits you,” he added, then Ophelia addressed him, pulling his attention to her.

Farren found his eyes widening as he laid eyes on the otherworldly blade she cradled in her hands. It was a marvel and he stared at the greatsword with naked awe. It took him a moment to register her words proper as a result, but he soon managed to tear his eyes away from the blade and meet her gaze. “A rune?” he asked, frowning slightly, searching for any familiarity with the concept…and finding none. “...to what end? What purpose do they serve?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

entered the building and as he did something about it struck him as–at first–faintly familiar. There was something about the shape of the place, the contours of it, and its contents that truly screamed ‘Workshop’ to him. However, what truly called out to him wasn’t visual. Farren closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply–it was the smell of the place. As he took in that aroma, Farren oddly felt…at home. It was a strange thing, the sweet, pungent lingering scent of hunters, of the oils and greases used to maintain weapons and other tools of the trade. It smelled faintly of stone dust from grinders, the sawdust from recently cut wood, sweat…iron, salt and a plethora of other less apparent notes.

Farren found himself smiling in that moment as his eyes opened once more and he once more took things in. This time he actually paid close attention to the various weapons, tools, and facilities provided to them in the Hunter’s Dream. There were some familiar implements that he felt he’d seen before, that he got brief flashes of being dropped off, picked up…that he’d felt in his hands before—if only as he made sure they were in the best possible shape.

As he took it all in, he marveled at the fact that they had so much available to choose from, but particularly what drew his attention was a single, warped curved blade that hung in a special place on the wall beside a number of other weapons. Farren began to drift towards it as he took in the room, but after a moment he narrowed his eyes slightly and stopped himself. Shaking himself slightly, Farren turned away from the wall of singular weapons and went to one of the chests instead.

As he looked through the various weapons therein, his eyes widened slightly due to the sheer quantity of choices. He took a step back and closed his eyes again and tried to really focus on what he wanted. After a few moments he opened his eyes and fished out a few weapons. Gently he laid them on the ground in front of him and then he stood there for a moment, looking them over. After a moment he put a number of weapons back into the chest, leaving him a much smaller potential arsenal.

Farren smiled and then crouched down and tapped two of the weapons. Somehow he knew their names, Bulwark…Kirkhammer. “Messengers…could you hold onto these for me?” He said, feeling a bit awkward talking to thin air, but then the little figures began to emerge. Farren nodded a bit, stood, and began to take off the makeshift weapons and holders he’d fashioned at the clinic. He laid the sabers and the axe on the ground in the same area as the two weapons he’d asked the Messengers to take, “These too,” he added, figuring that there was no real reason to dispose of them. That done, Farren moved around, grabbing what he felt he’d need to affix the various implements to his person. However, before he moved further, he shifted the positioning of his chosen weapons so they wouldn’t get in either Torquil or Ophelia’s way.

Then he checked the second chest and found a series of garments. He’d seen hunters wearing them before, but he wasn’t strictly certain what the differences were…aside from style and general convenience of each depending on how one intended to arm oneself or move about. Nonetheless, he picked out a few and—after a few moment’s consideration—Farren decided on one. Naturally, he didn’t change right that moment, but simply put the clothes aside along with the dual harness he’d picked out, and the belt-loop hooks that he’d decided he’d be hanging his firearms from.

Once he was satisfied with his choices, he noted Ophelia and Torquil’s presence and positions. Ever-so-briefly he considered if going somewhere else to change was necessary, then he decided against it. He didn’t much fancy being bare as the day he was born beneath the giant pale eye of that moon.

So, he grabbed his chosen garb, starting with the cloak, and affixed that. He turned his back to Ophelia so it concealed him—more for her than for him—and began to shed the rest of his clothes. He started at the bottom, then pulled on the various pieces that composed the Crowfeather’s set, those raven-colored garments. Once his pants were secured, he removed the cloak, folded it back up and set it aside and began donning the rest, though he took a similarly dark-colored hood and donned that along with the coverings for his torso and arms. When that was done he affixed the belt hooks at his left hip, then strapped the dual harness onto his back. All that finished, Farren stepped back over to his chosen armaments—those that the Messengers hadn’t taken at least—and began to affix them to his person. First were the Beastflayer and the Piercing Rifle, both which went into the harness at his back, both with their pointy ends poking out behind his left hip. The butt of the rifle was roughly at his shoulder blade, while the last bit of the glaive’s shaft poked up above his shoulder just enough that he could reach back and grasp it with two hands if they wished.

That done, Farren plucked the other two firearms (Hunter’s Pistol and Blunderbuss respectively) from the floor and hooked them securely into place at his left hip—the mechanism being basically identical to what he’d seen Victor do for his blunderbuss. Yet…his right hip felt empty and he found himself frowning a bit and glancing back at the wall of special armaments he’d first been drawn to.

He didn’t know what that strangely enticing warped blade was…but now that he felt properly equipped otherwise, he decided to investigate.

Farren glanced at the feathered cloak, offered it to a Messenger that emerged when he whispered under his breath, and then strode across the room. He made a beeline for the warped blade, his strides covered the distance quickly. He stopped smoothly before it and almost reverently reached out and took it from its perch upon the wall. Farren’s azure gaze swept over the implement and his brow furrowed. After a moment he placed both hands on the distinct sections of the grip and then in a single swift motion he jerked his hands apart. The blade split in two and Farren couldn’t help but grin the expression filled with a glee that was half boyish delight and half a new predatory amusement likely derived from the pale blood that now flowed through his veins.

This time, unlike the other weapons, nothing came to him as he held the blades. After a moment he glanced at the floor and angled the tip of one the blades so it nearly touched the wood, beckoning the messengers to help in deciphering the mystery of the strange paired trick weapon.

The withered, eyeless helpers rose from the floor swiftly, eagerly holding aloft a scroll as high as they could. Farren squinted a bit, the words shifting around in his vision...or perhaps his mind? It took him a bit longer, but eventually managed to unravel the text of the scroll.

Blade of Mercy

A special trick weapon passed down among hunters of hunters. One of the oldest weapons of the workshop.
Splits into two when activated. The weapon's warped blades are forged with siderite, a rare mineral of the heavens. Most effective swift attacks, such as after a quickstep.

Messenger Scroll "The Blade of Mercy"

“Blade of Mercy, huh?” Farren commented with a chuckle before giving the Messengers a grateful nod. turning his attention back to the blades, Farren--with a bit of fiddling--managed to fit them back together with a satisfying snap. Promptly he carried it back over to another area and found a scabbard that would suit its form. Affixing that, Farren then sheathed the unified blades at his right hip, finally satisfied and too caught up in arming himself to notice the strange air that had come to almost possess Ophelia.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

listened intently, and though he was slightly disappointed that the so-called Shopkeeper wasn’t actually a merchant OR a craftsman of any kind he did find the explanation illuminating. Still, as the Doll explained, answering in the man’s stead, Farren felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips and an excitement bubble in his veins. That was strange, why was he so excited actually? A frown flickered across his features, but his brief confusion was swiftly washed away as the Doll explained that she too could offer them something for the echoes in their blood.

“You…can enhance the potency of our humors?!” Farren exclaimed, his eyes growing wide as he turned to the doll. That was incredible, he’d never known that such a thing could even be possible.

Yet, that wasn’t what called to him, as evidenced by his eyes quickly shifting back to the building on the hill. Before he could even think of how rude it might be, Farren found himself moving. He’d passed the pair and was halfway up the stairs before he realized that perhaps he ought to say something. He paused, “Ah…sorry, I…I simply must see the workshop,” he called back over his shoulder before he came to the door and did what was needed to make his way inside. If the Doll explained, then surely he could hear it from Ophelia later. The woman would surely bec far more curious than he about such things.

Besides, he vaguely recalled having heard rumors about this place. Whisperings mostly, some were surely tall tales, they’d said the place had been eaten by the city, swallowed by time or some such nonsense. Still, he realized he’d always been rather pulled in by such places…he’d liked the new workshops, worked there once—from what little he could glean of his memories. It felt…right that he would come to use one again and even if his interest had not existed, this was the most practical option. They needed proper weapons…and Farren was itching to see what options might present themselves.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

listened to the doll’s explanation as Ophelia asked questions of the Messengers. He nodded idly as she finished, his brow slightly furrowed. Something about her words unsettled him…that the so-called ‘gods’ used the layers of this, ah, nightmare as their demesnes. That was a rather disturbing though and it had his azure gaze drifting back up to the looming pale eye of the moon. He stared for only a moment this time though, before directing his attention away, some part of him recoiling at the thought that this Dream too might house some Great Old Being, waiting in the wings…watching. Farren swallowed and as the doll spoke again his attention was piqued as she mentioned that the wheelchair bound man was a shopkeeper.

He didn’t care much for the history of this place, but what wares might be sold in a place such as this, what wares might one sell…to the benefit of hunters.

Farren stepped forward, closing a few feet’s distance between himself and the quiet, almost sullen man. “If I may…are you a merchant or a craftsman, sir?” Farren asked, his eyes slightly wide as he regarded the man with an eager, curious air.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched closely, the silver-sheened moon ever-present in his periphery…looming above him like a great celestial eye, the light of its gaze enveloping everything. He swallowed slightly, his mien only lightening slightly as Torquil spoke in a voice that was clear and easily intelligible. He couldn’t help but smile at that. He wondered how the wheelchair bound man had done it of course and that thought had him opening his mouth—only for the explanation about items, Messengers…and a so-called ‘Nightmare’ to give him pause. Farren raised an eyebrow, “The Nightmare?” He asked, wondering what that was referring to, as it sounded like something specific.

That said, he was curious what the fountain overflowing with the little messenger men was about. Bizarre as they were, t hey did seem rather helpful at least.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

thought that he’d turned towards the lantern, he’d thought he had taken several steps towards it before his vision was consumed by a strange pale light. Then it was as if he was falling, there was a gap in his memory, and then he’d blinked into a state of total wakefulness. Quite literally in fact as he stood blinking, his eyes adjusting to the light of… “...what the hell?”]

Farren laid eyes on the strange place and though he’d expected to be surprised, it still struck him how unbelievable it was that he’d somehow been transported to what appeared to be another realm entirely. He started to observe and take in the three figures before him, but only had long enough to recognize Torquil’s broad frame before the sky shifted with a rapidity that made him crouch as if the heavens were set to fall upon them. As he stared up at the sky with narrowed eyes, Farren realized that someone had spoken to them. Yet, he didn’t dare take his eyes off the pale eye of the full moon’s luminescence. He registered the porcelain woman’s words and wet his lips nervously, still not truly looking at her as he spoke. “Can’t say…I’ve ever seen anything quite like that either,”] he commented, trying to sound slightly amused, but instead his words came out with the distinct sound of disquiet that he was feeling.

Farren’s eyes darted to Ophelia, then back at the moon above them and though he slowly straightened back to his full height after a few moments the unsettled expression on his face remained.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

stared after Ophelia for a time, even as Victor spoke. He was glad she’d gotten out of the way in time, but as Victor continued speaking, the azure-eyed hunter finally started paying attention. Farren scowled and glanced towards the White Church Hunter in his ruined garments. “Do you remember before?” He asked, his voice weaker and more subdued than it had been when first they’d met.

"I do," Victor declared with a nod of his head. "I guess you don't?"

Farren's gaze shifted away, staring into space, his eyes seeming distant and searching, his scowl softening into a frown as if he were focusing. After a moment he shook his head, "...only incomplete flashes. Enough to know I was probably...running from something," Farren replied. He gritted his teeth a moment, feeling the grind and restoration in that moment. His muscles stared to relax a bit as he uncurled from himself, his arms unfurling from around him. He ran a hand through his dark thick hair.

Victor shrugged. "Plenty of things to run from in Yharnam."

"Mmn..." Farren murmured in reply, a brief shuddering shake overtaking him before he forced himself back onto his feet in several careful motions. He swayed for a moment, then seemed to grow steadier as he found his equilibrium. He glanced at Victor a moment, then away as he noticed Ophelia heading back from outside. "Be grateful you remember," he said, then bent down and retrieved his sabers... "...for at least you'll know what you're fleeing from."

Then Ophelia passed through the door, rejoining them. Farren gave her a small nod before she began talking. He winced at her choice of phrasing, then frowned as he registered everything she’d expressed. Victor reacted before him though, leaving Farren with little to say. So instead he simply raised an eyebrow in question, hoping she perhaps had more explanation than that–though he doubted it.

Either way, it was a shame…he’d rather liked Torquil and there’d be no body to bury.