yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

had been ready to flare into movement for another strike, when Torquil’s heavy blow saw the beastman sag slightly beneath its weight. Yet…in that moment that strike was nothing compared to the swift blur that was Ophelia, which transitioned in a blinding instant into a spray of blood and viscera. Yet, Farren didn’t have more than another moment to observe the regeneration followed by their first adversary’s body sagging as their body began to fail them. AFter all, the sharp, loud BANG coupled with the distinctive odor of gunpowder, suddenly invaded his senses. Farren didn’t even turn his head, he just moved the instant the sound hit his awareness. He wasn’t fast enough though–hadn’t paid enough attention, even as a hunter–to avoid a bullet entirely. His body shifted though, at an angle instead of perpendicular to the doorway as he’d been. Still, the bullet struck him and he winced as it passed through the right side of his body below the joint of his shoulder, and directly through the meat near his armpit, before exiting out the back. Fortunately…though it stung something fierce–burned…jerking his arm back from the force of the projectile–Farren clenched his hand into a stronger grip around his saber and found that while there wasn’t quite so much strength in that arm when he moved it…that he’d at least still be able to use it.

Continuing his movement he took several long backward strides, his gaze peering past the ruined doorframe. His azure eyes widened as he caught his first glimpse of the Mad One, not that he knew what the cursed thing was called. A shiver went through him as something about it reeked of wrongness. His eyes shivered slightly…as if stung by the emptiness of the creature’s dead-eyed gaze. Farren hissed belatedly from the pain of the bullet wound, clenching his teeth as he shifted his right arm a bit to be in a slightly better position to act. He cursed under his breath, backing up until he was roughly beside Ophelia. This put him out of the sightline of the riflemen in the clinic, but allowed him to easily keep an eye on Ophelia, Victor, the weakening beastman, and the approaching creature, which he decided to think of as Deadeyes.

Farren’s gaze shifted subtly taking in the construction of the creature…the positioning of his allies, the fact that Victor seemed to have survived–he’d figured he would. Victor was a hunter, after all. He noted the opportunistic nature of the Yharnamites within the clinic…the tendency of Pallid to send beasts to fight them, rather than do so himself. Farren narrowed his eyes. “Pallid might still be able to call more a these things,” he commented in warning. It meant that unless the Yharnamites and Pallid exited the clinic…they had to go to him, flee–thus abandoning the sleeping would-be hunters, or find another avenue of attack that didn’t immediately have them play into Pallid’s hands. That third thought had him considering how thick the clinic’s walls were…and what they were made out of. That in mind, Farren’s gaze shifted to where the beastman’s shoulder had rammed through the door frame, revealing the innards of the clinic’s outer walls.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Lhirinthyl

---

Lhirin took in the various additions and modifications to his secondary proposal for a plan. He nodded quietly to himself, eyes wide as ever as he glanced around for a bit before falling still in thought–almost unnaturally still in fact. After a moment he shifted and nodded again. “Though few plans survive contact with unknown elements, this is a good place for us to start,” he commented, almost seeming to say it more to himself than the others–though he had certainly intended to say it aloud. After that, the deigan man gently–almost tenderly–moved the melenian journal he’d retrieved earlier up so that he could slowly leaf through its pages. As he’d expected–and seen earlier–he couldn’t read it visually. He ran a delicate finger over one page, again noting the scratch marks he had previously. Nodding slightly, Lhirin turned from the table after noting the positioning that had been denoted, and walked back to stand beside Irah.

As he stood there, he gently bumped her shoulder with her own, gave her a pointed look and then opened to the first page of the journal and began to slowly trace his fingers over the page. Even when they moved out, Lhirin would continue to do the same as he ‘read’ the journal while expecting Irah to somewhat guide and correct him or draw his attention if needed.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Lhirinthyl

---

Lhirin’s gaze not so much shifted, but snapped over to Freagon as he spoke. While someone else might have taken his manner is mildly—or outright—condescending, Lhirin just listened with his usual intensity. As he did so, he realized that he actually found the so-called Knight of the Will rather refreshing. Most people always seemed so…overcomplicated with their veiled meanings, speaking between the lines or through their teeth. Freagon was to the point and if not entirely upfront exactly, he kept his emotions to himself and spoke only on the facts as he saw them. Lhirin gave the Knight a nod of respect as he called out the flaws in his plan, rather than reacting with annoyance, he almost appeared grateful.

As he finished and others spoke up, Lhirinthyl’s gaze darted between speakers, taking in their suggestions. “Do you suggest we split into two groups?” Lhirin asked, his gaze fixing upon Freagon for a moment, before he pondered aloud, “…If we’re splitting up, one group that is immune to the swaigh…and one that isn’t is likely the ideal strategy. The group with the swaigh ought to have it positioned to incapacitate the maximum amount of the opposition,” Lhirin said before falling silent again.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

heard the noises, the whimper, the growl, the roar and in response–just before the beastman began its charge–he instinctively jumped back. He was surprised at his own speed, but even that speed was only sufficient to let him just barely evade as the door slammed into the wall where he would have been standing an instant before. It almost grazed the trailing edge of him, but he didn’t let that rattle him. Jaw clenched, Farren saw as the beast raised its weapon, and he jumped into action. He dashed, following his instincts, back towards the beast, moving into a sort of charge that ended with him slashing low with one blade, trying to cut across the tendons at the back of the beastman’s warped legs. At the same time, he heard more than saw, Victor falling to the ground after the dangerous blow from the creature.

“Watch door!” Farren called out, his words intended for Ophelia and Torquil, because he was not in a position to attack the beastman and watch the entrance that was somewhat behind and to his right.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

let only the smallest iotas of tension leave his frame as his message was successfully received by Victor, allowing Torquil and Ophelia to safely exit the clinic. Then he tilted his head as he saw Victor light a match and tossed it into the censer, renewing the incense therein, its smoke wafting up more strongly thereafter. Farren might have chuckled if the situation hadn’t required his silence.

Speaking of silence…the relative quiet found itself broken as the footsteps of the beastman echoed from the clinic’s open door. Farren forced himself not to tense, but he did shift his stance subtly, making sure not to make any additional noise. He peered through the crack in the door to help him ascertain the beastman’s position when he inevitably came into view.

Though he kept much of his attention trained therein, he did detect the footfalls of both Ophelia and Torquil as they passed into the area outside the clinic. A grin, almost like a snarl, began to spread over his features…and then the beastman peered out from the doorway and shifted his head towards Victor. Big mistake.

Farren raised one leg–his other already braced–and kicked the door with all his weight and considerable strength–amplified and native both. The door flew forward in a weighty blur, right in the beast’s blindspot as he turned his head towards Victor. As it moved, Farren prepared to act proper, getting both his feet back beneath him.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

listened as closely as he could to what little he could hear on the other side of the door. He heard voices, likely Pallid by the timbre…then Ophelia perhaps—if the feminine tones were accurate. He’d also detected a pause in movement, causing him to swear internally. It seemed that, despite Pallid’s difficulties with the common tongue of Yharnam, the man was a canny sort.

Then he heard footsteps and his eyes narrowed even as he heard another pair of heavier steps approaching the door. Farren decided to trust his instincts…to trust the version of him that had come before…and the hunter he had become.

Thus, he looked to the other side of the doorframe to the White Church Hunter who stood—blunderbuss at the ready—and shook his head in the negative. He mouthed the words, ‘Not the first two,’ then—so quiet as to almost be silent he spoke one word aloud,
“Ally.” He followed that by raising one hand and indicating ‘two’ with two upraised fingers. Then he fell silent again, waiting in the tense torpor of inaction as they awaited the first two to open the door.

He hoped his very recent memory of the cadence of their footfalls—combined with the difference in distance from the door he’d detected between Pallid and Ophelia—were accurate….

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Lhirinthyl

---

The deigan mage listened to Caleb’s story and the subsequent discussion—as well as taking in Ms. Lady Bor’s arrival. As events played out Lhirin’s gaze intermittently shifted between individuals as he took things in. By and large he was using the ongoing conversations to distract himself from the mysteries that surely lay within the book he held in one of his delicate deigan hands.

When Irah actually addressed him he glanced her way for a moment, then to Sir Yanin as he spoke first. For his part, once the knight had finished, he simply shook his head perfunctorily before bowing his head respectfully to the penin.

“I am ready,” he stated simply, his words slightly rushed with the faintest hint of breathlessness to them. His too-wide eyes narrowed slightly as he focused. “I need no time for recovery. It—I believe—would be prudent that we speak to this…’Quintin,’ debrief…as it were, and then depart post haste if all are prepared.”

Lhirin paused for a moment, his head tilting before he glanced at his companion—Irah. “Perhaps…if the trail to Bren is not a short one, you could rest during transit,” he suggested, trying to think of a solution that allowed them to arrive most expeditiously without not having all of them at their best.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren’s

gaze briefly dipped to his hand where that strange blue flame had briefly burned, warmthless and with barely a tingling sensation. The sensory memory distracted him only briefly before he looked back to the White Church Hunter, taking in his blunderbuss and the half of his weapon that he had in hand. He was familiar with the armament–as familiar as he was with most Hunter’s weapons. He hadn’t seen them all, but he’d seen quite a few in the Workshops when they were up for maintenance or even the occasional modification. A small part of him itched for the weapon, but he suppressed it and nodded in reply to the man–it appeared that Farren had been right to speak to him…and shut the door so the others couldn’t see him. Rolling his neck, Farren almost fully turned his back to the man. “Newly minted,” Farren replied to the stranger’s comment. Farren stood at a slight angle so he still had the stranger in his peripheral vision on his left side–opposite where he held his saber in reversed grip. “Sounds like a plan. M’name’s Farren’s by the by; companions are Ophelia and Torquil,” he offered, then he broke into a light jog, expecting the man to follow as he headed back towards the Clinic’s door.

As he moved, Farren took in the surroundings a second time, acknowledging the layout and committing it to memory. The fact that they were on a plateau bloomed once more in his mind, making him frown…wondering precisely where they were relative to the rest of Yharnam. Beyond that…the stranger had been bloodied…but it was hard to say if it was his blood and his Hunter’s resilience–or perhaps a blood vial–were the reason he wasn’t faltering…or if it wasn’t the man’s blood at all.

It would have to wait till later.

All that in mind, Farren positioned himself to the side of the door that would be clearly visible when he opened it. He silently withdrew his second sword, holding it in a normal grip as he tilted his body so his right side faced the doorway, hiding his other arm…and the weapon that he held in line with his leg, tip downturned. Once the other Hunter had taken position opposite him–where he’d be hidden by the shadow of the door when it opened–the azure-eyed hunter nodded to the stranger. Preparations made, he waited for someone to come out, hoping it wouldn’t be Ophelia or Torquil who exited first. He strained his ears, somewhat familiar with both of their gaits now…he might even be able to discern who it was before they walked out.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

glanced about the room, swiftly taking in as many details as he could in that instant. The oddly focused and deliberate positioning of the messengers, the strange lamp that had gone utterly untouched despite its fragile appearance. The size of the room…and then beyond the door the figure who was rapidly approaching. White hunter’s garb that he couldn’t see the details off from the man’s current distance. His eyes narrowed, then widened as impressions of memories hit him. The garb was familiar, not like an old friend or a knife you used every day…but like someone or something you’d heard tell of a lot…seen around frequently enough that it was common for you, if not an every day or even every week occurrence.

He realized—with the man’s pace—he only had moments to do something before a fight most certainly broke out between the figure and those that were still behind him in the room of cots. Farren moved further into the room and while he’d mostly been ignoring the messengers he noticed the one by the lantern start to mime a snapping motion. The azure-eyed hunter frowned, but decided to follow its lead, his curiosity uncharacteristically getting the better of him. He snapped as he grew near the lantern. Watched for a reaction for a mere instant, and then he tread past it in a wide-stepped stride. A mere moment or three had past as he exited the building and then shut the door behind him before he let the patient over his shoulder down onto the ground…somewhere out of the way. Then, swiftly, Farren broke into a light jog towards the figure. He kept his blade against the back of his arm, knowing the Hunter would surely see that he was armed, but he didn’t attack. He stopped before crossing the full distance, getting only close enough that the man’s enhanced senses were likely to catch his slightly raised voice.

“The Harrow, inside. Taking sleeping patients. A pale man, a Beast, citizens on the hunt, and…something else. Two comrades, a tall lanky woman…wide man with an axe, quiet. We played along. Can you help?” Though there were quite a few words, they were almost clipped, spoken quickly, but clearly as well. Farren let the tension in his body show, but he also did his best to keep his stance open, his eyes on the Hunter, and his senses stretched wide and far.

With them not being properly armed as Hunters tended to be…and their also being new to this…condition, Farren hadn’t wanted to fight inside. Three against two beings of unknown strength, plus the hapless citizens hadn’t seemed like great odds especially in such enclosed space. He saw the Hunter as a chance for reinforcements…perhaps an ambush even. Hopefully he’d not misjudged the figure by using his garb as a touch point.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

was glad that his back was turned when the ground began to grow further into the room of cots. Certainly he saw the glowing of Pallid’s cane and the sickly shadow bound into that fell light, but something in him…it knew better than to turn around. Instead he just let his wicked smile grow slightly, as if to match the black-eyed figure’s and trudged past the bastard. All the while, his instincts screamed for him to look, his senses straining to find out what might be happening behind him, but when no ruckus came from it…just the sound of moving bodies, Farren just kept up his steady pace past Pallid and out of that room. His jaw remained tightly closed, teeth barely kept from grinding. First…first they’d get outside…then he could act.