yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded briefly in response to Victor’s reaction, “There’s a pale wraith of a man inside…he summoned the thing somehow,” Farren said, not bothering to mention the bell toll they’d all heard when it was occurring. Didn’t seem important enough to waste time explaining at that moment. Out of the sightlines of those inside due to his prior maneuvering, the azure eyed hunter suddenly turned and jogged around to the side of the building, calling back the rough measurements of the entrance room that the front door led into. Based on the speed the bullet had traveled to strike him…what he’d seen earlier when he’d been inside, and what he’d seen when looking inwards through the door, he estimated roughly where the gunmen…civilians, and Pallid would be positioned. With one of his sabers he carved an X into the wood and then he jogged back to the corner and peered around it. The Deadeyed thing was slow…at least for now, so he wasn’t terribly worried about the others handling it. “Victor…Torquil, break us a path on the X,” Farren said, and then he stood beside Victor’s current position, facing Deadeyes with blades in hand. He was glad Ophelia had managed to kill the beastman…it was one of their more dangerous foes, so it improved their chances quite significantly, he figured. “I think Ophelia and I can hold Deadeyes, here. Even if we don’t enter through the path you two carve open…it’ll divide the attention of those inside,” he explained, not so loud that it would be easily heard by those inside, but loud enough for the enhanced senses of his fellow hunters to easily pick up, near to him as they were.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Lhirinthyl & Tedwyn

---

Guided towards the door as he had been, and distracted though he may have seemed, Lhirin caught the exchange with Tedwyn, his brazenness, but knew nothing more of the man. As he ‘read’ the journal, the deigan mage heard the man’s footsteps approaching as he headed for the door, felt the faint current of air shifting as he neared. Lhirin’s right hand paused, his finger pressed lightly against a marking on the page even as his left hand shot out and caught Tedwyn’s shoulder. If the man turned to look, Lhirin intense silver eyes would be boring into his own. He might feel judged, but if he did…it was not because Lhirin had any particularly judgemental expression on his features, but rather due to his own failings–that and the sheer suddenness and intensity of his actions and gaze.

“Wait,” Lhirin said simply, his eyes boring into the man even as he invisibly cast his magical senses through Tedwyn, taking stock of the human’s soul. The man was, all told, rather normal…nothing off or particularly unique about his soul–clearly an untrained human as far as magic went, still…though Irah’s words had certainly been venomous there was something about how upset Tedwyn seemed that stood out to him. That…and the fact that no one had even bothered to ask the man if he had any useful skills. His perception delved deeper…honing in on Tedwyn until Lhirin has basically blacked out his other senses almost completely. Only Irah’s guiding hand on his physical body kept him truly grounded. He couldn’t detect Tedwyn’s affinity, but that was nothing new…it just meant that he didn’t have anything particularly unique–most likely.

Lhirin’s energy withdrew and he took a steadying breath, noticing that he was fidgeting slightly with Tedwyn’s shirt at the shoulder, rubbing the fabric between two fingers. He immediately stopped…and likely it wouldn’t have much effect on the man beyond thinking the already clearly strange deigan…was perhaps stranger than he’d thought. Not that Lhirin even considered that…or cared either way. “You answered the baronesses’ call. What skills did you bring with you?” The deigan asked, entirely out of a sense of almost dogmatic pragmatism–however…his words might be misunderstood as a chance for Tedwyn to redeem himself.

"Err..." Tedwyn mumbled, looking nervously from Lhirin to everyone else in the room, then back to Lhirin. He pointed a finger at the machete on his hip. "I can cut things?"

Lhirin’s gaze drifted down to the machete, his silver irises roving over the weapon, searching for any unique markings. Indeed, for anything significant to mark it as something other than an utterly mundane armament. It was slightly worn, looked ill cared for, but well used—though likely not as a weapon if Tedwyn’s conduct was anything to go by. Lhirin nodded slightly and his eyes darted back up to meet Tedwyn’s. He remained silent for just two moments too long, and then his hand fell away. “Mmm, nothing else of note?” he asked, but unlike someone else who might have seemed disappointed, hopeful, or derisive…Lhirin’s affect was utterly flat. Not just unreadable, but devoid of even the slightest hint of emotion, beyond perhaps the faintest flicker of curiosity.

"Uh..." Again Tedwyn's eyes shifted around the room. "I killed a snake once? I guess I can cook a little?"

“Scholarly pursuits?” Lhirin said, not even reacting to what the man had just said.

Tedwyn shrugged. "I can read and write, if that's what you mean."

Lhirin’s brows lowered faintly in an expression that was almost what someone else might consider relaxed. For Lhirin, it was about the closest he tended to get to a deadpan. Lhirin shook his head slightly, then his gaze began to drift away, his eyes slipping shut. He didn’t quite sag in disappointment, but any of that tension and intensity he’d been holding slipped away in the same breath as his gaze. “Ah. Apologies. Carry on.” He replied, sounding less and less engaged—more detached—with each word before his eyes were fully closed. His hand began to run over the journal’s page again, fingers grazing over the scratch marks with gentle, but firm pressure. A small part of his mind considered that they could use Tedwyn as bait…or a distraction. However, it seemed…ill advised and for once, Lhirin actually considered that suggesting as much would likely upset the man further. So he said nothing and ceded once more to Irah’s guidance.

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.