yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded idly in response to Gerlinde’s words, then shifted his gaze as Ophelia indicated the slackening of the chain. His eyes narrowed briefly, then he nodded once more, “I’d agree, but there’s not much in the way of options as concealment goes,” Farren offered, glancing around to ensure that he hadn’t missed something. Truthfully…they could use the withered beast’s body as cover, but he had no intention of doing so. Despite its seemingly docile nature, there was no telling if that could change at a moment’s notice.

"Well, we can't really hide, per se, but enough of us can be out of view that we can make a passable ambush... At least take out the glowing ones, or disadvantage them all terribly by being closer than they expected?" Ophelia offered in return.

Farren wet his lips briefly, his piercing gaze moving to the pitiful withered beast once more. “I suppose some of us could use the...creature to obscure their view, or step past the barrier and hide just beyond the arch to either side. I think I'll stay in view, if it's all the same to you,” he said, offering some options. It wasn't fear that had him implicitly refusing to use the beast as cover, but rather a mixture of subtle paranoia and a longstanding habitual wariness. With that established, Farren decided to position himself along the leftmost wall from his prior position. Before he reached the wall he slipped Fulmen from his back, leaning it against his shoulder before he turned his back to the wall, levered the experimental hammer in front of him, and then promptly leaned against the wall as Fulmen swung down from his right side like a pendulum. As it neared a vertical position, Farren slowed its swing and then pressed the end of the hammer against the silt-covered earth, letting one palm keep a grasp on the weapon, while his left hand fell to the grip of the Effigial Blades of Mercy at his left hip.

Then, keeping his senses honed, Farren followed the chain's path, watching it gradually slacken while the others positioned themselves.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

had expected it to cede to his ‘touch’ as it had for the two women, but still it made his brows rise quickly as his hand passed and then waved through the wall. Or, rather, he supposed it wasn’t a wall at all, but just a visual illusion conjured by some unknown power. He felt nothing even moving his hand through it, only open air, and so after a moment he nodded to Torquil after Gerlinde and Ophelia had passed through and he’d heard them speak on the other side. “Seems safe enough,” he commented simply–his blue eyes on the other man–then he turned from Torquil and pressed through the illusory barrier, entering the alcove beyond.

His eyes began to scan, but as soon as he saw the withered beast, a hand went to the hilt of one pair of unified blades, the one on at his right hip. However, as he watched, Ophelia–then Gerlinde–approached it, and the thing barely reacted except to release a frankly pitiful sound as Ophelia attempted to address it. His blood calmed and his brief anxiety–channeled into caution–faded and then sputtered out, becoming only practiced wariness.

Farren’s fingers relaxed on the hilt, but he didn’t release it as he walked forth. Whatever was happening here, the creature appeared thoroughly immobilized, and honestly rather pitiful. In fact, oddly, Farren almost felt bad for the thing. Almost. The fact that, if it were free, it could likely tear them limb from limb with surprising ferocity despite its withered state kept him from feeling entirely sympathetic towards the strange emaciated thing.

Glancing about, Farren took in the massive chains that stretched from its form and the stakes that kept it in place. Yet…somehow it seemed less that the stakes or chains kept it there, and rather something else. He didn’t know why he thought that however, but given Ophelia’s words, it seemed his intuition–or was it insight–wasn’t entirely unfounded.

Looking past the pitiful beast, Farren took in the guardhouse, its impressive gate, and the strange barrier of fog that had formed in the small opening between the slightly parted doors. His brows furrowed for a long moment as he fixated upon that point, eventually coming to a stop to the left side of the beast (from Farren’s perspective), though he gave it a wide berth of roughly 3 meters. He knew that if it were suddenly able to move…and perhaps pushed to aggression–for a force could likely compel it so if it so desired–that he’d still likely be within its reach. Equally though, he would be close enough that dodging either away or closer would put him out of harm’s way quite easily.

If anyone noticed, they might appreciate the precision with which Farren’s instincts–and experience, remembered and otherwise–allowed him to tactically position himself in space.

“I’d definitely be prudent to know what else this creature is…powering, I agree,” he concurred, though his eyes didn’t shift from the fog gate. “More pressingly…Gerlinde, have you ever seen anything like that fog before?” As he asked the question, Farren gestured at the fog gate before lowering his left arm.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched the exchange with some amusement, particularly when Ophelia couldn’t seem to come up with an adequate nickname for Gerlinde. After only the briefest consideration, Farren shrugged slightly as he glanced at Gerlinde. “Lin, perhaps,” he offered, his head tilting slightly as he watched the huntresses threaded cane pass through the apparently solid wall. “Some kind of illusion?” He pondered aloud, before walking up and moving his hand to a place near the threaded cane and slowly moving his hand as he applied slight ‘pressure’ attempting to ‘push through’ the solid stone experimentally.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded, acknowledging which of their enemies to prioritize when they inevitably showed themselves. As they walked–once she’d gotten his attention–Farren assisted Ophelia with the particulars of her weapon, advising her on its use and having her practice loading and unloading the Evelyn several times until she could do it fairly smoothly. Once satisfied he made sure she understood roughly how much recoil the weapon would have, how best to hold it, and the specifics of aiming and the like, he nodded and moved away to give her a bit more space–though he stayed close to the group as a whole.

For the most part he tried to tune out the talk of the supposed ‘Amygdala’ because it aligned too closely with the sense of being watched that kept pricking at his neck. Despite the discomfort, Farren controlled his breathing and reminded himself that he was well equipped to deal with such things, and that Ophelia had the brand if he needed to see them in order to fight. When eventually Ophelia pointed out a seemingly normal portion of the wall, Farren just glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. It didn’t seem at all special to him, but he was beginning to understand that in their world, not all was always as it seemed.

So he glanced to Gerlinde for confirmation, “Look any different to you?” He asked, nodding his head towards the section of wall Ophelia had indicated.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

shifted between states, a process which had began to be familiar, and ‘came to’ along with the others outside the massive walls of Yahar’gul. It was quite the sight, he had to admit. However, he made sure to not fixate on the imposing structure, his gaze roving about briefly to take in the rest of the wasteland around them…and the distant landmarks of Yharnam proper. He frowned slightly for a moment, then shook his head, glad they hadn’t had to walk here…not wanting to know if anything hid in the wasteland between here and Yharnam…waiting to pounce. Directing his gaze back to the Hidden Village and its imposing barrier, he remained quiet while the two ladies spoke.

Only when they’d both finished did he find himself muttering something mostly to himself, “The wall’s bigger…” he murmured, his eyes narrowing somewhat to form his more familiar glower.

As his gaze shifted slowly over the black stone he felt something almost… scratch at the back of his mind when his gaze moved over certain areas. Given what Ophelia and Gerlinde had said, he had to wonder if he might be almost sensing whatever these ‘Amygdala’ were. He recalled Moira referring to them as some sort of Great One. Farren shivered slightly and averted his gaze from those spots, not wanting to think about it too hard for the moment.

Farren’s gaze shifted back to the group, though he kept his ears peeled in case anything tried to approach. He doubted it’d be able to move silently–not that there was anywhere for much of anything to hide in this place. “Well, either of you been here before?”

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

The Echoes of Gold

---

Both Gerlinde and Torquil reacted when Ophelia called attention to Farren's fitful meditation, with Torquil immediately donning an expression of worry and concern while Gerlinde's eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile broadened into a grin. Torquil - having no idea how to help or if such a thing was even possible - opted to just stay out of the way for the moment, whereas Gerlinde rushed to him alongside Ophelia.

"Well now," Gerlinde chuckled, glancing at the unfamiliar rune appearing in the projection case, "that's unusual."

"Shopkeeper, do you have any idea?" Ophelia called out, as loudly as she thought was necessary for them to hear, as she continued to observe the rune with morbid curiosity. Her gaze flitted between Farren, the projection case, and Gerlinde.

"You've the Dream rune right now, did you see anything at all?" She asked Gerlinde.

Farren's gaze shifted as well, moving to Gerlinde's visage, curious if she had been able to pick up on anything in particular. There was a look of focus in his gaze as he continued to hold the Rune in focus within the Projection Case.

"I saw him spasming, which I assume you saw you," Gerlinde shrugged. "Nothing else."
Meanwhile the doll and the Shopkeeper started making their way down the stairs toward the rest through the rain and wind.
"We sensed a faint disturbance in the Dream, good Hunter," the doll informed them, "but nothing else. We are not certain what, if anything, occurred."

Farren looked thoughtful for a moment, but before he could say anything further, a small group of Messengers emerged from the ground just right of his leg and hoisted up a scroll, unfurling it for him to read.

He turned his azure gaze to the parchment and--though slower than the others might have--began to read through its contents.

Sun Rune

---

Since ancient times, gold has been a symbol of purity, wealth and immortality; the human ideals. So it is that the last king of Isz was ascended as Ego the Golden One, Lord of Providence, and kin to the Great Ones.

Those who bear this mark on their mind can unlock the true power of Ego's Gold weapons, enhancing them with cleansing fire that burns away bloodwraiths.

"Hello Farren. Do you think your little friends are secret from me? Enjoy my rune."

Messenger Scroll

As he finished reading, his eyes grew wide and a spike of unease made him shift away from the Messengers even as he grew tense. Nervously, he wet his lips, “Well...that's...disconcerting,” he said, and though his voice wasn't shaky in the least, there was a quiet fear in his eyes before he managed to recapture his wits.

Ophelia read the scroll voraciously, her eyes widening in some mixture of dread and awe. She blinked, and then again, and then again. She inhaled through her nose shakily, and motioned with her head for the doll and Shopkeeper to read it.

"... Lost Isz had a king. A man who became a Great One, or at least kin to them... Possessed of such knowledge it can only be communicated as a rune, but... Gold. Ego. A portion of themselves divested... Mother Moon above..." she babbled, the words spilling from her mouth without her really even thinking about it as she struggled to process what was going on.

"Isz was a long time ago," Gerlinde pointed out, still smiling and seemingly completely unworried by everything that had happened. "Before Pthumeru, even. I've barely even heard mention of the name and don't really know anything about it besides that. Haven't heard of this 'Ego' either."

"I am afraid we are not familiar with this Golden One either, and know very little of Isz," the doll reported as the Shopkeeper leaned in to presumably take a closer look at the note. "But this is troubling indeed. We sense that the little ones are correct and that this creature is a Kin Great One, powerful enough to leave such a mark on the Nightmare that the little ones were compelled to convey its message... but it is unusual. Great Ones normally lose the ability to communicate as mortals do."

"Perhaps Ego has a doll, too. That's what's happening with you two, isn't it?" Ophelia replied, before crouching to get a better look at Farren. She squeezed his shoulder again and gave him a plaintive and worried look, as though urging him to tell her that he was okay.

"Ah, you misunderstand, good Hunter," the doll started explaining with an apologetic bow of her head. "I do not belong to the Shopkeeper, I belong to the Hunter's Dream. I serve you as much as I serve them."

Farren raised his empty left hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, glad to feel nothing there. He shook his head slightly and met Ophelia's gaze before reaching out, for once desiring a steadying hand to get up. Once on his feet, Farren would offer her the tool he'd borrowed. “'M alright, just...well, didn't expect that,” though truthfully he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He could tell that this 'little revelation' was actually far more meaningful than he'd have considered...so perhaps he ought to tell them what he could recall.

“I...after we returned from the Garden and...whatever influence was there, its serenity left me and...well, I could feel it.” He shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a slight headache building. “I hadn't noticed it before, but...there's a small thread of that thing's influence nestled in my skull. It wasn't the Garden...or anything else, it's been there since I woke in the clinic, I just hadn't noticed.”

He wanted to say more, but he paused there, shaking himself slightly, “Let's go inside...I hadn't really felt it before, but the rain's grating on my nerves.” That said he nodded toward the cottage atop the small hill and then led the way.

"Ah, I wasn't being so literal, love. Ego could have something like yourself, a translator... And the Shopkeeper is no mere mortal, but perhaps not a Great One, yes? Something betwixt; perhaps like Ego, albeit on a lesser scale? After Yahar'gul, we must go to the Old Labyrinth. To find the ruins of Isz, to get... something. Anything. Not knowing is the worst option, even if that influence taints us--Farren's already got the taint. We should try to avoid the grace of gold ourselves, of course, but... If we do not know, we are truly at their mercy. The Sun only blinds and burns, reveals too much. It is only moonlight that reveals just enough, that blurs the boundaries so we might know peace. But... yes, let's." Ophelia replied, helping Farren get up if he needed it before following. She hadn't even noticed the wind or the rain, as though her mind had stepped beyond the bounds of her body--but when Farren mentioned it, she felt it all at once and shivered.

"I translate into human speech, good Hunter, but I could never shape the Nightmare so that the little ones would find my words when seeking information about something," the doll explained as she, the Shopkeeper and Gerlinde all started walking along with everyone toward the workshop. Torquil had pretty much bolted ahead of everyone to get inside, quite frustrated not only with being wet, but with the incessant sound of rain hitting his metal armor.

"There is no doubt in our minds that those words were from a Great One, not an interpreter," the doll continued.

"I'm not sure why you think there are ruins of Isz in the Old Labyrinth," Gerlinde remarked, "but I haven't found any yet, and I've spent a fair bit of time in there already. I'm not sure just heading in there and hoping we stumble upon the right place is a good idea. The Old Labyrinth is huge!"

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, then, as they entered the cottage, he moved to the left side of the fireplace and took a seat to take advantage of the warmth. “I don't figure going there will do us much good either...just a hunch though,” Farren offered.

“That aside...I'm beginning to think that this 'Ego' or at least its blasted influence is why my past self submitted to Blood Ministration. When I focused on the feeling...the strange thread of Gold I can see if I really focus...well, I could tell it could see me too. More than that though...I felt it. Not just on my skin or in my mind...it was like it was in my body, coiled about my spine...strangling my heart,” an intense, full body shudder cut off his words there and he didn't start back up, shivering faintly--but not from the cold.

Gerlinde's eyes widened eagerly. "Should we open you up and check?"

"We haven't the instruments to detect the influences within him here... Maybe when we go to Byrgenwerth? Ego must be what's influencing Harold, if you saw a golden tentacle there observe us... And that must be what the message means. Paleblood... it's like the Dream, and the Great One it belongs to, marking us as its own. Whatever happened to Farren before... he must have been marked by Ego, no? If Ego was a king, once, does... he perhaps think Farren is his subject? His by divine right? Ah, but I always look to the distance when what we need, what we really need, is to see what's right in front of us. After we get some blood echoes and enhance ourselves we'll be in a better position. Gerlinde and I must achieve heights of the Arcane most mortals are incapable of--the only plan I sense any surety in is the one in which we gain insight." Ophelia mused, before requesting the runebrand from Farren so she could reapply the Guidance rune to herself. Once that was done, she posed the question to the Holy Moonlight Sword: What do you know of Ego? Of Gold?

"Ego is the shepherd," the whispers replied. "The one tasked with guiding humanity when they discover the Old Blood, and the one tasked with taking the Old Blood back if they prove unworthy. It slept in the Old Labyrinth until recently, when it was awoken by the slaying of Great Ones."

"Mother Moon whispers to me, loves, listen close: Ego is the shepherd. The one tasked with guiding humanity when we discover the Old Blood, and the one tasked with taking the Old Blood back if we prove unworthy. Until recently it slept in the Old Labyrinth, but the slaying of Great Ones reawakened it." Ophelia recalled, speaking to everyone but specifically looking at the Doll and the Shopkeeper.

"Truly? Then it is unusually involved for a Great One," the doll mused, looking nervously to Farren. "We already knew that several slumbering Great Ones had awoken, but they rarely interact with humanity directly. It does make sense, though; the Great Ones are sympathetic in spirit, but their idea of what is helpful can vary greatly. It sounds as though Ego, too, desires to aid humanity in achieving evolution... or protect humanity from it if it is allowed to run amok."

Still not entirely used to Gerlinde's madness, Farren gave her a wary look when she mentioned 'opening him up,' but oddly he wasn't worried. If she had intended to do it, she likely would not have been asking so he didn't bother justifying her question with a response. Ophelia handled it well enough anyways. When she recited what the Moonlight Greatsword told her--something he still found strange...moreso after the Memory of Skinner--Farren frowned slightly. He rubbed his hands together before him, warming them by the fire.

The Doll's words didn't buoy him at all either, in fact the idea that their sympathy could take any form due to the inscrutable nature of the Great Ones just unsettled him further. Still, Farren shook his head slightly and tried to dismiss those thoughts. “Whatever foothold it has in me...it seems weaker after I harnessed its Rune,” Farren said, “...but despite that I think we either keep me from markers of its touch or...only allow me to investigate such things so that the rest of you can avoid falling beneath its purview. Perhaps...perhaps that way one of you might find a way to free me from its sway if things come to that.”

"I... don't know how to feel about this Ego, truth be told. If they are a shepherd, their intentions for us and our evolution might be benign and gracious; it isn't until we know what the shape of that evolution is that we can make that judgement. The sympathy of the Great Ones, as the Doll says, is often in a form that we struggle to connect to its true intention."

Gerlinde just stood there for a little while smiling at Farren, only to eventually look away once she determined that they were not, in fact, going to open up Farren. For a moment she pouted a bit, disappointed that she would not get to explore this mystery at the moment, but she quickly bounced back and brightened into a new smile.
"Well, I say we don't need a shepherd," she chirped. "Good intentions or not, I don't want some god wiping me from the face of the Earth because it's deemed us 'unworthy' of the Old Blood."

"The problem is, love, slaying Great Ones is both extremely difficult and terrible for reality itself. I have no doubt we could do it, immortal as we are, but the path of least resistance might be wisest. I certainly won't be letting some golden god destroy me... but on the face of it, it does seem like we have some of the same goals: evolution, transcendence, knowledge. You and I stand above regular mortals, though, Gerlinde--marked by Nightmare as we are, and not by the meddling of mortals. Well... I think, at least--you were born with Paleblood too, weren't you? I do not think what Ego wants for us is necessarily benign, at all, and I don't take kindly to the implicit threat... but we must take every advantage, mustn't we?" Ophelia countered, giving Farren a knowing look at her last statement.

Farren nodded in agreement with Gerlinde, though the gesture was somewhat subdued as he stared into the dancing flame of the hearth. His ears almost pricked up when Ophelia spoke those central words and he couldn't help but smile and while it was nothing like the dreamy-eyed serenity of the Lumenflower Garden, it was an honest thing with a note of satisfaction to it. “Stole the words right from under me,” Farren replied with a brief chuckle. He'd gotten his bearings once more and the strange experience he'd willingly leaned into now left him feeling somehow more himself.

“Since we've all traded Runes, knowledge, and hashed out the rough beginnings of a plan, I think the time for talking alone is done,” he said, his easy confidence coming back to him now that he'd recovered. Knowing they'd leave soon if the others agreed, Farren pushed himself to his feet and almost began brushing himself off, only to stop before disturbing his drenched clothes. It wouldn't do any good...and he'd be dry as soon as they returned to the Waking World. Taking account of his armaments, Farren noted each of his weapons and tools and even briefly shut his eyes to allow himself to 'feel' the strange imprint of the Heir Rune upon his mind. He felt far more grounded and prepared than he had before their meeting with the Vicar...though likely not at all because of any of the nice old man's actions.

Shuffling in through the door, trailing behind as usual, Torquil belatedly asked: "Hey, uh... should we go get the weapon Moira mentioned before going somewhere scary like that? Because that Harhar-place sounds kinda scary."

Farren glanced to the man and smiled, the look somewhere between mischief and cunning. “From the Black Church Workshop? I went and got it already. The Messengers are holding it for now,” he explained, “Why, did you want a look?”

Torquil shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know. I'm probably better off with just the axe."

Gerlinde's eyes widened with renewed interest. "What weapon are you talking about?"

Farren nodded, nearly disappointed, but as Gerlinde showed clear interest, his grin grew slightly. Kneeling down, Farren held his hand near the floor, murmuring a request as he'd taken to doing, beseeching the Messenger's retrieve Fulmen. After a brief moment, they rose, the handle slipping up from between them as they shifted it from wherever they kept it in the nightmare, bringing it back to him. Farren's azure eyes lit upon it and he grasped it firmly with both hands and stood, lifting it just above the Messengers. They retreated back into the nightmare and Farren let the great cube of the Voltaic Hammer come to rest with a thunk against the floor, his palm on the butt of its handle. “That'd be Fulmen. Builds Voltaic charge with each strike. Gets rather volatile quite fast though...liable to destroy its wielder after 10 or so hits when discharged...along with whatever is nearby. Apparently killed a Cleric Beast in a single discharge after building charge for 12 hits.”

Ophelia observed the weapon with clear interest as it was withdrawn from wherever the Messengers went to, though Farren had seen the look of true adulation and exaltation that she had when she looked upon the Holy Moonlight Sword--eerily similar to Ludwig's from the memory they'd just experienced--and it was most certainly not that... But it was a genuine sort of interest nevertheless. Perhaps more to do with how interested in it he was than interest in the weapon itself, but she gave him a warm smile nevertheless and expressed clear interest in its functionality.

"Fascinating... I think perhaps you should put it to the test in Yahar'gul, hmm? Let's really give them some data."

Farren nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he considered Ophelia's words. Then a slight smirk formed on his lips and he gave a more firm nod in confirmation, “I'll have to rearrange what I bring with me...but I think I just might.”

Ophelia turned to Gerlinde again, kindly smile still on her face, and reiterated her previous question: "Were you born with Paleblood, love? All I really know is that Farren delivered you to Byrgenwerth, and... Well, it might matter."

"Oh right, you asked about that," Gerlinde giggled. "I guess I was, yeah. Was always sort of weak and sickly before. I figure that's why Byrgenwerth wanted me in the first place; because they figured out I had Paleblood."

"Our minds and tongues move so quickly it's difficult to focus on the little things sometimes, isn't it? Yes... that makes sense. Ahh, to have another Sister 'neath Mother Moon's gaze... I'm very glad I reached out to you, Gerlinde. You're a wonder to behold, and we're enriched immensely by your presence. Now... let's go slaughter some Followers, and show them what the Glory of the cosmos truly looks like."

For his part, Farren nodded, his attention having shifted while the ladies spoke. It wasn't that he didn't care about the contents of their conversation, but rather that before they could leave he'd need to decide how to arrange his gear. It didn't take him long though, and by the time Ophelia finished speaking Farren had divested himself of the Beastflayer and Piercing Rifle (which he'd first unloaded), after which he carefully positioned something to hold Fulmen in place at his back. Farren then carefully slid the weapon into place at his back, the head of the hammer downward in something like a sling or cradle at his lower back, while the shaft extended upwards just above his shoulder. The shaft was kept in place by the tension of a hook as it tried to pull away from his body due to gravity. It was fairly secure there...and if he wanted to wield it, he could handily adjust the shaft's position out of the hook and then bring the hammer to bear in a single crushing swing.

Satisfied, Farren glanced up at the others, looking between them. If they all looked suitably ready to depart, he'd nod once and then turn towards the Headstones, intending to figure out which Lantern would be best for their excursion. While he walked, he loaded the Hunter's Pistol with a lead bullet.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

endured and where his past self clearly must not have had the resilience and insight to truly grasp more than the edges of the Gold, it seemed that the Azure-eyed Hunter he’d become was far better equipped for such things. Yet, it was of course not an easy thing, not even slightly pleasant, but he pushed and pushed and eventually broke through even as breathe heated his neck and an invasive force coiled about his very bones, invading his nerves even as it pressed in on his mind from every angle.

Though he was unaware of it, he’d begin to shake, first slight shivers here and there, then full body quakes that rocked through him. By the time he was nearly breaking through, nearly immersed in the expanding rays–the living tendrils of light that emanated from the brilliant core of the thread of Golden awareness deep in his mind…well, he was shaking almost violently as if he were nearly having some kind of fit or seizure. His body had leaned forward, fingers between the cobbles of the path, clawed deep into the mud wrought by the rain. Yet, his face would seem bizarrely serene, marred only by an expression of intense, shut-eyed focus.

Then it happened, the thread came into his mind and spoiled out, unraveling in a spiral until it was a solid circle–or a sphere…or a sphere within a sphere that was somehow still its own contiguous shape with no boundaries between the spheres as if the two were one and the same. Then it blossomed, like a flower…no, like a rising sun with its living rays spreading out in every direction. It glowed brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat of unearthly fire and radiance. Yet, it felt purifying, not sickly, holy rather than cloying even despite its touch–its breath, its clamorous voices–shifting all throughout his brain.

Finally with a final pulse Farren gasped, the projection of a new Rune manifested itself, and he opened his eyes all at once.

His mind felt clearer in that moment, brighter, and the sensations in his body began to fade even as he kept his focus on the Rune.

“Ophelia!” He called out after a too-quiet attempt at speech, the first having come out strange and garbled, his tongue and throat having somehow twisted in impossible directions.

Then, even as he held the Rune, Farren decided to try one other thing. He called upon the Messengers, willing them to try and interpret the Rune…perhaps to tell him what they could of its strange nature and the connections they could feel spilling off from its Golden Radiance and off distantly into some other realm of the Nightmare. Perhaps like with Memories and items and armaments they could give them some insight here as well.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

felt his mind subtly expand with each Rune he obtained, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant all the way through. Like building muscle, it was sore and weak before it was strong again, but when it no longer hurt it was far stronger than before. After a brief time, really only a few moments, his mind settled, and with these new insights and experiences–the new perspective he’d gained and the grounding it offered him–Farren turned his attention inward once more. Rather...he would have, but instead he gestured to Ophelia for the brand once she had finished. Then, once he'd received it, he allowed himself a few moments of peace before he turned his mind to the strange task that he'd felt drawn to since the Memory had faded.

However, this was riskier, so heedless of how wet and miserable it was…Farren sat down on the cobbled path and closed his eyes as a took a deep breath, head tilted forward, chin slightly tucked to let the rain run off him without entering his nose or building up at his closed eyes. Slowly, as he reached inwards, the pitter-patter of the rain, the gentle wet slip of droplets across his body, and the clinging of his wet garments drifted away. Those physical sensations became distant and muted and somehow, in his Mind’s Eye he began to get a distinct sense for that strange thread of insidious influence that he’d apparently always had.

Farren didn’t know what it was, but to leave it nestled deep in his mind, to let it give rise to fear and dread and unease just felt…wrong. It felt like the remnant of an experience he no longer remembered, perhaps a trauma that now would only hamper him if he didn’t confront it.

Thus, as that pristine Golden thread grew closer, and brighter, in his awareness he sought it out rather than shying away. Though he moved not at all, he imagined reaching out to it with a steady careful hand and just once...'strumming' that Golden Thread inside him, perhaps to see how it would sing.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

sank into the memory and for its duration lost himself in the experiences of the man to whom it had belonged. No thoughts plagued his mind in those moments beyond the ones sourced from ‘Izzy’, and similarly none of his own emotions affected him for the duration. He’d expected it to be more like watching someone else from afar, an aloof sort of observer, but as Farren regained awareness of his own condition–the Memory fading into the past where it no longer captured the entirety of his attention–he found himself somewhat unmoored. Rather than having been an unseen, unfeeling observer to someone else’s experience, he felt strange in his own body. The strange phenomena allowed him some respite however, and the Memory a greater perspective than he’d had before. As frightening as some of the experiences had been while he was in them, now they only made some of his own problems feel small and far more tenable than before.

His heartbeat grew calmer and though that same thread of insidious ‘twisting’ gold remained, it did not seem nearly so bad as before–though indeed its intensity had not waned in the slightest. Straightening up from the position he’d had to take to share the Memory alongside the others, Farren glanced between them briefly, finding himself strangely grounded in that moment. Then he heard his name and so his eyes turned to Ophelia as she spoke, demonstrating how to show her–and perhaps the others–the rune that Skinner had given them.

‘So strange,’ he thought absently as he took in her words, ‘...that this is my life now….’ When she had finished explaining and demonstrating to the best of her ability, Farren simply nodded and took the projection case, aligning it as she had shown him. It didn’t take him long, but that was the easier component to the process.

For the rest, Farren closed his eyes and focused. At first all he felt was the rain and wind on his skin, his clothes and hair plastered against his body or hanging heavily from his form. However, as he recalled the moment that the rune had imprinted itself into his mind, Farren found those sensations fading. His thoughts shifted from a more natural quiet to something more clamorous and feverish. He gritted his teeth, then bared them without realizing. His brow screwed up in a frown and a low sound his throat–not quite a growl–became apparent, something like a rough humming noise. Farren’s feet shifted slightly and his muscles grew tense, then relaxed, then tensed again like those of a predator preparing to pounce. Finally he felt more than saw the rune manifest in his Mind’s Eye. It did not appear gradually, but instead all at once, as if it had been clawed into his brain by a series of clawed swipes from some unseen beastial entity tearing at his mind. Yet, it didn’t hurt, instead…he just felt a rumbling, vibrating heat and a pang of hunger roll through his body. In that same moment the rune would become visible to Ophelia and any others who were close enough to see.

Once he had held it for a few seconds–long enough for the others to learn it–Farren relaxed. For a moment he regarded the projector case. Something tickled at his mind…a curiosity that he’d been suppressing almost since he’d awoken some hours ago. If Ophelia moved to take the case from him, he would hand it to her–his attention seeming to be elsewhere for a moment before he answered an earlier question she had implied. “I’d gladly learn whatever you have to share. Such things are perhaps far more valuable than I had thought…” that said he fell silent again. If she chose to show him what Runes she had acquired, he would pay attention, allowing them to be imprinted on his mind, but as soon as that was done his attention would begin to drift once again.

Something was pulling on his attention….

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

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 something 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. “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.” 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.