yoshua171

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

nodded idly in response, though his eyes blazed slightly as he regarded Ophelia with a somewhat intense expression that only calmed once she’d assured them she’d be sharing the Rune. When she demonstrated it, he’d be paying very close attention, but thereafter he’d pull away, turning towards the path that had been opened for them. Walking, he joined Gerlinde where she was peeking past where the fog gate once had been. Farren didn’t peek, he just looked straight through the open threshold and after briefly taking in what he could see, he stepped past it after drawing the Beastcutter into both hands, braced in front of him, but not in such a way that would cause him problems stepping through the doorway.

Clearly he was quite ready to push onwards.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched warily as the beast began to move, but he didn’t strike and unable to see the gathering motes of light as Ophelia could, Farren reacted not in the slightest once it had settled into a state resembling prayer. Frowning, the azure-eyed hunter regarded the beast for a long moment before shaking his head slightly. Then it reached out to Ophelia and his eyes widened fractionally, but before he could act, its claw lightly tapped his ally’s forehead and a series of expressions seemed to wash over the woman’s features. Farren took a single step forward, but again before he might do something drastic, Ophelia spoke and Farren’s eyes darted to her, noting that she seemed entirely unharmed.

He started to relax, though he gave the white-haired beast a suspicious look. However, as Ophelia explained what the beast had done, his brows rose and his eyes widened. Farren wanted that Rune on his mind…but not before they returned to the Dream, for as much as he itched for it…for the influence of that Garden to be well and truly gone, he knew it wasn’t practical to assume there would be no further encounters ahead of them. After all, more echoes riding within his blood was a blessing all its own and it was not one he would so simply give up on for the mere comfort that this new Rune might offer..

“Teach it to us,” Farren said, his voice stiff and measured as he held back how badly he wanted that power. “...but I will keep the Heir Rune for now…until we return at least.” That said, Farren joined her in fully freeing the lightbeast for though he remained vigilant and somewhat wary, much of his suspicion had waned.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched as Ophelia began to move away from the Darkbeast and he followed in kind, so that when she eventually turned to seek him, he was only a meter or so behind and to her left. He’d been watching the Lightbeast as she’d interacted with it and he had a faint frown creasing his brow, though it faded after a moment as he gave a slight shrug. “Certainly…and if you lent a hand, Torquil, it’d likely go twice as fast,” the last he added as he glanced in the armored man’s direction. After a moment he glanced back to the Lightbeast and approached it at a measured pace, his discerning gaze vigilantly remaining focused on the beast.

It did not seem hostile, but even a beast could have animal cunning. “Gerlinde, in case it’s an act, I want you ready to strike it at,” he said, giving her a glance before he took a knee beside one of its staked hands. Farren looked it over for a moment, trying to ascertain whether it was mostly in the ground or mostly exposed to open air. It only took him a brief moment before he went about loosening the chain, though he couldn’t easily maneuver it with the beast’s bulk in the way and its hands still bound to the ground by the stake. Once there was enough slack, Farren repositioned himself, nodded and warped both hands around the handle. Wrenching upwards with slowly increasing strength, Farren only used as much as he needed to in order to pull the blade of the stake out of the creature’s impaled hands.

He’d still stumble back and away a bit when the blade came out, ending up with the stake in one hand, the chain trailing back to the wrists of the Lightbeast, which he regarded with wary, discerning eyes.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

glanced over at the Lightbeast briefly, before turning back to the Darkbeast’s still faintly crackling cadaver. Some part of him wanted to chop it into little pieces and bury them each some meters apart, but he didn’t. It would be a waste of time for if the creature could come back even from this then separating its remains would only prove to delay it.

However, while taking the time to hack the darkbeast into numerous segments may have been too time consuming, taking some piece of it could be helpful. After all…surely someone could put something so durable, conductive, and with seemingly nigh limitless–if not rapid–regenerative potential to use. With that in mind, while he waited for Ophelia to weigh in on the situation with the Lightbeast–something he deliberately chose not to do for the moment–Farren hefted a foot a bit, found it too weighty, then moved to one of its forelegs. He was able to lift it…just barely, and only a few inches from the silt-coated ground. Perhaps half that weight would be manageable, he figured. That in mind, Farren positioned himself at one of the elbows after maneuvering the arm into an extended position that it would hold on account of gravity, and then he brought his Beastflayer down through the joint in a heavy swing.

Severing it cleanly after two passes, Farren slung the weapon on his back and then knelt down by the forearm and its still-attached hand. He nodded to himself slightly and muttered for the Messengers, who showed up briefly after. Hefting the arm he handed it over to them, helping them lower it into the oblivion of the Nightmare realm they used to store things. When that was finished, Farren glanced back at the body. He could probably take more of it apart and store it…but he wasn’t sure if there was limited space in his ‘storage’ realm or if things could affect eachother at all while in it together. So he didn’t. After all, the beast’s still undead body did not seem to be going anywhere so if the initial part was of some use he figured that he could come retrieve more…and with an actual team to transport it.

That done, Farren turned away from the felled beast.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

did not act as quickly as the others, but when he saw them rushing the darkbeast, he followed suit. However, as he arrived it was already over. He gritted his teeth a moment, irritated, and then the wash of overwhelming, but weightless Significance settled into his veins, pulsing through with each of his heartbeats. Though it burdened him not at all, the sensation of it was similar to what he imagined it must have been like to exist beyond the physical self…yet within the same space. The thought came to him without context and he took in a deep breath, finally feeling some of the frustration from the last hour or so fall away from his shoulders and drain from his body.

Realizing he’d closed his eyes for a moment to revel in the sensation, Farren opened them once more and then walked towards the Darkbeast’s ruined corpse and stared down at it with a slight smile. “Good fucking riddance,” he said, sounding satisfied, then spat on the ground beside it. That done, Farren retrieved what he could from the beast, looking it over to ensure there was nothing of any further use that they might extract from it beyond the echoes that had once animated its undead flesh. During that process he also retrieved the Blade of Mercy he’d left embedded in its skull, checking it over, before unifying it with its twin and sheathing it.

Once he’d found all he could, Farren glanced in Ophelia’s direction, wondering perhaps if he contemplated on their recent experiences if there might be another Rune to be gleaned somehow. He doubted it…and after a few moment’s consideration he decided against it. If he was going to do something like that he’d save it for somewhere safer–like one of the workshops…or the Hunter’s Dream. A moment later he was pulled from those thoughts by Ophelia's praise. He almost let out a grunt rather than reply, but instead he glanced back between the members of their group and then down at the beheaded Darkbeast.

“Still could've gone better,” Farren said, and though the words were rather negative, he was smiling, clearly pleased that things had turned out better than he’d expected. For a time there it had seemed like they’d been slated for an exceptionally more unpleasant trip to the Dream. Then he nodded, and glanced in the direction of the fog gate–obscured by the illusory wall. “Mmh, Sounds as good a plan as any. Besides, I’m tired of all this blasted silt,” Farren replied, kicking at a nearby pile with a faint laugh. He seemed in good spirits. There really was something to narrowly escaping death it seemed.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

watched the battle with baited breath, recovering his stamina naturally as he did so. Each exchange of blows was tremendous and he marvelled at the fact that they’d even managed to fight the Darkbeast at all. However…at the same time, Farren found himself unsettled and uncertain. Before when Ophelia had summoned the Moonbound Hunter he had absolutely obliterated their opponent…but now, it was almost even, and Farren had the distinct sense that the Shopkeeper was struggling.

“This isn’t good…” Farren muttered, pushing to his feet after he’d briefly handed Bulwark to the Messengers who had waited for further direction. They’d taken it after that.

As Farren stood up, he glanced at the three others. Torquil was perhaps in the best shape…or at least looked it, but that was on account of his armor. Besides, the man had clearly taken at least one blood vial during their encounter with the Darkbeast. While Farren took in each of them–startled at how well off Gerlinde seemed despite the sheer quantity of damage she’d taken. Ophelia on the other hand, though in decent shape, appeared largely on her last legs—she was clearly exhausted.

Yet, before he could even begin to organize some plan of attack, his eyes were drawn back to the conflict as the Darkbeast wrested dominion of the battle by latching onto the Shopkeeper. Then it started to glow with a ferocity far exceeding anything it had done during their fight with it. “Shit…”

Farren cast his gaze down and away, shielding his eyes with an arm in the instant right before the explosion went off. It was so loud and powerful that it rattled his bones, sending a chilling vibration throughout his entire body that set his every nerve on edge. Some small part of him that retained a prey instinct told him desperately to run. Farren stifled that voice, squared his jaw and tried to steel himself, but when the dust cleared, his lips parted slightly in stunned horror.

“That…that’s a problem,” Farren said simply, his tone gruff and though there was a note of fear there, by and large he sounded no less determined than before. Brandishing the Beastflayer, Farren’s eyes snapped over to Gerlinde. “Any chance that horn of yours can work on more than one weapon at a time?” As he spoke, he kept the beast in his peripheral vision. He’d know precisely when it decided to shift its attention.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

healed much faster from that point, as Bulwark levered the chainlink open even further, though it hadn’t done quite the degree of damage he’d hoped it could. Nonetheless, as his senses came fully back into focus, he caught the trailing crimson bolts as the Darkbeast leapt into motion. Farren’s gaze shifted in the direction he’d seen the blur, his brow already furrowing before he watched in dumbfounded silence as the Darkbeast began its clash with the Moonborn Hunter.

Though he’d not know it, Farren had thought similarly to Ophelia…that they could have prevailed given a bit more time and space to maneuver, but seeing that single clash changed his mind.

“Bloody hell…” Farren muttered, but he didn’t gape for more than an instant. The silt blocked his view anyways, so instead he turned his azure eyes upon the chainlink, withdrew Bulwark’s expanded shield form from the space with a grating metal-against-metal racket, and then he tossed the weapon to his left rather carelessly. Far moreso than he normally would have. His hands swiftly caught on the chain link, and he used his strength and dexterity both to unhook it from its fellows, severing the link between Light and Darkbeasts.

That done, Farren glanced at Bulwark, noted the chipped outer edge with a frown, then mumbled to the Messengers, who took the weapon away the next moment. He’d have to get it repaired now…that’d been reckless, but necessary–he hoped.

Rising to his feet, Farren kicked the now separated portions of chain away from one another and pulled the Beastflayer from his back, watching for further movement.

Surely the beast couldn’t overpower even the Shopkeeper….

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Lhirinthyl

---

Lhirin had much to think on as they walked following his involvement in conversations with Freagon and the fall–Caleb–he corrected himself mentally. Though he’d had a fair deal more experience than most with the divine on account of Deo’Irah, fallen angels were a different matter entirely. Personally, he found them fascinating and his experience thus far with Caleb only reinforced that notion. Oddly–though he understood the divine’s reticence to share it–Lhirin found himself truly wishing he had the being’s name. Not to summon it necessarily, but simply to converse with it.

It just seemed a terrible shame that one with so many experiences and the knowledge that came with divinity would be locked away in the Neverrealm once they were done. Had he the option, the deigan might have bound himself to his word with the divine, such that he could not bind Caleb even if he so desired, but alas Lhirin knew of no such magic nor other power that might allow such a thing.

Sighing lightly to himself–the sound small and quiet as the necessity for some measure of stealth had presented itself some time ago–Lhirin went about assisting Irah with her gathering. When they came to a stop to briefly confer, Lhirin made an effort to put some finishing touches on the makeshift facsimile of a body.

It was roughshod at best and though it would surely crumble at some point later when the Angel had once again departed, Lhirin found that it offended his sensibilities as a craftsman.

However, before he could ask for her flask, Lhirin felt Irah’s hand gently lay upon his shoulder. Lhirin frowned slightly, his silver eyes shifting to regard her. While others he could not read, Irah he had come to know very well over their time together and something in his manner hardened–his stance becoming more solid as he spaced his feet more evenly and stood just a bit taller, all as if to offer her something solid to rely on. Yet, even as that occurred, his gaze grew soft, filled with unspoken understanding. Lightly, he raised his own hand and laid it over hers, holding her gaze for a long few seconds, before he finally blinked once and spoke.

“May I have your flask?”

She acquiesced, handing it over and he gave her a small nod of thanks and a brief smile, before squeezing her hand lightly and then letting go. He moved to their makeshift construction and scanned the nearby earth, poking at it with the toe of his boot as he did so. Eventually he seemed to find what he was looking for, at which point he shifted over to it and crouched down, uncapping her flask.

Someone else might think the next thing he did was rude and thoughtless, for Lhirinthyl promptly poured the water onto the ground in an expanding circle until the flask was nearly emptied. Capping it he handed it up to Irah and then began to scrounge in the dirt like some small burrowing animal. He dug without the slightest hint of shame and with a single minded focus that few could match. After a minute or so he’d loosened a fairly decent portion of sodden dirt–mud really–and his hands were thoroughly sullied by the act. Yet, for some reason, the deigan mage seemed pleased at his work. He took in hand some of the mud, testing its consistency–and even compacting it to squeeze some of the moisture out into mostly dry earth–after which he pushed to his feet and turned to their creation. Carefully he began to pat clots of mud onto various areas of the construct in mostly fairly thin layers. He’d come back for more mud, gathering it in hand before repeating the process. When he had gotten most of the mud in place he put some more around where joints might be and molded gentle curves and angles into the piece. It took at least a solid 5 minutes while the others conferred and organized, but when he was done their roughshod thing appeared somewhat more recognizable as a facsimile of a person. He’d been careful not to put too much mud in a given place so that it could hold together with the loose plant matter, sticks, and other materials they’d used. It also, oddly, looked a bit more like something. Lhirin hadn’t been aiming for anything in particular, but it had about if one caught its silhouette they might be startled–even before they summoned a divine to inhabit it.

Brushing off his hands of dried mud, Lhirin then turned back to the others. He only grimaced when he realized that he might have to hold his Runeblade with his soil-covered hands. Sighing a bit he used his own flask to slightly rinse off a bit more dirt, then he absently wiped them off using his sleeves. They could clean his clothes later, it was more important that he could easily move his fingers and wield his blade.

Likely by the time he’d finished, Caleb would be ready for the first summoning and the others would be fully organized, at which point he’d join the group that they’d planned he would accompany.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

was blind, deaf, and functionally mute, his body charred, his clothes with holes burned in them. The pain was endless and this time he didn’t feel the immediate rush of vitality surge through his body. He tried to swallow, but the sensation was beyond painful. His hand fumbled numbly at his vial pouch for a second, found purchase, and then weakly stabbed the syringe into his thigh. He groaned and even that hurt, but the vial of the Old Blood began to suffuse him, an ecstatic heat that spread from where the vial had punctured his flesh down through his leg and up from his thigh at the same time. It combined with a prickling sensation, like pins and needles dialed up past reckoning with. The heat reached his head and the haze in his mind cleared almost immediately, followed swiftly by his vision returning. “Fucker…” Farren rasped out, then he managed to move, bringing Bulwark down into the gap of the damaged chain link. The blade easily punched through the silt, then the dirt, driven by his rapidly returning strength as heat and jagged needling nerve pain coursed throughout his body. With a pained grunt, Farren twisted his hand, activating the mechanism of the blade…and Bulwark expanded in a sudden burst of force, each ‘expanding edge’ aimed at a weak point of the chainlink. With any luck it would be enough.

Too dazed to notice, Farren barely even registered the sound of the bell, perhaps he’d missed it while he’d been deaf and recovering. Further, he hadn’t even glanced in Torquil’s direction and his peripheral vision felt hazy and inconsequential in that moment of narrow pain-ridden focus. Perhaps it was better that way.

Night of the Hunt - Paleblood

_Farren

saw the shift in his peripheral vision, and his head turned slightly, noting that the glow of the beast had expanded to the core of its body. Farren deliberated only for an instant before continuing his path.

The longer this went, the less able all of them would be for whatever came after–not to mention the more likely a death would become. The chain had to be severed, even if he had to suffer for it. So, Farren drew Bulwark as he ran, reaching the chain link mere moments before the Darkbeast released its explosive charge. Rather than try to complete the action, Farren dropped to his knees beside the chain and gripped the blade’s handle with both hands as tight as he could.

Then the world went white.