Leagues and leagues of nothing, that was the land he walked summarised.
The Lost Hunter felt a chill set in his bones as he wrenched his saw cleaver from the head of a ursine beast. Days he had wandered, and yet, there was no sign of civilisation, much less human life. For the first time in many a moon, the hunter felt anxiety - true, creeping… dread.
One must never forget the reason of their actions, that was drilled into his skull by an old mentor, one known as the Crow.
"Why do you partake in the Hunt?" She would ask, the soulless eyes of her beaked mask boring into him.
And he would reply, "To stay alive."
Her response, he would remember for the rest of his life - "Then run away."
It was then, the Lost Hunter realised he was no longer killing beasts to stay alive. It was then, when he truly became a hunter. A hunter doesn't run, they hunt. To save as many lives as they could, to bring mercy to those who lost themselves to the Scourge, to fight for the beliefs of the Healing Church.
The Lost Hunter was no saint, or at least, he didn't think himself one. For he fought to save lives, not because it was right, but because he felt pride doing so. He bathed himself in blood so that others wouldn't have to, and with each beast he ripped apart he felt good knowing another life was saved. To him, it was like a drug, one greater than anything the Healing Church could provide.
So when the Good Hunter brought down the Pale Moon and the Yharnam Sunrise crested the horizon, he still did not feel complete. Even as the Night of the Hunt ended and the hunters breathed relief in the streets, the not yet Lost Hunter still felt the need to fight in his bones.
He left Yharnam, then, to continue to hunt his own quarries, bringing himself to distant lands all the while. And now he was in a land more distant than any other, and he was slowly coming to realise that here, there might not be anyone to save. Did he no longer have purpose, then? A horrid thought indeed, for a hunter's purpose was their life.
The Lost Hunter was filled with terrible resolve, then. He had long realised that this was no Nightmare - for Nightmares were realms locked in time, ever shrouded by something like dusk but not quite. He was dreaming, then, as all hunter's did during the Night of the Hunt. And so to end the Dream one must end the host. Aye, did that resolve harden, if he must kill a god to return to the Waking World, he will.
The Good Hunter did it back in Yharnam, why can't he here?
Of course, first he must find said Great One, a task easier said than done. The hunter pondered the thought of returning to the sea and leaping in it, for bodies of water always seemed to conceal more than they should.
He couldn't help but snicker at that thought.
Alas, there was a slight issue with that hypothesis. It wasn't mere bodies of water he should seek, but lakes. Aye, he recalled clearly, the raid on the Moonside Lake was the beginning of the end for the Hunt in Yharnam. And so was the same in Loran, when Fauna threw him into the lake below, only for him to awaken in the Great One's Nightmare.
Finding a lake was a good start, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Besides, he had been travelling for days without water, and he could only live off of Vileblood Wine for so long.
On a similar note, it appeared that ordinary fauna, such as wolves and deer, did not seem to be in any danger of the black beasts. For the most part, the the beasts seemed to leave the ordinary animals alone, only attempting to kill him - a human. A traitorous part of his brain assumed that it could be because humans don't exist in this Dream, thus perhaps the beasts were attacking what they thought was an outsider.
A more rational part of his brain told him that the lack of civilisation could be because of the beasts in the first place. Humans could be an endangered lifeform, thus were sparse and far between. All the more reason to continue the hunt.
From a breach in the canopy, the Lost Hunter observed snowcapped peaks in the distance, far to the north. Leagues away as it were, it would be a long trek, but as they were the highest landform around, it would be a good place to take a view of the region.
"What in Kos' good name are you?"
The Lost Hunter stared up at a great behemoth of a beast, the largest he had encountered so far. And the strangest of the lot too. It stood at least five men tall, with four legs as thick as tree trunks. Two great fan-like ears flapped at the sides of its head, and a long, prehensile nose was situated between two wicked curved tusks. Most beasts he had encountered until now seemed to be modified versions of nameable animals, yet this beast was completely foreign.
Though, he had to admit, the world was vast, and there were still many places yet be explored. He hadn't heard of camels until he ventured into Loran, after all.
The hunter might not be able to travel anymore, though, for there was an entire herd of such beasts. At least a score of them, from a glance, none larger than the lead - possibly the matriarch, but still sizable enough could stomp him dead.
Sweat ran down his back. He should have noticed them, aye, but he was in the midst of killing another group of beasts when they interrupted him. The Lost Hunter breathed, and took note of his situation.
He was in a clearing, the corpses of numerous beasts surrounding him. He was relatively tired, having just finished a hunt, and now there was some twenty massive beasts he had not seen before in front of him. Perhaps he could take on one, maybe even three, but this many? The hunter could only pray they were not quick on their feet.
The lead creatures beady red eyes stared down at him through its mask-bone.
Was it not aggressive? Perhaps not all species of beasts were… antagonistic. Slowly, the hunter moved out of the beast's way, making sure not to make any sudden movements. The creature's gaze followed him, its head turning to match his position.
When he was completely out of the herd's path, the leading beast released a trumpet-like sound with its tentacle-like nose, and the entire herd moved forwards as one. The ground shook as the walking buildings trudged along, uncaring that they were trampling the corpses of their own kind.
Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, one of the smaller beasts - perhaps a child, stopped and turned to face him. He stared it down, clenching his saw cleaver in anticipation should it be hostile. The beast didn't seem to like his stance, for it snorted in anger, only for a larger beast to nudge it back onto the path. With a sniff, it returned to following the herd.
The Lost Hunter took some time to process what he had witnessed. Perhaps it was not the species that dictated whether they were hostile, but age. Aye, in each area he was in, after a long hunt, he would not be accosted for some time - until he entered the territory of another pack of beasts.
Of course, it was all assumptions, and faulty assumptions could get a hunter killed in battle. But the Lost Hunter felt quite confident in hedging his bets on beastly intelligence.
He looked up, it was just past noon, yet even in a clearing the coolness and shade was noticeable. The hunter was at the base of the mountains, now, and though he could not tell before he could now - it was not just a peak, but an entire range, running north-south. He did not realise before due to observing the range from the south, but up close he could see how it runs into the distance.
He began making the trek up the mountain, which thankfully wasn't so steep so as that he couldn't handle. There was no daylight to lose, and he had to find a suitable campsite for the night.
The Lost Hunter nearly collapsed in relief when he spotted several columns of smoke rising in the horizon - telltale signs of a village or town.
Problem is, he had to go westwards - downhill. He stared down the treacherous, rocky terrain, scanning the mountainside for any suitable path downwards. The hunter was running out of Vileblood Wine, and so he could not risk any unnecessary injuries. Hopefully once he reached the town, they would be kind enough to allow him space for a workshop, if only a temporary one.
Steadily, he began shifting down mountainside, always searching for suitable footholds before placing his feet. He could feel the anticipation building in him as he moved closer and closer to the first human interaction he would have in weeks. Though embarrassing, he even began to savour the phantom taste of actual plated food, not hastily roasted venison or whatever catch he made for the night.
Though, the townsfolk would first have to be welcoming of a hunter, which was admittedly rare. After all, in the Hinterlands, hunters were an omen of plague, and of death. If a hunter goes there, then there must be something to hunt. This was why many people close their doors in the face of hunters, they do not want to admit that blight was stirring under their feet.
The Lost Hunter did not - could not, fault them, ignorance was bliss, as the saying goes. Though in these kinds of cases, said bliss was likely death.
A sharp, piercing scream shook him from his thoughts. It came from the town, and with his mind no longer clouded with fantasies of warmth and food, he realised that the columns of smoke where not white, but black in great plumes. The hunter threw away any notion of safety as he leapt down from his perch.
With no space to roll, he landed in a crouch, feeling a bone crack. In well practiced motion, he stabbed himself with a vial and took off, leaping from foothold to foothold, some no wider than an inch. He felt his heart pumping in his ears as he virtually flew down the mountainside, even as horror built inside him as the orange glow of fires entered his view.
The hunter's eyes and mind worked a mile a minute, identifying suitable purchase, then using said purchase. He got into the rhythm, leaping around like a mountain goat, breaking his ankles more than once.
The Lost Hunter scrambled to a halt as he observed the carnage occurring below him. The town was large, with at least a population of 200, it was also well placed, nestled in a valley surrounded by rocky terrain. A sensible place to create a settlement, with all the beasts roaming about, a vale with many natural barriers and chokepoints. Not that it helped them any much now.
For the town was overrun with beasts. The two most common kinds of beasts were present, the bears and the lycanthropes, some boars and apes he could see as well. They ran rampant, tearing into buildings and people alike, knocking over lamps and torches, creating the fires he could see now.
The hunter felt the ground rumble, and instinctively looked west - towards the nearby forest. With dread, he watched as tree after tree was knocked down, and as bird scattered into the sky. The rumbling grew ever more vigorous, and he heard the distinctive trumpet-call. It appears that the behemoth beasts have finally shown their true colours.
No time to waste, he slid down the approaches, racing into the town outskirts. He was running on limited time, and the hourglass would be flipped the moment the behemoths reached the settlement.
He extended his saw cleaver and tore into an unsuspecting lycanthrope, cleaving its head from its shoulders. Evelyn sung her savage song over and over as bloody lead was pumped into numerous beasts. A laugh escaped him as he carved his way closer to the town centre, beast blood singing in his veins. The Lost Hunter revelled in slaughter not seen since the days of Yharnam, so many years ago.
Knowing that visceral attacks were useless against these heartless brand of beasts, his saw cleaver was his greatest tool. Serrated steel slashed and tore into black flesh, even shattering bony armour with enough force. Tar-like blood spilled onto the streets, covering cobbled stone in a fresh new paint job. His blood joined the beasts' own too, as his created more and more blood bullets to fuel Evelyn's desire to sing.
Rip and tear, so he did, and the beasts began to avoid him outright. Fear, it was so thick in the air he could taste it, the beasts feared him. And so did the humans, for when he approached a small boy huddled in an alleyway, the child recoiled at the sight of him.
Aye, he was all covered in black tar, face covered by tricorne and bandana, and wielding the savage saw cleaver he must look like some demon from hell.
"Where is here, child?"
The boy tried to shrink into the corner even more, too paralysed in fear to even speak, his eyes betrayed the horrors he had to witness. He had no time to waste questioning a traumatised child, there were beasts to hunt.
"Get to a safe place," he ordered, "I've cleared the streets 'round these parts."
Without waiting for a reaction, the hunter turned on his heel and continued down the road. Spotting a lycanthrope hammering away at a barred door, he leapt forwards and swung his extended saw cleaver in a wide arc, rending a ghastly flesh wound in its side.
The creature roared in pain, or annoyance, for he did not know if these innard-less beasts knew pain. Nevertheless, it still wanted to kill him, and so turned to face him, claws ready to rip him to shreds. Alas, all it was met with was a face full of Evelyn's payload.
As it staggered back, the Lost Hunter had to suppress the honed instinct to plunge his arm into its chest, instead swinging down his saw cleaver diagonally. The trick weapon bit into the beast's left shoulder, and he found the blade stuck. Uncaring of the weapon embedded in him, the creature tried to bite off his head, only for him to drop Evelyn and grip the saw cleaver with two hands.
With a mighty wrench, the hunter dodged certain death and pushed the serrated blade all the way through the lycanthrope, bisecting it from shoulder to waist. Even as it's upper torso fell to the ground, it continued to claw at him, until it slowly grew limp.
The hunter breathed out, and reached down to grab Evelyn. As he checked the firearm for any damage, dents or the like, someone knocked the wooden door from the inside. It was then the hunter realised he probably saved a family from getting eaten alive.
"Are you okay?" A muffled female voice called from inside the house, "Thank you for saving us!"
After checking his surroundings, the Lost Hunter responded.
"Do you know where the rest of the folk here are?"
"Uhm," the voice hesitated, as if trying to recall something, "I think everyone went to the town hall. Those nearer to the mountains probably found caves to hide in, or something."
As the hunter opened his mouth the reply, the ground shook as something mighty fell to the ground. Spinning around, he watched as a two-storey building was knocked over as it were a toy by a gargantuan beast, the same kind he met in the forests several days ago. They were still on the outskirts, the hunter thought, he still had time.
"W-What was that?" The voice called, coloured by fear.
"Get out," He snapped, temper frayed by anxiety, "I've cleared the streets 'round here, but worse is making its way over. Just follow behind me, and we'll get to the town hall in a jiffy."
"R-Right! Come on, Helen!" The girl called for someone, likely a family member.
Not waiting for them, the hunter took off, and found the town square littered with bodies feasted on by beasts. Feeling his blood boil at the sight, the Lost Hunter interrupted the banquet with a roar of his own, swinging down his saw cleaver in a vicious arc. Once more the hunter plied his bloody trade, weaving in and out of claw and teeth, answering them with teeth of his own.
He slid under the legs of one lycanthrope, sawing away their calved at the same time, only to rise with Evelyn pointed at the maw of an ursine.
BANG
The beast recoiled backwards, and the hunter plunged his arm into its chest. A mistake, he thought, as he felt his back be ripped open by the claws of another beast. Ripping his arm free, he kicked the ursine away and swung his retracted saw cleaver around in an attempt to make space.
It was not to be, as the saw cleaver got stuck against the bone armour of another ursine, for without the weight of a full swing behind it, there was no chance of shattering the bone. As the lycanthrope's maw descended onto him, he dropped Evelyn once more to desperately claw at the Old Hunter's Bone tied to his belt.
Alas, though was able to get a hold of it, he had no time to drench it in blood. Just as he prepared himself for death, the lycanthrope's head exploded in a ball of fire as something impacted it. In reaction, the other beasts surrounding him backed away in instinct, giving him time and space he would not waste.
He scooped up some blood bullets from a sachet and pressed it into the bone, and thus felt the ever strange experience of dematerialising. The art of Quickening was mostly lost by the time he had gotten to Yharnam, for it was an art only practitioned by the first hunters. The Lost Hunter was lucky to have found the Old Hunter's Bone in the Abandoned Workshop, and learned as much as he could of the art from it.
Alas, he couldn't quite get the hang of Quickening on a whim, so had to use the Bone to remind himself how every now and then.
Emphasis on now, more than then. The hunter quickened over to the nearby ursine that nearly killed him, and ripped into it with his saw cleaver, immediately after he quickened to another lycanthrope and extended his saw cleaver - and beheaded it in a single motion. The dance continued soon after, as the Old Hunter's Bone was fed more and more of his lifeblood he became a ghostly mist bringing death wherever it went.
Before he knew it, there was nothing left to kill. His left hand was a complete mess, by now, having been voluntarily ripped apart in his effort to feed the Old Hunter's Bone. With his last vial of Vileblood Wine, he healed most of his acquired injuries.
Remembering that he had dropped Evelyn, he returned to the spot where he nearly got killed and began shifting around the bodies laying there. Thankfully, he found his pistol undamaged, unfortunately, it was caked in black, viscous tar. The hunter swung the gun down, shaking off most of the beastly blood.
As he stowed away Evelyn, he looked to to find two girls staring him awe - or horror. In his experience, both were two sides of the same coin. The older girl, likely the one who spoke to him at the door, was holding a large firearm, one not unlike that of a hunting rifle. It was also far too big for her, and she clearly didn't know how to use it. The head shot must've been a lucky hit, then.
They stared at him, so he decided to start the conversation.
"What are your names?"
The older one flinched as she was shaken out of her thoughts, and the younger one creeped closer to her sister, nearly hiding behind her.
"Uh- um… I'm Phoebe," She introduced herself, "This is Helen, my younger sister."
"Well, it's good to see you are unharmed. Shall we make our way to the town hall?"
Phoebe nodded her head vigorously, following behind him like a duck behind its mother. He heard another building collapse behind him, as the behemoth came closer.
The town hall was the largest building in the town, and was hard to miss. The doors were large, heavy, and oaken, the building itself made of stone. It was likely built with the intent of being a safehouse, should an event just like the one happening now occur.
He raised a fist and knocked on the door three times. There was no answer. He repeated the action again, and once again there was no response. He turned to look at the two sisters, questioning them with his gaze.
"Uh- maybe they think you are Grimm? I heard the Grimm feed on fear, so they don't wanna answer."
A sensible hypothesis, it was indeed. Also very useful information, which he stowed away for later. It was good that he could finally put a name to the manner of beasts that plagued this land.
"Aye, that could be it." He nodded.
So he knocked again, this time with a distinct pattern - one long, three short, one long, two short. A classic, if he had to say so himself.
"Who- who's there!?" A fearful voice called at him.
"I cleared the beasts- the Grimm, 'round here. You ought to leave, bigger ones are coming."
"Bigger ones? No- wait, are you the Huntsmen we called for?"
Huntsmen, so they had their own brand of hunters as well, then. It made sense, it considering they called for them it was safe to assume the Huntsmen were well accepted in most of these parts. A policing force, perhaps. Alas, he was no huntsman, but a hunter.
"Afraid not, just a hunter who spotted a burning town. Now get out, there are…"
The hunter leaned down to the two sisters, and asked them what the behemoth approaching them was called. The older one shrugged with a helpless expression, but the younger one piped up.
"They're called goliaths." She whispered.
"Thank you, little one." He whispered back, before returning to the door, "Pardon me, there are goliaths approaching."
The person on the other side of the door let out a voice of alarm, before scampering away. Soon after, the oaken doors swung inwards, to reveal some dozen or so people seeking refuge inside. One woman looked at the sisters behind him and leapt to her feet, rushing forwards.
"Oh Phoebe! Helen!" She cried.
The hunter moved aside just in time for the woman to wrap the girls in a great hug, weeping in relief. The woman looked up at him.
"Did you save my two daughters? Oh thank you greatly."
"It is of no issue." He waved her off, "But you should get going, are there any safe places 'round here?"
"There are the caves in the mountainside," An older man came up to him, he extended an arm for a handshake, to which the hunter obliged, "Linus Gray, thank you for saving my daughters."
The hunter nodded in response, "You ought to move. I've cleared out most of the beasts, there shan't be any in your way."
"Thank you once more," the man turned around to face to survivors, "Come on people, let's get moving!"
A young man approached him, likely a son of Linus, from his features. He shook his hand.
"Thanks for saving my sisters, mom was in a bout of hysteria without them," the young man released a nervous laugh, "Oh and, uh, welcome to Lower Cairn, though you won't find much hospitality here, now that… yeah."
What a strange manner of speech.