Lower Cairn was situated in a small valley, nestled into the mountain side. The vale itself was U-shaped, with the open end towards the west, the same direction from with the beats appeared.
At the bend, there were numerous caves suitable for hiding in, which was also were they were headed to now. The Lost Hunter kept an eye out for any beasts they might run into, but this deep into the valley bend there were none. Besides him walked Linus Gray, and behind him the rest of the Gray Family.
The hunter pondered the best way to make use of his newfound time. Ideally, he could spend it questioning the townsfolk about the nature of the Dream he found himself in, but he knew better. People don't like to admit they were dreaming, if they knew they were dreaming at all. After all, not a single hunter had realised they had entered a Dream when they slaughtered the Vacuous Spider and her kin.
Besides that, years of being a hunter has made him wary of pushing ordinary folk too hard. There was no better way than to disclaim that you were an outsider than asking the people what should have been obvious, and not the 'foreigner' kind of outsider, but the outsider kind, one who's found themselves in another realm. Alas, speech was not his strong suit, thus he took the time to stew in his thoughts, pondering of ways he could phrase a question without raising suspicion.
Thankfully, or not, Sir Gray couldn't seem to handle the silence that they walked in, and tried to strike up a conversation.
"Excuse me, but I didn't quite catch your name?"
Name… he had long forgotten his, the Lost Hunter was all he went by, now. And there was another story to be told, there, for all names had history, especially ones given and earned. Shall he create a false name so as to not raise suspicion? It would not be the first time he had done so, but the argument goes that honesty could foster trust as well.
"I am afraid I have long forgotten mine, good sir. I am simply a Lost Hunter roaming these parts."
If Sir Gray's suspicions where rused, he did not show it, instead adopting a rather befuddled look. Nay, it was his daughters who found being nameless very strange.
"How could someone have no name!?" Phoebe cried, "What do people call you? What about your family?"
"Phoebe!" Her mother, Lady Rhea, tried to quiet her.
Not that there was any need to, curiosity in the young was a welcome thing, and family was only a natural part of a man's life. Alas, he had no family left, the closest to which he had would be the Doll… but the Doll was the mother of all hunters. Perhaps the Crow, though the old coot was more a mentor than anything else. He did suppose the Messengers could be family as well, some hunter's did indeed treat them so - but the Lost Hunter had always respected the little ones' desire to be servants.
"I am just a hunter, and you may refer to me as such should it be found necessary. Family… I had family once, not anymore."
"What happened to them?" Asked the little Helen, to which her mother also tried to quiet her.
"Please forgive my daughters, sir. I-"
He waved her off, "'Tis no issue. I myself find it enjoyable to humour them."
"I hail from a village on the outskirts of a grand city, little one. Life was pleasant indeed, but the Scourge came like a tide." He told her, "It was an infection of the blood, one with no cure. By droves did the village folk succumb, my family among them."
"Oh… what about you?" She pressed on, undeterred. A stark contrast to when they first met, awash in beastly blood, it seems that this girl has more to her than he thought.
"I was a young lad, then, travelling with my father to the city to sell our harvest. When we returned, it was already over," He mused, indulging himself in old memories, "We ran, then, ran to the city, but the beasts were already on our tail."
He stopped his story to look back at the girl, only to realise most of the townsfolk were now staring at him. What? Had he misspoke? The Scourge, he realised, they could have no knowledge of the Scourge at all! Foolish, foolish, he berated himself in his mind.
"What happened next?" Little Helen looked up at him with wide eyes.
…Pardon? The Lost Hunter reorganised his thoughts. The townsfolk were staring at him, yes, but not with the suspicion he had grown used to. Aye, instead they were waiting in anticipation. Was he that good a storyteller? Well, perhaps it came with the experiences. Mayhaps he could write a book… if he knew how to write.
"My father, bless his soul, was old, then. So he grabbed a pitchfork and torch and told me to run. Run! He cried, find the hunters!" The Lost Hunter trailed off there, thinking of the days he stalked the back alleys of Yharnam, in search of the ever elusive hunters.
No one cared for a beggar child, much less one that isn't even a Yharnamite, no matter how close his village was to the city. By the time he encountered the not-yet-old Crow, he was a sorry sight, skin and bones. Oh aye, Eileen the Crow was in her prime, when she ran into him, and while she did not raise him, she did taught him to raise himself.
When the skies were blessed by the Yharnam Sunrise, the Crow had decided to retire at last, returning to her hometown. Though still cursed by beast blood, Eileen had with her the herbs and perfumes that suppressed the Scourge. The best of the best, straight from Carmella's Greenhouse - in fact, he had some of it on him as well. In any case, the Lost Hunter could only pray that Eileen lived out the rest of her days in relative peace, and that her Blades of Mercy would only have one more victim - herself.
Shaking himself free of his memories, he returned to the waiting audience.
"I had wandered the streets for a fortnight before I found a not-so-kindly hunter, but she trained me nonetheless after my incessant begging. After I was 'up to standard' as she put it, she taught me how to dream." He remembered the day vividly, the look of betrayal that must've been on his face when the Crow shoved her Blades of Mercy into him. Aye, did he learn how to dream, then.
"Dream? Dream of what?"
The Lost Hunter smiled dryly, "Of a pleasant sunrise, I suppose."
"...Huh?"
Before any more could be said, their guide, an older man - likely a hunter, of the ordinary kind, clapped his hands.
"Alright people, we've arrived!"
Indeed they had, for there was the entrance of a limestone cave before them. Not ideal, for limestone was of similar manner to sandstone, and he had seeked refuge in sandstone caves more than once back in Loran. Was nearly buried alive in said caves more than once too. Very prone to collapsing, and with the goliaths up and about… he wouldn't risk it if he were alone.
Alas, he was not alone, and the Sun was setting, now. While it provided a beautiful backdrop to the burning village they had escaped from, it also meant they'd be entering the time of beasts soon enough. Dangerous shelter was better than no shelter at all.
"All of you, head on in." He told them, "If you see dust falling from the ceiling, get out at once - for these caves are unstable. I shall take watch."
Before any of them could protest, citing weariness or the such, he preemptively interrupted them, "I shall be fine. As a hunter of beasts, I sleep with one eye open. Be at ease, the Huntsmen you called for must soon be arriving, and you will all be safe then."
Curiously, the Moon was no longer fractured from where he sat.
If he were any more ignorant, perhaps he would have been frightened by the Moon's lack of consistency, but thankfully he wasn't. For he had learned much of the tides and the Moon from the Songs of Fathomless Depths.
The songs of the Chorus Whale belied their eldritch knowledge, and all who harkened gained insight into the ways of sea and sky. The Moon he was familiar with was tidally locked, it did not spin on its axis and thus all mortals could only see one side of the Moon for their entire life. But here, in this dream, it appeared that the fractured Moon did not behave in the same manner as he was familiar with.
The Moon spinning around was an apt explanation as for why one could see the fracture on some days and could not on others. Back on the Mission Fleet, he had grown keenly aware of the stars, a necessity for navigating the treacherous Singing Sea. Alas, there were no stars he was familiar with here.
Lost in memories of a past bygone, he recalled a song - one most beautiful and divine, of which wars were fought over. The Kingdom of Cainhurst was vast, and though it was ruled by Vilebloods there were many reaches where the beast blood had not yet spread. It was only natural, then, that when the Executioners came many Vilebloods escaped.
Oh aye, Veildernam was such a place. The noble Vilebloods took it over in the dead of night, so swiftly and silently not a single soul noticed until the bloody tide came. Others fled inland, and founded the Torment Gardens, where the noble Vilebloods drowned in sin and revelry; he was decidedly lucky to have left with his humanity intact. If it weren't for that he had a fortunate run-in with the Child of Blood, he would've become a doll.
But most took to the sea, to a place come to be known as Vileblood Coast, vicious pirates they became, a far cry from their so-called nobility. And it was here many an adventurer came, drawn by legends of treasure and bounty, and of a certain siren's song.
"Home, left her homeland miles behind,
The hunter she walks, on the seacoast way, with the path~ before her,
Crash, and the driftwood floats evermore~
It's the salt on my skin…
Leaving their mark, where the walls~ once towered…"
He did it a disservice, the song, and the singer. But he couldn't help but sympathise, for much like the singer, he was far from home, alone in a foreign land. Except, he was a willing wanderer, and she was not.
Oh, poor Miarry, fallen to the curse of love.
"That's a beautiful song."
The Lost Hunter suppressed a flinch at the sudden company. Turning around slowly, without revealing his surprise, he came to see Sir Leander had awoken.
"It's not mine, good sir. Come sit," He patted the rock beside him, "Let me provide some company, if you couldn't sleep."
The young man took up his offer, and lowered himself beside the hunter.
"Who's song is it, then?"
"A most beautiful maiden of the waves, she was known as Miarry."
"Could you tell me more?" The man asked.
The hunter sighed, even sung through another mouth, Miarry's song still enraptures. But Miarry was long gone, and her power could not harm anyone anymore, so he saw no fault in telling her story.
"Shall I spin you a tale, then?" The Lost Hunter cleared his throat, "There was a sailor who heard a siren's song, and enraptured wanted to hear more…"
And so the sailor found Miarry, and pleaded for her to continue singing. The siren, young and naive, had thought she found love in this foreign land, and sang. She even offered him her blood through her tears. But once heard and tasted, the sailor's lust for her could not be satiated anymore, thus the siren offered him an eye to satiate his desire.
The sailor then forged her eye into an elegant blade, one imbued with Vileblood arts- though he made no mention of Vilebloods to the boy, only telling him of its great power. With the sabre, the sailor came to be a conqueror of the seas, spreading the legend of the siren's song.
A great war on water was fought then, and though the sailor did hide his love, Miarry was hunted down in the end. Her other eye was ripped from her head, and forged into another weapon, one crude and savage. She was then encased in stone, which to their surprise, suddenly produced blood.
"Miarry was then stolen away, and hidden where no one could find. Who knows if Miarry was still alive, crying away in her stone sarcophagus, but who could forget the bloody legacy she left behind." He finished.
"...Wow," Leander breathed, "That really happened?"
"Aye, I know her song, do I not?"
"Do you think anyone could find her?"
"Nay. I made sure to hide her where no one would even think to seek." The Lost Hunter smiled at the Moon, albeit one of sorrow.
Even he couldn't help but be enthralled by Miarry, and so when he came to his senses he made sure no one could ever again. Then, he took his time hunting down all who coveted her blood, saving the sailor for last. He hoped she was at peace now, buried with her two eyes returned to her.
"Oh, it's more than a Dream,
It's a Play, the tides attending,
Oh, our world comes apart at the seams~
From the chaos, scared and afraid, I will wander, I will remain,
Strong, but it sets with the Sun~
Hopeless, I'm chasing the dawn~
And I wander, wander on…"
Author's Note:
Here's Miarry's song:
soundcloud_dot_com/miraarona-400250251/stultifera-navis