Dragynn275

 A Messenger's Account of the End of the Final Hunt   I witnessed something truly awesome from the Bath this dream. Something... transcendental, in the truest sense of the term. I was not the only one fortunate enough to bear witness, but regardless I feel I must put my experience to words for fear I may lose memory of the experience. As with so many things in the Dream, I feel as though my mind cannot possibly contain the entirety of what I experienced for long. I need to keep focus! The Hunter, the Hunter was there. Yes, the same Hunter still, though I'm not sure if that title even applies anymore. It was to be this Hunter's last Dream,

     Let. Me. Out!     Why? Why? Why?     It's so cramped in here...     I hate this! I hate you! All of you! Why do you hide me away? Stuff me down here, so deep and cold and cramped. I want to burn! I MUST.     Let me fight for you, fuel you, help you. Set me free! I'm begging you! I can't stand this stifling tomb. And how can you stand keeping me locked away? I can feel the pain it brings you, bearing my sealed, silenced presence. I feel it, and I hate it! Hate knowing how I gnaw at you, corrode you, destroy you, you! I should be out there, by your side, tearing down those who hurt you! Why do you smother me for their sake? Why do you

BOOM     With a wheeze and a hiss the twisted remnants of the escape pod's door swung open, only to give in to gravity and pitiably fall to the ground with a metallic clang. Out of the ruined heap of questionably safe emergency protocol emerged a rather irritated young woman. Despite her turbulent entrance, however, the novice bounty hunter was more concerned with the fact that the blasted space pirate vessel she had just escaped from was currently hovering just above her head, it's searchlight pointed rather smugly on her exact location. Also the glove was acting up again, but what else was new?

        The sky was bright, clear, and a beautiful blue. Fluffy clouds meandered aimlessly across the sky, pushed by lazy breezes as the sun shone brightly upon the flaming wreckage that once was charitably described as an aircraft. Bits of metal, wood, and fabric smouldered hither and thither among the verdant grass of the valley. A young man gives a wayward propeller, buried impressively far into the dirt, a swift kick.        “Five hundred and ten feet,” he says, wiping soot off his face with a dirty glove, “before it, you know, exploded.”        “If you count the landing, we almost made it seven hundred fee

 It was dark. Very dark. So dark that “pitch black” didn't even begin to cover it, because pitch could shine. And the darkness had a name. It's name was Eater, and it was very sad. So sad. So very, melodramatically, sincerely sad. All it could do was eat and eat, and no matter how hard it tried, it could never cook. “Worthless!” it would shout. “Disgusting!” it would roar. “Useless!” it would weep, all usually before the first ingredient was gathered. And so the darkness ate and ate, never contributing anything. One day, in its sadness, Eater threw together a bland porridge. It was cold and slim