Brings The Hunt - SCP Foundation

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by Ethagon

A cold wind reached the outskirts of Esterberg. People closed their windows and pulled their laundry inside as translucent figures emerged from the wind. One Fae was not fast enough to get inside and threw himself to the ground, eyes closed. Some of the figures eyed him curiously but ultimately ignored him. The first among them, a woman with two sheathed swords, made her way to one home in the town. The rest followed.

She stopped at the door. The rest followed.

Five minutes passed in the outskirts with nothing but the wind making a sound.

"You will die, even if you do not open."

One more minute passed. The woman reached towards one of her swords. Then the door opened. Behind it, an old lady appeared.

"Who?" she asked, tension in her voice.

The translucent figure pointed at her. "You will join the Hunt or die at the hands of the Impasse."

The old Fae sighed. "Can I get my things?"

"You won't need them." The figure's hand slid from a pointed finger to a reaching hand gesture. "Join."

"Älva, close the door!" A second voice spoke from inside the home. "It's a trick."

Älva looked back inside. "It's not a trick." — "It has to be a trick, the Impasse was months ago!" — "Things like these have aftereffects." — "It has to be a trick. They, there is a right answer, that's how the stories go."

The second voice came nearer, but the lady walked inside before the Hunt could see them.

The figure with an outstretched hand waited. The rest was agitated.

After a while, the lady stepped out again, tears in her eyes. The figure had not changed its position. If she had sympathy in her, she did not show it. "Join."

"May I ask, who I will serve under?"

The figure at the front was slightly startled at this. She turned to see the rest on the left side of her and the rest on the right side of her. Finally, when no one answered, she did.

"It's Glaisnir."

No groups survive in the Court of Winter but the Wild Hunt. Had any of the creatures of winter the drive to be more, they would have left the Court. For all remaining, there is only the fog.

A small part of Winter's residents get swept away by the Wild Hunt. Joining it not out of drive, but because they have no drive. Carried along by the Wild Hunt's flow.

The Wild Hunt took on as many forms as leaders it had throughout its long existence. The Driveless were seldom among them.

Only when no leader remains might one take up the mantle. A first inkling of desire preserving the flow.

No ruler of Winter exists who enforces this state. It is the natural conclusion of circumstance.

A cold wind reached an apartment complex in Paris. Glaisnir and the Wild Hunt emerged from the wind. She made her way to the door. The rest followed.

Glaisnir strode through the not airtight door as if it wasn't there. The rest followed.

She stopped at the door of her quarry's apartment. The rest followed.

Five minutes passed on the floor. No sound was made safe for those of the living going about their daily life.

"You will die even if you do not open."

A voice came from beyond the door. "Is someone there? Sorry, I didn't hear the bell." The door opened to a young man. As he saw who was at his door, he stood there in disbelief. "Who are you?"

Glaisnir looked at him. "You will join the Hunt or die at the hands of the Impasse."

"The hell you're talking about. Try your schtick with someone else." The Fae slammed the door shut.

Glaisnir waited. The rest spread out, catching outgoing calls.

After a while, the voice returned to the door. "What do you want?" it whimpered.

"I have been quite clear. The choice is yours to make."

"What choice!"

"You will join the Hunt or die at the hands of the Impasse," Glaisnir repeated, slightly annoyed.

"The hell does that mean!"

"I will not repeat myself a third time. Make your choice."

It took only a moment. "N— No."

"Stupid child." Glaisnir reached towards the man. Only moments before she grabbed the man, did she pause.

After a moment of uncertainty, she dropped the hand.

"Fine, I will not force my help on you. It is your funeral."

Glaisnir left. The rest lingered.

Glaisnir glared. The rest followed.

By the next morning, nothing was left of the young man but a pile of dust.

As the Court of Not, no agency can reside within its borders. But the Wild Hunt operates mostly outside the Court, intersecting with the rest of the Cycle of Seasons on occasion. Thus it attracts the agency of Not.

The only real desire one can find in the Wild Hunt is that of the Oblivion Seekers. Itching to enact Winter onto the world they join the Hunt of their own volition.

Consumed by the thought that nothing is of value and thus no thing should be.

The Driveless often fall into this rut if given enough time. Thinking a yearning for emptiness will replace the emptiness inside.

Oblivion Seekers have led the Hunt before, but never for long. Their destructive tendencies turn against the Hunt before long and it becomes undone.

Until the elements of Winter align once more and the Wild Hunt begins anew.

A cold wind reached the Living District of Esterberg. Glaisnir and the Wild Hunt emerged from the wind. Before she could make a step towards her quarry a spectral chain shot towards her and trapped her left hand.

She looked at the shackle as three other spectral chains made their way towards her. Two she evaded, but the first managed to catch her right elbow.

Glaisnir stared at the cabal of Fae mages that had revealed themselves. The rest attacked.

Gliding along the chains that hit their leader, the rest reached for the chain holders.

Hold down by two chains, Glaisnir's mobility was barely hindered. She evaded other attacks without much effort and made her way towards the quarry. She was stopped by a Fae Warrior rushing towards her with a sabre.

Glaisnir only evaded the attack by briefly becoming translucent.

"Why resist?" She asked. "It is inevitable."

"Not if we stop you."

"I'm doing them all a favour." Glaisnir drew her swords to parry another attack. The rest incapacitated the first chain holder.

Her mobility increased, and Glaisnir outpaced her opponent. Within seconds she held a sword to the warrior's throat.

The opposition defeated, Glaisnir made her way to the quarry. She barely reached three steps before the warrior attacked anew.

Glaisnir abandoned a parry to evade her opponent via translucence once again. The second chain broke.

As the mages continued to resist, more of the Wild Hunt stepped out of the wind. Some of the rest abandoned their fighting, staring at their leader expectantly.

Glaisnir deflected all sabre strikes with ease. "See? You cannot win." She searched for something in her opponent's eyes. "Let us do our duty."

But Glaisnir only found hardened resolve in her foe. Glaisnir parried another blow, only for her adversary to abandon her sabre and punch her in the stomach.

Glaisnir tried to turn translucent, but could not evade the blow in time. She flew three meters away, managing to land on one knee.

The rest stared at her.

As Glaisnir stood back up again, both groups had parted to make way for an old hooded man with a white beard.

The Court of Oblivion escapes complete barrenness only by a spark. No true desire can be found in it, but the inkling of what might later become a drive.

A wet limber carried over from a season before, or the first tunes of what might be a new song caught in the wind.

It is this group that begins the Wild Hunt when it has died. It is this group that most often ends up leading the Hunt.

They are hunting for meaning.

A Driveless might become a Hunter if forced into leadership, confronted with the purpose of their routine.

The Oblivion Seekers rarely do.

The Hunter seeks their new drive, more often than not following snow trails carved out by those who came before.

Until they find what they are searching for and leave. The Hunter outgrows Winter.

At first, Glaisnir started to bow. Then she decided to stand instead.

"I doubt you are here to reclaim the Hunt. As who do you stand here."

The old man chuckled. "It is a bit too early for that. But as who do you stand here?"

"I am Glaisnir, Leader of the Wild Hunt."

"Very good. And why do you stand here?"

"I am fulfilling the Wild Hunt's purpose."

The old man sighed. "No, you are not."

"The Wild Hunt's purpose is its leader's purpose. Who are you to question mine?"

"Very well then. What do you say is that purpose of yours?"

"I weather out the last strains of the Impasse. I offer its latest victims sanctuary in Winter."

"A noble purpose?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you opposed like this?"

The Fae mages were checking each other's wounds. The rest was no danger in the safety granted by the old man's presence.

"I do not know why they stand against me. I am helping."

"That might have been your intention, but it is not perceived as such. You do not offer. You demand. No sanctuary can be found in Winter. It is a barren place."

"These are the ways of the Wild Hunt."

"And who decides that?"

Glaisnir had no answer.

"You asked me before as who I stand here today." The old man took off his hood. His eyes were of a stark green, his cheeks red, but hardened. "I am the Last Green of Winter, the Life that Endures. For that is what this season is. Something to endure."

"I do not understand."

The Life that Endures grabbed Glaisnir's shoulders. "Winter is not your universe. You must outlast it if you want to Be."

As soon as the last word had been spoken, the Wild Hunt stood alone on the street. Glaisnir stood and thought for a while longer.

When she finally made her way to the quarry, the offer she made was of a different nature.

Fall Witness, Part 2

Cycle of Seasons

Spring Again