Dream-leaping, I burst from out my chest. A star-eyed hound taking the night as his stage. The vault of heaven trembles as I mount the upper air. Old Lady Midnight spreads before me and unveils herself. The pack, sweating and howling, takes its shape around me. A million bright souls thundering toward our Master’s call. The horn shakes the heavens once more, and again. Others begin to join our cavalcade. The Witch Queens and Arch-Sorcerors of each world we pass, rise to join the tidal wave of inevitability that sweeps us relentlessly onward to the chase. Some ride Nightmares, hooves striking comet-fire through the void. Others gird themselves in Fetch bodies, as ghostly as we hounds. Few indeed assay the hunt wearing the garment men call flesh, and fewer still do this thing without the ancient safeguards drawn tight against the elder dark.
Stars and planets cringe away at our approach. We plunge through a nebula, burning cold-green fire and HE greets us as we emerge. The steed HE rides upon is the soul of the moon, white as a platinum river and pure as thought. HE towers over the host, meteors crowning him with light, caught in his antlers like jewels. Corpse white, his face most fell and fierce, the eyes are cunning and wisdom, the hair a wild mane. The Spear That Takes flashes in his hand, its cruel blade the very edge of Fate, shearing life down to its end.
This is no Faery Rade upon mortal sinner’s flesh. Tonight an age goes down unto its death and all worlds must perish with it in the dark. If we catch our quarry, its blood will birth the dawn and a new age will rise and the worlds will live again. If. For tonight all Powers are our prey, and the gods ready themselves as if for war.
Eon shrouded memories, two thousand lifetimes past, swim before my eyes. The burning flesh, the Master’s grin a death’s head in the night, lapping up the sacred blood, still steaming from the wound. It is mortal will alone that turns the wheel, drives the host, looses the fateful bolt that kills a god. All nights when the Wild Hunt rides the stellar winds, our mad baying resounding from one end of creation to the next, all such nights teach the gods a terrible fear. For whosoever among them would make a travesty of man, that one alone will pay man’s price.