backdated to night 2
[Upon first glance it looks as though the dream is in black and white. The sand below is stark white, the night sky above pitch black. And the flashes of paws seen at the bottom of the viewer's vision are white as well; large, viciously clawed paws that have segmented lines like armor.
The dream is from the point-of-view of a predator. A rather large one, if the deep guttural pants are any indication. The vision bobs are he's dashing across that pale sand, at a speed that should be impossible for his size. His prey: something that may have been a bison, but it is huge and grotesque and vaguely humanoid with longer forelegs than back legs. Segmented, armored, and with a visible hole through the middle of its back.
The only sounds heard for a while are heavy breaths, and the pounding of hooves and paws against sand. But eventually another sound is added to this terrible chorus, growing in crescendo... It's the screams of people, hundreds, thousands, then the distinct racket of something - quite out of this place in this nightmare of nature gone wrong.
The screams and sounds of conflict are deafening by the time the predator makes its final advance on its prey, jumping onto its slope of a back, racing up to sink claws the size of the largest daggers into a thick neck, and throw its whole body weight into flinging itself to the side to bring the bison crashing down into the sand.
There's blood now that's stark and vivid against the black and white, the deepest red, as the beast unhooks its stained claws to retreat a short distance away, avoiding being crushed by its quarry only to leap back upon it. Swift and deadly moves in the night, growls that are near silenced under the cacophony of the long-dead dying again and shouts in a language the beast knows and yet doesn't know; and those unnatural sounds, the lighter, almost crisp bangs and now a new, even more terrifying sound.
It's not just an explosion, it's too low, booming, but still it all comes together and it won't stop too loud too much why are they screaming what did I do as impossibly long fangs tear across that prey's throat, ripping it open. Splashing blood against the white and tainting that which seems pure. Immediately feasting on flesh and bone alike, tearing and devouring at all it can.
But the screams won't stop.
We gaze upwards through the darkness towards a bone-white crescent moon and its crooked smile upon this land of the dead and damned. And the only sound to combat that of what is known, that which does not want to be known, but that which still causes suffering - is a roar of the beast not heard in thousands of years. Distorted. Monstrous. Anguished.]
((All replies will be assumed voice, and Ggio's willing to talk a little more coherently than in his last post and this should have gone in his journal but oops oh well.))