May 21, 2019

The Cooper’s Casket, Pt. 1

Writing can be a labyrinthine process. While writing the lore for Hunt: Showdown over the last few years of development, we've ended up with a number of pieces that, for one reason or another, won't make it into the game. The reasons that a piece of writing might need to be cut from the in-game library are multi-fold: maybe there was another piece that ultimately did the job better, maybe something was cut (our lore entries are all tied to specific game unlocks, so cut one, and you might find you have an orphaned piece of writing on your hand), or maybe we just ran out of space. Over the next few months we'd like to share a few of those cut pieces or lore with you: short stories that are peripheral to the lore's main threads, atmosphere pieces, and outtakes. If you want to discuss, feel free to stop by the Hunt lore Discord channel to say hello.



The Papers of Hayden Collins

Filed under, “Miscellaneous"

Story draft?



My head aches, oh how it aches. I can see no light from within this narrow prison, and have no idea how long I was unconscious or where I am now. Wooden walls close tightly around me, and my knees pulled up to my chest, I can barely breath. Not even an arm's span apart, lie those sloping walls.

I sit in a bath of fine acrid powder—black powder if I am correct. What cruel irony of fate. I am a cooper, and when Filmore asked me to make three barrels far larger than our standard, I did not suspect that he meant to close me inside of one. I imagine my apprentices share this fate, though I pray that I am wrong.

The thousand injuries of Filmore I had borne as best I could, but to be shut into a prison of my own making ventured injury to insult. I have never given him cause to doubt my good will. I should have doubted his. Perhaps, with a fist, I could break open the barrel's corked opening and manage an escape.

My nose fills with dust each time I inhale. I choke and cough and must remind myself to remain calm. Escape, if a possibility at all, will require a clear, calm mind. Yet I know all too well how well these walls are fastened together, what it would take to break them apart. I cannot lift my arm to the cork. It is pinned to my side by the boards I so carefully fit together.

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