BWP Second Door: The Withering Siege

You step through the second glowing door and emerge near the roots of a vast tree - the Great Tree itself, ancient beyond reckoning, standing tall and proud through the endless march of time. Its bark pulses faintly with life, but that life is now under siege. The air is thick with an acrid stench, vile whispers sound in your ears; a chorus of voices that do not belong to the living.

They come in waves. Wraiths - pale shapes made of shadow and grief - claw and tear and coil themselves around the tree, gnawing at its roots, seeping into its bark like rot. Each successful strike drains color from the vibrant branches that have offered protection for so long, blanketing them in the thick, vile sludge you have come to associate with Dre Klage.

Their efforts are concentrated at the hollow of the tree. The two skeletal figures, locked tight within the roots' protective embrace, guard the first sprouts of what you now know to be the cure to the Parasite - the Gold Turtlehead! Their tender leaves are only just beginning to push past the topsoil, glittering with a soft golden sheen, and the wraiths seek to rip them out and destroy the Great Tree that shelters them.

You can feel its endurance growing thin, its quiet plea resonating deep within your bones. Stand fast; drive them back. If the tree is lost so too is the hope of a cure for the Parasite, as well as a benevolent power that has allowed love to flourish and children to be born into this world regardless of the limitations of mortal flesh.

It cannot fall.

How to Participate

This is the medium risk option for those who wish to participate in the end of the BWP and earn rewards. One of three unique badges will be awarded to characters who choose this path.

Each character who wishes to participate in this branch must post in this thread once.

At the conclusion of this thread, staff will roll a 1d100 for each and every participant and then reveal the outcome for these results in a single post.

The table is as follows:

1-50 passes without harm
51-89 gains a minor injury
90-100 gains a major injury

All wolves who step through this portal will arrive at the Great Tree and must aid in its defense; describe their actions and participation in fighting back the wraiths.

(If you want to auto-fail your roll for a minor or major injury, please specify in your post and we will be delighted to maim you.)

Note: Characters in-game may only participate in one branch each, so it is impossible to earn all three unique badges on IC accounts. However, if you have multiple characters participate and each one chooses a different branch, your OOC account can collect all three through this means!

skill: healer [bwp]

Whatever life he thought that they were returning to, it had been too vicious and too painful already. Talamh might not have been perfect, there might have been danger there too - but they had only found more pain since returning to Mythris.

There was a feeling, an unease as Foxglove was trying to juggle his focus between Fable, Aisling, and Epona. He hadn't seen Shiloh since they'd gotten back and he was okay with that. He understood that. The separation had been an issue the entire time - why had Fox managed to follow while Tiberii had not. He speculated, of course, on the whys and whats of the universe. That was all beyond his pay grade, but he thought it was because of Dawnbreak. Tiberii had friends and family; she had ties. Foxglove only had them.

It was the central thought of how much he would give to keep them safe that made him hide the truth. He did not want to make Fable more stressed; he did not want to add to her burdens.

What Fox was determined to do was hide any evidence that he was sick himself. Every pain that he felt as the parasite he had been exposed to in the previous search he suppressed. He ignored the pain; he tried to stifle the twinges and gasps. It was harder in his sleep, where he had no control. And as the dream shattered his reality again he felt compelled to do something. The brutal truth of it drove him to action. Mythris had to be protected. It had to be healed.

Foxglove took a heavy breath before he stepped through the door.

What he found before him was something that left him awestruck. If not for the threat to their world, it might have been fascinating to see. Instead, he watched as the Tree was attacked - they came endlessly, one after the other after the other. He knew he had to get close to the tree, that he had to protect it, and was certain that the plant that was the key to it all. Why else would they do this? Foxglove ran to the tree, and he could feel the heaviness in the air from the sorrow and grief. His eyes watered, he felt the grief as if it was his own, and as he did his best to protect the Tree, every time he engaged one of the wraiths, he cried out as if their pain was his own pain.

Maybe that was part of it - being willing to take on that pain from them. Being willing to carry that. Every wave felt more intense until Foxglove was sobbing himself. No matter what, though, he could not back down. He would do this for the world; he would do this for his girls, for the family that had become his own, he would do this for the only woman that he had ever loved. No matter what, until there was no more breath in his lungs, until there was nothing left of him, Foxglove Kali would give all that he had.

Apple was squeamish. She didn't like violence, the smell of blood made her stomach turn, and repeated traumatic events had led her down a dark mental path. She wanted to be the same carefree, loving being she still remembered, the one she saw thriving in Persimmon now. Sometimes, it still shone through; most easily, to no one's surprise, around Dante and Apricot.
Yet Apple was no coward. When those she loved -or, she supposed begrudgingly, the world they lived in- were threatened, she knew there was little option but to follow the call.
But there was also a frostiness about the way she looked at the world outside her perfect bubble, a resentment that ran deep, bitterness for all that had been inflicted upon her. A very large part of her stopped before those portals, faced with a choice that felt more real than the dreams she'd been assuming these were, and thought: ’Why is this my problem?’ But she'd seen those dreams, the visions of the past that so begged for assistance. She had given none this entire time… but when faced with the end of the world, what real choice did one have?
For Dante.
For Apricot.
For Sparrow.
For the little ones, the next generation.

Growling, she plunged into the second portal. Jaws gaping and a snarl ringing from her throat, the tiny Dusk Queen launched herself at the nearest wraith with murderous intent.
They wouldn't sink their teeth into her kingdom. Not today!

Vasili knew he couldn't ignore this end of the world shit being real when the island titan rose from the sea and started its rampage, but it seemed his involvement would be demanded one way or the other. Another dream, and a choice. For the sake of his family if not the opportunity to prove himself, to do something great and have his name sung in generations to come, the speckled Saxe wouldn't bow out of a challenge.
Well. He didn't know what to do about the titan or its apparent heart; was he supposed to believe the guy would just be happy to be free and wouldn't try to kill Vasi if he was released?
Nah. He went where he felt he would be more useful, fighting a clear enemy, protective of a strict goal: defend the tree, kill the toothy ghost guys, easy.

The Pharaoh charged through the portal with bared fangs and a battle roar fit to wake the dead to meet the first enemy.

Fuck it, slap this boy up with a major injury

Skill: Guardian

*ack!* I hope I got everything correct here <3

The dream had been a nightmare, one that couldn't compare to the rantings of his madman mind. It had disturbed even him for reasons he couldn't explain and when he woke so much transpired in such a small amount of time he barely registered any of it. Then, there was a portal, three of them, split before his eyes. The red flame flickered beside him and he decided to take a peek into them, the one that seemed to pique his interest the most was that second one full of wraiths throwing an onslaught of slashes at the tree. He'd take it.

Taking deliberate and determined paw steps forward he stepped through the magical door and felt things tighten for a moment before he was thrown into the fray. There were already three wolves there doing exactly what he hoped he had come here for. A fight. Smirking Abaddon stood where the portal had been and dipped his head down a little before flicking duo-toned optics up to peer at the wraiths before the tree, attacking what seemed important.

Without another moments hesitation Abaddon threw himself, jowls outstretched and clacking, into the battle. Snapping jaws sharply into the emptiness and cold air that was the beings going at the tree. He growls, he roared, he was brutal and noisy as he attacked the ghostlike demons. Things one might see as evil, he merely saw them as another challenge, his eyes narrowed as he went feral.

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Speech Emotional Actions Thoughts

He didn't..care for the dream, until it had come to the part where the wolf came to be abandoned, and his anger fumed into a fire. A raging fire, family does not abandon family, ESPECIALLY not during such times, not when beasts, he'd call them, were out to get you and everything you love.

When he finally woke, and very abruptly he did within his cave, he shoved his bulky frame into the 2nd door. He wanted so desperately to help the wolf, but something urged him here. Something needed his strength to protect, and oh boy, was his gut right.

Wraiths, horrible, disgusting ghouls tore at the tree just a swim away from his mountain. An ugly snarl ripped from Altair's throat, not daring to withhold himself with the other wolves around. Swiftly, he lunged, turning his haunches, pressing them against the hollow and lunged for any of the ghouls that came near.

You little twats! You are NOT hurting this tree! Kill me for all i care, you are not..

He snarled, throwing his body into the fray of ghouls and wolf, of the living and dead and he tore, tore until his jaws would ache with pain so bad he felt tears sting at his eyes.

Give this boy a major injury >:D

Perhaps, this dream would give her purpose.

She listened to the dream visitor’s words, finding solace in the pain he expressed. They were similar to one another, were they not? Failures. Souls who had let those they cared about most down. And now, they would share in the consequences of their actions.

Rieka listened with a softened expression as she watched his memories fly by her own subconscious. Dream or not, the loss and grief that this dream visitor experienced was real.

And perhaps it was his story that made her want to help him.

She walked through door number 2 until a tree, once filled with life and color, shuddered with each attack that those wraiths enacted. That just wouldn’t do, she thought as her own snarl reverberated to life within her chest.

This, violence, was what she was made for.

What she was meant to do with her life.

And for once, Rieka did not feel bad about what would happen to those who met the other side of her fang.

She launched herself toward the wraiths, a specific one that clawed at the roots of the tree’s side. She went for that one, jaws ready to tear and grip and sink into whatever the hell those beings were made of.

And hopefully, for once, she’d do her parents proud by killing those foul beasts and saving the world (even if no one would know).

"The Case"

None of this was really His problem.

Rancor sat by. Watched the scenes that played out with mild interest, though there was no attempt to fight them or to ask any questions. What for? It wasn’t he who was involved. The cowards that ran–who not only fled, but right over where their packmate was hiding–recieved little more than tsk’ing and shaking of his head. That was the number one rule. Don’t abandon your pack. You stay and fight and you make-do with it.

Briefly, he considered how his very presence here proved that he might’ve run too.

No, no. That was different. If his father had been under attack, or a sister or just someone he’d scarcely known, he’d come to their aid. He had left because they did not want his help. This man looked like he sure could have used some. Það er óheppilegt, er það ekki? And it always was. Bringing up a dark paw to brush back his fur, the puffy wolf watched on, disappointed. Gums itched to sink his teeth into that beast dragging him away as he called out, but there was nothing to be done now. It wasn’t real.

"The Coward"

Rather, this was. Mojave was once again nowhere to be seen in the den(at least, he didn’t spot him in the time he’d taken to glance around), and now that ghost guy was back. Head tilting slowly and boredly, he wondered how it was that he understood him. You speak English? It was more of a command, if only because he didn’t quite get what was being said.

Outside, and he saw it as he followed the apparition out of his snow-hovel, a blizzard unlike and he’d seen had kicked up. It threatened to sink its icy claws into his sides and to hoist him up and away. For safe measure, the black-and-white man remained half in and half out of the burrow. Wind blowing loudly in his ears, a ripple was sent racing down his spine as an otherworldly howling rose on the distant winds. Quirking a brow to now glare at the coward ahead of him, vicious words flowed from his jowls. Jæja? Segðu mér. Þú ert gagnslaus hér líka.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know. He knew he, and every other wolf being subjected to this stupid-ass dream, were being asked for help. The arrogant man just wanted to hear it, really. But he would not torment the ghost any more than he imagined his reality already did.

The ground thrummed and the air sang as runes were pulled from all around, the distant fissure on the horizon crackling and wailing along in its eerie choir. Feeling his fur bristle, he squared himself against the rest of the opening in the event that something was sent his way.

But instead of it being sent to him, he was being sent somewhere else. Looking up at the towering, magical doors, Rancor sighed. Surveying his options as time lessened and the continent grew more desperate for– something, his broad paws drove him out into the snow for what he hoped was not the last time.

Sure, he could fight. Glancing behind him, unsure of where the desert man had gone, he called out; I won’t abandon you like THIS guy. Tossing his head pointedly, his expression darkened and he felt the pull of that second door. I’ll be back for you.

He plunged through like breaking into arctic waters, teeth snapping at nothing preemptively in the event that he had driven right into battle. Thankfully, he had some time to assess the situation first.

The tree. He was protecting the tree, and that flower, and the corpses of those cowards. Rancor supposed that he knew cowardly packmates too, and he vouched for them all the same.

Wolves stormed past him and the arctic man found himself headed closer to the towering plant, head low as he prepared to throw himself at an attacking Wraith. Þú borðar ekki einu sinni PLÖNTUR!

Ripping, growling, biting down on icy flesh, Rancor fought for the losers who were saving the world.