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She stepped through the second doorway, her eyes fire as they met the ice of the wraiths. They struck and ripped at the tree, claws tearing as bones rattled below, she leapt. Paws outstretched the girl leapt through the air, souring into one of the wraiths and tackling them with all her might.

She howled into battle, her teeth gnashing and snapping wildly. She thought of Mythris, her home. She thought of her brothers out there somewhere. She thought of Nate and his smiling face.

She would defend Mythris with all her worth.

Skill: warrior

Skill: Warrior

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He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating again or if the world had really split into jagged cracks everywhere. Hadn't know if he was hallucinating when the runes began to spin around a wolf that sat before him, couldn't tell reality apart when the doors split open. He blinked multiple times and shook his massive head out as he tried to make a hasty decision where to go.

He didn't see Briar or Calyx, assuming they'd already chosen their doors, he stepped through door two. He was a warrior at heart, a berserker, and he would go forth into the fray to attack the wraiths. To defend the tree, the flower, the bones. Cedar propelled a massive fluffy body forward into the darkness.

Lunging with open jowls he attacked everything nearby, snapping and gnashing as he thrashed about. Saliva would drip from frenzied jaws as the man clicked and clacked on ghostly forms. The shook his head this way and that, tearing them bit by bit. Maybe he was hallucinating, having taken a dosage of medication drugs before he went to bed that night and had a terrible nightmare that had become reality.

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heavy is the head...

He was used to the dreams and their horrors. He dreamed of his people’s destruction, his own death, his wife’s; and here in Mythris, he dreamed of the land’s demise as well.

The Visitor had failed his own kin just the same as Francis had. And the consequences for that failure had echoed throughout history until it reverberated through the entire continent now, threatened every wolf’s life.

He’d failed too many, too often. Francis could not choose the Third Door. The Second called to him instead, and he stepped through into a battle painfully reminiscent of the final hours of his life and kingdom, once upon a time. The cure for the parasite - it had to be protected, for even if the others of Mythris managed to save them from the Moving Isle’s wrath, many more would die from the parasite if the tree fell. The prince surged forward to throw himself into the fray alongside nameless strangers - in that moment, they all became his brothers and even sisters-in-arms.

altai

He was no shaman. He should not be having visions. This Visitor is no ancestor, no form of the Great Blue Sky come to guide him. He is no longer Baya’ud. Altai knows he is not going to be spoken to by Tengri; he can only continue his dedication to it and pray to be seen and judged worth mercy when his time finally comes.

But he cannot deny the appearance of three rifts in the dream before him. He cannot deny the chaos unfurling beyond each of their thresholds. Altai does not know how he knows it is real. But he does, and the seeker has always been incapable of inaction. It is the method through which he was cast, half-dead, to this world.

He steps through the second door. He is not a warrior, but a Baya’ud wolf, man or woman, never reaches their first year without being taught how to bare their teeth and earn their place in this world, be it through blood or barter. The wraiths are strange to him. But Altai seeks to see if they bleed the same as any man. This most precious of herbs will not wither beneath his watch.

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trygve is auto-failing the roll for a minor injury! please roll for his injury :D

The Visitor shows it terrible grief. A brother lost, his screams echo in its ears, they will never see each other again. He is so alone, he is never going home,

There is an ocean of silence between the Visitor’s sorrowful visage and the boy’s pretty face beginning to twist into defensive ire. It does not want to think of these things. It cannot think of these things. It wants to go home, and that grievous ache takes a dual shape in a father’s fading memory and the red flicker of an aurora’s graceful dance.

Death haunts the North; he knew she meant itself. It knows what it is, or what it is not. As if prayer or sacrificial rite, the battle that wages through the Second Door summons him. The sense of impending doom and despair radiating off the tree sparks the adrenaline in his blood. His breath quickens. A wraith, dangerously close, wails and spins on a ghostly heel to face its nearest target - Trygve. SHIT. The boy hisses, dancing out of reach. From the left, another wraith yet unseen and unnoticed bowls into his sinewy frame. Fur and mud fly. Trygve’s mind sinks into the black nothingness of battle-focus; its teeth sink into the nearest wraith without mercy. It feels no pain, no fear, not even anger.

Only an unchained impulse to destroy.

Skill: Warrior

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They were together when the end seemed to start.

Fissures broke through the earth, wars raged overhead, dreams and nightmares traipsed through their heads. Both dreaming and waking. She looked through the three doors, unsure of where to go she studied them for a short period before deciding on the second. The Wraiths.

Sucking in a deep breath Pasithea mustered ever ounce of strength in her little body and charged forth. Upon arrival she heard screams, growls, snarls, and wails alike. She had heard battles such as these in her heavens before her fall, but nothing more than distant sounds. Now she was knee deep in it.

Unsure if Makara had followed her she stopped and furrowed her little brows before charging forth once more. Her screams and shouts of battle cries were lost amongst the other voices but she wouldn't fail, she came to a wraith and attacked. Her jaws clashing against cold clammy skin, she snarled and gnashed as she tore things apart with her tiny teeth.

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I'm a star,
3-3-3 OC

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Speech Emotional Actions Thoughts

Myth slept, but it was not a peaceful slumber. The cries of a wounded animal filled the dreams, made sure the living creatures of Mythris heard, and the world was tight, the air is was cold, and the dream visitor, one she'd only heard a couple times stood speaking, desperate and sad. She knew the pain of leaving one behind, and being left behind, she did not hate the visitor, but she grieved for the one bound to the island as a source to hold the anger.

When she finally could bring herself to stand, she hobbled to legs, eyes blinking slow and staring at the three wounds in the area before her, pale blue eyes stared silently, tail softly swaying as she steady moved, stepping through the white, and emerging through a staggered up onto land beside the..tree, the tree she'd seen from a distance, towering and tall and so beautiful but right now it was hurting, it's strength wavering as beasts, ghouls, monsters she will call them, attacked it, like they were going for something specific.

She wasn't a fighter, no, she was a healer, she was gentle hearted, she hated the violence here the moment she saw it but something settled in her chest. Mythris was her home now, she'd accepted that long ago when she first arrived in a blinding light, so, in order to protect her home, these wolves homes, she surged forwards and latched her teeth into a ghoul, she was tiny, easily thrown around, and only three-legged but she fought like a rabid dog, lacking the self preservation or the knowledge of her own weak points.

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Minor or Major injury! idm

Skill: Warrior

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Thorvald had the dreams, they all had the dreams, only these dreams had become reality and he watched moving pictures before his eyes like a vision. Blinking the man considered if he'd consumed any fermented berries before his sleep before coming to the realization that no, he hadn't, he simply was part of this. They all were.

He thought of his children, Inka, Flóki, and Veðrfölnir, he thought of Lilja, he thought about how he wasn't there with them. He was here. He had to make a choice and fast, he had to make a choice for them. Stepping through the second door the man took careful strides as he observed the battle before him.

There were warriors everywhere of all shapes and sizes, all fighting the wraiths that attacked the tree. Compromised the bones and the flower. He had to stop them.

Charging forward he leapt into battle with his jaws splayed and clacking around cold wraithy body pieces. Shouting expletives and obscenities in Finnish, battle cries to his fellow warriors, he would beat them with boxing paws and kick at them with hind legs. He would fight with everything he had in him to protect the tree, the bones, the flower, his family, Mythris.

Saw you there and I thought "Oh my god, look at the fact. You look like my next mistake, loves a game, wanna play?"
3-3-3 OC

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Speech Emotional Actions Thoughts

Bao is not a fighter, she was never a fighter, she knew poisons, she knew herbs. She did not know fighting, so when her body fell forwards when she woke, sending her toppling into the middle door, towards the one with the trees and ghouls, she panicked, freezing up like a deer in headlights. Her white fur bristled, and her eyes burned with tears of fear, she'd seen stuff like this before in Veilstead, so why, why did it scare her so bad?

A wail ripped from the healer, feeling something white-hot burn against his shoulder, dual colored eyes blowing wide to stare upwards at the shadowy figure that tore it's vile teeth into her thin skin of her shoulder. She wanted to run and flee this tree, why had her first proper interaction with it been pain? As skin tore from her shoulder, she turned, instincts hitting but she lacked movement, her teeth snapped for air, and pain rippled through her now bleeding shoulder.

Nǐ zhè húndàn! Hǎo tòng, cāo, āiyō! (You fuck! That hurt, fuck, ow!)

Every movement ripped a whimper from the Snowflake, white fur stained cherry red as she moved in a clumsy dance of violence.

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Major injury <3 she doesn't know what she is doing