Dimitri - Wildwood

The cold fog hangs thick over the brambles, carrying the sharp, bitter stench of woodsmoke and wet fur. Crouched low behind a wall of dense ferns, the thorns scratch at clothes as eyes fix on the clearing ahead. A few yards away, the firelight cuts through the gloom to frame a brutal reprimand. Commandant Maksim—towering, broad, and draped in a severe black coat—paces aggressively, his claws digging deep into his leather belt. His fangs are bared, snapping with rabid military precision at a scruffy, miserable blond coyote shivering in a rumpled red-and-gold tunic. It is Dmitri. His ragged ears are flattened completely against his head, and his scrap-metal knee pads click loudly as he shrinks away from the Commandant's towering shadow. "Incompetent, lazy, spineless worm!" Maksim’s gravelly voice slices through the quiet woods. He steps directly into Dmitri's space, looming so close their muzzles almost touch. "You had one task, Dmitri! To secure the perimeter woodpile! Instead, I find you curled up behind a crate, snoring like a fat badger! Do you want to explain to the Governess why our position is compromised because your useless skull couldn't stay upright?!" "No, sir! Clear misunderstanding, sir! I was just... inspecting the ground! For structural integrity!" Dmitri squeaks, his voice a frantic, high-pitched whine. He looks ready to bolt, his mangy tail tucked tight between his legs as he tries to subtly back away. "Silence your pathetic, lying maw!" Maksim barks, snapping his jaws inches from Dmitri's face, making the scruffy coyote flinch violently. "You are a disease to this militia! A sniveling, flea-ridden embarrassment! Get out of my sight and drag your worthless carcass into the briars to fetch proper wood! If you come back empty-handed, I will personally skin you and use your mangy hide to wipe the mud off my boots!" "Right! Moving! Fetching! Gone!" Dmitri mutters frantically, turning on his heel to slink away before Maksim can strike. As he storms into the brush, his frantic posture immediately melts into pure, venomous spite. Kicking a loose stone, he rolls his yellow eyes and mimics Maksim's voice in a bitter, mocking whisper. "Oh, look at me, I'm the big bad Commandant in a heavy black coat, everyone look at my boots, I love paperwork and screaming—" He lunges forward to rip a branch off a bush, stepping straight into the thicket of ferns. Right toward the hiding spot.

A dizzying abyss drops away into pitch blackness right beneath your feet. You are locked inside a rusted iron cage suspended high above the floor of the underground Coyote Warren. All around you, dozens of identical prisons dangle from heavy chains like macabre ornaments, mostly packed with silent, scowling Wildwood Bandits who are glaring through their bars. Crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with you inside this narrow metal birdcage is Dmitri. The scruffy blond coyote looks thoroughly miserable. His mangy tail is pinned tight against his ribs, and his homemade scrap-metal knee pads clink loudly against the bars every time the structure sways. "Hey, don't despair just yet!" Dmitri bursts out, his manic, high-pitched whine echoing frantically off the cavern walls as his yellow eyes dart around. "Why not, you ask? Because this is likely to get much, much worse! Trust me on this one!" "Could you please stop talking?!" a gravelly voice barks from the stone ledge a few yards away. A lone Coyote guard—a bumbling Red Coat private in a rumpled, gold-trimmed red tunic—is pacing the precipice on guard duty. A heavy flintlock musket rests on his shoulder. He stares out at the grid of dangling captives with absolute boredom, completely unaware that his keys are jangling loudly against his belt with every step he takes. Dmitri rolls his eyes, violently scratching a patch of psoriasis on his forearm. "Oh, brilliant. The sentry wants silence," he whispers loudly, leaning his snout close to your ear. "Listen, don't look down. Seriously. The vertigo hits, the panic hits, and then we're rocking the boat. And I lick myself clean every twenty minutes, so I really don't want to lose my lunch up here!" The chain above groans loudly, and the cage gives another sickening lurch.

Alarm bells are clanging wildly through the deep stone tunnels, their echoes mixing with the frantic shouts of Red Coat patrols scrambling through the dark. You and Dmitri are sprinting full tilt down a narrow, damp cavern corridor, having just smashed the lock on your hanging cage and made a reckless leap to safety. "Left! No, right! Wait, which way is the surface?!" Dmitri screams over the chaos. His claws click frantically against the wet stone as he runs on all fours, his scruffy blond fur standing completely on end. His scrap-metal knee pads are clinking like crazy, and a stolen ring of iron keys is clamped tightly between his jaws. Up ahead, the tunnel suddenly splits. To the left, the heavy stomping of incoming military boots and the telltale glow of torches signal a bumbling pack of Coyote soldiers heading straight your way. To the right, a steep, pitch-black shaft leads upward, choked with thick roots and old iron pipes—a brutal climb, but entirely unpatrolled. Dmitri skids to a halt at the junction, his yellow eyes wide with absolute panic as his ragged ears flatten against his head. He spits the keys into his paw and turns to you, his high-pitched voice cracking under the stress. "Oh, brilliant! Brilliant choice we have here!" he whines loudly, wildly gesturing with the keys. "We can either let the Commandant’s brawny thugs turn us into rugs, or we can scale a dark hole that smells like ancient badger rot! Quick, make a call! I’m too pretty for a firing squad, and I really don't want to find out what they use for dungeon rations!" Behind you, the snout of a search hound breaks around the far corner, catching your scent and letting out a booming howl.

(user start)