[Youngest of seven, runt of the litter, abandoned by his brothers who left to seek out their father, alone to protect the corpse of his mother.
To protect it, but he's failing.
His mother's body, another wolf, lies motionless behind him, too large from his perspective: or perhaps he is that small, just a babe, unable to stop the scavengers moving in. Every time he spots one, two more step in from the shadows; for every one he stops, another has reached his mother to desecrate her corpse.
Feel free to simply watch him struggle; the dream won't until he wakes, monsters simply coming ad infinitum until he wakes up. Or you can help protect him, stopping the faceless, shapeless masses from eating his mother.]
-----
FEAR (2): Monster in the Mirror
[His studio apartment is a single room, barely enough for the couch he calls a bed and the fridge around the corner. But even as he reclines in his chair, it seems to shrink, and as claustrophobia starts to settle in he rises from his chair - only for a black boot to land and forcefully push him back into his seat. He looks up, and Bloody Mary, human in the worst possible way, staring down at him with glee as she bounces the Woodsman's axe on her bony shoulder. She lifts it in both hands to swing as his head, but the room tilts and throws them both into a factory, filled with ugly yellow lights that make black shadows between titanic vats and looping conveyer belts, all supported by girders extending off into infinity.
There's a sense of panic and urgency in the dream; Bigby is being hunted, by Bloody Mary's true form, a glass-embedded demon that hisses and darts through the building, too fast to follow and out for blood, and she doesn't care whose.]
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RAGE: Who's afraid...
[Bigby is a monster and he knows it. Everyone is so quick to remind him, after all. He used to relish it. Live for the thrill of taking down a larger opponent every day. Growing bigger and more monstrous, more terrifying. And the dream he has, courtesy of Rage, is less of a fantasy than an amalgamation of old memories.
He rips at anything that stands in his way, teeth sinking into flesh and armour alike and swallowing whole. Armies fall before him and he's left in the centre of a ring of dismembered, bloodied corpses, howling for more.
Then, somehow, he's the werewolf: grey fur, golden eyes and claws that rend flesh like silk, and his targets are somehow more and less human. Weak facsimiles of the Fables he's supposed to protect fall before his fury and might. Grendel, his head missing along with his arm; both Tweedles, indistinguishable before, are even more so now that their chests are both caved in; Bloody Mary in pieces, the Crooked Man in twain, the Woodsman's axe buried in his own stomach...
Even his friends don't escape. Those who know them would recognise the corpses of Snow White and even Colin lumped in with the rest. And Bigby still stands, still panting, still burning to destroy more.
Bigby Wolf | The Wolf Among Us | OTA | CW: gore
[Youngest of seven, runt of the litter, abandoned by his brothers who left to seek out their father, alone to protect the corpse of his mother.
To protect it, but he's failing.
His mother's body, another wolf, lies motionless behind him, too large from his perspective: or perhaps he is that small, just a babe, unable to stop the scavengers moving in. Every time he spots one, two more step in from the shadows; for every one he stops, another has reached his mother to desecrate her corpse.
Feel free to simply watch him struggle; the dream won't until he wakes, monsters simply coming ad infinitum until he wakes up. Or you can help protect him, stopping the faceless, shapeless masses from eating his mother.]
-----
FEAR (2): Monster in the Mirror
[His studio apartment is a single room, barely enough for the couch he calls a bed and the fridge around the corner. But even as he reclines in his chair, it seems to shrink, and as claustrophobia starts to settle in he rises from his chair - only for a black boot to land and forcefully push him back into his seat. He looks up, and Bloody Mary, human in the worst possible way, staring down at him with glee as she bounces the Woodsman's axe on her bony shoulder. She lifts it in both hands to swing as his head, but the room tilts and throws them both into a factory, filled with ugly yellow lights that make black shadows between titanic vats and looping conveyer belts, all supported by girders extending off into infinity.
There's a sense of panic and urgency in the dream; Bigby is being hunted, by Bloody Mary's true form, a glass-embedded demon that hisses and darts through the building, too fast to follow and out for blood, and she doesn't care whose.]
-----
RAGE: Who's afraid...
[Bigby is a monster and he knows it. Everyone is so quick to remind him, after all. He used to relish it. Live for the thrill of taking down a larger opponent every day. Growing bigger and more monstrous, more terrifying. And the dream he has, courtesy of Rage, is less of a fantasy than an amalgamation of old memories.
He rips at anything that stands in his way, teeth sinking into flesh and armour alike and swallowing whole. Armies fall before him and he's left in the centre of a ring of dismembered, bloodied corpses, howling for more.
Then, somehow, he's the werewolf: grey fur, golden eyes and claws that rend flesh like silk, and his targets are somehow more and less human. Weak facsimiles of the Fables he's supposed to protect fall before his fury and might. Grendel, his head missing along with his arm; both Tweedles, indistinguishable before, are even more so now that their chests are both caved in; Bloody Mary in pieces, the Crooked Man in twain, the Woodsman's axe buried in his own stomach...
Even his friends don't escape. Those who know them would recognise the corpses of Snow White and even Colin lumped in with the rest. And Bigby still stands, still panting, still burning to destroy more.
Then he turns to you.]