The forests of the 43rd floor are a danger to unsuspecting players in multiple ways. For one, the gryphons that inhabit the canopy, though typically not overly belligerent towards creatures that lurk on the forest floor, possess sharp claws and an uncanny ability to fly through the narrow spaces between the tight-knit tree trunks, meaning that should one ever have its eye on you, running is rarely a viable option. Should they develop a taste for human flesh, as they occasionally do, one's only option is to make a stand and hope to get a blow in whilst the gryphon attacks with lethal diving runs. Deaths by gryphon are uncommon, but not an outright impossibility.
For two, even stronger monsters than gryphons make their home on the ground far below.
Arachnids, giant snakes, fire ants – the 43rd floor has one of the most impressive examples of in-game biodiversity amongst any of the floors. Yet the most perilous of those specimens do not come in the form of four-legged beasts or winged threats, but in a more uncomfortably familiar, human form. They are arguably a player's greatest enemy, because they often don't seem much like enemies at all. But give them an inch, and they'll take a mile – and your life.
There is a small cottage situated in the middle of the forest, several yards away from a clearing in the thicket. The cottage is derelict and unassuming at first glance, but on closer inspection one sees that the walls of the cottage are doubly reinforced with wood and stone, not only to deter attacks from the more daring of beasts, but also to prevent most sounds from leaking out from within. There are no windows, only a door latched shut by a brass bolt. Far too secure of a proposition for anyone who merely wishes to live there – if, of course, that is all there is to the cottage.
A faint scream emanates from inside. The scream is chiefly one of pain, but more significantly, it is one of fear. Fear of the end; fear of what comes after. A scream that is heard by none but those that stand before the one from whose mouth it is emitted, and by the figure who has now materialized outside the cottage's entryway.
The figure is clad in robes of white and red, their vibrant color marred only by a single crimson cross stitched near the hem. In the figure's hands are grasped a pair of daggers, weapons that are best suited to fighting in confined spaces both due to their short length and their ability to be thrown should the need arise. Their mithril wrist-guards conceal further blades that can be revealed with the press of a button installed in the palm of their gloves. The figure's features are hidden by a mask and a hood, leaving only their gray eyes exposed.
The figure breathes, taking in the crisp forest air. Then, they raise their right foot, and aim it squarely at the center of the door.
The door is battered down with a swift kick. As the dust settles, the figure rapidly analyzes the situation inside the cottage. Three men are sat around the middle of the first room. The markers that hover above the heads of each man are orange. Good, the figure thinks to themselves. No repercussions, then, should any of those men die.
The man closest to the door gets up, but before he can reach for the sword on his belt, a knife rockets across the room, striking him squarely in the forehead. The man falls backwards, his health bar shrinking to zero in a matter of moments, his body exploding and vanishing before it can hit the ground. The other two yell frantically and hastily unsheathe their weapons, but by then the figure is already upon them, wrist blades primed and ready. The figure curls their fingers and slams the blades into the chests of the men, pushing them to the ground as they splutter and cough from the shock of the impact. Their bodies follow the lead of the first man's corpse, splitting into millions of tiny pieces, any trace of their existence in the game permanently erased.
The door to the next room is forced open, and a fourth man emerges. He is unarmored, but wields a giant iron mace that he now swings as he charges towards the figure. The figure, unperturbed by the incoming danger, ducks under the man's wild swings and plunges his dagger into the man's abdomen. Two more thrusts to the chest follow, and the man is gone as quickly as he arrived.
The room from which that man appeared is slightly smaller than the first, and contains nothing but a broken table and a wooden bed. Upon the bed lies a girl, her armor in tatters, her arms and legs tied to the corners of the bed, leaving her splayed across the mattress like a hunted animal being prepared for a feast.
The figure cuts the ropes tying the girl down and helps her to her feet. In her shock, she can hardly speak, but fortunately still retains the use of her limbs. She eventually manages to limp out of the cottage with the help of the figure, and together they return to the 43rd floor's teleport gate. The figure tells her she is safe now, and that she no longer has to worry. She breaks into tears, and the figure comforts her.
Upon reaching the plaza of a larger town, they leave the girl in the company of her friends and several of the figure's red-robed fellows. The girl's friends ask how they can ever thank the figure.
There is nothing to thank, the figure replies. They only do what they must.
The figure's white-and-red robes flutter in the breeze. The single word hidden beneath the cross is uncovered.
"Bloodwatch".