Wailvines

"Some echoes fade. Some never do."

Scholars debate whether the Wailvine is merely a plant or something far more insidious—an open wound in reality, an unrelenting tether between the living and the dead. It is believed to have once been an ordinary creeping vine, twisted by the weight of uncounted deaths, by the sorrows of those who perished in despair. Some say it does not grow so much as manifest, slithering forth from unseen cracks in the world where the tormented are bound.Legends whisper of a battle long forgotten, a massacre so gruesome that the land itself refused to let the dead rest. Where the Wailvine takes root, the past refuses to stay buried.

Basic Information

Anatomy

The Wailvine resembles a sickly green creeper, its thin tendrils wrapping themselves around ruins, graves, and stones steeped in history’s worst moments. Unlike other vines, it never seems vibrant, its leaves a brittle, color-drained imitation of life. It does not sprawl wildly but clings tightly, embedding itself in cracks as though anchoring itself to the suffering left behind. But its most horrifying feature is its flowers, if they can be called such. They are shriveled things, black as coal, their cores darker than any absence of light should be. They do not bloom with the seasons, nor do they wither in the cold. Instead, they remain closed, locked tight as though holding something back. And when disturbed, by wind, by touch, by the mere presence of something living—they open. And they scream.

Genetics and Reproduction

The Wailvine does not spread through seeds or spores, nor does it take root in fertile soil. It appears only where the weight of the past lingers, where sorrow has seeped into the land itself. A field that once drank the blood of war. A village where plague left corpses rotting in the streets. A crumbled fortress where desperate men died screaming in the dark. Unlike other plants, it does not seem to age. The same vines that twisted around a ruin a century ago still remain, unchanged, their shriveled black flowers never truly dead, never truly alive.

Growth Rate & Stages

The Wailvine does not grow like normal plants, its progress slow and deliberate, as if crawling toward something unseen. Some say it does not spread at all, but rather awakens, that its presence has always been there, waiting for the right moment to emerge. No one has seen a young Wailvine. No one knows how, or if, they begin.

Ecology and Habitats

The Wailvine has no need for sunlight, water, or soil. Nourishing only on the tragedies spilling into the ground before it, subsisting on this pain for quite some time. It thrives in the cold, in the dark, in the places men have abandoned and pain is thick in the air. It does not choke out other plants, nor does it consume the nutrients in the soil. It simply exists, as though defying nature itself. It is most often found in ruins, old battlegrounds, and mass graves. But there have been accounts, terrible, whispered accounts—of it appearing where it should not be. Of a lone tendril curling around the doorstep of a home, of a single black flower blooming in the rafters of a well-kept inn. These accounts, sometimes uncovering a terrible mystery, exposing the wicked deeds of a trusted socialite, always end the same: The vine was cut, the house was burned, and no one speaks of what was heard in the night.

Dietary Needs and Habits

It does not need to consume. And yet, some believe it feeds, not on nutrients, but on grief itself. Priests and scholars who have studied the Wailvine claim that its wails grow louder when the living pass by, as though drawing something from their presence. Some even say that those who linger too long among the vines find themselves inexplicably exhausted, their thoughts heavy, their dreams filled with voices that do not belong to them. But if the vine truly feeds, then what happens when it finally grows full?

Biological Cycle

The Wailvine does not follow the cycles of the seasons. It does not bloom, does not wither, does not bend beneath the snow. It does not rest. It only lingers, growing when no one is looking, tightening its hold on the forgotten places of the world.

Behaviour

The Wailvine does not move, does not react, does not lash out. But it remembers. It is a thing of stillness, of waiting. But the moment it is touched, it reacts. The blackened flowers unfurl, and the air is filled with a keening, shuddering wail that seems to echo from somewhere far, far away. The sound is not that of a simple scream, it is a chorus, dozens, perhaps hundreds of voices overlapping in agony. To some, it is merely a natural phenomenon. But those who have heard it closely, those who have listened too long, insist otherwise. They claim to have picked out words in the noise, names, pleas, accusations. They claim the voices follow them home. Some say the Wailvine does not merely echo suffering. It collects it. And one day, it may decide to share what it has gathered.

Additional Information

Perception and Sensory Capabilities

The Wailvine does not see, nor does it react to the sun or rain. It only listens. It is drawn to places of anguish, growing where death was cruel and where graves were left unmarked. Some say it is a bridge between the living and the forgotten, its roots tangled in the essence of those who suffered without peace. It is not uncommon for mourners visiting graves to hear their own name whispered between the wails, as if something beneath the soil is calling out, desperate to be remembered.

Origin/Ancestry

Vitis clamoris

Conservation Status

It is neither protected nor hunted—only avoided. Not out of fear of poison, nor for its supposed magickal properties, but because those who try to destroy it often find their dreams plagued with cries that never end. There are whispers of villages abandoned because the screams grew too loud, of lone travelers who hacked the vines apart only to hear the voices follow them, creeping ever closer with each passing night.