MATTER OF DECENCY •• spiked border removal

[Kydobi]

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IM JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD -
♕tags-powers♕

[OOC: light gore warning  ]

It was about time that he gotten around to this. Kydobi had been in the process of cleaning the Pitt. One could even say “purifying” it. As if it was one long process of saging the whole group, to rid it of bad energy. Of dirty, savage, monstrous things. Logically he should’ve handled the wall way before now. However leadership had its habit of making one forget of something, especially with such tension and tedious but necessary tasks.

Although today he would handle it for sure. The brute was already there and he would stare hard at the rotting skulls. The last reminder of Jervis and his terrible reign. He had to be thankful, really, that Jervis was finally punished. They are all abused to a point that they didn’t rebel, that they lived day to day with a monster as if it was normal.

Sadly, people had to adjust. Not just people but everyone. All of the older groups hated them and that made it pretty hard. Especially knowing there was events going on that he and his people could not attend.

The wind was minor, perhaps in another part of the land it was cool. Yet here in the desert it was hot. A massive shadow was standing there, just watching. The smell wasn’t too bad. Birds had done their job and pecked what was good and perhaps what wasn’t off the skulls. On the ground we’re masks, masks of all kinds.

Kydobi also let his gaze stare into these. Currently he was taking it all in, coming to a decision. This place had a draining feeling, it did its job and made one feel extremely unwelcome. That was the last thing the Ardent wanted.

His attention had really only been on a set of heads, a small section. There was a reason it was called the spiked border. Eyes would stop focusing and take in the true amount of skulls. Not too many but enough to take a couple hours. Especially if he intended on burying them.

He wouldn’t ask anyone to assist him with this, if they came and offered then they did. Despite his hate for the Tanglers he had more respect for the dead. The way these people were put on display by a madman for intimidation and kicks was disgusting. A sigh would escape the brute.

”might as well start now...”, he murmured to himself. The heads would be more important, he would gather the masks later and whether he would return them to Tangle he couldn’t tell. But they wouldn’t be lost out here to the greedy desert. Large paws would spread across a spike and push. Forcing it down along with the head on it. It wasn’t pleasant in the least. His left paw would press down as his right removed the head. Nearly gagging at the remnants of rot. They would be buried in the jungle for a number of reasons. The first being the ground could use the nutrients and the second being that the open desert held a... dark and ominous quality.

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There would be a trail of fallen spears on the ground by now. The sun now at its peak. Halfway done but not quite. He had to take each individual head and bury it in the jungle and walk back to retrieve another. It took time.

But perhaps it could lay rest to some bad energies. The jaguars of his home lands had no religion but they did believe in spirits. Good and bad. That was enough to fuel traditions regarding death and birth. There was omens and such but the brute never really cared for all that.

His chocolate body was now caked and crusted with a paste of sand, mud, and dirt.

He no longer spoke and only grunted in his labor.

[sub][W]isker[/sub]

[nikolai]

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    Purifying an entire land would require much more effort than dismantling a barbaric fence. The third horseman observed with curiosity from a distance as the same large black cat who shouted nonsense began to tackle the gruesome chore. He had never seen the border before -- at least, not while in his right mind.

    His expression darkened as the spiked wall brought to light old memories bottled far beneath the gas mask he wore. A crude muzzle of barbed wire, the collar of his threadbare shirt yanked, choking him, the sting of iron as the manmade thorns raked his face. A tongue dared to swipe over now shredded lips, cringing at the ragged grooves. Cruelty extended beyond man. Or was sadism simply nature? Primal, predatory nature. The instinct to hunt, to kill, to eat. It ran deep within the blood of every living being.

    He hated it.

    Yet heavy paws still splayed themselves across the sand, no longer mindful of the burning heat against broad pads. The scent of rotten meat drifted toward him, curling a finger and beckoning the boy. Nikolai obeyed; he always obeyed. Glancing to Kydobi, his feathery tail wagged slightly, the harsh glare of the sun obscuring whatever emotion his single eye displayed through a tinted lens. "Приві," he greeted, voice hoarse from disuse and thirst. With nothing better to say, the wolverine reared onto his back legs, mimicking the big cat and shoving down a sharpened pole. He was just as eager to destroy the barrier and not only because of the abundant meals pierced by it.