THIS ISNT AN APOLOGY •• return of masks

[Kydobi]

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

[OOC: ]

He was smart enough to know he shouldn’t let himself be scene. So he took a farther route which Lead him to a field.

In his invisible jaws hung a bag full of masks both broken and in decent condition. He had gathered them in the heavy sack with the intention of returning them to their homelands.

One of his earliest lessons in life was to respect the dead. His native people were not religious but more so spiritual. They believed in spirits good and bad as well as restless ones. Bad and unhappy spirits brought bad things upon the lands until they were pleased or rid of.

Kydobi knew that regardless of what his beliefs were, that the only morally correct thing to do was return these. Please the fallen. To let even the dead know he was trying to right wrongs. However the living Tanglers took it... he didn’t care.

If he could write he would write a letter as of what these were and what he was doing. But he couldn’t. So he would leave the sack here, gently laying it on the floor with respect before turning and padding home.

[sub][W]isker[/sub]

[toboggan]

Unbeknownst to the Pittian Ardent, the initial individual to discover the unearth the brimming bag was none other than the Tanglewood General.

The scent of Pitt had breached the local atmosphere. Leroy's wet nose caught the foul taste from quite the distance away, and with all that transpired on the politics side of affairs in these later days, the wolfhound made finding the odour's scent the top priority inside his mind.

It ate up a good few minutes, but the enemies' stink was sourced to a jam-packed sack that lay dormant off in a field. The male's chocolate eyes gawked at the bag with relative distrust. Pittian packages were not to be trusted, as he learned from experience. For all he knew, the sack's contents could have comprised of a severely dismembered corpse, or perhaps an assortment of wickedly noxious substances. Surely that tribe of proud prats would want their vengeance for the Tanglers' march into their homeland - never did they enjoy being humbled, and it made total sense for an attempt to attain justice from their end.

Seeing how he existed as the only Tangler currently in the mystery bag's vicinity, the mongrel figured that only he would be harmed by anything adverse should it be inside. Not wishing to wait a single second longer, the male submerges his sharp pearly whites into the outer covering, easily tearing ajar the fibrous membrane and allowing its interior cargo to spew unto the soggy earth. And, much to the general's surprise, these was no undesirable entity within the cryptic package, but masks of Tanglewood origin - some of which were easily recognized as belonging to deceased comrades.

A puzzled expression comes into being upon the canine's visage. Instead of an act of vengeance, was this an attempt to appease? He didn't know. He couldn't know, for there wasn't any written note. And even if there was a written note, Leroy couldn't fucking read.

Hence, he sat at the foot of the torn bag and the heap of masks, completely perplexed out of his mind.

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Aurum had a great deal of knowledge when it came to spirits and the dead, thanks to his former position as an angel of heaven. While he had spent most of his time locked away and suffering, he had on occasion interacted with the spirits that came through looking for their final resting place. For the most part, the male knew that the dead were much like him and any other person. They were just looking for where they belonged, and they wanted to be able to rest and relax once they got there. As a result of this, the proxy of Tanglewood believed very severely in laying the dead to rest properly, and in not dishonoring their memories. So, when he had first seen the wall of heads and masks of the fallen that had surrounded the Pitt during his first raid there, he had been full of rage. It wasn't right, keeping the parts and possessions of the dead as gruesome trophies for intimidation tactics. It had only driven Aurum harder to rid the world of the evil that the Pitt had been spreading, and had filled him with a vicious sense of justice that hadn't been forgotten on the battlefield. Ironically, the one to suffer because of this divine retribution had been the very same soul who had decided to return the ill gotten gains of the Pitt.

When the angel picked up on the scent of the Pitt during one of his usual patrols, he felt his stomach twist, and a profoundly furious feeling fill his entire being. He had already had to deal with returning Sweeney earlier in the week, and now there was more of them? Internally, he swore that if this wasn't children like last time, and was in fact Pittians looking for some kind of trouble, he would attack them on sight. No questions asked. Despite this internal resolution, when Aurum reached the source of the scent, he wasn't greeted with any Pittians, young or old. Instead he was greeted with a bag full of masks, and Leroy. Blinking in confusion, the tigon hesitated for a moment before he moved closer, sniffing at some of the masks and letting out little chuffs when chiefs recognized certain ones from the border of the Pitt. Once he had identified what they were as well, he looked up at Leroy, rumbling softly, "These masks... they're the ones that were at the Pitt's border. Do you suppose they left them here as some sort of peace offering?" It was all that he could think of it to be, unless the masks were somehow some ticking time bomb just waiting to explode in his and Leroy's faces.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #722227; font-size: 24px;"][color=#c16f78]— AURUM

#psychosocial.

[CAUSTIC.]

Kydobi's scent flood his nose like freshly made coffee. It was a familiar scent to him, and he wondered why the panther had shown himself here. It was better for Kydobi to stay away. He wonders if the Pitt Leader had anything against him, since Caustic had vanished in the wake of Tanglewood's arrival and had joined the very group that wanted the Pitt to rot for all eternity.
He approaches in caution, holding himself low as he hides in the foliage, until he sees that Kydobi himself is not there, only Aurum and Leroy.
Caustic stands, gas trailing out from his face, and brings himself closer until he, too, is obeserving the various masks insides. He has not been enlightened to all of Tanglewood's ways, so he asks, "What are all of these?"

TAGS • PLAYLIST • PENNED BY OWLIE

THERE'S ONLY ONE WAY OUT

© LEXASPERATED

[Crow Roux]

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"Masks, Caustic," the feline said as he too appeared to investigate the mysterious package. "You gotta earn one. They symbolize a rite of passage." He felt his heart drop as he outstretched a paw to prod at several that he recognized belonging to those who had died in combat, and he would spot one of his own, broken in half from an encounter with Jervis. Others were unfamiliar to him; they were older than his time.

Crow's nose crinkled at the scent of the Ardent of the Pitt. Something about this made him uneasy. "The hell does he want to be returnin' these?"

[suvi.]

[table][tr][td]

SUVI KIIRA NÍ FAOLÁIN
MEDIC / BETA
TAGS && INFO

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[div style="width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #c48d85; text-align: left; padding-top: 15px; padding-left: 10px"]T͏O̴G͠ETH͏ER̕ ÁT̴ ̸T̕H̶E ST͏ART̶ O͏F̀ ̵TI̡M͏E

The scent of the Pitt lingered in the air.  Unease sank into her limbs.  A stifling sensation, as though walls surrounded her on all sides.  Trapped air.

The petite vixen nearly lost all corporality as she wobbled onto the scene, mitch-matched hues darting for signs of trouble.  She found only Leroy, Aurum and Caustic.  And masks.  Masks?  "..."

"The hell does he want to be returnin' these?"

Did there have to be a reason?  An ulterior motive?  Kiira frowned, her eyes falling back onto the masks, quietly staring.  She had earned her own mask recently, finally receiving a chance to participate after her time as a Pitt captive.  A tradition.  A rite of passage.  They meant something to the identity of those they had belonged to.  Something to those gone.

Her eyes softened.  "... 's called res... Respect..."  They didn't have to like it.  Or trust it.  Kiira knew there would never be anything other than harsh feelings towards the Pitt and Tanglewood... But she believed, like Kydobi, the fallen deserved respect.  Courtesy.

"... They be-belong... With-with their owners."

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© MADI

[beck.]

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    Masks, masks, masks. What was the big deal with masks? In all fairness, he simply thought the practice would be cool and badass. Then it spiraled into the identifying tradition of his little group. Now a big group. And no longer his. Funny how things worked.

    For nearly two years, the unchanging founder watched as people set foot in the marsh then disappear, play his crude game in the cemetery then lose, charge into battle then die. Only a fraction of time compared to the centuries he witnessed. A grain of sand easily skimmed over when reflecting on the tragedy-beaten beach of his existence. But somehow, such an infinitesimal increment of years glistened more than any other bland grit on the shore. For once, he had company. Not all friends, sure. But the friend he did have actually cared about him. The single speck of memories would likely be the most treasured even as the tides ebbed onward, sweeping more sand to bury the prior layer.

    When he glimpsed the false faces of fallen companions, his expression turned to that of heartbreak, memories shaking the cobwebs and piercing his gait like jagged rocks he accidentally stumbled upon while investigating. Amunet, Fenrisulfr, Malphas, Belladonna... where had they gone? Was cruel murder the fate that had befallen them too? Mouth still hanging open in the increasingly familiar shock of these times, Beck slumped onto his haunches. No, he wasn't going to cry. Not this time. Especially not after the sibling incident at the border.

    Swallowing his grief yet grimacing at the lump remaining in his throat after, the poltergeist closed his mouth, only to open it again moments later, a fish unable to breathe with punctured lungs. Tired words staggered past gaping jaws, strained and strangled with hidden emotion. "I... I can bury them." He of all people knew just how important it was to respect the dead. It was from his own mutilated and scavenged corpse that he had spawned, unmarked and alone with only the nearby stream and forest for comfort. To settle the remnants of his past friends in the earth where new life could sprout and no evil could sully them again... well, it was the least he could do.

[toboggan]

By then, a moderate congregation of comrades manifested in the bag's vicinity. In the minutes that'd passed, the canine's outlook on the situation had not changed in the slightest. His fundamental judgment mirrored that of Aurum's - the return of the masks  came across as a peace offering of sorts. Cynical, it was, how the marks of slaughtered Tanglers were sent to their home in an effort to attain peace.

In suit of his initial arrival and the subsequent emergence of other individuals, dialogue had established itself betwixt those who'd turned up. The Proxy expressed his aforementioned judgment, to which Leroy inaudibly nodded in response. After the tribe's brief stint to the Pitt's territory a couple months back, appeasing their mightier enemies was a completely logical course of action. The General saw through the their feeble endeavour, however. Past actions spoke volumes. The likelihood of this being a ploy to lower the tribe's guard was higher than not.

Additional dialogue composed of a question prompted by Dr. Caustic which regarded the mask's interior contents. The wolfhound himself intended to answer, yet his Crow had beaten him to it. The alabaster feline went on to question Kydobi's motive, a thought shared by the majority who were present. In response to the alabaster feline, Kiira proposes 'respect' as a plausible rationale. This causes the male's brows to furrow by a slight margin.

"Respect ain't somethin' that runs in the Pitt," he replies in a dead tone of voice. "If they had an ounce of respect, they wouldn'ta been proudly hoistin' these up in the first place." Similarly to Crow, a good figure of the masks were ones he recognized. He hadn't been able to make out each and every individual one from a distance whenever external affairs took him to Pittian lands; but now that they lay less than a metre before him, the memories of fallen tribemates surged through his mind. Many emotions were felt in a manner of seconds, yet sadness was not one of them. "Knowin' them," he continues indifferently, "this is either a shitty peace offering (like Aurum suggested), or a phony one. Old habits die hard, and I've seen enough of their underhanded ways to know what's goin' on."

A question then arises from Beck. A question pertaining to the masks' fate, and whether he could help out in a burial process. Leroy's earthen eyes fixate on Beck's, offering an empathetic gaze. Out of everybody here, the spectral child was arguably able to identify the most of the masks, having been the group's founder. "I promise, Beck, that you'll play a hand in handlin' the masks," he says in the best warmhearted voice he could muster, "though I can't really tell what I wanna do with 'em." This was true. In addition to burying, a plethora of other options for managing the masks were at his selection. "We could definitely bury 'em," he quickly reassures, "or we could adourn the tavern in 'em. The tavern's a place for parties, and since the partyin' spirit is a trait all Tanglers share, I think it'd be equally as respectful to hang 'em from the walls in a commemorative fashion."

"What's your guys' input?" he asks, turning to everyone else, "do we bury 'em in memorial, or do we pay tribute to 'em by elevatin' 'em in the tavern high enough for everyone to see?"

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Respect. The word fell from Kiira's lips so freely, yet it didn't provide any comfort for the proxy. If The Pitt truly had any respect, or discipline, then he wouldn't have had to worry for his sister's life just a couple of months ago. If they had any respect, they wouldn't have let Jervis remain in power until he was forcibly removed from the outside. Still, he didn't say any of this directly to Kiira. He knew how much she wanted the Pitt to be good now, and he wasn't in the business of crushing her dreams. Instead, he just mumbled gruffly, "We can only pray it's respect, and not something far more sinister." It seemed unlikely that Kydobi would be able to rig some kind of trap with the pile of masks now before them, but he wouldn't put anything past the ardent. He even felt a spike of anxiety through his limbs simply by everyone being so near to the Pittian offering. Despite this, he didn't warn anyone away, not wanting to give into the paranoid ramblings of his mind. War had made him far too nervous, apparently.

Glancing between Beck and Leroy, Aurum seemed to take a moment of thought, wondering what would be proper to do with the masks in question. On one hand, a proper burial seemed natural to him, given it was what had been taught back in the pride. However, Leroy's idea seemed just as appealing. Less traditional, but he did have a point in that Tanglewood was a place of strength and partying. They didn't back down or give up and give into despair when things got rough. Truly, those that had their masks here now would've shared that sentiment. After a long moment of chewing idly on the inside of his cheek, the angel said simply, "I think they should go up in the tavern. It only seems proper, to remember the joy and fun of their lives, rather than focus on the grieving. It could become a tradition that anyone who wishes to could participate in after they fall... that way instead of filling ourselves with remorse and regrets, we make sure they know how much we cared." It only seemed logical to him. However, he knew that there was something he was overlooking. Something he needed to rectify. Looking towards Beck, the proxy mumbled softly, "However... Beck has been here longer than any of us. He probably knew everyone that these masks belonged to... so I think the ultimate decision of how they should be remembered should be his." He wasn't trying to pile responsibility atop the ghost's shoulders – he just wanted him to be able to have control over his fallen friends.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #1B1B2F; font-size: 24px;"][color=#44437F]— AURUM

#psychosocial.