MASKTOURN

kallum wakes

Kallum wakes laying on a bedroll in a small room. It’s hardly comfortable, but it’s something. There’s no sign of the Lifebringer- or anyone, really. He'd soon realize his clothes have been changed- gone is whatever he was wearing before, replaced by a simple, robelike outfit entirely in white. Morning light filters in from the window, casting the entire small room in a dewy haze. The room is tiny- big enough only to fit the bedroll, a small basin for washing, a chest at the foot of the bedroll, and a low, small writing desk, on which is a folded piece of paper, labeled with Kallum’s name, a clay tablet, and a porcelain face mask. The entire room is furnished in plain white tile, and opposite the window is a stone-paneled door leading out. The letter on the desk is written in ornate, swirling script, reads as follows:

Welcome, Kallum Hugoyauro Byrd!

It is my pleasure to welcome you, not only to the Halcyon Citadel, but to the Snakes! You have been selected, by the Great and Divine Lifebringer, to serve and compete alongside your fellow serpentine contestants and under my gracious leadership. If you have any concerns or run into any trouble, please do not hesitate to bring it to my attention. I’m very excited to meet you all! 

Please wear the mask provided, as it is part of your uniform!

Your Leader, 
Reagan Alizaydyeiren

The mask was of white porcelain, and would sit on Kallum’s face without falling, held there by some kind of magic. It only covered his eyes and upper faced, and mirrored the look of a snake’s face. Despite no eye-holes, Kallum would be able to see clearly even with the mask on. The clay tablet was just too big to be held in one hand, and was accompained by a small stylus for writing. Its surface displayed the #group-chat, and would update magically as more messages were sent. (edited)

@soul | kallum 🔥 + peregrine 🎭

Kallum jolted and his arm swung out to hit the air. Once awake enough to take in his surroundings, hs scrambled off the bedroll to the floor, a stable environment - then he grew aware of his white robes. Not red. That was his constant, his colour, his clothes, even though he hadn't changed them in- well, it was water. It was all wrong, too white, too smooth, not him or his or anything he was supposed to be and couldn't be now but needed to be wanted to be but everything was wrong- he tore them off his body. He screamed, his voice raw, and that's all he could manage, head wrapped in his arms, knees digging in next to his elbows. It took him a very long time to unravel himself, to uncoil like the snake he'd find himself decreed as, but the letter brought no comfort or sense, so he threw it to the floor. He handled the mask, unfamiliar with wearing one - everyone was supposed to know who the Guardians were, after all, but he knew that the first Guardians had worn masks for their debut. He pressed it to his face but soon ripped that off and threw it to the ground as well, hating it, hating everything. If capable, he'd throw the tablet too. He backed away from the desk, back to his place on the floor. It was all too much. Too different, too new. And he had faced too many new experiences far too recently.