User blog:Crowsoul50/My Teeth And Ambitions Are Bared (working title) Masked Ones origin stuff lol

A/N: Listened to a Disney villain song playlist as I wrote this uwu we stan a sister with killer plans and killer vocals

Also don't pay attention to any grammar or spelling mistakes it was 1am when I started writing and I doubt I'm gonna ever look over any of this before posting

TW: language, mentions of alcohol, death

It wasn't often that the god of desperation was desperate himself, but tonight was one of those nights. Orphos pulled his black traveler's cloak tighter around himself against the cold wind that bit through the streets of the medieval sect. The fallen leaves scattered beneath his feet from the speed of his walking over the cobblestones. Through the boozy haze settled in his mind from too much to drink earlier, he noted that winter would be coming soon. One of the busiest times for deals, especially in the medieval sect where many people didn't know if they would make it through the winter. He was jolted back to the present by the sound of the contents of his bag clinking together. He stopped at the edge of the road to check it. Sure enough, a mask of a snarling jackal leered back at him. Orphos shuddered and closed the bag, starting to move again. He didn't even know why he bothered to check to see if they were okay. I've already done plenty to try and destroy them, it's not like walking is going to break them. It was true. When he had first gotten the masks from the weird old man for dirt cheap, the god thought he had struck gold. The masks were expertly crafted, so detailed he half expected them to move. Perhaps that's why he hadn't been able to trade them off. There was something... Off about them, he couldn't deny that. The longer he had them, the more he itched to get rid of them. He tried to store them with the rest of his items, but when he came back, the souls he had also stored had moved near them for seemingly no reason. If Orphos handled them for an extended period of time, he started hearing voices, whispers that urged him to try one on, just for a bit. They lingered long after he stopped touching the masks, and it creeped him out more than he cared to admit. There was also the bit about the curse. Everytime he got around to that part in his sales pitch, he could see potential buyers visibly reconsider. Even with his best efforts, even the more desperate mortals balked at the thought of having to kill and feed off souls for the rest of their lives. He couldn't say he blamed them. Val had suggested destroying them, and Orphos threw everything he had at them. Every time he left them somewhere, they would show back up from a within minutes to a few hours. They couldn't be broken. He was looking for someone, anyone, to take them off his hands, which was why he was returning to one of his old haunts.

''Damn. I'm going to be late.'' The deity gave up the pretense of power walking and started flat out sprinting to his destination, his cloak flapping out behind him. {+}{+}{+} When Orphos finally reached the marketplace, it was nearly dark. He slowed to a stop outside a rusty wrought iron gate about twice his height. Fog had begun to roll in, softening the outline of the rows of headstones that lay just beyond the gate. The god squinted into the gloom. He was searching for the trademark blue torch perimeter that signified the marketplace had begun. "I swear, if I'm at the wrong graveyard again, I'm going to fucking lose it." Flicking his wrist, he summoned a bright orange animal soul into his palm to light his way. Rearing back, he kicked at the gate, which gave way beneath his foot with a metallic shriek. He stepped into the graveyard and looked around, holding his hand high in the air to get maximum light coverage. Normally, he would toss the soul over his head and trust it to stay there, but they acted unpredictably in the presence of the masks, as if they were attracted to them. He preferred to have it in his hand anyway; for as much as he hung around graveyards like this one, the sheer amount of death around him made him a bit uncomfortable. It gave him a small comfort to have the light in his hand. Finally, he saw the dim blue glow of torches in the distance. Oh, thank me. Orphos wove between the slabs of stone, snuffing the soul in his hand as he got closer to the light. He drew up short. The marketplace was a lot more lively than he was used to. Orbs had been strung between the leafless, twisted trees, casting the various pop-up booths in an ethereal glow. Soft music filtered through the area, coming from a string quartet set up in front of a crypt. People and creatures from all walks of life milled around the booths that were selling items as varied and strange as the customers looking at them. Orphos sidled up to the nearest booth, which housed ornate knives  and Minotaur manning it. When they saw the god, they snorted dismissively, their breath fogging in the cold air. "Well if it isn't the legend himself. I thought you were too good for the likes of this place? Or, that's at least what you said when you got kicked out for wiping out half the marketplace last time." Their voice was an intimidating rumble, but their eyes had a mischievous glint in the dim light. Orphos groaned. "That was over a century ago, and I said I was sorry!" He picked up an ornately carved machete and flipped it over in his hands as he spoke. The Minotaur sternly pushed the blade back onto the table. "I'm sure the organizers won't mind you coming back. What do you need, Orphos? Besides a blade- you still haven't paid me back for your last pair. I'm beginning to think that you don't actually have what I asked for." "Relax. It's not exactly easy to figure out how to transport a fucking maze-"

"Labryinth." "-Labryinth. Whatever. Anyway, I was just wondering what all the festivities are about. Can't imagine they're celebrating my triumphant return." They snorted again, and Orphos caught the sweet scent of hay. "Actually, I figured that's what you were here for. There's some spunky kid that's been asking for you for weeks now. He keeps bothering all the other shopkeepers about where you are. Not me, he stopped after I threatened to stomp him to death with my hooves, so he's most likely a mortal. Keeps going on and on about how you're his only hope. Odd choice for a role model in my opinion, but I'm not here to judge. He apparently paid for all this, but I'm not entirely sure with what money. Doesn't exactly look like his pockets are lined with gold or anything like that." Orphos rapped his knuckles on the table and exhaled deeply. This certainly wasn't the first time a mortal had attempted to get his attention, but it was the first time that one had gone through the trouble of getting into such a secretive event as the graveyard  marketplaces, especially since he hadn't been there for over 100 years. "If he swings by, please don't stomp on him, just direct him over to- is my old booth spot still open?" "Open? Gods, goddesses, and deities, Orphos, no one wants to touch it! They all think it's bad luck." The god smirked. He knew most of the shopkeeps were superstitious, but he never thought they would rather leave his spot open rather than take it over. "Fine by me. If he does stop by, send him over there. I'll be waiting."

''I'm gonna stop for now, I'm hella tired and have an exam tomorrow lmao. Remind/yell at me to finish later if y'all want to read more uwu''