The Masquerade [Pack Lore]

The Masquerade

Pack Lore

- Introduction -

This is a lore thread for me to develop my pack, the Masquerade, led by a strange vaguely wolf shaped creature. This may not be the most complete work out there, but I do want to get better at writing, so this will be a good exercise. There will also be art!

I'm not sure how to format this, so i'll figure it out as I go. I'm in the Lore Clan Discord, so if you need to ask or comment on anything, feel free to pm me or reach out on that discord, where i am also called masquerade.

This is a read only thread.

World Building

Just little things i have to store here and there.

The Maskmaker

The Maskmaker is a shapeshifting being that uses wolves as a way to gain power. It wears a mask for a face in whatever form it takes. It is rather ancient, and has a certain hatred for the natural order. It pushes chaos into nature by rendering malicious wolves into beasts that spread mayhem. It does not breed, as it is asexual, but may mutate offsprings to his liking to make a suitable host. 

Naming System

The Masquerade's masqued wolves are named after the role they play, which can be traits. For exemple, a chaser could be named The Tireless. They take this name as the character they now play, and choose it when they put on the mask. This name grants them strange capacities and sometimes physical mutations.

Fools, wolves that are not masked, have lesser roles in the pack, and tend to simply be named after physical traits (blackfoot) or personality (Snark, Silent...). These wolves often are waiting to get their own mask by proving their worth to the Maskmaker. If that condition is not met, their fate is worse than favorable.

Territory

The Masquerade does not have a set territory, roaming wherever the Maskmaker pleases. However, the pack tends to prefer territories that are shaded from the sun, like forests. It only roams under open skies during storms or at night.

Prologue

The night was dark, and eerily silent, the raccoon thought. Even though the world had been illuminated by the rays of the sun a few hours before, it felt now as if ink had smothered every corner of the forest. The idea of the obscurity somehow smothering him to death made his fur stand on end. He shivered.

Shaking his head as if to shoo a fly away, he scampered amongst the fallen leaves again, trying to find his way back to his den. He had intended to search for food, but even his eyes didn't do much tonight against the veil of black. Suddenly, he stops. It seems to him as he has heard something. Smelled something? He is unsure. He doesn't dare move for the first minute, feeling imaginary eyes locked on him. Slowly, his heart rate drops back down, and he looks at his feet.

Maws. 

He jumps back, in terror, fleeing under the nearest tree. But the maws don't move. The beast -a wolf?- is dead. The scent is cold. A bit disturbind, something the raccoon cannot quite place, unnatural. Something like the no-pelts that sometimes roams the forest.

However the raccoon does not move, having spotted something quite a bit more unnerving than a decaying canine : the shadows, horrible and suffocating, are they moving? The furry beast thinks they see a deer, then perhaps a massive, slithering snake, and finally, an owl. The inky feathered beast walks forward, too big to prey on anything an owl would normally hunt. This does not particularly reassure the raccoon, already hesitant to face any of the flighted predators. 

Like the starless sky drooling into life, the creature gets detailed, more real. It's talons hit the ground with a soft crunch. Above it's neck, with a paleness comparable to the moon, a strange lifeless face seems carved into bone. It lowers itself on the cadaver, it's mask lifting with a sickening crunch, thin strands of liquid night pooring out and tainting the wolf's pale fur.

The raccoon huddles a bit more into his hide, but a snap under his paw makes his eyes connect with the abberant predator. It's heart sinks, and adrenaline rushes up his paws. Suddenly, he is running.

It is not the soundless flight of an owl that follows him, but the very much audible sounds of paws scrapping against the humid soil. He does not dare look back, but the frenzied breathing upon his neck is enough for him to know. The end is quick, he is thankful. Lifted off the ground by blackened teeth, smashed and teared, but dead before he hits the ground.

Above the pines, the owl is smiling through it's mask of bone : it has found a new toy to play with.

Beginnings

Widemouth growled to himself at the sight of Mossyclaw and Blackbeard emerging from the bushes. Although he was the youngest of the three, the constant bickering of the two always led them to him to solve problems, when they didn't do it through bites and barks. Oh how he hated his decision to accept them in his pack. 

He had always seen himself as a born leader, daydreaming of leading prodigious hunts. He had fought fangs and claws to assert his dominance over anyone in his old pack. He had been thrilled when, as soon as he left, he had found these two wolves! But one was an impulsive idiot, starting fights over the slightest thing, and the other a bitter loser that rejected everything on the other members.

Blackbeard was the first to arrive to him, pushing Mossyclaw at the shoulder. They greenish grey wolf responded by snapping his teeth at his ears. 

"What?" Widemouth snarled.

"Mossyclaw let the prey slip again. Why do we even keep him around?" He said, showing his teeth at his hunting companion.

"If you hadn't noticed, we don't really have other hunters, birdshit." The other responded. "You were the one who chose to go for an adult male deer when there was a perfectly fine hare scent. You're supposed to lead us to a prey, not to get gored by antlers."

Widemouth felt his ears pull back in irritation. He simply stood up and left, leaving the two barking at each other.

He walked in the undergrowth until he couldn't hear their yapping anymore. Would it really be amoral to just leave them here to start another pack? Clearly they wouldn't survive the winter at this rate, there was more chance they'd kill each other than kill a single mice. His potential was just wasted here. 

"I can help you."

The greyish pack leader jumped with a yelp. 

"Who's there? Show yourself!" He bristled his fur, a bit ashamed to have been surprised. 

Two eyes opened in a darker spot of the forest, reflecting the moon light above in a strange greyish green hue. Soon the... face? of the wolf was fully visible. It looked like a bony cancerous growth almost, smouth and convexe where the shape of a snout should have been. The eyes were set into it like two round acorns pushed through mud. It had teeth however, fully visible due to the lack of lips. It made Widemouth feel sick in his stomach.

"I can help you."

The black beast repeated. 

"...How?"

"Join me. If you are worth half what you think you are, I will aid you in leading hunts that the moon itself would be proud of." It's voice was sweet as honey, and for a moment Widemouth could almost see the shape of a pack in the shadows, and smell the faintest hint of blood, something that called back to when he was a pup.

He took a step forward, looking at the strange wolf cautiously. His eyes were as wide open as before, expression unchanging. Was the wolf going to be his leader then? He hesistated. He wanted to rule, not to be ruled over.

"I will not come between you and the hunters you lead. If you prove your worth, you will be known throughout the lands. All that the star watch over will be your playground."

Again, Widemouth could swear the shadows moved, taking the shapes of wolves cowering from him, tail between their leg before his might.

"I'll do it. I'll join." He finally said. What harm was there? He'd just leave if he wanted. The wolf looked sick. He may even have a chance to take his place if the rotten thing died.

He could see the faintest hint of amusement in the black wolf's eyes, before he disappeared. Widemouth suddenly relaxed, he had not even noticed how tense he had been. He shook himself free of the strange feeling. He was a bit confused however. How was he supposed to follow the black wolf now? By scent? He sniffed where the other had been, but all he got was a noseful of chlorine stink.

----------

Mossyclaw was licking himself, ears tucked back. Every now and then a slight grumble or groan escaped him. How could Blackbeard have blamed this on him? Oh sure, let's aaaaalll follow big strong blackbeard, he knows what he is doing, he wouldn't lead us to a fully grown buck. 

And then Widemouth who just cowered out of the situation. What a leader, am I right?

As he was about to renact what he should have said one more time, the steps of said leader interrupted his train of thoughts. The green tinted wolf looked up. Widemouth looked a bit concerned, but he had a certain glint in his eyes. Odd.

Having been snapped back into reality, he looked around for the brown wolf he was so focused on tearing into. Had he gone somewhere? Good, hope it'll be for good. But at the same time, he disliked Widemouth perhaps even more than Blackbeard. Perhaps he should be the one to leave.

But the thought alone made him shudder a bit. He'd been so happy when he found Blackbeard during his first moon alone. He seemed so sure of himself.

Mossyclaw sighed. 

He stood up and walked in the undergrowth. "Blackbeard?" He barked. He thought an instant to just start throwing insult into the night, but he had been bitten enough today. His muscles were still sore from the hunt, too. As he walked, he noticed how calm the forest was tonight. Usually, crickets sung to the stars. Did crickets sleep? They always seemed to be jumping or singing.

His ears tilted to the right as he heard a movement ahead. His tongue lolled out, reassured. Soon the familiar face of the big brown wolf emerged from the bushes. The wolf seemed a bit on edge, however.

"... What?" He said, looking suspisciously at Mossyclaw. The greenish wolf regained his cold demeanor, an ear flattening in slight disappointment. Still rude. 

"Just checking if you had died. I'm yet again let down by Mother Moon." Mossyclaw retorted. He however hung his head low, not wanting to start a fight again. "... Why are you so puffy and tense? You look like you fought a badger."

The brown wolf looked behind him, then at the other male. "...Nothing. Weird smell."

They stared at each other for an uncomfortable ten seconds, before Blackbeard turned around back to the den. Mossyclaw's eyes lingered on the bush he had come out off. Oh how he wished he was still in his old pack. His lips pulled back in discomfort, and he decided to follow Blackbeard. Something in the air tonight was just uncomfortable.

He quickly caught up to him. They silently made their way back, when Blackbeard stopped again, ears pinned to his neck.

"Do you smell that?" He asked quietly.

Mossyclaw tilted his head, and took a snif at the air around them. He could smell Blackbeard, himself, and an old track of Widemouth, probably from this morning.

"... Are you trying to scare me?" The greenish wolf snapped. He had enough of this already. Blackbeard knew how he felt about having left his pack. This wasn't fair. He picked up the pace and didn't look back.

He realized that this trip had been worth nothing when he came back to the camp. He was just much more annoyed than before. He was just gonna leave this moon! He wasn't goonna tolera-

Was that... a purple hyacinth?

He looked at the ground where the plant laid. He sniffed it, unsure, and almost fell back in surprise when a pugeant bitter smell assaulted his nose in place of the sweet scent he expected. 

"Whitemouth?... Did you bring that here?" He called.

The white wolf trotted next to him.

"...What?" He said, an eyebrow lifted.

"Well the-" He looked back down, only to find dead leaves. "..the hyacinth...? I swear it was here!"

He pawed at the ground. The smell was still there. 

"Smell. It still smells weird."

With a dubious look, Widemouth passed his snout over the ground. His ears perked up and his tail wagged slightly. The moss colored wolf was a bit confused at that reaction. He was about to ask, but his eyes caught another purple glimpse, a bit further.

"Down there, there's another. Where do they come from?" He frowned.

"Where?" Widemouth called with an hungry look, lunging forward in the bushes toward which Mossyclaw pointed.

"That's no Hyacinth, those are poppies! Are you color blind or something?" A voice called back from the bushes.

"I'm not! I saw purple." 

He pushed the leaves of the bush with his snout, only to find Widemouth empty handed as well.

"... So?" He tilted his head.

Widemouth looked at the ground, then around him, before smelling the ground. He didn't eve nanswer Mossyclaw, seemingly having found a track.

"... Shouldn't we wait for Blackbeard?.."

He stayed in place for a moment as Widemouth searched. The brown wolf would surely follow them. He ran after Widemouth.

-----

The sun should have been up by now, Widemouth remarked. It was still dark, even darker than before, but somehow, they were still finding poppies. Or hyacinth, for Mossyclaw, but Widemouth wasn't compeltely certain the greenish wolf even knew what a hyacinth looked like.

The track was a lot longer than he had expected. He hadn't bothered to explain yet, he was sure the strange wolf would do so when they arrived, and he didn't feel like he had to justify himself. After all, he was doing this for the pack.

He heard a yelp in the back, and turned abruptly. First he thought they were being attacked, a massive brown wolf standing over Mossyclaw, who had his tail tucked between his legs, but when the other wolf relaxed, he realized it was Blackbeard. He strolled up to the Chaser.

"So you finally show up! Wondered where you had gone."

"... I- There were these strange smelling jonquils, I just followed them here. I tried to pick some, but they just- They melted in my mouth. It was disgusting." The brown wolf rambled.

Mossyclaw looked confused. "... Why would you follow jonquils?"

"You didn't trust me when I told you something was weird! I wanted to show you what I meant! Plus weren't you following them too, if we met up on the same tracks?"

"We were following poppies." The lead wolf replied.

"And you still haven't told me why. I enjoy some spring walk amongst the flowers as much as anyone, but this is starting to get tedious." Mossyclaw groaned, flopping down.

"... You'll see when we get there. I made a deal."

"A deal?"

"A deal, yes."

The three wolves jumped at the sound coming from behind them. Widemouth recognized the voice immediatly and turned around, his tail wagging slightly. He stopped, not wanting to show too much trust in the stranger, and a bit embarassed that he was so excited.

"Ah, there you are. Did we win your little test yet?"

There was a chuckle from the forest, and the strange disfigured wolf emerged. Widemouth remarked that he couldn't see his paws, which made his brows furrow. it just looked wrong, like he had a very long neck. A trick of the light? Or another disformity? How had this wolf even survived, how did it hunt? He had to admit he was a bit curious. His thoughts stopped in their tracks as the other responded.

"No, not yet. But I do appreciate your efforts, you are being very helpful already! Do trust me, your will be like no other wolves after entering the masquerade."

"The... Masquerade? That's a strange name for a pack."

"I am a strange wolf, aren't I?"

Widemouth decided he couldn't argue with that.

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