Spirit Masks

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The Spirit World is and is not a mangrove swamp. It simply is. Many of its denizens prefer a mangrove swamp, however, and so it seems to be one.

Prince Iroh slogs through it. Some part of him is aware that he does not need to slog through the swamp. It is the Spirit World. Travel is no more real than water or trees. Perhaps less real.

But he does not know where he is going. He is seeking Lu Ten, but he cannot find his boy, why can't he find his son, don't they know who has come here, where is his boy?

Movement catches his eye, and he turns sharply, placing himself side-on to the threat.

A spirit of darkness perches on one of the great mangrove roots. Its face is a leering blue demon shape, and it grins at him. A sword rests across its back, but the rest of it is shadow-stuff. Only its grotesque face is clear.

Iroh turns to face it fully and bows respectfully. "Greetings."

The spirit cocks its head.

"I am seeking Prince Lu Ten of the Fire Nation. Do you know where he might be?"

The spirit's head tilts in the other direction. "Dead."

"Yes. I am aware of that," Iroh says, shards of patience still in him. "I am still seeking him. He should not be dead now."

The spirit laughs softly.

Iroh feels anger building in him, but he has no flames here, nothing with which to strike this insolent creature. "Thank you," he says through gritted teeth and turns away.

The spirit stands in front of him, on the surface of the water. It smiles, reaches up to lay black hands on its face. Then it pulls its face off.

A mask.

Perhaps.

Underneath, there is a man. That is all Iroh can say about the spirit's human face - it is human, it is male, it is scarred with a massive red burn scar across its left eye.

"Live for the living," the spirit says, dropping its mask carelessly. It grins for a moment, then sinks down into the water that barely comes above Iroh's knees. There is not even a ripple to mark its passing.

The mask floats on the water, grinning blue.

-End-