Chapter Text
Feelings flow as though a River. Rushing through one being out through the next, a silent, shared discussion that graces no mind but one’s own. The desire for something new rushes and roars, overwhelming as grief for a face left unknown. The ambition for what was previously unachievable left a scar on a bent body. Sat before bed covers of soft faux velvet and plush feather-filled pillows. hands tied together by unseen rosaries, pleading to a being unknown.
The wish for Escape, for something better, a life unlike one’s own whimpers to a being unknown.
The silence listens to a plea for a new start, with draped Hyacinths and dripping Ichor draped over a broken rosary.
—
With each death, the lamb could feel the weight of their choices weighs heavy on the head that wears the Red Crown. It wasn’t the first time they’d slipped up, and it was far from the last. But with each death, they learned something new. how to avoid something that caused a dull, searing pain the last go-around.
and with each death comes a minute conversation with Death himself. He who Waits below. The one to whom Lambert owed their utmost devotion.
“Why is it that they are so.. helpless? ” The lamb speaks freely, unbothered by the large cat who looks down on them. “They look to me for Everything and are completely incapable of taking care of themselves! How am I supposed to get anything done for you if they’re constantly making themselves sick?!”
“They look to you as a leader.” The cat states with a languid gaze “Revel in that. They are dependent , so use them .” Is the advice Death hands the lamb, who merely frowns.
“There’s hardly anything I can use them for.” The lamb argues.
“Sacrifice them for power. It matters not to me what you do with them. If you are incapable of taking two tasks to hand, then the fault lies not in the needy.”
The lamb turns their head around with a sunken frown. “Yeah, well– Killing them for being helpless wouldn’t make me any better than–”
The lamb is not granted the peace to finish their thought before they were brought back to the land of the living, leaning against the bark of a hefty tree while they regain their balance.
There was no rest for the weary and wicked, the lamb supposed .
–
A dog awoke to a place unknown. Lush grass clenched under unsteady paws as they raised their head and looked around themself. Trees stretched high above their head, casting wide, dark shadows across the woods. Pulled along by a string, The dog rose to their feet, turning around this way and that. There was no familiarity to be found in the outstretched tree bark and bugs on the forest ground. Nor to be found in hanging stars and symbols above their head. The dog found interest in the symbols and followed after the stars amongst the trees.
To be found with a little shop, and a duck sitting highly, hands held together peacefully, with a stack of cards in front of him. As the dog neared, the duck’s eyes opened, staring down at the animal. “Fate has brought you my way.”
The canine stares up warily before their gaze drops to the cards. “..What are these for?”
“A deciding factor. Fate plays its hand, and I am the listening ear.” The duck answers, spreading the cards out in front of himself “Would you care to test fate’s hand, lost one?”
A card is picked and turned over by the canine who teeters back and forth, waiting while the duck looks over the simple card.
“Judgment. ” He states. “A reminder to be mindful of the consequences of your actions, to know the mark you leave. Fate grants and warns of taking away.” The card is folded back into the deck and shuffled away.
The canine takes the words in without much thought of their meaning. Without a place to go, the Canine sits beside the tarot shop owner without so much as a word shared between Dog and Duck.
Clouds of white cross the canine’s gaze as they’re met with the calm expression of a little lamb looking down at them. The lamb stares for a moment, before his head cranes up, looking at the duck.
“Clauneck? Who is this?”
“A creature lost to fate, Lamb.” Clauneck answers, shuffling through the deck of cards before he sets two down for the lamb “Will you let fate guide your hands today?”
“I will.” The lamb answers with a nod, plucking a card from the two in front of them.
“Justice. May the fates find you well, Lamb.”
With a short nod and a card returned to a deck, the lamb answers “May the fates find you well, clauneck.” They offer their hand out in front of the Canine as they speak “Lost to fate? Do you have nowhere to go?”
“None.”
“I can offer you shelter and a place to Be .”
A hand is given and pulled into a temporary escape of inky black. The Dog was not sure how long they were stuck to the sight of shadows, but before they knew it, they were sitting atop a stone circle with engraved symbols, watching the lamb walk towards them with a calm smile and wiping sweat from their brow.
“That’s right–” The lamb mutters upon approach, wiping the dust from a reddened cloak before they offer their hand once more, assisting the canine to stand as they ask. “Now then. What’s your name?”
“I don’t know.” The dog blinks. A question the canine hadn’t considered. Names. One of the many things they had lost by now, less a faint remembrance of tones of voices they’d grown a bared-teeth dislike for.
“..You don’t know.” The lamb repeats with a tilt of their head. “That’s fine. We’ll call you...Altre.” They declare, hands raised delicately in front of them. A friendly expression crosses their face “That works, I’d think.”
“Altre.” The canine repeats the lamb, glancing down at the robes they’d known they hadn’t previously been adorned in. Robes of red with a simplistic symbol across the front of it. “I like it.” Altre decides, uncertain. The lamb takes their uncertainty in stride as they trot away from the stone circle, leaving Altre to catch up and fall into a steady pace.
The lamb brushes their hands across their shawl once more as they make their way to the midst of the clearing of their cult. It takes little time before their return is noticed amongst their followers, with a select few pausing their work to approach the Leader and newest follower.
Wary faces meet a canine’s gaze as Altre watches over the Lamb’s shoulder. A doe stares up at them with wide eyes before her head tilts closer to a rabbit beside her, speaking in hushed tones. Altre finds no offense in hushed murmurs they don’t understand.
“Gracious Leader,” An Elderly rabbit greets, holding her hands out for the Lamb, who takes them kindly “You’ve brought Anew.”
“Merar,” The lamb greets with a tilt of their head “You are well, I trust?”
“My bones grow weary still, but Punor has been an excellent help in your stead.” The rabbit releases the Lamb’s hands with a creased smile, stepping forward with weight leaned against a rickety old cane as she stands before Altre. In the moment, being a head taller than the elderly woman, they understand the Wariness. “Dear leader, who might this be?”
“Altre.” The canine finds that they favor the name. The first thing of Theirs and only theirs.
“Altre.” Merar smiles kindly “You will fit in well here. I’ve seen many come and go, and come again still. You’re a welcome fit.”
Altre smiles warmly, deciding at the moment that lambs and rabbits are amongst beings they like, shifting from foot to foot.
The Lamb takes no time to lead Altre down a pathway towards a collection of homely spaces. Warm and Cozy was the setup, neatly together and neatly contained to a space of the land.
“You’ll be staying here.” The Lamb guides with a hand directed towards an empty shelter. “For now, however, it may suit you best to become comfortable with your neighbors.” The lamb speaks, and watches as the dog trots off to make new friends out of wary followers.
Lambert was far from a being in need of protection. The red crown atop their fleece kept them safe all the same, preventing death from being an end to their legacy, a legacy they had yet set in stone.
They plan to engrave the words in the forests to be found by the lost and weary.
They watch the large canine trot along after a Doe, the dog quickly learning to make themself out to be smaller than they were. Less threatening. Lambert considers the size of the dog, and though they don’t require protection, it would make an easy feat out of tiresome crusades.
Altre wastes no time introducing themself to the other followers. The Doe was named Mai and quickly excused herself to return to what seemed like lumber work. Altre watches her trot away with a brief frown, before they trot along, introducing themself with their hands folded in front of them and hunched slightly.
A Cow named Huryn was straight-faced and kept an eye on Altre as they bade her goodbye. She seemed perfectly friendly in their opinion! A fluffy-faced Cat named Rue who stared up at Altre with eyes wide and tail tucked between her legs scampered off as soon as an introduction had been made. Altre was sure she was merely a nervous type! They wonder if they’d been that way before? They met a young little Fox named Merkaan who stared up at them as though they were a giant.
“Are you a giant?” The child asks innocently, and Altre blinks at the question. Not a moment too soon the fox’s parents come to grab the child by the hand and quietly reprimand them for being rude. Altre glances down at themself with furrowed brows. They’re not nearly that tall..but perhaps to a child, they may have seemed larger than life.
—
The months pass as Altre adjusts to their newfound routine within the Cult. They wake up and assist in whatever they can find first. Helping the Lamb clean messes, helping cook food after having been taught by a touchy fox named Arjul, and assisting with farming...
The dog was surprised to have been told that dumping the watering can all into one plot of land with a growing seed was not farming, but rather drowning the plant.
Lambert finds himself assured of the decision of the canine being a better-fit protector rather than the cult’s Jack-of-Trades. It better suited a beast of size to help in which made sense for them. That of which, The Lamb could decide for them, and guide the Dog down the path the Lamb required them to go.
All it took was a simple discussion after a Morning’s Sermon. “Altre,” The lamb trots alongside the dog who watches down at them out of the corner of their eyes. “You’ve spent days here. what do you think?”
“It’s the best place I’ve been.” Altre answers, uncertainly “Though, I..don’t have prior experience anywhere else. But this is wonderful.”
“And the jobs?”
‘...This is about Drowning the berries, is it? I told Huryn that I was very sorry and–“ The lamb raises a hand in a gesture, and Altre’s mouth shuts as they grit their teeth.
“This is not about the Berries. I would like you to Accompany me on my crusades.”
“...Why?” If there was one question Lambert had heard most often from the dog, it was why . Questions of how things worked, why they worked. Curiosities never sated with a single simple answer. Obnoxious, but the more Lambert watched the dog, the more they understood. Lost to the fates was nothing more than an understatement. The dog knew nothing of themself, no resonance with any skills on hand, and reading their mind led to foggy, disconnected thoughts that seemed nothing to do with what Altre was speaking about or doing.
The lamb had seen many and met many an odd fellow but the canine piqued their curiosity.
“You would be quite the welcome helping hand.” The Lamb doesn’t Elaborate further as they wait for an answer. The free will of decision is freely given to the canine, who visibly weighs their options. “I’ll give you time to decide.”
Altre is given their time of choice in heaps. The lamb leaves the clearing, out on a crusade, an action that the other followers of the lamb regard as normal. Altre can’t fathom the use for crusades, if not only for supplies.
“You question the Lamb?” The Chef, Arjul asks with one paw tucked under his chin while he regards the dog with a wary gaze “Newly brought in and you already border on Blasphemy?”
“Is it Blasphemous to ask?”
The fox doesn’t answer their question, merely chuffing a breath as he curls in on himself and grumbles “You still want shelter, don’t you? A warm roof and to be kept fed? Don’t question that which you don’t understand. It’s simple .”
Altre doesn’t regard it as nearly so easy to understand.
A canine, curious as a cat goes looking in places they shouldn’t go, poking around the Lamb’s temple, peeking behind a pew or standing near a pedestal, looking around for anything they could see of interest.
What they find, they find in the upstairs of the temple, a plush, unused bedroom. Neat and tidy and hardly lived in, if at all. Shawls of different colors neatly hung away on a clothesline, ready for picking. Altre doesn’t test their luck by messing with their savior’s things.
Except for a book of rotted old pages, held together by frayed twine. Burnt at the edges without a cover or spine, as though someone had tried their best to destroy the rotted thing, before discarding it.
A book of names, and a book of stories. Stories Altre didn’t know existed. Five Gods, written about by the last survivor of the genocide of the Lambs.
–
“Why would you need my help?” Altre asks, sitting in a confessional booth as had been guided by the lamb. They regarded it as the quickest way to privacy. Another follower wouldn’t dare eavesdrop on a private confessional.. but they would surely listen to gossip, or really just anything the leader had to say.
“It isn’t so much help as..” Lambert trails off carefully, considering his words. Calling it help made them think of such a thing as being considered a weakness. they didn’t need help, and they certainly didn’t want he who their own devotion was for to think as much. “As..companionship.”
“Why me?”
“Do you find yourself so undeserving, Altre?” Lambert questions, peering at the dog through the spaces of the booth.
“Anyone else could do it.” Altre reasons with furrowed brows. they consider what they have been told. Questioning the lamb was akin to Blasphemy. Was it, though? The lamb seemed to take no offense in their questioning..although Altre couldn't quite see them through the booth, but they didn’t sound upset.
“Anyone else could.” The lamb agrees, shifting in their seat “But I am asking you . Do you think yourself so undeserving?”
Altre doesn’t offer the lamb an answer before they trot out of the confessional.
–
The last lamb was marking their path through the mushroom-filled forest of Anura, striking a path through the labyrinth made of a God’s domain. Lambert had learned during their time serving as a vessel to The One Who Waits. With each death, Lambert was reminded of things to change. ways to adjust, ways they could improve.
Their mock-up training was based on releasing a barely contained rage upon the followers and heretics that made up the inhabitants of Anura. While Morality had been a concern of theirs, at the start of a decades-long journey, they hardly regarded the heretics they drove a twisted blade into as other beings. Merely a means to an end. An Obstacle in their way was that they were Just in cutting down.
Breaths came out in pants as the lamb swung their blade over their head, slicing clean through the rotted stain of Anura. And with momentary silence in the forest, the lamb pauses, their blade melting out of their hands and reshaping into the Red crown.
Morality had been an issue. Prior to being felled too many times. Not being able to perish was a feeling to relish in, until one realizes that they could feel and remember each death they suffered in before waking up in Death’s domain. Blunt force trauma. broken bones. Decapitation, far too many times . An Arm serrated excruciatingly off from a feeble broken body. All the varied causes of being foolish enough to drop their guard for a moment’s notice.
They don’t wait to be Just, after so much time. There was far too little purpose in being felled again and returning empty-handed to dutiful followers, no matter how many times Death reminded them that their followers were for them to use, and not the other way around.
Morality matters not. Earthly Attachments , however, were dug in like a leech. They had seen their followers through the ages and had a hand in overseeing the birth and adolescence of many.
Lambert wiped the sweat from their brow and shook their head this way and that, perseverance forcing the stiffness in their joints to fade as they trekked onwards, deeper into Anura.
–
A book of Gods and legends penned and dated like a diary of the Lamb they followed. Altre’s curiosity drove them to return to the Domain they were found by the Lamb in; The darkwoods. Home to Bishop Leshy, whom the lamb regarded as ‘ Immature and unprepared to right Injustices.’
The texts– diary of the Lamb fed a dangerous curiosity the Canine held. A desire to know who they were before they were found by the lamb. Where better to start than with the controller of the lands they were found within?
Altre leaves in the Midst of the night, while their fellow Followers are resting away, and their leader away on crusade. No one would be any the wiser if they were missing for a morning sermon, at the latest.
The first path they crossed out of the cult grounds was home to Five doors, four of which opened with vastly different terrains spilled out past the doors to cover cement stone pathways. The fifth door in the middle was connected to Four chains that connected somewhere far above Altre’s head, out of sight past the treeline. In front of the fifth door, in the midst of cracking stone lay a statue of a crown, inky black dripping from the eye of the crown that was reminiscent of the crown atop the lamb’s fleece.
Mossy green was the only area they recognized.. hardly , and without much mind, they stepped through the door, plunged into an inky black, and spit out on the other end, standing in a small clearing in a forest. Trees stretched far over their head, blacking out the sky. A few paces in front of them lay an inscribed headstone with text and a little crown, reading “ Now entering the lands of the bishop Leshy. Those who do not follow the ways of The Old Faith will be destroyed.”
Ominous , Altre considers, but they were certain it was nothing more than a warning for the wary to not proceed. As fate had it, Altre did not consider themself as wary , though they wondered if they used to be such. Maybe with a different mind, they wouldn’t have bothered with walking any further. With a spare glance over their shoulder at the thick trunk of the trees blocking their way backward...Altre comes to the conclusion that for the weary and weak-willed, the headstone would be redundant. There was no way back unless they wanted to test their luck in squeezing between the bark of two trees.
The dog continues ahead down a laid-out pathway of cleared bushes and pushed away grass, finding themself ignoring dried blood forever strained into patches of dying grass, instead marveling at the unseen skyline above their head. Large as the canine might’ve been, old oak made them seem nothing more than an ant in comparison. Altre walks through the laid-out path ahead of their head with their hands folded in front of them, occasionally looking all around themself, turning in a curious circle as they walk.
The forests were quiet, silent as they had been when Altre first woke up months ago. They had to wonder whether the Trees were investigating them as much as they were investigating the forest.
With each room, there were more and more figures walking around, on edge. Altre wonders briefly who they were so worried about seeing, before coming to the conclusion that this Leshy Fellow has paranoid followers. The hooded figures pay them little mind, beyond a cautious glance and squinted eyes seen from afar.
there was no reciprocation when Altre would wave and smile. As they pass through a collection of bushes they wonder if their teeth were a little too sharp to be regarded as friendly. Perhaps they looked mean?
They wondered if they were mean before they lost sense of themself.
In the midst of walking, the air turned cold, the wind kicking up and swirling around the middle of the clearing they were standing in. Empty, save for an inky back, spreading circle with a symbol in the midst of it. Out from the inky black raises something Altre had never seen before. The same color as the forest, Mossy green and bandaged around the face. A maw of teeth split open just under the bandages, opening as though the cloaked figure was going to speak.
Altre beat them to it without thinking.
“ Hello! Hi!” A viciously friendly wave and a closed-mouthed smile based on the assumption that their teeth were too mean-seeming.
The figure seems to have not understood the message of sharp teeth perhaps being unfriendly. Their maw opens, and they speak “ You’ve come far enough, Little dog.”
“Little–” Altre murmurs, glancing down at themselves, not sure what to make of the comment. Though, comparing themself with a tilt of their head this way and that, they supposed they were small. “Er– Are you Le...L eeeshy ?”
“ I can smell the little lamb on you. ” He states with a growing grin. “ Have you no shame to represent a heretic with such a nauseating scent ? ”
“ Wha–?” Altre mutters, befuddled “I represent no one, I’m just here to–”
“Your droning bores me already,” The Bishop’s complaints are followed with the heavy tilt of a head larger than the dog’s as the figure wanders the clearing, the hole of symbols closing up underneath him with the first movement.
“I had questions to ask of you–”
“Heretics with questions are worth so little time.” Altre watches in befuddlement as the worm finds his way around the clearing in a jagged pattern. A few paces forward and then a pause in movement. a tilt of the head, and a continuation of movement. Altre pays rudeness little mind.
“I was found in these forests. your forests. I just wanted to know if you knew–”
“ Bah! ” The worm grunts, turning in a sharp movement...but not facing Altre. “Like claws to stone, whine to your lamb! I care naught!”
“I just thought–” Altre pauses as the worm draws near, following the voice of the dog.
“ Let this be a warning to the little lamb. ” Altre hardly looks above their head before their world is plunged into Inky Black.
–
Altre finds themself in an otherworldly blanket of white. Stone beneath their feet, chains tied and hanging, as though holding the plane up on fingers rusted by time. The Canine finds themself walking, turning about themself as they frown, uneasy.
The first thing they discovered was that they were not alone in the blanket of white. Not far ahead of them were two felines, resting on the ground with their respective weapons, eying the dog warily on approach towards a much larger, three-eyed Feline, wrapped head to tail-tip in chains.
One of the smaller felines resting on the ground reaches for his weapon, symbolic of the moon, and rests his hands against the handle “Master, shall I dispose of them?”
“It is unneeded.” The three-eyed cat speaks. Altre takes a hesitant step backward as the cat continues “My vessel has become sentimental .”
“Vessel?” Altre mutters with furrowed brows, glancing behind their shoulder, on edge. Perhaps it was the feeling of not knowing what happened to cause their appearance in such a somber and bright place, but it turned the canine’s stomach upside down. They sit, passing their hands in and out of the faded white smoke of the area. “Where am I?”
“The gateway. This would be your last step to the afterlife.” The large cat states.
“A gateway,” Altre repeats in wonder. “That makes you..”
“The last faces one sees before the afterlife. Or prior to a return to the land of the living. I am The One Who Waits.” The shifting of chains and weaponry drags Altre’s attention back to the three cats, who, with nothing else to do, peer back at the recently deceased.
“Who’s your vessel?”
“I shan’t say. You will know.”
“Oh.” Altre passes their hands through the clouds of the floor once again, drawing their gaze away from The god of Death. “You seem...Blase.”
“Many come to pass. Your death was no more special than the last who walked through the gateway.”
“Why are you within chains?”
“You ask much.” The cat states with a scrunched-up expression beyond a blackened veil “And listen little. Await your return to Life in silence.”
“..Okay.” A moment only passes quietly before Altre has thought of another question for the God of Death.
Only to find themself collapsed in a heap of sore bones and flesh in the midst of the cult’s temple, surrounded by the hooded figures of fellow cult members and the lamb, wearing a kind expression.
Only once those unaware of the dog’s passing had left did the lamb approach, expression falling serious.
“My grievance is apparent.” The lamb states cooly, pressing a hand to the bridge of their snout “I had not made rules clear enough in the months since, And that is on–”
“I will join you.” Altre interrupts the Lamb with wide eyes, before reeling their words back carefully “I've..had plenty of time to think, and to make..a mistake.” The lamb’s expression reads that of one who does not deem death a singular mistake, but the mistake of many. “But I’ve thought about it, and I will accompany you.”
“It does not excuse your absence in my absence.” Lambert’s posture relaxes slightly as they trot around the temple’s podium, offering their hands to the dog and assisting the newly revived to their feet. “Was there a purpose?”
“..I was someone before the cult.” Altre began timidly
“Everyone has their story. I am aware.”
“I know nothing of my own. Down to a name before you had given me one.” Altre says “I don’t want to leave , I just..want to find who I used to be.” The canine rubs their paws together, decidedly nervous. For no cause, though the lamb looks on at them as though they don’t understand.
And when it clicks together in their savior’s head, the lamb smiles with the grace of a god. “Then we Shall find who you used to be together.”
“..Thank you, my lamb.”
Altre follows the lamb out of the temple, jogging to keep up with the leader’s quickened pace before the dog’s continued speech gives the leader pause.
“I met Death. or er...The One Who Waits? He had a message for you.”
“And?”
“He said to get a move on. That he didn’t..give you prowess to be wasted.”
“ I see .” The lamb’s smile thins slightly as they turn to look at the Dog with raised brows. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve had such a long day, I think it's best you rest.”
The lamb watches the dog trot off to the shelters, before retreating into the temple, shutting the doors behind themself as their expression sours in thought. Slacking , they had not been doing. They had been gathering people, keeping their followers spirits high, stomachs full, keeping the grounds clean, keeping roofs over heads. Slacking was one of the things the lamb certainly had not been doing.
Though, they had been biding their time, getting the doors to the bishops’ domains cracked open so they could freely walk between the domains without a barrier–without a thing to show for it.
With a sigh and a wrinkled nose, the lamb tips their head towards the sky and breathes. Get a move on. Prove themself. Cut down anything in their way as a simple act of devotion for He who raised them from the Dead.
It was the least they could do, in Thanks.
–
Mid-morning was the time of day when the Lamb had begun preparing to leave again. Their daily morning Sermon was conducted with a hand to their heart, stocking the food stores, setting up water canteens, remaking beds, and doing their rounds across the cult grounds to ensure it was safe and clean enough to leave the followers to their own devices without disaster. The early days of the cult had not been kind to the Lamb, and they’d personally vowed to never be gone long enough to let things get that bad again.
“Altre,” Lambert calls for the canine’s attention as they trot away with a bowl in their hands. The dog stops in their tracks, turning on their heel to jog after their Leader while eating. “You’ll be coming with me today, yes?”
“Mhm–” Alte wipes their mouth clean before speaking “If you want me to, I will. I don’t know if I’m any worth fighting with but–”
“You won’t be.” Lambert states, leading the dog into the temple as he continues “Fighting, I mean. I prefer to handle things myself. Foraging , however, you could assist with.”
“Okay.” Altre chews their words for a moment. “If..you prefer to handle things yourself–”
“One can only talk to oneself for so long before it is a staple of mania, no?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“ Ah. ” Lambert mutters with raised brows “Right, then.” Their ears flick, pacing around the temple for a moment before they clap their hands together “Right- there was something to give you– Merar had sewn this for you.” The canine was presented with a red and white shawl that fell down to their forearms once they’d clasped it together. “hm. A little short..” The lamb mutters, tilting their head as they look over the shawl.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s fit for a guardian, I suppose.” The lamb speculates with their hands beneath their chin, looking over the dog.
“Is that what I am?” Altre questions “Is that what I should be telling people?”
“I’ve yet to decide.” The lamb answers flippantly. “Perhaps you will just be a forager, perhaps you’ll be a guardian. All in flux.” They dismissed the question haphazardly before they led the canine along with them.
Not being alone on the crusade gave the lamb an additional reason to not die, and not have to travel back through the maze of the bishop’s domain, just because they couldn’t stay dead. Least of all to mention the presence of conversation.
“Now, while I am tending to other matters, all I need you to do is gather flowers.” The lamb explains rather languidly while they slung an axe, formed out of their crown, over their shoulder.
“That sounds simple enough.”
“It is. I would rather you avoid turning to look while I tend to said matters.” They’d seen the looks on faces before, when the lamb hadn't had the time nor the patience to go about the construction process of crypts and a functional morgue, and had to cut straight into..cutting into a deceased follower. Lambert figured it best to avoid any horror conducted by their actions on crusade.
However, the canine was not all that good at following a strict direction to look away .
Altre watched with widened eyes while the Lamb wasted no time indulging in the bloodshed. Hooded figures they’d seen before in the dark wood fell before the Lamb’s blade in a scattered spray of blood. They turn their head away slowly, tending to what they’d been told to do. Collect Camelia flowers to be used at home. To not pay mind unless they have to get away from someone heading their way.
Altre doesn’t listen quite as well as they should. Their gaze was drawn towards gargled screams choked by blood as the Lamb avoided or took nasty piercing blades without a grunt. Altre’s head turns back to the red flowers as the head of a heretic rolls towards their feet.
Gruesome, the dog thinks of the Lamb who’d saved them. A gruesome but quick killer. They understand why it would be a hindrance for them to assist the lamb in fighting. Said lamb didn’t stop moving or pay mind to their own wounds until the blood was drying in the grass, and Altre had a decently full basket of red petals.
“Good, we’ll make tea when we return.” The lamb remarks, out of breath and pressing one hand briefly to his shoulder as they stare down at Altre. “Arjul won’t be thrilled about the smell, but..One does as they will.” The lamb mutters, hand pressed to their face as they wipe caked blood from their cheek.
“..That doesn’t look good.” Altre frowns at the nasty gash in the Lamb’s shoulder. Though mostly concealed behind thick fleece, bright red blood and a hefty tear in the lamb’s shawl were harder to hide.
“It’ll heal.” Lambert remarks, turning around as they take a look around the clearing for a moment “Come along.” Lambert cleared the bushes with their blade before it had melted back into the little black crown sat atop their fleece, folding their hands in front of themself while they waited for the dog to catch up.
Altre watches from room to room as the Lamb slices through flesh and cuts through worms, spraying blood into the tree trunks as they pace themself. And when the room was clear, they would wait for the canine to trot after them.
The next clearing the lamb passed through led through to a quartz-pillared hall. The hall led to a room, beautifully constructed and soon to be decimated at the hands of a little lamb. A hooded figure stands in the midst of the room, and behind them stands the Bishop Leshy. Altre stood away, backing away into the hall while they watched the hooded figure stab themself clean in the chest, only to become something disfigured and misshapen, monstrous.
They watch while the lamb handles it cleanly. The monster would spit Acid, coating and bleeding through pieces of quartz. Altre watches the blue acid splash across the lamb’s hand, and dissolve through the skin. The lamb does not stop moving until all that was left of the monster was a cowering figure with their hands wrapped around their knees, wailing to the Lamb for Mercy.
And so Amdusias was welcomed into the cult with open arms, and the Lamb led him around happily.
—
Following Amdusias, Purged in the Darkwoods came along Valefar and Barbatos. Altre watched as they were brought into the cult, and they had to wonder where the Lamb found the space for Mercy between the slain in other spaces of the dark wood. Valefar adjusted to cult life the easiest of the three, happily taking on the work of tending to crops and keeping an eye on the food storages. They were far more friendly than Altre would’ve first suspected when they were brought in.
Barbatos was a standoffish fellow. Always watching, always walking, never a stop of the flow of movement. The lamb relayed their thoughts to their ‘Guardian’. “It’s reminiscent of the beast he was. Hardly stopped moving our whole battle.” They watched the pale figure wander away from the temple and the shrine, finding his way towards the shelter. “He’ll find his way here soon enough.”
”I’d like to go to the Darkwood” Altre starts, being met with a raised brow from their leader. “We’re running low on camellias.” They were not, though the Lamb had not seen that for themself yet. “I’d like to go alone to collect some.”
”Alone.” The lamb repeats. They watch the dog smile thinly, nervous with their tail between their legs. And after a moment’s consideration, The lamb returns the smile. “Gather Camelias, but do well to keep your wits about you.” And they watch their guardian as they trot off towards the five domains of the gods.
Lambert’s expression sours minutely. They could peer into the dog’s mind easily, this wasn’t an act of dissension, though they ought to think as much. Desperation, of a sort. That silly dog foolishly believed that the bishops might have some idea of where they could recollect their previous self.
The lamb turns away from the hall of trees leading to the five doors with a plastered smile. They, personally, do not see the point in finding a previous self. They never wanted to see their previous self, personally. The only time they found the image of a meek lamb prepared for sacrifice and extinction was laid only in the face of their four killers. Though they may not have laid the axe down to the lamb’s neck, they had it ordered.
Thus, the lamb had little issue with taking vengeance for The One Who Waits. For they had vengeance to find for themself.
Though it would respectfully wait until their ‘Guardian’ either returned or died amongst the trees once more. In the meantime, The lamb had their people to tend to. The job that truly never stopped was caring for their people.
—
Altre steps through the dark wood tentatively, occasionally stopping to clear a camelia flower of its petals, planning to make tea as an apology to the lamb. They turn themself around, staring at tree bark speculatively. “Maybe Tree sap..” they mutter in thought. Something to make a bitter tea sweeter. To quite literally sweeten an apology to one who was capable of slaughter.
“You come to represent the heretic.” The Bishop states. It was not a question, but a statement. The wrong statement, Altre ought to think. ”As though the life of their dog could pay for the lives of mine.”
”They’re coming for you, you know.” Altre remarks, plucking Camelias off from the stem. At the very least, as proof that they had not been lying to their leader. That they would not return empty-handed.
”What of it?” Altre watches the movement of the bishop in the corner of their eye. “My devotees were weak. I care not that the lamb stole them away. The weakness purged from my own is advantageous.”
”Should you not at least be worried?” Altre questions, tucking plucked petals away into their bag “Or is fear something not of the old faith?”
”One would offer a different answer.” The bishop cackles at the thought of something, a great maw of rows of teeth that Altre scrunches their nose at. A gnarly sight, they figure, keeping their distance from the bishop. Though, the shadow of the bishop looms over their head. “The weak find fear in the hooves of the lamb. I find a meal.”
”..You plan to eat them?” Altre mutters, not hiding the disgust in their tone.
“Purge, Consume. It’s all the same.” The worm laughs “In the end, it isn’t the prey who prosper. Perhaps you should consume them. It would serve you well, you who pluck petals rather than propose a fight worth a moment.”
”I rather like plucking petals. They make for a fine tea.” Altre mutters, much to the amusement of the bishop. The dog watches the movement of the Bishop carefully. A threat hadn’t been made nor a technical move of aggression, but they were expecting it. It was certainly more accurate to call them as ‘representing’ the lamb now, they supposed. A last offer of mercy that they’re fairly sure the lamb would not extend their hand to. “They’re going to strike you down,” Altre speaks slower, pulling the petals away from a camelia. “Or..smite you, I presume.”
A hefty pause follows the thought of being struck down. ”I ought to make an example of you.“ The worm guffaws.
”Again?” Altre murmurs, standing up and walking from the flowers as they patted down their robes “It didn’t stick the first time. I don’t think the lamb will allow it so.”
”The lamb doesn’t dictate what I—“
Altre doesn’t stick around any longer. With a full bag of camellias and a bare attempt to try to understand (and the failure of such).
To be met with the furrowed brow on a fuzzy face, the Lamb staring up at them with an unimpressed expression.
”…We’re running Low on camellias.”
”Ah.” Altre’s shoulders droop when caught red-handed.
“Must you continue your search for yourself on your lonesome?” The lamb questions, offering their hands out to take the bag. “You could ask Clauneck, instead of those I’m meant to slay.”
”Perhaps it is better to ask one who won’t live long enough to remember me.” Altre held their hands together as they followed after the lamb as they returned to the cult's grounds.
—
The dog is aware of what is to come while in sermon. At least they believe it so. The lamb blesses their flock with sweetened words and invites of a feast upon their return. That this crusade would be their longest yet, and they would return with the proper spoils given unto them by a war unknown to the flock. The dog understands it naught, beyond the promise of death behind the lamb’s words.
It’s a crusade that Altre plans to pack for before they were halted by the Lamb calling for them from a distance.
”you’ll be staying.” The lamb states simply, adjusting the crown atop their head. “I need someone capable of caring for the people.”
”..I think I am not—“
”I don’t have the bones needed to revive you again, should you die.” Lambert puts bluntly “It’s in your own best interest. Just keep an eye on things. Make sure crops are harvested, simple things.” It was a stretch of the truth, certainly. If it were all that simple, the lamb wouldn’t have been itching to leave for a while.
When they do leave, it’s with little argument. And with little disaster.
The tasks the dog had to handle in the lamb’s absence were menial. Cleaning around the grounds, planting flowers in the front of the temple because Merar had asked, as to avoid cramping her own hands.
With each camelia planted, they found a new question at the front of their mind. speculations and guesses that had nothing and everything to do with them. Why couldn’t they remember anything? Why were they trying so hard to find something they lost? why did the lamb take them in? why did Death let them sit around until the lamb brought them back? what more could they find out about the bishops? what exactly was the leader going to do about the bishops?
They get an answer to one question, at least. The lamb returns to the cult while Altre was in the midst of wiping dirt off of their paws from assisting Hunryn with planting berry seeds into the ground. The lamb returns to the cult doused in viscera and Ichor, holding a large heart with thorns between their two hands in triumph. Altre had their answer to one question, and their mind found an impasse. They would not stand in the way of their leader, not one who was kind enough to give them a home and rest and life , but they would find who they were.
For better or for worse.
–
“ Hapless Leshy, youngest of the five. T’was his eyes he lost.” The Owl, Haro’s words linger in the Lamb’s mind long after they set the Heretic’s heart aside, to be kept as a keepsake following a ritual in the morning. their brows furrowed as they glared down at the heart, thorny and spined as they expected the heart of someone vile to be. Thorned as the vines coating the upper branches of the trees of dark wood. Broken and damaged and gouged and gutted.
T’was his eyes he lost , and T’was his eyes The lamb aimed for with Adrenaline pulsing through their veins. Shame and sorrow for the death is lost on them, as it would be to their god.
Vengeance has a taste that sticks to the roof of the lamb’s mouth, honeyed and rightfully theirs to claim and keep. something they’ve no-doubt earned after earning an axe to the nape for mere existence.
The lamb sits in their temple, hands folded together in prayer. Held together gently by an unseen rosary. Peace crosses their face as they realize something. Repentance is what they could provide through death to the Heretics.