Latest Posts by t-inbound - Page 2

Is it me or is Lamb getting more fluffier in each drawing? (:

Hello there! I present u my lamb

Hello! My apologies, these request stuff took me longer that I expected haha

Anyways, here's Lacie!

Her parents told her what she shouldn't play near that lake. But did she listen to them? No.

«It seems that it's not the time yet...», Clauneck said, putting out the candle.

Trully, most highest honour one can receive.

I need to draw my lamb boy more, heres some doodles

Best way to show affection, mlem

mlem with affection

Kalamari

Alright, Hello! Welcome you all to the third episode of The Five Traitors. This time as you might have been able to guess we will be taking a look at the ol Squid boy/God Kallamar.

This chapter has taken me a while to make and I hope you all enjoy it, it is a little long but I am sure it won’t be a problem for you all. (Also the Ao3 link is down there) (:

There was a storm outside. One with great thunder that soared through the skies with a boom that reverberated across the halls and rain that can only be called a cacophony as it assaulted the walls of his temple.

With such a storm came the ocean, so fierce even the most foolhardy captains would avoid testing their luck or mettle. Once blue skies now turned grey like the murky foam that claimed the sand.

Rising above high, almost touching the clouds started the wave far away, then a moment later too soon did it come crashing against the golden beach with a force strong enough to break apart rock and stone. Just like that after such a fierce blow did it slowly recede back, with it took the pieces it claimed, to take them back with it to the unknown so far away.

In such discord, there were few who could bear it let alone enjoy it and as the Lord of these lands and the waters so ferocious he was not one of those few. Far from it in fact as he was one of many that hid from the horrid noises such storms brought, trying to cower away inside to stop the monotonous yet terrifying screams of nature.

Hiding away would perhaps be too harsh as he was only choosing to stay in his chambers. One could even say that he wasn't even really a choice and he was just getting ready for… a visit

Indeed, if one were to come to his chambers uninvited they would see him with his collection. Taking stock of his tools of war, checking his blades and scepters alongside many assortment of holy weapons.

Of course, such a thing would never happen. No one would sneak into his chambers of course, to see him not assorting his weapons and instead curled against the wall shaking. On the verge of tears over such a small thing as a storm, covering his ears in an attempt to stop the cacophony…

No, no one would ever see him like this, a God in such a pathetic form. Indeed No one ever has… other than one but he would not really be with them after they were done with their little visit.

After the visit there would be no one who could claim to have seen him cower before such a benign thing as a storm. After the visit there would never be anymore ridicule, mocking or indifference. There would only be soothing ignorance to his real pitiful self, as he would be left as the third in the line up of bishops. Forgotten as he was always meant to be.

Always spoken with dismissal if spoken at all. Always swept under the dark where none could see him and cause harm. Always be seen as invalid and protected even though he was fully able to protect himself if need be, at least in theory.

Of course, it would always stay as a theory as he was currently stuck against the wall of his chamber. No, not stuck, just preoccupied with preparations.

After another particularly loud lighting which came too close to his temple for comfort he looked up at the sudden feeling of wetness against his tentacles. Has the storm outside that had laid claim to his realm, to have come to take the last of his respite away from him? How had it breached the sanctit-

Oh… It was not rain. Black as the skies above it was ichor. wiping at his eyes he changed the ‘verge of tears’ to ‘in tears’ as now he shed few more indignant tears at his own inadequacy.

Just how much of a coward was he? Just how much of a failure? How much of a mistake?

Eyes burning with ichor he buried his head against his tentacles, trying to stop them pouring out with limited success.

What if someone saw him like this? What if one of his followers saw him weeping away in his room where he was meant to lead them in just a few hours time? What Would they think of him?

He assumed they would mostly just be disappointed but then again perhaps empathy would have been possible not too long ago. After all his apothecaries were known for their sympathy as well as their healing as one bred the other and the other complimented the first. Surely though, they were not really  apothecaries anymore were they?  not after they showed up at least…

No, he would not get empathy if they saw him like this. Not that he could blame them really.

He was not really given that by his own family, why would he get any from the ones he was supposed to lead?  No, it was just wrong to expect them to march to their doom and also pity him like the rest of everyone he had ever known… barring him. Ignoring him he pondered to the rest of his family.

There was his sister, if were to be seen by Heket there would not even be pity much less empathy. She would take one good look at his form and the wretched bile within her would rise to squash him where he stood. She would strike out in full force and in but a few short words he would be begging for what counted as a lecture to end. She would ask if he was truly the Lord of Plague, truly one of the Bishops of the old faith, truly a brother she could accept. There he would stand, almost in trial as he would mutter excuse after excuse, trying to get her to stop for a moment so he could breathe, maybe to beg her enough so she would stop assaulting his ears with her often thunderous voice.

But it wouldn’t work, it never really did. In a few minutes he would go from feeling saddened to pathetic and to miserable shortly after. Of course, she never did any of these because she hated him. No, she never really truly looked down on him. She was just giving criticism. Indeed it was him who was just too thin-skinned, she was just offering suggestions if he had just looked beneath her wording and just read between the lines… really, he was just a snowflake wasn’t he?

Then there was Leshy, there would be pity there. Lots of it in fact… After all the mocking laughter there were loads of sympathy. Each time he would howl in delight at his expense, there was always understanding hidden deep within. Each time he would whisper behind him where he couldn’t perceive just to see his reaction. Each time he would stalk him through his lands to haunt him until he couldn’t take it.

Really, it was just that He couldn’t take a joke. So what if he would lay restless each night where his ears would be worn down due to his shrieks. Where he would spend days sleepless trying to soothe them with no success, just before passing out of exhaustion into a merciful slumber. So what if, he would be looking behind him even in the sanctity of his own temple, always expecting to be followed for each step he took. Where he would station apothecaries at each of the doors just to get a semblance of safety amidst the paranoia he found himself in. So what if the only times he got to sleep without exhausting himself he kept a dagger beneath his pillow just to be safe. Really, if he could just loosen up then maybe he too would be laughing with him.

Lastly there was indifference given readily by their eldest Shamura, sweet indifference and ignorance at his sheer existence. Someone to be swept under, to be forgotten so all could ignore his inadequacy. It was perhaps the most merciful response to his being, no ridicule nor barely hidden disgust hidden with criticism and lectures. Just looking the other way and acting as if he simply didn’t exist.

If he could just be more like his other better siblings, then perhaps he could be given attention to. Then again his siblings weren’t like him, they were not failures.

Leshy never feared a single thing amidst this earth, not mortal nor beast, even their eldest up to a certain point. He simply did as he pleased even when one begged him to stop, nothing short of death would stop him. Only if he was so cruel.

Shamura was perfect, they were perfection made reality. They stood as the eldest amidst them all, one that reigned above them all as was his rightful place in their A quinte- no, their quartet. There was no being like them, as one could never reach perfection. One could only hopelessly follow it, chase it around until maybe they could catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. There was no hope for him though, he was not fast in this race nor enduring enough. He was slow as a turtle and as energetic as a sloth.

As for Heket, well she never shed a tear in her life. Not once in their uncountable years had he seen her shed a single drop of a tear. Not when she lost her first witness when she sacrificed herself for her, not when she lost villages full of her followers to starvation, not when their sibling left them…

In contrast he wept the first time he had to sacrifice one of his followers. They wanted him to do it, they practically begged him to take their life so he could be one with him. He could still remember the cold stone of his temple as he stood in front of all his siblings, all looking, judging.

He wept as expected, as soon as he felt his heart stop. In front of all his followers and siblings he wept over a simple mortal. He could still feel the disappointment from all their eyes, baring one. Heket shaking her head as Leshy snickered behind her, even Shamura paid enough attention to look away from him. All deep within carried pity for him that day, baring one. The cruelest of their siblings carried not pity, nor disgust. He carried sympathy so unwanted.

He carried that wretched feeling within himself as he walked up to him after the debacle. He walked up to him so callously and took him by the hands to guide him to his realm where he got to see his beloved follower yet again. He wept once more there, but this time it didn’t stung as bad as he told his final goodbyes to his most faithful, without the gaze of the rest of his siblings, baring him.

That misbegotten brother of his, he carried the belief of him being capable within himself. He never saw him for what he truly was, he always looked at him as if he had potential deep within instead of failure. A fool and a cruel man he was.

The same cursed brother who would have taken his hands even now, to ask him what was wrong as he did in days like this so long past. Today he wouldn’t know what to tell him but back then he told him it was the thunder and the rain that made him weep and nothing more.

He should have mocked him for standing as a god and yet being afraid of something so laughable, something that had no way of actually hurting him even back when he was much younger. He should have lectured him, told him his cowardice was a shame he brought to The Old Faith, he should have laughed at him for his weakness, he shouldn’t have even asked him what was wrong, he should have just left him to his devices and attend their court instead.

No, he just had to embrace him. He just had to look him in the eyes and tell him that no rain nor thunder could haunt him when he was with him. He had to give him the only thing he was good with, his first blade. Tell him that he didn’t need to ever be afraid as long as he was willing to fight.

He cursed him the day they sparred against one another in those halls, the day where he found something he was not a failure at. The day where he learned he hadn’t needed to be taken care of as an invalid and that he could be strong.

How he hated his brother for he took him out of his quiet dark corner and showed him the stars he came from. Promising him all that was under their grand light if he just fought for it, not realizing he was wasting his time.

Sudden anger now coursing through his veins he suddenly looked up from his corner, still on the ground with his tentacles up to his chest. Wiping at his eyes yet again, he got up slowly. He couldn’t just stay here to mop, even if it was the only other thing he was good for.

When the last of his tears dried, he looked around to take stock of his options. In his weapon rack he saw many weapons he had used in the times when even he was needed.

Scepters made for war, their gold glinting against the jewels adorning them. His hand momentarily went across one of their handles before receding. No, he needed something closer.

As his hand moved back he spotted his smaller collection. Daggers of all kinds, all lining the walls with each promising him safety allowed from such a hidden weapon. He had to admit, it was a good idea to carry one be they under a pillow or in battle. Still, he also needed some distance between him and his brother if he ever even got to fight him before he would be sidelined by his more capable siblings.

Not even looking at the holy hand grenades he moved to his most favorite part of his collection, swords of all sides in their individual cases. There were many to choose from, some straight and narrow, some curved and graceful. In the end however he chose the saber, standing taller than any mortal, Forged by blacksmiths from so far away. It would be useful.

Before he could leave his chambers to wash away the ichor, before anyone could spot him. His gaze fell on a forgotten part of his collection. In the far corner, he saw it. It was a small blade, one standing just about a mortal's height. Forged before he came to this earth from the holy lights high above, it was his first blade.

He didn’t know what possessed him to move closer to the rightfully forgotten relic, if it could even be called as such. Gingerly opening the small case, he took the weapon by the handle. It was far from easy to wield with his new size, but somehow it still felt natural within his grasp.

A high swing and a low strike, it was… unneeded. It was far too small to be used as a sword and far too big to be a dagger, it was just awkward to handle on top of that. Bringing this piece of loathed history was just a mistake…

Then again, he too was a mistake so it was only right that he would bring it to possibly his doom.

The track to the temple was unpleasant, that much was to be expected really. Between the still ongoing storm and the mountainous path, it had made everything more miserable than it had to be. Then again, maybe it had to be miserable. After all, they did come uninvited, didn't they.

Just another one of his brother’s cruelties he thought as his tentacles moved up the path. Why had he found his temple here of all places? Did he assume they would come for him one day and wanted to make it as hard as possible? or Perhaps he wanted to make it impossible for any of them to visit him, then again why would he visit his brother?

Perhaps he did it because he could. It was possible that he made his temple up on these mountains because he could do so unlike him. He was strong and independent enough to climb such high with his followers and establish such a bastion in a place so uninhabitable.

Perhaps, he just wanted to look down upon them from his castle so far high up.

Lost in thought he didn’t hear from the cacophony when one of his aphoteceri- warriors fell to her death, or at least he acted like he hadn’t heard her cries. She was no one of importance, just a mother of three with a husband lost when a prank of his brother got out of hand. Someone who worked at the cult's bakery when not in the sick bay as a nurse.

Someone who hadn’t cried for him when they fell to the stone jutting out of the side of the cliff, who didn’t ask for his mercy, who he couldn’t help because it would show him as a weakling yet again.

Forward he walked, not confident nor willing but he moved forward nonetheless.

The initial breach was bloody, as expected. His brother had raised good warriors, all who carried his name in their lips as they dove into the battle they had no chance of winning. While his soldiers fell with faces full of sorrow and anguish. Only if he was good enough to raise them as well as he.

Eventually however, even their zeal gave out. All coming back to the realm of the living from their deserved slumber to protect their master even as their bodies broke below them it wasn’t enough. In the end, they all broke away to torn limbs and broken bodies.

So they reached the gate to his throne room. Wide open with him still sitting on his throne looking at them with eyes that spoke nothing but spite.

How cruel he was, as they walked past the broken bodies of his protectors torn asunder. How his eyes didn’t twitch with indignation, as their sister stepped over a small mound made of bodies as she didn’t even bother to look down, or when his brother Leshy held a wolf within his grasp squeezing at his ribcage like a toy as he looked around bored like this was all some sightseeing.

How he hadn’t looked away as the wolf’s last words fell on the deaf ears of his master. He cried ‘F-forgive m… me-e lord for I- I… have failed-d’ as his Lord's breath hadn’t hitched for but a moment.

Now they stood, four looking at the Lord of Death as he sat still.

Then after a moment that stretched over a millenia Shamura spoke, the one that seemed least interested in this affair. ‘’Brother, Narinder. We have come to take you back’’ He looked at the Master of War at their words for a moment, surely they didn’t mean that had they? Their brother should not be allowed back, he couldn’t be allowed back… should he?

A voice rang out from the throne, one of laughter that lacked mirth that quickly fell to melancholy. ‘’His name was Melvin you know, my Witness’’ He got up from his chair slowly as he walked closer to them. He felt his grip on his sabre harden as he felt each step reverberate against the ground.

He pointed at the small mound as his voice grew colder ‘’They were the ones whom I called my priests. Lancelot the deafened’’ After a moment he added ‘’He was a grand writer. The one closer to me was Deniz, they held no title but were grand nonetheless.’’ He sighed as he gazed at the last of the ones who still could be distinguished amidst the pile ‘’Joan, youngest of them all. She was a poet an-’’

He was cut out by their sister as she spoke ‘’Quit the nonsense Narinder’’ She turned to Leshy as she held her axe closer ‘’Leshy, with me’’ Before she could take her place against him however their siblings hand stopped her.

Shamura eyed her wearily, as they sighed ‘’There is no need for such action sister, Narinder will come with us to his rightful place’’ they looked back at Narinder ‘’Won’t you brother?’’ There was almost a tinge of hope behind their seemingly uninterested voice.

He for his part looked upon his sibling for a moment, so many untold thoughts coming through his mind surely. For a moment as he looked deep into his unsure eyes, he thought that their brother would show one kindness to him and show him that he did not stand to go against their sibling’s word. Show him that all had to follow his word no matter how nonsensical and humiliating it felt, and that it was not something one could fight against. Yet again his hope was dashed across the halls broken as his eyes met the still bloodied hand of Leshy still clutching the corpse of his follower.

He shook his head before a gentle smile bloomed slowly over him, he spoke ‘’No, I don’t think I will sibling’’

At his words came a warcry from Heket, striding at their brother with full force. Swinging his warhammer Leshy joined her, barreling at him in force. He was as he looked over the battle commencing in front of him. Looking over to their eldest he looked much like a statue as they gazed at nowhere in particular.

Just then a voice rang out, coming from Heket who was deflecting a blow from their brother ‘’Come on you damn squid, be useful for once and join us!’’

Before he could apologize to her for his failure, Leshy spoke while swinging his warhammer over his head ‘’Leave the crybaby be, we don’t need that coward’’

He didn’t let their words sink deep before entering the fray, his three hearts beating down in his chest as he tried to match their brother’s style. It was easier said than done however as they were not in those halls like back in the days, his brother was not holding back.

Each strike was perfect, his ripostes were blinding as were his dodges. Each strike felt like fighting against the thunder outside as they all got reflected or turned against him with a counter. His ears rang out almost deafened by the noise of steel against steel.

What was not helping their fight was the fact that there was no cohesion between them all. Heket acted like he nor Leshy existed as she pushed further and further against their brother who brushed each of her advances. As for Leshy, he acted like it was all a free for all as he swung wildly at them all with almost a giggle emanating from him.

It all went so fast, one moment they were fighting and the next he met the stone under them, his sabre falling behind him as he heard the metal hitting the floor. Momentarily stunned it took him a while to look over to his siblings, but as soon as his eyes met them he wished he hadn’t.

Leshy was on the ground clutching his face as he shook violently, Heket on the other hand was against a pillar as she held her throat, oozing ichor slowly as she no doubt tried to curse the one that caused the injury.

Their brother paid neither any mind as he slowly made his way to him, walking slowly as he looked down on him with pity. So now he was finally kind to him, looking at him the way all should have.

Breathing deep he tried to calm down, his three hearts now feeling like they were about to tear their way out of him as he slowly realized what was to happen. He was going to die.

The primal urge to fight back was overtaken by sheer terror as he was frozen to his spot, unable to even look at his brother he instead closed his eyes. His hands to his eyes, he tried to calm himself down.

No matter what he did however, it didn’t help. Each step he took closer to him drew him closer to the inevitability. This is what he was always afraid of wasn’t it? The unstoppable constant that is death, his brother.

The thing that pushed them so far from those lackadaisical days at his temple, to now here. It was almost poetic if it wasn’t so scary.

Steps stopped close to him. A second then a minute, nothing happened. Too afraid to open his eyes he waited for his assured doom, why couldn’t his brother just finish him already? Had he have to torture him like this?

But instead of a blade striking down he heard his brother’s voice. This time it felt… odd. ‘’Why are you afraid brother?’’ He stopped shaking ever so slightly as he moved his fingers just enough to look upon his executioner. ‘’Haven’t I told you, you have nothing to fear as long as you are willing to fight?’’

He was stunned for a moment, his surprise caused by his voice just as much as his unwillingness to finish him off. ‘’I-I c-cant… I can’t fight-t I.. I’’ He tried to form words but his throat squeezed harder and harder at his attempt.

Seemingly not seeing his struggle, or perhaps because of that struggle ‘’Why so?’’

Gathering what courage he had within him he looked up, his fingers fully parted he gazed upon his brother. Now on his knee with his weapon to his side, he gave him a curious look. Breathing in deep, he let it out with a sigh ‘’I… I have no blade’’ His throat constricting further at his attempt he felt the tears finally breach as he wailed ‘’J-just end it already!’’

Just why was he still playing with him?! What was his damn game? Had he just wanted to see him in tears, did he just want to humiliate him one more time as if he wasn’t already?

Lost in thought he didn’t see his hand move to his face, gasping for a moment as he felt his paw wiping at one of the tears running down his eyes. In a voice so soft ‘’You have a blade, one so dear to me as you are’’

What blade? He thought before he remembered. His hands went to his cloak to seek his old blade to feel nothing, he felt a terrifying chill run down his body before suddenly he saw it within Narinder’s paw, offering it to him just like once before.

Hesitantly he reached out, grasping the weapon by the small hilt. His brother gave him a smile before he grabbed him by the shoulder. Slowly they got up, both upright as Narinder moved a step away from him.

He small smile crept to his lips before in a playful tone ‘’Come on Kalamari, show me what you got’’

He oddly enough returned his smile, maybe out of confusion or perhaps fear. It began, slow at first as his brother countered his attacks. His strikes were not like the ones a moment past, they weren’t softer perhaps but they didn’t carry the same intent from before.

But eventually the warm up ended as the spar or fight or really whatever this was supposed to be really started. Almost like a dance his brother struck from one side to the next, spinning a moment before jumping high. It was not really a sound idea in battle to do either but it was… Fun.

Taking his clue he started his own ‘dance’, crouching low before raising his blade high to meet his on air. Spinning on his tentacles to match his turns and weaves, to add to their play.

In the end, he couldn’t call this much of a spar, but it was something more perhaps. Something that made him forget all those years spent fearing him, something that quickly ended with the addition of another dancer who didn’t seem to care much about softening their blows.

This new dancer was not really in favor of their dance going on longer either as they struck true and quick. In a few short moments he found himself going against the newcomer alongside his brother, this time neither struck soft as they battled them.

But by sheer chance or perhaps misfortune his brother fell to his knees, a moment so wrong and horrific. Not one moment sooner he found himself on the ground also with a strange ring in his ears as they felt… odd. Something ran through his head as he looked up to meet his sibling with their claws against his brother’s throat.

Realization hit him as he understood what he had just done, he fought against his eldest. The thought terrified him to his core as his mind ran with the possibility of what was to happen to him. Would he be cast out? Would he be run through with claws? Would he…

He was taken from these portents by the gasps of his brother who struggled in the grasp of their elder. In that moment he felt horror stronger than that of the fear he felt for his own life, one for his brother’s.

So their dance ended for real this time, as his blade pierced the heart of their eldest when they seemed so intent on taking the life of his brother, overlooking his sheer existence for the last time. One moment they looked within their brother’s dimming eyes with nothing but pain and in the next they found themselves in his realm as they collapsed upon the stone.

His brother breathed hard as he looked up to him from the ground, his eyes regaining their shine as he gazed upon his blade which ran with ichor.

Offering his hand he took it in his a moment later, and they rose up from the ground just like a moment before their dance.

He felt an awkward silence settle between the two of them before the soft voice from before cut through ‘’You did good Kalamari’’ He chuckled softly ‘’Real good’’

As he felt a small chuckle rise out of him, he found himself in his embrace, He did good didn’t he?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/114866662

Heyyyyy, another chapter. we are at 18th now, it is not really a special number nor does it have some odd significance to me but I felt like pointing it out.

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy another chapter on the adventures of the camellia trio (Yes thats what I will call them) as they go into a place they really shouldn’t

Over abundance of fluff,

Perfection.

... Or I won't play

This is Pan, a character that belongs to @pioripan!

I wanted to draw her a looot earlier but I didn't have any time to do so

So, here it is... A little sketch of this truly beautiful sheep

Heh, red panda. I like the way you made the eyes btw, it looks rather nice.

I really like these a dog fallower form if i could i would have floppy ears there so cute

And the red panda is so stinking cute you guys have good tast~♡

I really had fun with these thank you so much

You made mine day alot more fun in trying things out~♡

Ejoy the piece~♡

Having Fluffffffffy wool is a perfectly adequate reason for being chosen as a vessel.

there are two kinds of cult of the lamb fanart, probablycanon!cotl and fluffy!cotl. there is no in-between. look at this baby, honestly take a look at fluffy!lambert and tell me that you wouldn't (platonically) plant a kiss on his forehead.

also, yes, I know, I committed the cardinal sin of sticking down text bubbles, but I was running out of time to draw yesterday and I haven't posted anything in a really long time.

also, have an extra no text version!

Frustration station

frustration area for kittens 😾😾😾

Alright, short chapter this time. I would have normally added this to a longer chapter but I felt like it just wouldn’t have fit in with a normal chapter.

It is just waaaaay too odd and would most likely stand out. Anyhow, we are back to angst you all HURRAY 

Alright all, another chaptttter. This one we are getting more :sparkle: Comfort :sparkle: -kind of anyway. It still has some moments that are a bit on the hurt side of things.

And I will probably go back to hurt soon. So bring your favorite slippers, get some tea and enjoy this brief moment of respite everyone, cause we are going right back into the rabbit hole after a chapter or two after this... probably

Flufffff

Heya, Yuki's here again!

This is Areh (Or mother Porrima), Eridános's wife and the main healer of the cult. The story of her arrival to the cult is the same as her husband's.

She's really soft and caring person. She cherishes all followers (and Lamb) as her own children. No one knows much about her and Eridanos's past.

This woman is in charge of physical health and healing (while Enoki is mental healer).

Fun fact: Areh is the shortest and the fluffiest of immortals in the cult

Ratssssnake

The most wholesome ship in the game

Heyyyyyy, hello! So another chapter, one that is around 4600ish words because I couldn’t bring myself to cut it into pieces... again. I swear one day I will learn how to cut these into reasonable chunks for the sake of all of us.  Anyway I hope you all enjoy this chapter, it is full of angst and some actual honest to hell comfort, HURRAY we are finally at the comfort!

Holy trinity of big. Big cape, big wolf, big muscle

Meet Eridános, another immortal from my first Alternate universe!

He originally isn't from the lands of Old Faith. He came here with his wife to provide help to people from/near to Anchordeep.

Soon the village where he was living was attacked by Kallamar's worshippers. The Lamb helped him to escape with his wife and Lamb's cult became their shelter.

Eridanos himself may look grumpy but in reality he is warmhearted guy. He is in charge of most hard working (mining and wood chopping, building etc)

Also this guy earned "The character who made me struggle and cry" title :D

Ears... Floppy

A little animation i made

Using flipaclip i soon want to switch over to a other animation program

But i like how this one turn out

It smoll and cuteeee

Anyway ejoy~♡

Froglet

Hey People, firstly sorry for the delay. As you might have heard, my country (Turkey) ain't doing so hot at the moment. Between the storms and more importantly the earthquake it has been a little hard here. luckily we weren't hit by the earthquake where I live, but we got our fair share of unpleasantness from the storm. Anyway other than that there is not much I want to say, I hope you all enjoy this one. More regular uploads will continue when I can manage. Trying work without a stable internet and cold fingers is kind of hard sadly and there is only so much a candle can heat up.

She drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne. Each tap trying to rise above the cacophony that has overtaken her temple. Each tap trying and failing to silence the clattering steel and shouts of warriors getting ready for what was to come. Tap, tap, tap, tap her four fingers went with her thumb pushing against the side of the throne, digging into the wood. She was calm, really she was. She was so calm indeed that she was barely even thinking of what was to come, it was simply off from her mind as she calmly waited… and waited… waited. Her eyes were closed, all four shut against the world and the temple she called her own. To the cut stone beneath her throne to the rustic walls that kept her cult sheltered. To the ones she used to call her patrons, now divisions and warriors that were meant to march. Really calm, really, truly calm… No, she wasn’t. She was not calm, not in the slightest. She couldn’t do this to herself. She was many things, a Goddess, a Bishop of the old faith, a sister and not a liar. Besides, she was not really someone to believe in her own lies. Though was she? Was she really not a liar? Even in that sentence there were lies if not some half truths at least. It was true she was a Goddess, Lady of Famine, the one over the domain of sate and hunger in their dance that only ended with the release of death. Then again, if she were the Lady famine then why were her patrons armed in weapons instead of scythes and buckets? Why were they getting ready for what was to come, instead of fasting in their homes? She knew the answer, but really it was better that she kept the answer away from herself. It was also true that she was a bishop of the old faith, she was the new right hand of Shamura, the first one to establish the faith. Then again, was she really? She did not really feel like she was a bishop as much as a commander for her armies now or some odd figurehead at times. She was not really preaching the perseverance that came with the abstinence of what was most vital to life and the release and euphoria that came with the feast. The dance of gorge and the fast. No, these days she was preaching the righteousness of what was to come. Of how one can only find themselves true in war and not by the release of a hot meal after a long day of work toiling in one's lot. It was true, she was a sister. Sister to Leshy, the fifth in the roster of the old faith. God of Chaos that stood over the realms of green and brown. The one that has been with them the least. The hardest to contain amongst the old faith. The one that had brought nothing but a headache to her since his lowly beginnings as a mewling worm. From the days he saw fit to set ablaze her temple in his many ‘pranks’ to his inability to listen to her heeds and warnings. Choosing to ignore where she tried to reason, to use his domain against the criticism he needed to improve. A child she could never see sitting on a throne. Sister to Kalamar, The fourth to come to their coven of Gods. God of Pestilence that stood over the blue and yellow. The one that had done nothing but cower behind her, never setting right where he erred. The one that threw the blame when her honest words came too much. The leach that took all love and gave but disloyalty, a snake she had to trust in what was to come. A coward she never wanted to see ruling. Sister to Shamura, her oldest sibling who was the leader of their quartet. The one that has given her the weapons and arms to wage the war they assured her was necessary. The sibling that has taken the honest work of her patrons in her tavern and has transformed them all to warrior kin only they could assemble. The one that has only taken when her dance was of gift and forfeit. A dance she came to break with their steel and bronze where once there was only wood and clay. A mad tyrant with a vision that may as well have been for their ruin rather than salvation. She was lastly, the sister to Narinder. The second to come in the pantheon of the old faith. The one she was to meet soon, in what was to come. The pompous prick that dared to defile the word of the old faith, dare go against Shamura’s wishes, dared to take his lot away… dared to leave her alone, dare to leave her in charge where he was meant to stay and lead with Shamura, dare to push this responsibility to her. The one that caused all of this… did he though? The traitorous thought snaked its way into her mind. Did he truly cause this all? No, well yes but… half truth she supposed, it could only be called that. He was the one that left, the one that took his followers with him away from them. Into lands they were to march in what's to come. He was the one that made his temple there, on the misty mountains where white met against white with the snow and clouds. A temple he built of marble and stone of the unforgiving silver mountains where his realm was closest to. But, she knew he didn’t want to. She knew he didn’t mean to defile a faith he helped to create in its infancy, if it hadn’t forgotten his name. He was the one that went against the creator of the old faith, their eldest sibling, Master of War, Shamura. To fight against their gospel when it stopped suiting him instead of accepting them as law as must all in the lands of the old faith, be they mortal or God. But she knew. She knew he wouldn’t have went against Shamura’s wishes if they weren’t so unreasonable as to demand him to reduce his own cult to nothing. To waste his days away from them in solitude. Though she supposed, that part did come to be eventually. He was the one that took what was left of his lot away. The pitiful bunch that stuck with him even after what had happened… She knew they had no other choice as much as he. He was the one to leave her alone. To fend for herself in this complicated dance of politics she was thrusted into from her humble patrons and tavern, to the halls of the spider. To the insolent and egotistical court of lies. To make her a moth to the webs of affairs and intrigue, she had to learn from. She knew a lot, but she still didn’t know how he could have done such a thing when he was the one that embraced her for the first time when she was but a tadpole, swimming in the unknown depths of her soon to be realm. Again came the taps; tap, tap, tap, tap as she remembered the faithful day. She was alone on those days. So long ago she could barely remember the way stars have shone when she came crashing down from the heavens above. Alone and with no purpose, wading through the swamps of her now land. She was fierce, she was strong, she was the second inevitability of the world. Hunger. She hunted as she jumped from pond to pond, letting her hunger guide her in the murky waters. Alas, she was not the strongest nor the fiercest for she met one mightier. A dark God she could best in but a moment now, but back then a foe she withered against. However, even with the odds against her, she did not meet death that day. At least not in the way she thought she would while struggling in the dark God’s grasp. A slice and a broken body in the pond where she thought she would see the last of the stars. Finding herself in the arms of the cat clad in black black with three kind eyes and a mouth full of gentle but sharp teeth. She met him then, God of Death, her second eldest. The one they would slaughter soon.   Her eyes opened, slowly as she drummed her fingers faster and faster. Tap, tap, tap, tap they went as she accepted the truth, she was a liar. A true liar. Truth was, she was none of those things. She failed in all of those or at least she was about to. With  the blood of her brother spilled over the marble of his temple, her fate would forever be sealed as a liar. In those misty towering behemoths of white would he be waiting, for what was to come. So what was to come, came. Here she was, waiting for her fate just as much as the cat clad in white with three eyes and a not so kind sharp teeth had. Tap, tap, tap, tap came the noise out her axe as her claws met the handle. She waited, she waited for something she knew was not going to happen. She waited for him to give up, to let them take him back, to let them exact punishment against him and his ilk. A miracle. But she knew, he would never give up. He would fight, now and always as he had all those faithful years ago against the Dark God. With vain hope she looked around, to see her own ilk. All discarded like toy soldiers, strewn about like mere dolls. Their sorrowful faces drowned amidst the warriors of Shamura with their proud eyes. Another thing she was to blame him for, but she knew she couldn’t. From seeing her ilk to seeing her kin. She saw Kalmar first, terrified as ever. He wore a face of nervousness, his ears hung low as his eyes peered around as if he looked all as an enemy to fear. His followers did not share their master’s fear however, all brave faces. Not proud, but brave. All holding their heads high even if their very Lord couldn’t. She held off her sneer as she looked to see Leshy. Bored eyes met hers, he looked all around lazily like it was just a game. Just some sightseeing tour he was barely paying attention to as he twirled his hammer. Unmoved by the soulless eyes that gazed back at him from the ground. His own followers now gone and dust, looking at them with emotions even she didn’t know. She held her tongue as she gazed once more which landed on them, the one that brought them here, Master of War that looked sorrowful where they were to be in delight. The crest of their brow low, hiding all that was going on behind that old decrepit mind of theirs. Looking straight at the one they came to slaughter with eyes that spoke of only regret. She felt the blood in her veins boil as her fingers went TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP. She held her venom as she looked to see him. He held himself high, ears following afoot. His brow high and eyes that shone with purpose and commitment. There wasn’t much left of his followers, but they held the same look as their master even in the end, and most likely beyond. Waiting for him to join them in his rightful domain. ‘So he is the whom I am to slaughter, one that stayed one with his ilk when the rest of his kin had not’ she thought. One that looked not apart from the bodies that once fought against the invader in his name. Shame, she thought. Shame to the ones on the ground, the ones who are about to meet it and to the rest who are still above it. So it began, after a couple of pretty words uttered by their sibling. First tap, she swung first and true. If she was to be damned, it was to be done with grace to match the one that dodged her attack. He fought with elegance she had only seen from their eldest, one that had not fought for long years even before this. He would vault over the haphazard attacks of Leshy that at times felt like they were meant for her. Just as he would vault he would dodge the opportunistic attacks of Kalamar in the same breath. He would complete the dance with a counter to her own attack that would have hit if he had waited but a moment more. Second tap, she changed tactics. Now she would try to push him instead of hitting him, trying to force him into the attacks of Leshy who lacked the cohesion to understand her idea or just didn’t care. Just as she would push him off Kalamar would be there to give him back the space she so hardly fought to take. Running and dodging where he was meant to stay and deliver. After the third tap of the scythe against the axe she realized she was not just outmatched but she was also very much alone. It didn’t matter what she did, what tactic she implored. All it did was to give her a fool's hope that would be dashed into pieces when put into practice. Her tactics were like the speeches she delivered in court, ignored without the input of their sibling who still hadn’t joined them. Before the fourth tap she saw her brother, this time fully. His brother stood above the three, like the dark God that was to take her to his realm from all those years ago. For one terrible moment she realized, she was going to die. Maybe not a liar like she thought but dead nonetheless for his brother was death, the killer of Gods fore and now. At the fifth tap that she sounded with the drop of her knee she could see. She saw the still figure of Shamura who watched the slaughter. She saw the sibling that brought them here, to the place where his kind brother became the nightmare from her long lost nightmares. The one that watched with pity as they were cut down. The one that still looked from above as their brother breathed death against them. She saw her enemy. She saw the real traitor. There was no sixth tap, it was more of a clang that reverbated across the halls of the temple. The clang that came to be by her axe which saw the claw of Shamura. At that moment as all of her family looked at her, she knew she was dead. For a moment silence and in the next ‘’Traitors’’ came the hiss of Shamura, then came her claw that with grace that could only be matched by their second eldest. Proven with his scythe came between her and the cold claw of their eldest. She didn’t know what compelled her to block the hit that came from Kalamar that was meant for Narinder. She didn’t know and would most likely never know, but at the moment she couldn’t think much about that. So they continued, a froglet and a kitten against three dark Gods. Scythe and axe matching claw, sword and hammer. It was a dance now, one that somehow felt comforting as she sliced the ears of their cowardly brother. It felt like the ones they shared when it was just the two of them when the traitor had gone to tend to their court. When the cold of the night and the mist of the temple reminded her of the day she met the monster that almost made her its prey. So when he took the eyes of Leshy she couldn’t help but tap, tap, tap, tap. Then came tap, tap, tap, tap from his scythe to the ground as they were pushed back by the enraged Master of War, who now only saw red as their two siblings met the stone of the temple. Slice to cut, out came the ichor that danced in the air. For a moment she had a lip barring no scar that sang away those awful nights with his brother’s kind eyes watching. Now scarred they were, with a split that came from the claws of the traitor. The kind eyes looked at her once more as she lost her footing. Shining with determination she wished she could match before the three were now two as the traitor took more off of them. She found herself on the ground as his brother found himself pushed to the ground as the traitor took him apart, slice after slice as they cursed him. His weapon broken and away where he could not reach. For as many things she knew she didn’t know many yet. But she knew one thing, the traitor had to meet their end. She didn’t know how she matched the grace of the spider for that moment, but for a moment she truly felt like she danced maybe for the first time with Shamura before she met the cold claws once more. This time she would gain not a scar but lose a tooth and maybe two. But there came no more slice nor cut for the Traitor met his end with the sharper claws of their brother. With the same claws that gently took her up from the pond to a home, he took apart the brow that hid many and the mind that was behind this terribleness. Tap, tap, tap, tap. She heard, against her palm as she lay. She held his gaze as her four met the last two eyes of a cat clad in white and much red, with a mouth full of kind razor sharp teeth that gave her a smile. She closed her eyes as she heard ‘’Tap, tap, tap, tap froglet of mine’’ His hand found her lip as she felt his soothing cold claws, healing the damage of the traitor. ‘’Tap, tap, tap, tap cry not for I am here. Forever and more, with you.’’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/112140313

Heh, I can remember my own first chapter, all the excitement, all the plans for the future.

Anyhow, glad to hear you want to write more of it! I shall readddd em as you writttte em.

I finally did it!! I can't believe I wrote this by myself, honestly. I'm still new to writing stuff so I'm not sure of this text is enough readable but I already like the beginning of the story.

Also, I was planning to make it...bigger. Like, a lot bigger. But I guess that this chapter wasn't in need of too much details

Praise be his servants for they have answered us with the truth we seek.

(Heh, love Aym's eyes, the difference between the right and the left is rather stylized.)

Greetings the grand servants of The One Who Waits, the Lord of the Death and all beyond. Hearing of your respite from duty to answer our questions brings great joy to me and many more who still choose to follow our Lord from the beyond.

Anyhow, I wish to ask something that has bothered me for long years since my first encounter with the teachings of our lord. What does our Lord ask of us? To be specific, how do we properly worship his greatness? The heretic Bishops such as Heket wish us to starve ourselves just as Shamura asks us to lose ourselves in bloodlust to worship them completely.

But how are we to worship him? Are we to sacrifice ourselves? Are we to take lives in his great name? Or is perhaps blind prayer enough?

Baal: Make no mistake, it's hard to find the right gift.

Aym: Feel free to contact me if you are interested in the LIFE gift.

Baal: That shall be your choice dear follower.

EDIT: Font change.

Welcome to postapocalyptia!!!

HEEEY I'M FINALLY HEREEE with semi-apocalypse AU Lamb!

Her nickname is Piligrim. She worked as a mercenary before meeting Narinder for the first time.

I won't tell most of her story because I'm really planning to write the whole story on Ao3

Alright first things first, this is a bloody long chapter. I know I have been saying that a lot recently but dear hell this one is long. So watch out for that.

Seconds thing second, Watch out for the cute/Eldritch horrorish parts cause there are some moments that are... interesting to say the least. Other than those two, I have not much else to add. I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter cause I will need to take a day off to visit the gramps sooooo the next chapter may take some more time. 

(:

Hi! I wanted to ask them both a question if possible. If you could change one in your life, what would it be?

It can be something small or big, but you only get to change one thing.

(Thank you so much you really made me think about this ask)

Look at the earrrrrrs, rather pointy I must say.

My brain slowly turns to CoTL character maker

This is Yanne, the second immortal. Lamb from my AU found her in the destroyed village in Anura (Enoki has already become immortal) The little fox was starving alone in the place so Lamb took her to the cult. After some years the adult now fox became the second immortal.

Yanne is an incredible farmer (and also she cooks really good) so she is in charge of food and all fields of the cult. She's cheerful and caring but really impulsive.

Also, Yanne calls Enoki brother (they are not real siblings).

As always, you're free to ask questions!

What a beautiful family, I am sure nothing bad will happen to them.

(:

A little story about Lamb from my AU and her past. Since childhood she have seen some strange ?spirits? and followed them. One day this creatures showed her The Weeping willow.

Mostly, she spent her childhood with her family or her friends. Everything was fine, however... We all know what exactly happened to the sheep kind in the lands of Old Faith.

-------------------------------------------------------

Bonus

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The old Weeping willow. She remembers this place. But never it was so gloomy before. It feels like the place knows what happened to her family and shares her own sorrow.

Meet my first actual CoTL oc!!

His name is Enoki. He was indoctrinated by the Lamb from my AU and became her first ever follower. Since then he became one of the immortal (thanks to Lamb and his own priest status) characters in the cult (there are several followers who are immortal including Narinder in the past-game events).

Before being indoctrinated by Lamb Enoki lost his left arm in a battle. Soon after getting used to her power, Lamb created another one for him with a special ritual.

If you have questions about him, feel free to ask me!

Little Leaf

Alright, this is a chapter from my fic ‘The Five Traitors’, the first one in fact. It is about what would have happened if one of the siblings joined Narinder’s rebellion, what would have led them to it and what would come out of it.

I will post this here and the rest when I am done with them all. But I will also add a link to the Ao3 down there if you all wanna read it there instead.

I hope you all enjoy this one (:

His temple was silent. Only wind spoke through it for there were none within. All his once whimsical critters waited outside, orderly assembled and ready, all awaiting their Lord. He tried to laugh, something he hadn’t done in a while, at the irony of it all. He was to lead and order an army. He, Lord of Chaos, was to order his army to fight alongside that of his siblings. An army he had assembled at the order’s of his sibling. However he couldn’t, not even a mirthless chuckle punch through the bottomless perfect melancholy.

No, no he just sat there. A silent lord for a silent temple, neither which were ever so before. Not before their eldest came to him and the rest of his siblings, telling them of the supposed treachery of their brother. Not before they gave the order to form an army to bring him to justice. Not before they took command of each of their cults to train and supply them, to mold them into the same zealots they bred. not before they brought order to his chaos.

Treachery, he thought. He was thinking the way his soon to be punished brother was thinking. He was asking questions where he was to obey, he was trying to reason where he was supposed to show fealty, he was showing chaos where he needed to prove his order. To betray to self to conform.

He ran his fingers through his face, avoiding his eyes from the sharpness of his claws as he drew in a breath. It was the smell of the pines, the ancient stone and the smell of ichor that ran through his eyes that greeted him.

‘’That explains the wet hands’’ he murmured to himself, as he looked down on his hand to see his tear soaked hand. All crimson like the blood of his followers but with an undeniable dark tinge that betrayed its true nature.

He ran his thumb over the rest of his fingers as he felt the sticky liquid of the holy void. As the droplets fell to the stone of his temple, there came new life. Blades of grass with many odd flowers, all in the colours of the stars birthed them all amidst the lifeless stone. But Just as they came to be, they died. All returning back to his brother's domain.

To oblivion, Narinder’s domain. He smiled as he thought of him, the one they were to march to meet in battle today. His smile fell just as quickly as he remembered where he stood in this conflict, this schism. He would be in the ranks of his sister Heket, the Lady of Famine; his brother Kalamar, the Lord of Disease; his sibling Shamura, the Master of War.

All four leaders of the Old Faith would march against their brother Narinder, Lord of Death.

He was to march together with the one who would ridicule him for his very nature, chastise him for the very thing he was gifted to this world to do. The one who would cast all blame for the things she failed to realize in this world as uncertain. The one whose logic would shatter at the mere mention of his chaos.

He was to march alongside a coward. One who he knew for certain would stab them all in the back if they were to fail in the upcoming madness. He who would cast disease amidst them all if it would give him one more moment to escape his fate.

He was to march alongside a sibling he barely knew. One who he had only met a few times before they were taken by their duty, away from him. Sibling who has accused their brother of treachery on a mere premonition, one that rested on an old mind that had been rotting for a milenia. The one who has brought ugly order to his beautiful domain of chaos. The one that has tried  to replace his very nature with their own.

He was to march against his brother. The one that had been by his side since his coming to this earth. The one that has teached him all he knew and all that he wished to know till this very moment. The one that cradled him to his chest in the nights where he found no respite amidst the order of the world. The one he seeked mere days ago, to see if they still carried the same faith for each other deep within them. The one that indeed has, proven by his cold but yet warm embrace that carried no pulse but a true heart that sang with his own. In the days before this one, where he stood in his temple as a brother rather than an enemy as he showed him the true beauty of his nature. No ridicule for what he is, no fear for what he was and no portent for what he will be.

He remembered his erratic heart matching his dead one, as they embraced as if he didn’t know they were to attack his domain soon. He held no contempt for him even then. Just acceptance, as was expected from the kind guide to the afterlife, the shepherd of beyond.

Sounds of water splashing on the hallowed ground shook him away from these holy heretical thoughts. ‘Was that the rain?’ he thought as he looked down on the ground through a haze to see more flowers. He was lucky that his cloak was black he thought as he wiped away the ichor off his face.

He got up, standing tall amidst the silent temple he no longer recognized. Amidst soldiers that were no longer his whimsical cohort. Amidst the sanctified gates of his brother's temple. Amidst the quartet of traitors he dared not call siblings.

Shamura spoke first ‘’Narinder, please understand wh-’’ They were cut by a laugh that reverberated across the defiled temple of his brother. Narinder shook his head as he brought his hand to his face to run it across.

He looked back slowly as his hand went back limb to his side ‘’Please spare us all that, we all know how this is going to go’’ Heket took a step forward with her axe firmly within their hands. He looked at her out of curiosity, to see if she held anything other than contempt. He was given but a moment too be disappointed as Shamura stopped her in her tracks with just one claw.

Shamura wore a tired face, one laced with guilt and shame. He wanted to laugh at that but just like before he couldn’t find enough humor in that. They were the one who has driven them into this, to this very moment. Yet they stood there ashamed, he would ask why if they were so pained could they have just not brought them here?

His hands tightened on the helm of his warhammer as he tried to contain the indignity within his capricious heart. He felt the traitorous tears try to force their way off all five of his eyes, but no. No, he would not shed a single one.

The cry of war took his mind away from his thoughts as the Queen of Anura broke away from the grasp of her sibling’s claw. Away to war she rose, her axe swung over Narinder who swatted it away. Blow for blow they came to each other, strike to strike they tried to best one another. Witnessing the call of battle he tried to move but he couldn’t, he stood there with his hammer still in his hands as both his siblings tried to rip each other to pieces.

Then came the cry of Kallamar who joined the fray. adding his own to the fight that saw siblings spill the blood of one another. With much skill he still swung his swords, each cutting fabric and nothing more as he tried and failed to match their brother’s grace. He tried to look away from the awe inspiring battle that was unfolding in front of him. He couldn’t bear it for he knew, he knew the two would lose.

He looked away to the one hope they still held, to the old spider. He looked at them with scorn he had not felt before, he wanted to shout at them to ask them is this what they have wanted. But more so he wanted them to join so their siblings at least stood a chance against the whirlwind of destruction their brother had always been.

But he was disappointed yet again, for they stood still. As the carnage took place all around they stood still as the pillars of stone around. Looking at the fight with cold dead pity. He felt his claws puncture his hands as he clutched his hammer more firm as he marched into the fray too.

He swung his hammer, not to his brother nor to his siblings, but to all of them at once. For he was chaos, he bore no allegiance that could last with obedience alone. He struck the earth where Heket stood for he was chaos, he cared not for safe logic. He casted bolts of lighting almost at random that were dodged by Kallamar for he was chaos, for he was untamable.

All became a haze as the fight grew to an odd free for all, the chaos in which he thrived. Alliances were formed; where one struck, where the other deflected just to switch. Where one who came to kill, fought alongside the one they came to kill. Where one protected just to stab in the back, where one howled in rage just to bellow a laughter, where all blended together with the ichor of all. All in the colours of the night sky, as they danced together, against; for, spite; with, without one another.

Through each strike he stood true however, he never stayed with an ‘ally’ for long. Always switching at a whim, one moment he saw the teary eyes of Kallamar to then just see the enraged snarl of Heket. Then at the last moment he saw Narinder fighting with a grace he had never seen from another being, be they God or mortal. In that moment he understood, as they carved the ears off of Kallamar, as they tore his sister’s throat. Only he and himself were true to themselves, not to the faith or to their siblings but to themselves. Only he and Narinder stood true as they pummeled and were pelted, striked as they were slashed, dodge as they blocked. He as the harbinger of chaos and his brother as the reaper of souls. True Gods of their domain, not just some bishop to a rigid Faith made by a coward.

Here he stood, facing his brother as the two of his siblings stayed imobile on the ground, both spilling their holy ichor to the temple meant for the true lord of death. He stared down his ally, his enemy, his Lord and his servant. He saw his smile as he held onto his scythe, his smile bloomed into a laugh that warmed him from within.

As he stood with his broken arm, no doubt a gift he himself had given him just a moment ago. He beckoned him with open arms, one lowered slightly from the pain no doubt. He moved to meet him even with his slashed leg, leaking rot and ichor, a gift in kind given to him by his dearest.

It was cold and silent, his fur covered in ichor that smelled of disease, rot and much much more. His heart was quiet but it felt like it beat with fervor they both held for each other, he smiled into his fur as his hands moved to the back of his head. Each of his bony fingers combed against his leaves. There was no need for words as his deep purr talked where words would have failed. He was accepted, just as he accepted him. Chaos and Death held each other as Gods amidst bled.

It was not to last, as it was the nature of both chaos and death. A cry of war came from its master, one that bellowed across the temple, reverberated across the halls just to echo right back at them.

Both took their spots as the dance began again. They were met with grace that made Narinder look like a beetle amidst butterflies. They danced and danced, two beetles trying to outfly a butterfly as it carved them apart. This butterfly wore a mask of anger and indignation however, one that did a poor job of masking their anguish. This butterfly called them ‘traitors’ and ‘heretics’ but they themselves were a traitor to their very nature, a reluctant warrior that carried the crown of war.

They were tired, they were injured, they were losing. It was just a simple fact really, they were going to lose. Narinder blocked a strike just to get cut by the other, his ichor wetting the holy stone. He slashed in return, for it to not bother their sibling. It was like a dance between a blooming rose and a butterfly; so futile, so meaningless, so chaotic and so, so beautiful.

In the end he fell to his knees, and as he watched their sibling sob as they reddied their claws to make their brother meet their end. He could only chuckle. It was not painful, not really. Their sibling’s claws tore his eyes, all two perfect orderly slashes that cut through his eyes meant to gut their brother. He didn’t know how he ran that fast, or how he got up from the ground with his slashed legs. But he did know what he saw in his brother's eyes as he saw him taking the hit for him. Anger and much anguish.

Opposed to their sibling's cut, Narinder’s cuts were haphazard. Many smaller ones riddled their now perished sibling’s body. He kept on cutting it, cursing it as he continued his onslaught.

For eternity it felt like it continued, slash after slash but eventually he returned to him, Like he always would. Cradling his body to their own, his cold fur soothing the pain as he truly laughed for the first time in a long time at the irony of the God of Death healing him. Taking him away further from his own domain as he whispered ‘'I am here little leaf’' soft lips found their way to his forehead as he continued ‘'I am with you’'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/112140313

Firstly, you can tag me as you wish, you do not have to worry about it. Secondly AMAZING, SIMPLY AMAZING. I love the contrast between them both with their horns and their eyyyyyes, its so cuuuute.

And yeah, this is about how it would have gone honestly. Seeing the crown up close is an experience and a half.

Another sketch for @t-inbound!! (Sorry for sudden tagging)

I was thinking about Lamb from my AU (I finally decided that yeeeah) and Lambert from "Two becomes Five" sitting in the middle of nowhere and talking about their worlds and many other stuff

«Is this...?»

«Yes, little one. It's the Red Crown. Not the one your Lord wears now. This one belongs to me and Narinder from my world.»

Alright firstly, I am sorry for the delay. Honestly I would blame the exams and yeah they were mostly the reason as to why I haven't been uploading but also I had some things to do on a personal level. After a visit to a psychologist and a quick visit to relatives I am now a little more free to write again.

Secondly, this chapter was a bloody rollercoaster to write. A lot of gooooood ol Angst happens in this one and guess what? No comfort. Yep, only hurt. Comfort shall take place laaaaater.  

Anyhow I hope you all enjoy this roller coaster of a chapter as much as I had enjoyed woodworking today. (might post pics of that later)

Mhm angst, yummy

Another doodle of my Lamb

She remembers all of them. Every night she hears their screams, feel their pain.

She remembers red. The whole town was smeared with red blood.