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The Lamb remembers hating shearing their wool in their youth. Their mother had to chase them down to cut off the heavy wool that dragged and slowed their small body down. She would often scold them, reminding them they needed to be able to run fast if the followers of the Bishops found them.
Lamb argued that sheep used to be able to grow out their wools’ in the old days, how she had told them stories how shearing rituals were held in tribes and villages would get together to shear and make clothes out of the fresh wool.
Their mother sighed and told him those were stories of the far distinct past and not to live based off of what were now fairytales. The Lamb remembers how after that their mother began shearing them more frequently until they were too used to their wool being short to even complain about it being so.
After the lamb's mother died they sheared themself for the first time. They couldn't even bring themself to cry since they knew they were bound to lose her, that they were lucky to have had her in their life for so long in the first place.
They moved on and followed what remained of their group of sheep further into the forest, trying to flee as far away as possible from the Bishops' lands.
Then they were found. The whole group of sheep were either slaughtered on the spot or taken as prisoners to be sacrificed later.
The Lamb sat chained in a cage, waiting for their turn and they watched their friends and family be slaughter by the cultist. Their wool grew long and matted, stained with grim and blood, and for the first time in their life they longed for their mother to cut it. The tear stained wool surrounding their face only grew thicker until it blocked their vision of their follow prisoners.
When they were finally dragged out of their cage they had no clue that they were the last one left. They were too warm and blinded.
All they could think of was how heavy their wool was and how hungry and thirsty the were.
They were dragged through twisted halls of the temples of the four Bishops. Finally they stood up and were pushed in some direction, when they didn’t start walking they shoved almost hard enough to fall. So the lamb walked until they were grabbed by another larger hand and stopped, it pushed them down into a kneel. Then a powerful voice rang out.
“Before us stand the last of its kind. All the others we have hunted down and put to the blade.”
The godly voice grated on their sensitive ears, but they couldn't fully grasp quite what the god said. 'The last of its kind'? That can't be true. They can't be the last one, they couldn't be the only one remaining. What about the liberator?
“With this final sacrifice, the prophecy will be impossible to fulfill.”
No. No, they were supposed to be saved. A great sheep, one stronger, faster, smarter, more powerful than the rest would save the sheep and free the one who waits. They were supposed to be saved. Where was the liberator?
“The heretic who lies bound below will be condemned to eternal captivity.”
They wanted their mother.
Their father who died before they could open their eyes.
Their siblings, despite their older brothers hating them and their sister always having been distant, they wanted to see them again.
They wanted to go home
“And the Old Faith shall be preserved.”
As the axe was swung down on their neck they could only think one thing; 'I don't want to die!'
Then it all turns blindingly white.
They were still bound in chains, and couldn't truly see much other than the blinding light, they knew they were no longer in the presence of the bishops.
Then a voice, deep and chilling, the way a soon to be dead man's voice was.
“Come closer. Fear not,” the speaker paused in waiting for them.
The lamb inched forward toward whoever was speaking to them, and looked vaguely up.
Then the voice continued, ”for though you are dead, I still have need of you.“
”Those foolish Bishops thought they could keep you from me in death. But instead sent you straight to me.“
”I will give you life again, but at a price!“
the lamb agreed without hesitation to his request, barely even hearing it.
They were the liberator, they needed to avenge their people, their friends, their family, theirself.
When they were sent back to the living world they immediately exterminated all the heretics who aided in their execution. A far better god had given them a chance, and this god would not sacrifice them like the bishop had.
Their previously bleached white wool now stained again with blood dragged them down as they made their bloody escape. They took their sword and messily cut off their wool as best they could, cutting themself some in the process.
It hurt, they bled, but it healed quickly.
They hated that pain.
They felt lighter, but they hurt inside.
They still feel the searing pain of their neck being cut.
They could feel the blood leaving their head, the last breaths leaving their mouth, and the terrifying notion that they weren't dead quite yet.
Then they were back.
They were back and their wool was messily cut and torn off.
They looked horrible, they felt horrible.
The lamb never wanted to let their wool grow out again.
They met Ratau, they listened to what he had to say, they followed his guidance and instruction, they welcomed a fellow doomed into his new cult.
They brought more and more people into their cult, accepting young, old, sick ,healthy, all were welcome into the cult grounds.
They watched the cult grow and bloom into something magnificent.
They crusaded endlessly, constantly stained in blood, but not much got on them thanks to their fleece, and what did was easy to wash out of what little wool they had.
They stayed distinct from their followers, never truly feeling connected to them.
The lamb nursed them when they were sick, raised their young, and watched them grow old and die. Watched them love and mourn, listen to their praise and heresy. They missed some of the first ones, but lost attachment to the later ones.
They missed their family, they missed being able to truly understand someone, being able to love someone without fearing they would slip through their fingers.
The closest they had to this was their god, their savior, their muse.
The one who waits stood tall, endlessly towering over them.
They loved their god, they knew that he would never leave them, he could never die, and as long as he was chained he could never disappear. He often watched them through the crown, it gave the lamb a faint buzz of another consciousness through their connection with the crown.
Whenever they felt especially lonely they would purposely slip up during a crusade just in hopes their god would bless them with a few words of acknowledgement, perhaps giving them time to speak themself.
But those times were rare. The one who waits was not a patient person; and he’d been waiting for a millennium. The Lamb though always accepted even the smallest of things from him, even the cold chill and ache of waking up after death.
Despite this they worked hard, they kept the cult up and running and they never went too long without crusading, wanting to give their lord his freedom. They wanted liberation.
It took decades, even with their constant work, they were never fast or strong enough in the moment that mattered. They were still a weak little lamb, bleating for its mother.
In the end they did it. Killing Leshy, Heket, Kallamar, and Shamure; the Bishops of the old faith were no more. THe chains on the one who waits prison ready to break without the other gods to hold them taut.
There were more than enough followers in the cult grounds and the Lamb was more than ready to free their god.
They are ready to meet him again, to free him.
"Vessel, I relinquish you from your service to the Red Crown. Return it to me, and embrace the end that awaits. With this last sacrifice of my most devoted Follower, I will be freed.”
“Finally... I will be FREE!”
“Approach, vessel, and lay your life down at my feet."
What.
What does he mean? This was not how this was supposed to go. They were going to free him, and they were going to continue to serve him.
And he wants them to give up his life for him?
He may be their savior, their god, but they are not his sacrificial lamb.
They took the crown off their head and stared at the item in their hands. This was the second gift their god had given them, and this gift had given them the power to defeat the Bishop who had killed them.
The idea of letting go of this power, this freedom, this life... They couldn't. The lamb would not let their life go again
"So you have betrayed me, Lamb. You have shunned my gospel, and claimed yourself a false idol.”
“The crown is mine by divine right! You think to stand in the very face of death?"
The Lamb fought the twin cats that had always stood guard next to their master, but they were ultimately no match for the Lamb that was wielding their master's crown. As the two cats were struck down by the lambs blade, the sheep felt little sympathy for them; they had their time with the god and now it was over.
After slaying Aym, they could tell that the waiting god had long lost his patience with this. The angered god of death broke his chains and struck out towards the small lamb.
The lamb knew, if they failed to defeat their lord they would never know peace again, they know they will never get to see their family again whether they live or die here.
The battle with the god of death, the one who waits, the one they had spent decades working diligently for, was the hardest of their life but in the end they won.
"You have supplanted me. A vessel no more, instead a crown bearing deity. Damned Lamb!”
“I am at your mercy, are you to be a vengeful false idol, or a merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me."
They looked down at the weakened defeated god, now in a state that is little better than a mortals, and while their heart was full of hate and anger, they could not hate this god.
"I learned your name from your sibling Shamura. You are Narinder, once the one who waits, the god of death, but now you are just at my mercy." The Lamb stared down at the three-eyed cat that stared back with hatred.
"I will give you a chance to have the freedom you have yearned for for so long, but first you will come with me until I can decide upon repayment for your betrayal."
The cat's eyes narrowed as his face shifted to bare his teeth and his. "My betrayal? You were the vessel that refused to give back what was never yours. You disgusting traitor, I should have never waited for you, I should've taken one of your past brethren and insured you were never bred for."
The lamb looked down at the cat apathetically and raised their hand to channel the power of the crown that now rested solely upon their head. The defeated god screamed as he was sent to the cult grounds originally made for him, now his prison.