Red And An Owl,

Baaa?

Baaa

The closest I have come to tearing up was in Valiant Hearts: The great war honestly. I swear the ending just broke my heart.

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

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

Trully, most highest honour one can receive.

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

Just some sketches I have been working on, I do not like how some of em turned out but really, it had been a long time since I had done any really drawing so I say it is fine... Ish.

Anyhow I was thinking of chess when I was making these and yes Narinder is the King while Lamb is the pawn. I thought it was fitting with how Narinder means "king of man" and how pawns are always underestimated until they reach the end of their journey.

I would call but I do not know the number to call this feline by, if the creator of the comic would be so kind to provide me with it I shall be more than willing to call it and share its loneliness

Never forget Kobeni Car, you shall be missed sweet prince but never forgotten

I will never forget Kobeni losing a popularity poll to her own car

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. 

(:

I love how puffy both their Tails are, absolutely positively without a doubt fluffy

Arttrade for @poppy-purpura