#the Answer I Got Is More Detailed Than I Could Ever Hope #good Writing

A few reference sketches I've done for a potential cotl AU. We will see if anything comes of it, but these will probably change drastically if I continue to draw them. Still, it's neat and I put more work into it than I probably should have.

Shout out to this post for being labeled as mature? Why you may ask? No idea. Maybe Tumblr just doesn't like him.

I did it again, but the cat this time! For whatever reason, Narinder is always harder for me to draw. I suppose I'll just chalk it up to him being a bastard.

Artists are: @stychu-stych , @theshepherdshound , @bamsara , @aveloka-draws and @ane-doodles .

I can still see everything from you and have your profile pic unblurred, but had to go into settings and turn off the option to blur "mature" content.

anyways uh yeah imma see what i can do about the mature thing but like, yknow

A quick question for the group, how old do you believe this man is? Trick question, not even he remembers. An odd thing to be sure, considering his mental faculties remain entirely intact. We could speculate on the rumors surrounding this man, such as his odd familiarity with ancient constructs, or the strange tools he is rumored to employ, but we shall instead focus on what we do know.

His name is Hephaestus. No surname given. He is intelligent, and he is dangerous. Already dozens of our number are dead by his hand. Engage with caution, and do not allow him to retaliate.

-Transcript of a briefing given in an abandoned Onyx Dragon headquarters, found alongside a sketch of the subject. The building was burned and this is part of what little could be recovered.

Well, you know what I think!? No??? Me neither.

Tired creature.

A group of hooded figures watch from high in the trees as a lone lamb picks flowers from the forest floor below.

"Something's off..." An opossum shifts in his perch on a branch. "The crown, where is it?"

The badger on the branch next to him flashes a manic smile from underneath his black hood. "That's the thing! They lost it! They're vulnerable. Grendal, you and me, we can be the ones to finally kill them."

Grendal fidgets nervously with the pick he grips in his hands. "The way I've heard it, they've fought gods Flitch. You think we can take that?"

The badger next to him scoffs, rolling his eyes at a cowardly opossum. "Please. All the power they've ever had, it all came from their fake god. Can a fake god stand up to the might of the bishops?"

Grendal shrinks down into his arms, "Well... no...".

"Exactly. And guess what, they don't even have their fake god's power anymore!" Flitch grabs his compatriot by the wrists, and shakes them, as though he could wring the cowardice out. "They've lost the crown. They're nothing now. Just a little lamb, waiting for slaughter."

"Right," Grendal gives the signal to the others waiting in the tree tops "just a lamb"

Half a dozen warriors drop to the ground below, armed to the teeth with picks, knives and magic of the old faith. The lamb is outmatched and outnumbered, all on their lonesome carrying nothing more than a basket of flowers, and a bag slung over their shoulder.

They hardly seem surprised by their sudden appearance. Stopping in their path, they simply stand there; hands folded in front of them, quiet and relaxed, waiting patiently.

"Just a lamb. Just another sacrifice."

---

Grendal gapes in horror at the carnage around him. Corpses cut to pieces and burned bodies surround The Lamb, blood dripping down the steel of their blade as they stare at him expectantly.

It had all happened so fast; the violence, the killing. He believed himself to be an expert, but how many times has The Lamb danced this dance? Dozens, hundreds of times? How foolish was he to think he could fight that?

Shakey hands raise his pick at the lamb. They don't react. They don't need to. What threat could one fool pose to such an efficient killer?

There is a long, agonizing moment where neither of them move, each staring at the other, waiting for their next move. Eventually, The Lamb begins to step toward the terrified heretic.

Grendal drops his blade, falling prostrate before his target. "Please, spare me! I was wrong! I shouldn't have come after you!"

He hears the sound of hooves on dirt as they approach him, and flinches as they kick his weapon away. "Please..." he sobs "I'm sorry."

Gently, a bundle of flowers and two rolls of bandages are placed before him. "Your friend, the badger, he still breathes." They motion to a body leaning against a tree at the far end of the clearing. "Clean and apply pressure to the wound. Grind the flowers into a paste and lather it on the cut when the bleeding slows. It will stave off infection and help with clotting."

They rise from where they crouched before their assailant. "Work quick, and you should be able to save him."

"...why?" Grendal cautiously brings his eyes to meet The Lamb's. "Why not just kill us?"

Their mouth turns down, and eyes droop to the forest floor. "Because I never wanted to in the first place."

combined the wip cus i haven't worked on this thing yet hcgvj

If Marshal Hamal carries a six shooter, does that make it the Colt Of The Lamb?

It sure does.

I need to find a way to work this pun into the fic lol

I did it again, but the cat this time! For whatever reason, Narinder is always harder for me to draw. I suppose I'll just chalk it up to him being a bastard.

Artists are: @stychu-stych , @theshepherdshound , @bamsara , @aveloka-draws and @ane-doodles .