I Find It Very Interesting How In Cult Of The Lamb, Even Though You May Begin The Game As An Innocent

Wanna draw lamb and/or Narinder fighting a boss?

i sketched many things, liked none of them, so instead it's the moment where the lamb tried to figure out how to kill leshy and asks narinder for help and i dunno weird colours

tyty for help me idea draw a thing

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."

Call me a contestant on Hell's Kitchen that is being yelled at by Gordon Ramsay because I'm cooking up some Shit.

Making a fic about this, but to get to the existential horror we are going to have to go through some regular horror first.

Lots of people depict ascension to godhood in cult of the lamb as a horrifyingly dehumanizing thing. There are some cases where the lamb completely loses themselves or even becomes something more akin to a force of nature rather than a person. This is often foiled very well with Narinder learning how to be a person and enjoy the world around him. It results in the potential for a very interesting plot where the lamb is doomed by the narrative while Narinder can be saved by it. It does beg the question however:

What if they say no? What if they decide the story doesn't get to end that way? What if they break divinity over their knee and pull their still-beating happy ending from the open chest of the narrative? What if they never stop fighting for that life they never got to have, even if it is against the very thing that saved and enabled it? A narrative that seeks to doom them against a lamb too willful and stubborn to let that happen.

A Cowpoke's Sweetheart | Chapter 15 | Cult of the Lamb

So far, they’ve made pretty good time. Hamal realizes with a start that they’re only a day or so out from Meadow Rock. It’s less of a town than Independence and more of a…village. As far as they can remember, there’s a shop that calls itself a general store but mostly sells fish bait and trail rations, an old lady with no teeth who sells moonshine, a courier who could be paid to run letters to the proper postmen in Independence, and a handful of drunken hunters.  Not exactly a bustling metropolis, but it’s also the last speck of civilization they’ll see for some time.  Shortly after that realization, they notice clouds building on the horizon, as though nature itself had come to the same conclusion and decided it couldn’t let them off quite so easily. All day they watch the clouds grow taller and darker, like titans formed of turbulent shadow.  When the wind picks up, Hamal calls it and stops the wagon. Narinder looks up from his book — a well worn copy of Frankenstein, this time — and asks, “Why are we stopping?” Hamal gestures to the looming clouds as they climb down from the wagon. As their boots hit the dirt, they hear him simply say, “Ah.”

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons - Fandom, Fantasy - Fandom Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Summary:

Travelers may often find themselves in strange places, and places may often find themselves with strange travelers. This story is the latter.

This is Pyre. They not so subtly take their design from Supergiant's video game Pyre. Don't laugh, I'm bad at naming things.

(Edited my original post removing the story from it. I've posted a link to it on AO3 instead.)

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My Warrior of Light in his ARR summoner fit. We love Brayflox Longstop for that fancy early game gear

I had always thought "The Rehabilitation of Death" referred to Narinder, but I'm realizing it very much applies to Lambert as well. Both those fuckers need so much help.

Lambert has near perfected the art of facade. That sheep is fucked up

Thinking about lambs, whose culture was joyous and loud and vibrant. Lambs who had a dance for everything and a song to match. Lambs whose caravans could be heard marching melodies across the planes. Lambs for who even a combat was done in step to a waltz.

Thinking about The Lamb, who only knows the mourning songs. The Lamb, who only remembers the dances that require a blade in their hands. The Lamb who whispers sad melodies as they walk hostile lands. The Lamb whose only connection to their lost people is in the way they would spill blood.

The Lamb who sings and dances anyway, because while everything else may be gone, they still have this.

Pro tip! Instead of doom scrolling for 8 hours at work, doodle your favorite lambs! Then hide them from your coworkers so they still think you're normal!

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