I LIIIIIIIIIVE! Okay, yeah, that joke got tiring after the second time. So yeah, sorry about the delay everyone. I haven't posted ANYTHING in monthes and I actually have a decent reason this time; I am currently studying aboard in Sweden now. Yeah, big change alright. It was a looooong process to get me applied and ready to come over, so I didn't have a lot of time for writing. But I'm here now. I will see if I can set into some kind of upload schedule over here. Regardless, I felt so bad that I uploaded for this story and one other tonight, so yay! Hope you enjoy both of them! Have a nice night everybody and it is GREAT to be back!
Boiled Lamb
~|o|~
"-the ritual components are as follows: 2 ounces of fish blood, 3 dozen black camellia blooms and an amount of flesh(collected within 3 nights time for freshness) in approximately equal weight as the target entity.
Once all of the components are collected, you may begin with the summoning ritual as followed on the next page. Read through and understand every step before attempting in order to properly bind your skeleton thrall-"
The thick, demonskin bound tome was promptly slammed shut with a thud and tossed over the lamb's shoulder, where it landed in a large pile of equally forbidden and now abandoned books and scrolls.
He groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the migraine coiling about in his skull.
It had been little more than a week since Thousand's Day. Come morning he immediately set to work on reviving his kin. Immediately, he had thrown out his typical resurrection ritual, as he had learned a long time ago that it was limited to beings bonded to the red crown, as in his followers. Considering all the members of his race had been slain for years now, that meant he had to find an alternative.
Therefore, he ordered every haunted book, cursed scroll or even slightly esoteric notes to be gathered and brought to him from the cult's archives.
Well, as soon as enough of his followers had shaken off their terrible hangovers from the prior night's festivities.
Since then he had spent every hour pouring over the texts by candlelight, only taking small breaks when one of his followers brought him food and water. This pattern had continued for days and nights only to be met with disappointment.
According to all of his texts, creating and controlling the reanimated was doable, easy even for someone of his eldritch power. But that wasn't true life. He wanted to bring back his kin as they were. Living, breathing, aging creatures with their souls intact. To subject them to a mere shadow of life as an unthinking walking corpse was unacceptable.
They deserved better than that.
Thus was his conundrum. All of his ancient manuals only spoke of binding their spirits to less than adequate forms. Skeletons bereft of flesh, rotting zombies or incorporeal specters were the only options offered to him. Nothing of true resurrection.
'Not that I expected this to be easy.' He thought, arching his back and listening to the pops and snaps it made.
But he wasn't going to give in. He would not rest until his family was restored and he could hear his name upon their lips.
Lambert. He rolled that word around in his head again and again. He hadn't known how much of a relief it was to have something until he learned it had been gone.
Despite everything, he was still himself.
The door clicked and he turned his head. In stepped a middle aged elk, one of his priests. A weary, yet kind disciple who always made sure to clean the chapel after every sermon.
"Ah, Breno. Just in time. I just finished this pile of tomes, needed the next one." He gestured to the shamble of parchment and leather. "What's the title on top?"
Breno halted, biting his lip. "Apologies, my lord… but that was the last one. We've searched the archives but we have no other relevant texts."
Lambert's face fell. "Oh. Are you sure?" He asked, getting a stiff nod.
"Feki looked through it all four times. She wouldn't miss one if it was there."
Lambert's fist fell on the desk with a bang, sending his inkwell, quill and Breno jumping. Frustration simmered under his skin, while the red crown hummed.
A whole week wasted on a dead end. He almost couldn't believe that not one of the hundreds of texts that he had bought, found, stolen or been gifted could offer a solution. But Breno was right, Feki was meticulous to a fault. If she said there weren't any more books on necromancy in the cult's possession, then it was true.
He clenched his fist and took a deep breath. He couldn't lose his composure like this, especially not in front of one of his followers. He was their example to follow and if he showed weakness, it will lead to doubts, which leads to dissent.
Most importantly he needed to focus and find another direction.
Lambert pushed the chair back and got to his hooves. "Apologies, my child…" He sighed as he schooled his emotions and consciously silenced the droning coming from his crown. "I've been studying for days without rest, I'm afraid my nerves are a bit frayed."
"Of course my Lord, I understand." Breno bowed his head before eyeing him curiously. "Though… if I may be so bold, what exactly have you been working on? The commune hasn't seen horn or tail of you in days and are starting to… question." He swallowed.
Lambert silently cursed. Looks like he got a little too carried away. "Your boldness is forgiven my friend. It is natural for you all to worry when I take a long absence.
As for what I have been doing, I'm afraid I cannot reveal that yet. I plan on making an announcement to the flock, in due time."
Breno's shoulder's sagged and his brow softened. "I see. What shall I tell them then?"
Lambert gave him his usual placating smile and padded over, gently patting his shoulder. "Tell them to have no fear. That their leader is merely working on his greatest miracle yet. That will give them something to look forward to."
The moment he passed his priest his smile shrank. If he had exhausted the cult's library, he had only one other source he could try to find what he needed.
It was an avenue that he had been dreading. It likely wouldn't work either, but he had to try.
"Actually, I think I'll hold an evening sermon tonight. Keep everyone's spirits up for a while, I might have to run some errands on the outside. Gather everyone in the chapel before dinner. I need to take care of something first."
"Where are you going now my Lord?"
He sighed.
"To consult with an expert."
~|o|~
The spade stabbed effortlessly into the soft dirt. The tool's wielder gripped the wooden shaft with his gray, feline paws and grunted, levering the soil and revealing his prize; a fresh beet. It had a wide and near perfect curvature, its skin a dark purple.
The farmer reached down, grabbing it by the base of its lush stem. A yank proceeded a ripping sound as the roots were severed and held out his prize. Giving it a couple seconds to look it over, the farmer turned and set it on a wooden crate already bursting with similarly well cultivated beets.
He nodded in satisfaction, though he didn't let it show on his face. Planting his spade to the side, he leaned down and hefted the heavy container.
Taking care not to spill any of the root vegetables lest they got bruised, he slowly carried his bounty between the rows of other produce. He passed more lines of beets, then bulbous white heads of cauliflower, pruned bushes laden with red berries and plots of pumpkins that almost rivaled him in size.
His paws touched grass and he made his way to the depot, already filled with organized stacks of the harvest. He reached the stack of beets and breathed a sigh of relief as he set his cargo in place.
Sweat beading on his brow, the cat removed his straw hat to wipe at his matted fur with the back of his arm. He scratched at his pointed ears, the appendages flicking from his ministrations. He rubbed the closed eye on his forehead.
He replaced his hat and stretched his back, feeling the dull ache that accompanied a hard day's work. Something he had grown accustomed to in the last few years.
"Well slather me in gravy and call me ah steak, that's some fine work today Honeybunch!" He immediately scowled, the chief farmer lauding him as she passed by. She kept a hand braced protectively against her swollen belly, the other carrying a watering can. The matronly cow was too far along in her second trimester to do any heavy lifting, meaning he had to pick up the slack.
He didn't respond aside from grinding his fangs behind his lips. He didn't appreciate the heifer's praise before and he doesn't now. If it was up to him he would be sitting off by his lonesome in a far corner of the commune where no one would bother him.
But no, their leader made it a point to keep him busy. Given the choice between tasks such as working in the lumberyard, stone mill or worse, janitor duty, he had opted for farming. At least here he only had to suffer an aching back and Artha's merry company. She was the only one of the farm workers who wasn't intimidated by his surly demeanor.
Didn't make it any less aggravating.
'I'm of so many eons that your great forebear's forebears were but a twinkle of the eye. To be treated as a child by someone millenia my junior is just humiliating.' He fumed, wanting nothing more than to put the mother in her place with a display of his wrath, to frighten her so terribly that her third calf would feel it.
But he knew better than to make a fuss and cause issues, he had learned that the hard way.
He settled on giving Artha his usual stoney glare, to which she merely tittered and pinched his cheek. He swatted at her hand but she just gave him her usual motherly smile.
"Take a break Honey, you've earned it." She said and relinquished the hold she had on his face, then returned her attention to watering the nearby berry bushes.
Rubbing his cheek, he scoffed and turned away. Padding over to the nearby basin, he knelt. His reflection stared back up. He studied the cat before him, taking in the dirt staining his tunic. The tattered hat that sat upon his head instead of a crown. He sneered at himself.
'How far have I fallen, that now only the dirt and the worms have become my only domain?'
Rather than stare at himself any longer, he plunged his paws into the basin to shatter the illusion. Cupping them, he brought the water to his mouth and lapped with his rough tongue. He relished the cold, clean water passing his parched lips and coursing down his throat. He let out a soft murmur at the sensation and bent down for another sip.
His ear twitched. Footsteps behind him, approaching at a cautious pace.
He didn't even need to look to know who it was. He could feel their presence as soon as he was close enough, their bond feeling like a dull hum inside his body.
He halted in his efforts and sat still, hoping that they would pass him by. No such luck as they came to a stop a few feet away.
"Narinder."
A low growl came from his throat.
Curse that name. Curse his siblings who remembered it. Curse Shamura who gave it to him.
But most of all, a thousand more curses on his usurper. His chosen vessel whose brow his crown now sat. He who freed, then enslaved the One Who Waits Below.
"Damned Lamb. What new torment have you conjured for me this time?" Narinder muttered, thrusting his paws back into the water and bringing them to his lips.
"Do you need to be so dramatic? I'd hardly call farming torment. You make it sound like I threw you back in the pillory." The lamb chuckled awkwardly.
"At least then it would be a more true symbol of what I am, a prisoner in service to you. Instead of pretending otherwise while I toil in your fields, patronized by the fools you call family."
"A family that I have noticed appreciating your efforts and even your presence. It's been months since your last outburst. I see keeping you productive is doing you a world of good."
Pushing himself up, Narinder glared at the lamb. "Is there anything you actually require 'glorious leader', or did you just come to observe my 'rehabilitation'?" He spat.
The uneasy smile on his former servant dropped. "As perceptive as ever. I… I come to you with a request, Narinder."
He paused and blinked. "Hm? And what possible boon can I provide you in this state?"
"I require ancient knowledge. Specifically any spells or rituals you know that can revive the dead."
Narinder raised a brow. "What use do you have for that? MY crown already gives you power over death. You can already resurrect your mewling peons whenever it suits you."
Then he paused, taking note of the anxiety in his former servant's form. His slightly slumped shoulders when normally he'd be parading about head held high. The restlessness in his fingers, twitching every so often. And his eyes, heavy with worry.
It hit Narinder all at once. His three eyes widened.
"Ahhh… I see…" He nodded, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "This is different. You seek to retrieve souls beyond the reach of the crown, outside of your bond. How fascinating."
The lamb grimaced. "Not much gets past you I see. Does this mean you know how to?"
Narinder got to his feet and pulled his hat back on. "I'm afraid I do not know what you are speaking of. I fear that my memory may be failing me, perhaps from one of the wounds you inflicted upon me in our battle." Narinder hummed, taking pleasure in how he could hear the lamb grinding his teeth behind him.
"Don't give me that. You must know something! If you were able to save me when my head was lopped off my shoulders, surely there is a way to do the same to others outside of the congregation!"
Narinder only simpered, making a show of looking bored as he picked dirt from his claws.
The lamb took a second to breath and composed himself, his anger melting back to a stoic mask.
"Look, I know that you still hate me for everything that happened."
Narinder snorted. Understatement of the millennium.
"And yes, I am clearly desperate if I'm coming to you for help." He suddenly glared, his sideways pupils glinting. " But you also know how stubborn I am. It is only out of my own commandments of compassion that I am being so amicable here. So please, for both our sakes, there must be something you would want in exchange for what information you have."
Narinder's amusement immediately dried up. There his usurper went on again, spouting his ridiculous platitudes, that the world could exist peacefully. That every mammal or what have you could just live in love, understanding...
Forgiveness.
To think that was what the lamb claimed was the only reason he hadn't been slain for good on that day in the realm between realms…
It made his blood boil.
"You wish to bargain with me?" Narinder growled, turning slowly and wishing more than ever that he could cast fire from his eyes again. "If you are truly as desperate as you say you are, you will already know my one desire."
The lamb's frown deepened and the red crown glanced down at its bearer. He could see the worry in its eye.
"You know I can't do that." The lamb answered softly.
Narinder smirked. "My, how admirably callous of you, pathetic lamb. That you wouldn't give up your power just to save your pathetic little herd of slain kin. That you would act as I, coveting your crown over all others. Dare I say that there is hope for you yet!" He praised, his words dripping with sadistic joy at finally finding a way under his former protege's fur. He knew that the chances of him reclaiming his crown was all but zero, but it filled him with no small amount of delight at seeing the lamb's expression darkened, regardless of what it meant for him down the line.
"I see. I was hoping to avoid this, but I have no other choice." The small god muttered. Their eyes flashed red and the crown began to hum ominously.
Narinder knew what was coming, but he hardly cared. It was so much more valuable to him to draw out his usurper's suffering as much as possible, to push him to break his so-called morals out of spite if nothing else.
"Keep telling yourself that excuse fool, you know deep within that you are just as much of a self serving, unfeeling, manipulative creature as m-guh!" His tirade was cut short as he felt the lamb power slam through the barriers in his mind, bringing him to the ground. He gasped and sweated as he felt him searching his memories, the sensation comparable to his brain getting squeezed in a flaming hot vice grip.
He was aware of how much more gentle the lamb typically was when reading minds, to the point that their follower's wouldn't even know that he was seeing their thoughts like it was written on the back of their head.
It looked like he wasn't in the mood for delicacy today.
Every surge of power sent a tremor through his body, the lamb's consciousness seeping through the folds of his brain. Searching, searching…
But finding nothing.
The lamb frowned and Narinder felt him withdraw as the liquid fire left his head, leaving him panting and shaking on the ground.
Despite that, Narinder was grinning ear to ear and he looked up from the ground and chuckled.
"For once, I am jubilant of my own limitations, if it means denying you of your prize. What do you have to say to that?!"
He eagerly awaited his captor's furious rebuke, just for the lamb to pivot on the spot and stomp away.
Narinder's smile eventually dropped as he continued to catch his breath. Picking up his straw hat and getting to his feet, he watched him leave. As much as he loved seeing his pain, a small, infinitesimally puny part of him felt the briefest moment of empathy.
Disgust immediately squashed it down and he spoke softly.
"May you know my torment, odious Lamb. To be left adrift, utterly alone until the death of time. The curse of godhood, forevermore."
~|o|~
Despite his announcement and much to the confusion of his flock, the Lamb would not attend the sermon that day.