#kudaai

[uas-art]

Kudaai doesn't cry often, but he did when The Lamb left the first time.

[crownsandbishops]

What did Rami get up to when they left home?

( Today marks my 1000th daily comic so I made it an extra fun one with part of Rami’s backstory!! They’re easily my favourite new character from the DLC and I’m genuinely obsessed with the implications of the lore around them so more coming soon!!)

[wrathofconpics]

Magfest 2024 | Kudaai & Clauneck

Cosplayers: trashwitchcosplay (Clauneck)

[pencakesstuff]

who are these berds

[uas-fics]

Title: The Blacksmith's Unexpected Visitor

Summary: The Shepherd brings Rami's master by for an impromptu visit.

Rating: Gen

Ships: N/A

Content Warnings: Spoilers for Woolhaven

Other: the AMA confirming Rami made the gauntlets while they were a ghost really smoothed out the timeline, didn't it?

Read on AO3

---

Rami raked the coals of their forge. The mountain air was heavy with wet fog, leaving the outside dreary and cold.

Not that Rami felt much cold anymore. The smith stooped down to adjust the bellows when they noticed a hole burnt into the folded leather side. While Rami might be invulnerable to flames, their equipment was not.

As Rami took the bellows to their work bench, the door to their forge burst open, sending a wet gust of air in that caused the embers to sizzle and dim.

"Heya, Rami!" The Shepherd greeted, waving a little too excitedly.

Ever since Rami and the other disciples failed to spread The Rot, The Shepard's attitude towards them would shift dramatically from visit to visit. Sometimes they were cheerful, as if the disciples' attempt to force The Shepard to die and join them hadn't happened at all. Sometimes they would avoid talking to anyone other than a required curt reply. Sometimes they would come to Woolhaven just to brag about how well Yngya was doing in The Shepherd's cult without any ghosts of Her forgotten past to bother Her.

While Rami would readily admit they deserve punishment for their actions against The Cold Mother, sometimes The Shepherd seemed a little too eager to rub salt in the wound.

"Good day, Shepherd." Rami took up their hammer to remove the tacks holding the leather in place, wondering which attitude The Shepherd visited with today.

"I brought a friend with me." The Shepherd put their hands on their hips and beamed at Rami.

Rami dropped the hammer against the wooden handles. If they had a heart still, it would be racing. What friend could the Shepherd bring? Could it be Lady Yngya? Had Her memories returned? Would Rami be able to even face Her if it was?

Or had the Shepherd brought back that horrid murderer who intruded on Woolhaven before? The Shepherd was a particularly strange sheep, so it would not surprise Rami if they, for some reason, considered her a friend now.

At Rami's concerned expression, The Shepherd quickly added, "Don't you worry, the guy I brought would be one-hundred percent Yngya approved. I can guarantee that!"

Rami forced a smile. So not Yngya and not that hyena. Who else could it be?

The Shepherd waved for someone behind them to enter. "I also guarantee he is excited to see you, Rami."

Rami pointed to themself, confused. Who in the world would be excited to see them—

"Speak not words I did not say, Beast."

Rami's ghostly body stiffened at the familiar voice, ancient and deep as the mountains themselves.

The Shepherd skipped aside as a tall, broad figured person crouched in the doorway. With a grunt, he carefully made his way through the door. The wood frame groaned as he slipped in, but the strong ewebark wood held.

"You said you wanted to see them!" The Shepherd replied as Master Kudaai settled with his knees tucked under him as he was much to big to stand up properly.

Master Kudaai scoffed. "You threatened to avoid using my weapons on your crusades until I came here with you. I said between the awkward reunion with my apprentice and my blades being left to gather dust, I would prefer the former."

The Shepherd waved their hand at him. "Same thing." To Rami, they said, "Either way, he's here! I bet you two have plenty to catch up on." The Shepherd smiled at Rami, but the dread in Rami's chest forced their attention to the floor.

How could this be happening? Besides Lady Yngya, Master Kudaai was the last person Rami wanted to see.

No, with Lady Yngya, at least, they knew She had such a vast well of kindness in Her heart to forgive them, even if they didn't deserve it. Master Kudaai on the other hoof…

None of the three spoke for several long, heavy moments. The Shepherd looked expectantly between the blacksmiths. Finally, they took a breath and started to speak when Master Kudaai cut them off.

"If no one will do what needs to be done, then I will." With that, he put one of his massive hands on either side of The Shepherd's forearms and lifted them up as if they weight no more than a single bronze pin. He set them outside the forge and shut the door.

"Crown Bearers," he muttered. "They believe they need to have their nose in everything."

Master Kudaai adjusted his cowl hood, the yellow, overlapping feathers shuffling together. He scooted closer until the low embers in the forge glowed against his front. Rami pulled their face mask down to hide their expression, thankful for the work bench between the two of them.

"Tis a fine forge you have here," Master Kudaai commented. "Your fire is low, though."

He reached into his cloak and took out a small piece of coal. Cupping the coal in his palms, he blew into his hands. A warm glow emanated from the gaps between his fingers. A moment later he tossed the glowing coal into the forge. The fire spread from Master Kudaai's coal the Rami's embers blazed.

Rami had begged Master Kudaai to teach them how to do that trick the first time they witnessed it. Master Kudaai indulged them, showing them how to control their breath and imbue the coal with magic, though Rami had never been able to accomplish more than a slight warming of the coal. They were a simple mortal, not an divine being like their master.

The smiths watched the fire before Master Kudaai said, "Was I a small youngling again, I would enjoy working in here. It is very well laid out."

Rami remained quiet, thankful their mask hid their quivering lips.

What could they say to him? That they were sorry they ran away and stole some of his tools after overhearing Master Kudaai accept an order for a weapon from one of The Bishops?

Well, they weren't!

Kudaai had complained about the problems those selfish, power-hungry, blood-thirsty monsters would caused if they kept up their crusade against other gods, and yet he still forged blades and curses for them.

It made Rami sick to their stomach with disgust and rage.

Rami knew Master Kudaai hadn't just come based on The Shepherd's threat—a threat Rami also knew The Shepherd wouldn't go through with. The look of delight when they swung a new weapon proved they valued a smith's work to highly to forgo it for too long.

What else would drive Master Kudaai to—

The Gauntlets.

Rami felt a stone land in their stomach. The Shepherd had mentioned they showed them to Master Kudaai, hadn't they? That's why he so willing came. He was here about those vile gauntlets that blasphemous heretic forced Rami to make.

Rami swallowed hard. "There is a back door. You might fit out it and leave. We've spoken now. That should appease The Shepherd."

In their head, they begged for Master Kudaai to take their offer.

Master Kudaai snorted. "I have known that beast since they were but a vessel of The One Blow, waving their Crown sword about with the same skill and elegance of a child playing with a stick." He shook his head. "They shall not be appeased so easily."

"Oh."

Rami wished they could produce spit again so they could run their tongue over their forever chapped lips, as had always been their nervous habit. They almost laughed aloud. Master Kudaai used to reprimand them about licking their lips all the time when they trained under him.

"It shall make them worse. Go get some water. That will help. You ought to be drinking more water anyway if you are to be near the forge."

Perhaps, if Master Kudaai could not leave, Rami themself could leave. If they phased through the stone floor and fled, The Shepherd could not be upset with Master Kudaai and would relent about using his weapons.

Or The Shepherd just drag Master Kudaai back in the future.

All three of them did have all the time in the world, after all, with two immortals and one ghost.

Rami wracked their brain for some sort of plan. They didn't want to be punished for the gauntlets. They wanted to never see or think about those things again--those horrible, disgusting displays of Rami's skill and technical accomplishment—

"Rami?"

Master Kudaai knocked against the stone work bench with his knuckles. Rami jumped and then realized they had sunken half way into the floor while in their thoughts.

Their cheeks, were they alive with still soft, unmarred skin, would have burned red with embarrassment.

No.

Rami swallowed hard.

They could not run from this.

Channeling the bravery and conviction they prayed they would have if Lady Yngya were to ever return, Rami floated up until their single, white eye met their master's gold ones.

"If you are going to yell at me about the gauntlets, please, just ge-get it over with!" Rami shouted, hating how 'get' got stuck in their throat.

Master Kudaai snapped his slightly open bill shut. The glossy black feathers at his neckline puffed out over his hood hemming. He straightened his back so his head touched the ceiling of Rami's forge. He loomed over them and Rami floated back down, wrapping their arms around themself.

No running. No running, they repeated to themself.

"'Gauntlets'?" He repeated lowly. "You mean those furry ones with the captured storm inside?"

Rami nodded, trying not to shake.

Master Kudaai reached towards them.

It never occurred to Rami that their master might be able to hurt a ghost. Most beings can't even touch them unless the ghost allows it, but Master Kudaai was not like most beings. He was hatched by the First Ones eons ago and would live until the world took its final breath.

Rami forced their form to remain as tangible as they could. They had never known Master Kudaai to take to violence when upset, but a sin as horrid as Rami's might push him past his limits.

"My disappointment in you over those gauntlets is great, Rami. How could any apprentice of mine," Master Kudaai flipped up Rami's mask, "allow such wondrous craftsmanship to be renamed to something so utterly foolish!" He slammed his other palm against the floor with a smack

Rami stared at Master Kudaai with their mouth a gape.

"I am bound by my nature, thus if a god so wished to rename the weapon I created for them, I must accept that. But you? You are not shackled by such things, Rami!" Master Kudaai started to throw his hand up in exasperation, but hit the back of it on a rafter.

He rubbed the top of his hand as he continued." 'The Shocky Grabbies' " He spat the gauntlets' new title as if it tasted of moldy bread. "Truly an unworthy name for something made so finely. The Red Crown is not your god. You needn't bow to their whims."

Rami drifted down until they sat on the edge of the forge. Their only eye stared at Master Kudaai in disbelief.

"Did I not teach you that the weapons you create will have your name attached to them for the rest of history?" Master Kudaai touched his forehead with his fingertips. "Shocky Grabbies…"

"You…are mad about the name?" Rami's voice shook as they spoke.

"I am not mad," Master Kudaai corrected. "I am merely disappointed."

A rush of anger gripped Rami as they cried, "That's not—You should be mad that I made those terrible things at all!" Rami slammed down their mask over their face then balled their hands into fists at their sides. "I helped make the Defilers of The Divine knowing full well what they were going to be used for! How Marchosias was able to rip away the ties that bind mortal and god was my work. I helped figure it out!" They slumped forward as guilt quenched the hot iron of rage in them. "I helped make…I made them, Master. I made an unholy weapon that was planned to be used destroy the very gods you were created to arm."

When Marchosias dismissed them back to their wool, the only peace Rami had was that sooner rather than later The Rot would consume Marchosias, The Free Pack, and his vile gauntlets.

A pang hit Rami's chest at the thought. When they preformed the ritual to create The Rot, they knew it would devour Master Kudaai as well. They thought he deserved it. After all, he not only stood by and allowed lambkins' deaths to happen, he supplied The Bishops with the means to kill Lady Yngya and destroy Woolhaven.

Rami had wanted him to hurt, to feel the same betrayal they felt. His excuse that he was bound by nature would mean nothing in the face of The Rot, and, if, for some reason, Master Kudaai was immune to the burning effects by the grace of his divine nature, then Rami would have taken joy in knowing he was alone with no one to forge for. That was a fate worse than death or The Rot for a man like Master Kudaai.

When Rami plunged the dagger into their chest, they focused much of the anger and hate towards Master Kudaai for his contribution.

Now, guilt stabbed their heart just the same as that blade.

They blinked, tears wetting their vision. A sob caught in their throat as their shoulders began to shake.

Rami pushed their gloved hands under their mask to cry tears that would never fall into their palms.

A moment later, a sensation Rami had not felt in a long time fell upon their shoulders—the weight of a large, warm, calloused hand.

Master Kudaai didn't speak. Instead, he sat, leaning over the work bench, and rubbed their back.

"I'm sorry, Master," Rami croaked. "I used your teachings…"

"To make something extraordinary, " Master Kudaai finished. "Rami, I explained to you long ago that by my very nature, I have made, and will make again, weapons that end the lives of people whom I consider friends. I have forged and will have to forge many weapons that I disagreed with their intended use, but I will always put my entire soul into making them anyway. You have simply followed the philosophy I exhibited. How can I fault you for that?"

Rami wiped their eyes. "I never liked the part of your philosophy that did not take sides, though. Sitting on the fence is a terrible stance in matters."

Master Kudaai shrugged. "I cannot fault you for that either."

Much to Rami's disappointment, he took his hand away. Their shoulder remained colder than normal for a few, long seconds.

Master Kudaai picked up the bellows from the work bench. He turned them over in his hands until he found the hole.

The Lamb rocked from the tips of their hooves to their heels. They had been waiting outside Rami's forge for what felt like hours, thought it had probably been less than one.

Sticking his finger in it, making the hole even bigger, Master Kudaai asked, "Would you care for help fixing this, Rami?"

*****

Across the road, smoke curled up from Kudaai's forge. It sat nestled in Baraq's cowish pasture as if it had been built there eons ago. One of the cowish nibbled on the canvas, but the rest didn't seem to care one way or another about the new building.

The Lamb looked over at Rami's forge door and wondered if it would be rude to eavesdrop, but shook their head a moment later. Of course, it would. Besides, Kudaai made it very clear he did not want them there.

They rubbed one of their forearms. Kudaai's grip had been rougher than they had expected.

The Lamb kicked a lose stone. They had hoped Rami would be excited and happy to see their master, but instead of excitement, Rami looked like a cornered critter with a hunter's arrow pointed at them, all wide eyes and tense muscles.

The Lamb didn't get it. If they were handed the opportunity to see someone important to them from their past, they'd be over the moon—

Oh.

Oh no.

They did it again.

The Lamb slumped down with a groan to the cold earth.

The Goat was going to tease them relentlessly for this as they were the one who pointed out The Lamb's bad habit of pushing their wants onto others, especially if those wants meant mending a broken relationship.

"You did it with Narinder and The Bishops, and I bet you'd do it with anyone one else with family troubles," The Goat mocked. "You'll take any excuse to do anything else than do retrospection of your own trauma, huh, Lamby?"

The Goat was not wrong. The thought of digging into losing their family and friends to The Bishops made their stomach twist into knots, but so what? How was it bad to want to help other people?

"Help other people without checking if they wanted help…Ah, crap." The Lamb knocked the heels of their hands angst their temples, startling their Crown.

Why hadn't they spoken to Rami first to make sure they were alright with bringing their master for a visit instead of just dropping Kudaai on them like an iron bar?

The Lamb pushed themself up. They should apologize and let Kudaai head back to his own forge.

As they reached for the door, an explosion of hot hair and steam blew open the door, forcing The Lamb to take a step back while holding their hands up.

Rami's voice howled from within and echoed off the stone walls with a passionate reverberation.

"With the bellows fixed, I'll show you the hottest flames my forge can create! They may even surpass yours, Master!"

The Lamb poked their head around the door to find Rami in the air with their mask down over their face, laughing manically as their forged burned with roaring, white-hot flames.

A second later, Rami coughed and floated down, lifting their mask with a bashful smile.

"Well, I mean, not as hot as yours, but close to it, I bet."

The Lamb followed Rami's gaze to where Kudaai sat.

They smiled to themself and took a step back, and quietly shut the door. They might as well go shoo the cowish away from Kudaai's forge, then maybe they'd play a game of Flockade against Baraq. They'd let him win as an apology for the disruption to his pasture.

After all, seeing the expression on Kudaai's face, they knew it would be a while before he was ready to leave Woolhaven and his apprentice's forge for Kudaai wore an expression of someone who was overjoyed to be with an old friend again.

****

Anyway, I've been having a lot feelings about color-coated ducks lately.

AN: it must leave a lot of pain in one's heart knowing one can forge the most powerful weapons in existence, but one can't even use them to protect their apprentices.

[saintheartwing]

Behold the Lamb of God, Chapter 5: Under the Sea!

Lambert woke to the unmistakable sound of someone being spectacularly sick. It was the kind of retching that suggested its owner was attempting to expel not just their breakfast but possibly several internal organs as well. This was followed by a chorus of similar sounds...splats, groans, and the occasional moan of "Oh no, not again!"...creating a symphony of suffering that made Lambert's ears flatten against his head.

"What in the world?" he bleated, leaping from his bed with a speed that sent his crown tumbling to the floor. He didn't bother to retrieve it, rushing outside in such haste that he nearly collided with a young fox who was staggering past, her face an alarming shade of green.

The scene that greeted Lambert would have made a battlefield look organized by comparison. His followers were scattered throughout the camp in various states of distress. Some huddled in miserable groups, holding their stomachs and moaning. Others raced frantically from spot to spot, clutching their backsides with expressions of panic that would have been comical under different circumstances. The air was thick with the unmistakable stench of illness...a potent cocktail of vomit, sweat, and other bodily emissions too numerous and nauseating to catalogue.

"Toilets!" Ratau's voice carried across the chaos. "This way to the toilets! Single file, people! ONE AT A TIME!"

Lambert spotted the one-eyed rat standing outside the community's modest outhouse, attempting to organize a queue that resembled less a line and more a writhing, desperate mob. Ratau brandished a stick, using it to maintain some semblance of order among the desperate crowd.

"We should have built more TOILETS and less temples." Ratau grumbled, loud enough for Lambert to hear as he approached. "Always told the others the same thing, I did. "Spiritual enlightenment is all well and good." I said, "but everybody poops"!'"

Ratau chuckled at his own joke, momentarily distracted from the calamity around him...which proved to be a grave tactical error. A particularly distressed toad, unable to wait his turn a moment longer, suddenly doubled over right next to Ratau. What followed was a disaster of such magnitude that even Heket might have been impressed by its destructive force.

PHHRRRBBBBBBTTTT!

Ratau stood frozen, his good eye wide with horror as he found himself thoroughly coated from whiskers to tail-tip in what could only be described as toad excrement of exceptional volume and potency.

"That's..." Ratau whispered, his voice strangled, "…not sanitary at all."

Lambert might have laughed if the situation weren't so dire. Instead, he rushed forward. "Ratau! Are you alright?"

"Do I LOOK alright?" the rat hissed, his whiskers twitching with indignation as he tried in vain to shake off the worst of the mess. "I look like I took a swim in the wrong end of a sewage pipe!"

A stifled giggle drew Lambert's attention. Nana stood nearby, one paw clapped over her mouth, her eyes dancing with reluctant amusement despite the chaos around them. But as Lambert watched, her expression changed suddenly from mirth to alarm.

"Oh no." she whispered, her face paling beneath her fur. "I don't feel so-URRGGH!"

She didn't finish her sentence, instead dashing behind the nearest bush with a speed that would have impressed a cheetah with a hot date. The sounds that followed confirmed Lambert's worst fears...the plague had claimed Nana too.

"It's Kallamar's doing." Lambert said grimly to Ratau, who was attempting to clean himself with a handful of leaves. "He visited us in our dreams last night. Said he was casting a plague on our community."

"Kallamar?" Ratau froze, his single eye growing wide as a dinner plate. "The Bishop of Pestilence? Oh, we're doomed. DOOMED! His diseases don't just attack the body...they attack the mind, the soul, the very bonds between-"

He was interrupted by a furious shout from across the clearing. Two followers...a fox and a badger who had always been the best of friends...were facing off like wrestlers before a match, their faces contorted with rage.

"YOU ate the last of the medicinal herbs!" accused the fox, jabbing a trembling finger at the badger. "I saw you!"

"Well, YOU hoarded water when everyone else was sharing!" the badger shot back. "And you snore like a hog with a head cold!"

All around the camp, similar arguments were breaking out, followers turning on each other with a viciousness that made Lambert's wool stand on end. But worse than the arguments were the confessions that began to pour forth, as if Kallamar's plague had dissolved not just their intestinal fortitude but the walls that kept their darkest secrets contained.

"I never really liked ANY of you!" wailed a normally cheerful rabbit as she hunched miserably by the community well. "I just joined because I was lonely!"

"I've been stealing extra rations for weeks!" confessed a weasel between violent retches. "BLAAAUGGHKK! I have a SECRET STASH under my bed-AAAUUURRRRGGGH! My guuuuuts!"

Near the main temple, Amdusias sat huddled with his brother Barbatos, both looking as wilted as week-old lettuce. As Lambert approached, he heard the tiny caterpillar making his own feverish confession.

"I wasn't just Leshy's servant." Amdusias moaned, his little face twisted with shame. "I ENJOYED it! The power, the fear in everyone's eyes when I grew big! Sometimes I dream about being that monster again, crushing and destroying and-ORRRFFFF!" He broke off to vomit spectacularly, the effort nearly sending his tiny form tumbling over.

Nearby, diminutive Gusion wasn't faring any better. The formerly impressive frog monster, now reduced to a sickly-looking normal frog, croaked miserably.

"I was HAPPY to attack your community." he admitted, not meeting Lambert's eyes. "I practically volunteered! I was happy to squash you all! I thought if I destroyed you, she might make me her lieutenant. I wanted power more than I wanted food, even when everyone was starving!"

Lambert's head spun as confession after confession bombarded him. The community he'd built, the followers he'd thought were united in purpose, now seemed like strangers...each harboring secrets and resentments that the plague was bringing to light like worms after a rainstorm.

"Lambert!" Nana called weakly from her bush. "I think Ratau needs help."

Lambert turned to find the one-eyed rat hunched over by the temple steps, looking worse than anyone. His fur had taken on a grayish tinge, and he trembled violently, though whether from sickness or emotion, Lambert couldn't tell.

"Ratau?" Lambert approached cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"No." the rat whispered, his voice cracking. "No, I'm not. None of us are. And it's all happening again, just like before..."

"Before?" Lambert prompted, though a cold dread was already spreading through him as he recalled Kallamar's words in the dream.

Ratau looked up, his single eye brimming with tears and shame in equal measure. "I wasn't always one-eyed, you know." he began, his voice barely audible over the sounds of sickness that filled the camp. "I was chosen, just like you. By Him. By The One Who Waits."

Lambert sank down beside Ratau, his legs suddenly too weak to support him. "You were a vessel?"

Ratau nodded miserably, then had to pause to retch, though nothing came up but a thin dribble of bile. "I was supposed to destroy the Bishops, free Him, change everything. I had followers...good, trusting souls who believed in me. We attacked Leshy first, just like you did."

"What happened?" Lambert asked, though he already knew the answer would be ugly as a toad's backside.

"We failed." Ratau confessed, his whole body shuddering with the effort of speaking. "Leshy was too powerful. He took my eye, killed half my followers on the spot. And I...I ran." The last word came out as a broken whisper. "I ran like a coward, Lambert. Left them all behind to die while I saved my own miserable hide."

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the sounds of suffering that surrounded them. Lambert tried to process what he was hearing. Ratau...his guide, his advisor, the first friend he'd made in this new life...had abandoned his followers to die. Just as Lambert might have to do if he couldn't find a way to fight this plague.

"The crown." Ratau continued, his voice hollow. "It changes you. Bit by bit. I felt it happening, even before I ran. The power, the whispers...they're seductive as sin and twice as dangerous." He laughed then, a laugh as dry and brittle as dead leaves. "Honestly, my OWN mentor told me the same thing. But did I listen? No. The crown doesn't like competition. It wants your ear all to itself, your heart, your soul. It blinded me to my failures as a vessel." He slumped further, looking suddenly old and very, very tired. "I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe you were stronger than I was."

Lambert opened his mouth to respond, but a commotion from the center of camp interrupted him. Three followers were engaged in what appeared to be a full-blown brawl, while others lay helpless nearby, too sick to intervene or escape the flailing limbs.

"I have to stop this." Lambert said, rising on unsteady legs. "I have to fix it somehow."

"How?" Ratau croaked, his eye bloodshot and despairing. "You can't fight disease with an axe, Lambert. Not even one made from the crown's power."

Lambert knew Ratau was right. The crown might help him defeat Bishops, but what use was it against an invisible enemy that attacked from within? For the first time since his resurrection, Lambert felt truly helpless...a shepherd watching his flock suffer without any way to protect them.

From across the clearing, Nana emerged from her hiding place, walking unsteadily toward them. Her face was pale beneath her fur, but her eyes held a determination that made Lambert's heart twist painfully in his chest.

"We'll find a way." she said, reaching them and placing a trembling paw on Lambert's shoulder. "Together."

But as Lambert looked around at his community in chaos...followers fighting, confessing, suffering...he wondered if "together" was even possible anymore. The plague wasn't just attacking bodies; it was dissolving the very bonds that had made them strong.

And somewhere in the distance, he could almost hear Kallamar's wet, bubbling laughter.

…

…

…I made a terrible mistake.

But I couldn't help myself. I loved my brother. And he understood just as I did how awful death was. There's so much that goes unsaid.

To be able to speak to the ones you love, if only for a few minutes more…would bring undeniable, incalculable comfort. And so I taught him how to change. A gift I learned from HIM. The one with rainbow wings. The soft sun. The sweetest of us all who died so that he could seal THEM away forever.

I was more a coward than Kallamar. I should have said "no". I should have made the sacrifice myself. Of what true use is war when it can't defend the ones who need it most?

Worse still, I see them. The ones I brought to he who waits in the Grey. Only kittens for comfort.

…only…kittens.

Precious little ones.

…two kits in my claws. A gift. I…

I didn't want him to be lonely…I…

…it is shameful. Mercy is not my name.

…but I am filled with remorse. For that is the gift that knowledge brings you. Regret over the roads not taken. Remorse for a better choice you didn't make. And above all, grief. This is the greatest thing left behind in war.

Nothing…but grief.

Lambert had tried to take a nap to replenish his strength, and the dream had come to him. Quiet sobs and guilt as three pairs of arms embraced him, and the agony of realizing you'd done something inexcusably cruel. A mother pleading tearfully as he lifted two little kittens into his arms…

He knew…who they were. And who they'd been given to. Which was why he knew only his god could help him and his people now. As his followers writhed in misery around him, confessing sins and secrets with every labored breath, he retreated to his cottage, placed the Red Crown upon his head, and whispered, "Take me to him. Take me to The One Who Waits. Take me to Narinder."

The world dissolved around him like sugar in hot tea. Lambert felt himself falling, floating, flying...all at once and none at all...until his hooves touched solid ground again. But this was not the familiar earth of his forest home. This floor was smooth and grey, but roof as well, but there were walls now. Walls smooth as bone, cool as midnight, and they seemed to absorb the light that faintly emanated from the endless grey aove rather than reflect it.

Yes, Lambert now stood in a vast chamber that defied the laws of space. Chains thicker than tree trunks hung from a ceiling lost in darkness, two of them now broken, their severed ends glowing with a dull red light like dying embers.

"Well, well, well. The conquering hero returns."

The voice was smooth as velvet and sharp as claws. Lambert turned to find two figures approaching...cat-like beings who walked upright with an otherworldly grace. He recognized them as Aym and Baal, the attendants he'd glimpsed during his first visit to this realm, though they appeared different now, more...complete.

Aym had grown taller, his lean frame draped in dark robes that seemed to absorb what little light existed in this place. His left eye socket contained not an eye but a slash of white...a blind eye that somehow gave the impression of seeing more than any functioning organ could.

"You've been busy, little lamb." Aym purred, circling Lambert with predatory interest. "Two Bishops down. Quite impressive for a creature so...fluffy."

Baal, shorter and stouter than his companion, sported a mop of curly fur atop his head that bounced with each step. His whiskers twitched with amusement as he joined Aym in circling their visitor.

"Did you enjoy the gifts our master bestowed?" Baal asked, his voice like gravel wrapped in silk. "The power to cut down your enemies, to make them kneel before transforming into pathetic miniatures of their former selves? Most entertaining, we thought."

"I'm not here for entertainment." Lambert said firmly, though his knees trembled slightly beneath his wool. "I'm here for help. My followers are sick...dying...from Kallamar's plague."

The cat attendants exchanged meaningful glances, their tails flicking in perfect synchronization.

"Of course." Aym nodded solemnly, though his mouth curled in what might have been a smile. "The master has been expecting you. This way, if you please."

They led Lambert deeper into the impossible chamber, past floating chunks of architecture that seemed to have been ripped from grand cathedrals and humble homes alike, all suspended in the nothingness as if gravity were merely a suggestion rather than a law. Where there'd once been an endless abyss was now…traces of a temple long gone, and Lambert was SURE he was seeing HIS temple's remnants.

Yes. His. For there, up ahead…was Narinder.

The enormous cat looked almost exactly the same, with his his fur so dark a gray it was nearly black, sleek and shining despite the gloom. Three eyes regarded Lambert from a face both feline and frightening, eyes with red sclera surrounding red pupils with black irises that seemed to drink in Lambert's very essence.

His arms...powerful limbs ending in paws with claws like curved daggers...were now free, though thick chains still bound his neck and torso. Like before wore a hooded white robe with a single blood-red stripe running down its center, the fabric somehow both ancient and untouched by time.

"My little lamb returns to the lord of slaughter." Narinder's voice was a physical presence, rumbling through Lambert's bones like distant thunder. His voice was now considerably less difficult to hear, far less loud, and yet…more powerful in its quietness. This scared Lambert more than anything else, the quiet, dark satin of this god of death's voice. "Have you come to tell me you'll free another chain? Or merely to complain about the difficulties of godhood?"

Lambert swallowed hard but met the three-eyed gaze without flinching. "My followers are suffering. Kallamar has cast a plague upon them...not just sickness of the body, but one that forces them to speak terrible truths, to turn against each other."

"Ah." Narinder nodded, his massive head dipping with the gravity of understanding. "The Plague of Revelation. One of Kallamar's nastier inventions. Very effective for destroying communities from within, like termites in a wooden house."

"Can you help them?" Lambert asked, hating the pleading note that had crept into his voice. "I've defeated two Bishops with your power, but I can't fight an invisible enemy."

Narinder's mouth stretched in what could only be described as a smile, though it contained about as much warmth as a blizzard in January. "Of course I can help. The solution is quite simple, really."

Lambert's heart leapt. "Tell me!"

"Kill them." Narinder's three eyes blinked in perfect unison, as if to emphasize the point. "Kill them all, sacrifice their essence to the crown, and then use my power to resurrect them. Clean, purified, and loyal beyond question."

The words landed like stones in Lambert's stomach. "Kill...my followers? My friends?"

"Don't look so horrified." Narinder waved a massive paw dismissively. "It's temporary. Mostly. And you needn't kill them all at once if that troubles your delicate sensibilities. Even one good sacrifice would grant you enough power to begin the process."

Lambert took an involuntary step backward, his mind reeling like a drunken tightrope walker. "That's...that's monstrous! They trust me to protect them, not slaughter them!"

"Such drama." Narinder sighed, examining his claws with casual interest. "It's not slaughter if you bring them back, is it? It's more like...renovating. Tearing down to rebuild better."

"But they wouldn't be the same." Lambert argued, the horror of the suggestion fully sinking in. "The whole reason you're imprisoned here is because you were sealed away for bringing people back to life! And even you admitted that each resurrection took away what made them who they were to begin with!"

For the first time, something like surprise flickered across Narinder's feline features. "You've been gossiping about me, little lamb? How rude. Though not inaccurate, I suppose."

"How can you ask me to repeat the very mistakes that got you chained in this place?" Lambert demanded, his voice rising with indignation. "Civilizations END in sacrifice!"

Narinder's laughter echoed through the vast chamber, making the floating debris quiver. "No, little lamb. That's how they BEGIN. Every great empire, every lasting power...all founded on blood and bone and the broken bodies of the sacrificed." He leaned forward, his chains creaking with the movement. "Do you think I and my kin became gods by holding hands and singing songs?" He inquired. "We had to take the crowns from their previous bearers…or rather, most of us did."

"I know about the other Gods." Lambert insisted. "The First Faith."

Narinder's three eyes widened as he rose up and rested his hands on his arms, sighing. "Now that…is a phrase I've not heard in eons. The First Faith." He murmured. "They were utterly gone by the time even I was a little kitten, but their "children" lingered. The Gods of Gold and the birds, for one, like that damn duck seer." He sighed, shaking his head. "The seer was SO annoying. His brother, the smith, Kudaai, HE was useful, though. If you ever find him, you'll see he's quite helpful in killing gods. He provided me and my brethren with weapons with which we fought far darker, fouler forces. Ichor stained the fields. Rivers ran black with godly blood. My family and I emerged victorious over all."

Narinder sighed quietly and for a brief moment, his eyes became wistful. He spoke more gently, happily. "For a few brief decades, everything was perfect. We were the only worshipped ones. A few decades of pure joy and happiness, when we were adored as we deserved to be, and I thought those days would never end."

He then scowled, spitting on the ground. "But I was betrayed. I learned the hard way that you do not GET "happy endings". You need to TAKE them. And there is no "moral" way to not end the plague infesting your people. Not unless you hope to reach Kallamar in time, and even then, the damage done may be permanent as a gravestone."

Lambert paced in a tight circle, his mind racing. "Then tell me where to find Kallamar. If destroying him will end the plague, that's what I'll do. I'm not going to hold back him. I killed the other two bishops, I'll end HIM too."

"So determined." Narinder purred with something like approval. "Very well. Kallamar dwells in Anchordeep, beneath the waves of the Great Sea. His domain is a vast marine realm where the pressure would crush your little bones to powder and the lack of air would drown you faster than you could bleat for mercy."

Lambert's determination wavered. "Underwater? How can I possibly-"

"Breathe? You can't." Narinder interrupted smoothly. "Not as you are now. But with more of my power..." His three eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Fortunately for you, with two chains now broken, I have far more strength to spare. Enough to grant you, little lamb, abilities beyond mere combat...abilities that would let you breathe water as easily as air, withstand pressures that would flatten mountains, and see in depths where light has never penetrated."

Lambert eyed the remaining chains suspiciously. "And what would breaking a third chain do for you?"

Narinder's smile widened, revealing teeth sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Why, give me that much more freedom, of course. Another step closer to my eventual release. A fair exchange, I'd say...your followers' lives for a bit more slack in my bindings. You'd better hurry, though…unless you want your followers to keep confessing their darkest secrets while their bodies rot from the inside out." Narinder replied with chilling indifference. "I'm sure it will be most educational for everyone still coherent enough to listen."

Lambert closed his eyes, the weight of the choice pressing down on him heavier than the ocean depths he would soon have to brave. Behind him, he could hear Aym and Baal whispering to each other, their voices like dry leaves scraping across stone.

"Thick chains to keep monsters bound." Aym murmured.

"Thin chains to keep followers found." Baal replied.

"Which will break first, I wonder?" they finished in unsettling unison.

Lambert opened his eyes and faced Narinder again. "If I accept more of your power, will it change me? Like it did Ratau?"

Something almost like compassion flickered across Narinder's feline features. "Power always changes those who wield it, little lamb. The only question is whether you direct that change or it directs you." He extended one massive paw, claws retracted in a gesture that was almost gentle. "So what will it be? Will you sacrifice your principles to save your followers? Or sacrifice your followers to preserve your principles?"

Lambert took a deep breath, the scent of ancient dust and predator filling his lungs. He thought of Nana's face, twisted with pain from the plague. Of Ratau's confession and shame. Of all the others who had placed their trust in him.

He stepped forward, toward the waiting paw and the power it offered, knowing that with each step he took toward saving his followers, he might be taking a step away from the self he had been...the self they had followed in the first place.

…

…

…

…Lambert had been lucky. He'd found a small yellow tent on the path that led to the edge of the ocean, and in that tent was someone incredibly invaluable.

"Are you Mr. Clauneck's kin?" Lambert had asked of the yellow-robed duck as it looked upon him with slit eyes. Lambert noticed with absolute horror this taller-than-his-brother duck had swords sticking out of the back! "By Yngya's Wool, sir! Your…your BACK!" Lambert cried out, quickly racing forth to try and help, to tug the swords out, to do SOMETHING, but the duck held a hand up.

"I, Kudaai, require no aid." He insisted. "I see you carry the weight of ageless centuries upon such diminutive shoulders…yet, what is this? It seems your stature is deceiving." Kudaai intoned, tilting his head to the side as the Red Crown bounced slightly on Lambert's head. "Yes. You're more than a lamb. You bear the weight well."

"I have to." Lambert insisted firmly as he slammed his fist into his chest. "Nobody else but me could do this."

"You aren't wrong. A weapon is naught without the hand that wields. To fell enemies, to defend honor… to break chains. You let your Crown take the form of one of these works of iron, forged in everlasting fire. And I see you wield the Crown well…Promised Liberator." Kudaai clapped his hands and a moment later, a burning yellow fire manifested!

THWOOM! Lambert reeled back as the fire swelled all around them, and then…THWOOMPHF. It was gone, and now a delightful shop had manifested, complete with a smithy's forge, barrels filled with swords, spears, axes, and at the front, a little desk loaded with several nice-looking weapons.

"I offer many types of weapons…and curses too, that will further add to the PAIN you inflict on those you deem unworthy. Do you desire something?" Kudaai wanted to know.

One weapon stood out to him. An axe, double-headed. There were teeth adding to the hilt, the orange blade having a faint texture that reminded Lambert of fall. The hilt of the axe appeared to be made of some kind of furry material too, but above all, the eyes. There were EYES on the axe, yellow, softly blinking, staring with pitch-black pupils.

"I'll take that one." Lambert asked. "Something about this axe is…speaking to me." He admitted. The Red Crown atop his head seemed to pulsate. It was almost…giggling with joy as Lambert reached into the belt pouch he had, taking out gold coins to pay for the axe…but Kudaai held a hand up.

"I don't want your gold." He insisted. "When reason is extinguished there is but one recourse. That is why I must keep the flames of my forge burning. There are times when ones must fight, and ones must die. Thus, the fires of my forge I have kept alight since the first dawn. Only the final setting of the sun will see it doused."

Lambert was given the axe, and he swished it around. It was so…oddly light. And it felt so strangely…familiar to him.

"Forged in eternal flame, sharpened on the stone wet with blood. My weapons seek destruction as their nature demands. Can the same be said of yourself?"

"…I…try not to." Lambert said. "I want to be better than the ones who came before."

"You have your Followers, and I have my weapons. One must find comfort and power where they can. Your followers will be invaluable with THIS weapon, for their devotion, their faith, will further empower the Fanatic's Zealous Axe. It's quite glad to see you. It can smell its old master on you."

"Is it…TALKING to you?" Lambert inquired, looking nervously at Kudaai as the duck chuckled softly, raising a thin eyebrow up.

"I speak to my weapons often, though I dare not argue. Only a fool bickers with a sharp blade." Kudaai chuckled. "Yes, it speaks to me. And it likes you. Your followers adore you. Their hearts are filled with love. It has missed that."

The weaponsmith duck bowed his head deeply, placing his hands together. "Happy hunting, little lamb. You have my respect. May your enemy's deaths be glorious. And may your nature not be lost in a sea of salt…OR a sea of blood."

An hour later, Lambert took a deep breath...possibly his last one of air for quite some time...and leapt into the Great Sea below. The impact should have shattered his bones like twigs in a woodchipper. Instead, the water parted around him with a gentle embrace, cool and welcoming. For a moment, panic fluttered in his chest as his lungs screamed for air, but then something changed. The water flowing into his nostrils and mouth didn't choke him...it fed him, filled him with oxygen as easily as air ever had.

The crown on his head pulsated, and he felt the cold chill of the ocean fading. Narinder's power was working great! Lambert dove deeper, the light from above growing dimmer with each fathom he descended. What had been crystal blue water near the surface gradually shifted to a murky green, then an impenetrable navy, until finally, the darkness was absolute as midnight in a coal mine.

Yet Lambert could see.

It wasn't sight as he'd known it on land. This was something different...a perception that revealed the underwater world in shades of pulsing energy rather than color. Fish glowed like drifting stars, coral formations hummed with vibrations he could somehow interpret as shapes, and the vast emptiness of the deeper waters yawned below him like a conscious void.

Down, down he swam, passing schools of fish that scattered at his approach like sparks from a fire. Strange, twisted formations of rock and coral created an alien landscape that bore as much resemblance to the forest above as a nightmare does to a pleasant daydream. It was eerie, yes, and yet…

All of it was beautiful. VERY beautiful. The more time you spent down there, the more you saw the truly amazing aesthetic of what laid underwater. Truly, this place was a water wonderland-

And then, something massive moved in the darkness ahead.

At first, Lambert thought it might be a particularly large formation of rock. But rocks didn't pulsate with sickly green light. Rocks didn't have three glowing yellow eyes arranged in a triangle. And rocks certainly didn't have dozens of tentacles drifting like poisonous streamers from a central body bristling with spikes.

"Saleos." Lambert whispered, the word coming out as a stream of bubbles that somehow carried sound in this lightless realm as the Red Crown identified this being for him…and it hungered for its sins.

The enormous jellyfish creature drifted closer, each movement graceful despite its monstrous size. A mouth opened in what Lambert had assumed was the underside of its bell-shaped body...a mouth ringed with teeth sharp as shattered glass and arranged in concentric circles like a drill designed by a particularly sadistic dentist.

"You should not be here, lamb." Saleos's voice was somehow both gurgling and crystal clear, bypassing Lambert's ears entirely and materializing directly in his mind. "You have doomed yourself by entering the ocean depths. There is nothing more terrifying in the world than the dark depths of the ocean, from which not even light can escape…let alone a little lamb."

As if to emphasize this point, several of Saleos's tentacles shot forward with the speed of striking vipers. Lambert barely managed to dodge, his newly webbed hooves awkward and unfamiliar. He felt slow, uncoordinated...a newborn foal trying to win a horse race.

"Where is Kallamar?" Lambert demanded, struggling to maintain his position as the water currents pushed and pulled at him like invisible hands. "Tell me, and perhaps I won't have to hurt you."

Saleos's laughter was like bubbles of acid popping against Lambert's skin. "Hurt me? Little surface-dweller, you can barely swim. I have lived in these depths since before your kind learned to walk on land. This is MY domain!"

The jellyfish monster surged forward, tentacles splayed wide to form a living net. Lambert kicked desperately, trying to swim upward, but the water's resistance made everything feel like moving through molasses. One tentacle grazed his hind leg, and pain exploded through him like he'd been struck by lightning...the creature's sting delivering venom designed to paralyze its prey.

"You know what to doooo..." The Red Crown's oh-so-enticing voice whispered in his mind. "Come now. Use my power!"

Lambert focused on the crown and it rewarded him as the it manifested his weapon. The axe had been magically deposited into his bag, but now it manifested here, the eye-colored two-headed weapon now glaring balefully at Saleos. Lambert could feel waves of righteous fury barreling off the blade…it hungered to separate blasphemer's heads from their bodies.

Saleos attacked again, confident in his aquatic superiority. But this time, as the tentacles lashed toward him, Lambert swung the axe in a wide arc. Water resistance should have slowed the blow to ineffectiveness. Instead, the Zealous Axe cut through the water as if it were mere air, slicing through three of Saleos's tentacles in a single sweep.

The jellyfish monster recoiled, yellow eyes widening in shock. Black ichor clouded the water where the severed tentacles thrashed independently of their owner.

"Impossible!" Saleos gurgled, retreating slightly. "No land-dweller wields such power!"

"I am not just any land-dweller." Lambert replied, finding his confidence growing along with his familiarity with movement in this strange environment. "I am the vessel of The One Who Waits."

Fear pulsed from Saleos like a physical force. "The God of Death!? No! He remains chained!"

"Not for long." Lambert advanced, the axe gleaming with hungry anticipation. "Now, I'll ask once more...where is Kallamar's temple?"

Instead of answering, Saleos charged in desperation, his remaining tentacles rigid with desperate fury. Lambert met the attack head-on, the axe moving with deadly precision. It was a dance unlike any Lambert had performed on land...three-dimensional combat where "up" and "down" were merely suggestions rather than absolutes.

Time lost meaning in the darkness of the deep. Lambert slashed and dodged, sometimes taking hits that sent pain searing through him, but always recovering faster than should have been possible. Then came, seemingly, catastrophe. Tentacles ensaring him. Tightening more…more! The world going black and cold…

But only for a moment. Saleos grinned like a devil, smugly sure the Lamb had suffocated, Lambert's limp body hanging in the sea, floating like floatsam…

But then a moment later, with a blow that would have felled an oak on land, that body twisted, and the axe split Saleos's body nearly in half.

Just as had happened with Amdusias and Gusion before him, the massive jellyfish monster began to shrink, collapsing in on itself until only a pathetic, ordinary-looking jellyfish remained...still green, still with three tiny yellow eyes, but no more threatening than a marsh puddle after a spring rain.

"Mercy!" the now-more-diminutive Saleos pleaded, drifting pathetically in the water currents. "Please, great vessel!"

Lambert held the axe ready, its edge gleaming inches from what remained of the once-fearsome creature. For a moment he wanted to carve the pathetic jellyfish into sushi, but he wrenched his focus back. No. He was not that far gone.

He was NOT.

"Kallamar's temple. Now." He angrily demanded. "The Zealous Axe is BARELY holding its bloodlust back."

"The Abyssal Trench." Saleos bubbled weakly. "Follow the luminous coral path east from the Undersea Skeleton Forest. The temple is built into the wall of the trench itself...a palace of bone and shell and things that should have decayed centuries ago but didn't. You can't miss it...though you might wish you had."

Meanwhile, back in the forest, things had gone from bad to worse. The plague had spread to nearly every follower, their bodies wracked with illness while their mouths spilled secrets like overflowing sewers. The main temple had been converted to a makeshift hospital, with the few still healthy followers tending to the sick as best they could.

Ratau and Nana sat apart from the others, beside a small fire that did little to dispel the growing chill of evening.

"It's getting worse." Nana said quietly, her own fur matted with sweat from her recent bout with the sickness. She had recovered faster than most...whether due to her natural resilience or her proximity to Lambert, no one could say. "Three more died this morning. We burned the bodies as you suggested."

Ratau nodded grimly, his single eye reflecting the dancing flames. "Fire cleanses. It's all we can do until Lambert returns...if he returns."

"He will." Nana insisted, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant sounds of suffering from the temple.

"There is...another way." Ratau said finally, his voice so low Nana had to lean closer to hear. "Narinder...The One Who Waits...he could provide some level of protection to the cult, the same way he provides for Lambert."

Nana's ears perked up. "Really? Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"Because the price is high." Ratau's paw moved unconsciously to the empty socket where his eye had once been. "It would require a sacrifice. A significant one."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Nana asked, though the dread in her voice suggested she already knew the answer.

"Blood. Life. The essence that powers Narinder's magic." Ratau stared into the fire as if seeing something beyond the flames. "I've been considering...doing it myself."

Nana gasped. "Ratau, no!"

"Why not?" the one-eyed rat gave a bitter laugh. "I'm older than all of you and I've lived my cowardly life. And I failed once before...perhaps this is how I make amends."

"There has to be another way." Nana insisted, though even as the words left her mouth, she knew they rang hollow. The plague was ruthless, and Lambert's return uncertain.

Ratau reached into his vest and withdrew a small dagger, its blade curved like a crescent moon and inscribed with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed directly. "This is a sacrificial blade, linked directly to Narinder's power. One good sacrifice would be enough to protect those who remain...for a while, at least."

Nana stared at the blade, her pink nose twitching rapidly...a sign of her distress. Then, with a swiftness that surprised even herself, she snatched a heavy branch from beside the fire and brought it down on Ratau's head with a dull thunk.

The rat slumped forward, unconscious but breathing.

"Sorry, Ratau." Nana whispered, gently taking the sacrificial dagger from his limp paw. "But if anyone's going to make a sacrifice around here, it should be someone who still has their whole life ahead of them."

With that, she tucked the dagger into her own simple garment and slipped away from the fire, heading deeper into the darkening forest.

Elsewhere, deep beneath the waves, Lambert paused in his journey toward the Abyssal Trench. Something cold and alien had brushed against his mind...a presence he recognized from the dream-invasion.

"Little lamb." Kallamar's voice bubbled through his consciousness like gas rising through mud. "You've come far...too far."

Gone was the arrogant certainty of their previous encounter. The Bishop of Pestilence's voice now carried an undercurrent of something Lambert had never expected to hear...fear.

"It seems you cannot be stopped by disease or hunger." Kallamar continued, his mental voice growing more frantic with each word. "And my brother ends you back from death stronger each time. Please know, it was not my idea to cast out the Red Crown! The other Bishops, my siblings, the blame lies with them."

Lambert continued swimming toward the direction Saleos had indicated, saying nothing, letting Kallamar's panic build like pressure in a sealed container.

"Please, I beg you, spare me." the Bishop pleaded. "Kill Shamura, but do not send me to my death. Do not send me to him! You will not find my temple. I will be safe there. Yes, I will be safe!"

The connection broke abruptly, leaving Lambert alone with the knowledge that his approach had struck terror into one of the mighty Bishops. It should have felt like victory. Instead, it felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss, with each step forward taking him further from the person he had once been.

As he swam deeper into the crushing darkness, Lambert wondered which would prove more dangerous...the monsters that lurked in Anchordeep's shadowy waters, or the one he might be becoming.

[pumpkinsouppe]

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[cosmica-candy]

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