#mavethlore

[starlitsheep]

Everyone meet my Lamb, also known as the Shepard, also known as their name by few: Maveth. It only took me like a month of playing around for them to form, it’s fine.

The Shepard tends to their flock.

I forgot to tag my art this time. Too lazy to go in and fix it.

[starlitsheep]

Some lore art for Maveth 🧡

After being resurrected, their wounds from being hanged altering their speech, their voice shaky and holding a permanent rasp. They tend to use simple sign language to speak to their flock.

[starlitsheep]

Maveth “The Shepard” Thoughts & Ramblings:

- Still the cult leader; they prefer the term ‘My Shepard’ / ‘My Lamb’ over ‘My Leader’ bc it feels like it gives them less sense of power over their flock

- They aren’t seen wearing the Red Crown; it’s typically in the form of their shepard’s staff.

- They’re very clumsy, and that staff is also sometimes used as a walking stick. Their dumbest death was toppling over into the ritual bonfire.

- They prefer swords; hate guns.

- Their cloak is almost always stained; it just looks like mud now, though, thankfully. Fresh blood comes out easy enough.

- After a few years after reincarnation and a first failed cult attempt; Maveth took on the persona of being their ‘Shepard’ — they take care and protect their flock like one would. It seems to be easier to connect to their followers like this, too. Still a huge power imbalance, but to the flock, it seems less like a dictatorship.

- Was hanged instead of decapitated [carries the robe around their midsection over their tunic]. Instead of a pink scar on their neck; there’s a never ceasing dark bruise.

- Very into superstitions for the sake of their flock; if it helps give them a sense of easement, they’ll gladly follow suit to boost morale.

- Death comes in 3s is their main one; 3 skulls on their shepard’s staff, 3 loose bells on their body + staff, 3 bells on their cloak, 2 bells + 1 skull strung on their shawl. Their ritual sacrifices are held in rules of 3 as well.

- They do sacrificial rituals often; but only for those who ask, mainly the elderly and those with great faith; ‘herding’ them into the afterlife

- It’s a full day preparation for sacrifices:

1. the flock member is tended to well by Maveth’s disciples; they get a choice for their last meal [of whatever is available],

2. time in the temple with just them and their Shepard to talk through anything and a reading of a ‘will’, if they have one [they usually don’t].

3. After a ritual they speak the follower’s name one last time to ‘release’ them to Death.

- They have sacrificed a young child before they considered themselves a Shepard; only once, because they were too injured to be healed, and keeping them alive would’ve been cruel and unkind. The child’s tunic was torn into strips and used as a wrap to carry their bell on their horn and on their staff. This was the point that their cult broke apart the first time; and Maveth chose to give themselves this persona after renewal. They gave the girl’s parents an opportunity for their girl for resurrection, but they declined.

- Maveth loves kids; they try and make time to read to the younger ones at least a few times a week. Has been spotted carrying around the younger of their flock while they tend to their duties.

- They can play the pan flute! They used to sing, too, but their voice never fully recovered from being hanged in their previous life and is rather raspy. Though Maveth has been known to hum lullabies they barely remember to the younger children to put them to bed when their parents are having trouble.

- Only Death himself knows Maveth’s name [and their one disciple who accidentally overheard them snore-talking one time, but they keep that information to themselves. The Lamb knows.]

- Their only disciple as of now is their first follower, who’s somehow stuck through both their first cults. Their name is Haantre; a cream and brown colored stag. They’ve been resurrected many times; one of very few who have that privilege.

- They don’t remember their family very well; but they dream about them each night [they do not remember this when they wake up; but lucid dreaming was a blessing given to them after reincarnation to help morale].

- Very chatty in front of certain people - or Gods. They have been known to die just to get away from their flock for a few minutes of rest.

- While alone, they often talk to the Red Crown. Making the odd comment here and there or rambling about something that’s frustrating them. The One Who Waits does not comment on their ramblings when they visit. Maveth is unsure if he can hear them [he can], but it brings a sense of comfort to think he can.

[starlitsheep]

TW: Death, Vomiting, Angst, Resurrection, “Bad” COTL ending with a Twist

Returning the Red Crown had always been the plan from the get go. Maveth had spent numerous days planning and mapping out instructions for their following. Writing personalized letters that were to be handed out, given they not return.

They’d talked with their God about it in length, thankful He’d not spurred the choice on them last minute. They were glad to have that respect.

Though they knew it would be hell, this was not the way they’d thought things would be. Maveth watched the Red Crown rise above them, hoisting the Lamb up with it, it’s eye glowing a vibrate crimson before blood dripped from its gaze.

It was the worst pain imaginable.

They've died hundreds to thousands of times, but the agonizing feeling of power draining from your body?

The pain of bones snapping and bending in unnatural proportions? The feeling of burning as your life blood drips from every orifice in your body, draining not only power you’ve held for 50+ years, but your very essence?

They feel hollow. They feel pain. They feel everything they haven't felt in near fifty decades: hunger, exhaustion, agony, anguish.

Their mind clears without the cursed energy of the Red Crown clouding their mind.

Memories and feelings come flooding back. It had been so long since Maveth could remember the faces of their family; and the thought of possibly seeing them again has them in tears.

And suddenly, the pain is gone, pushed into the back of their mind as tears mix with blood, and a smile creeps onto their shaky lips, still floating in the air, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hug the soft visage of a mother and sister they hadn’t seen in forever.

They can remember their names. The way they sound. The soft feel of their mother’s arms around them, the feel of her wool, the feel of their sister’s hands as they were trying to teach them how to sign as a child.

Briefly, they thought of Haantre, the father figure theyd grown to love, and Baz, socially inept and loving, and even the damned Goat that would pop through every once in awhile. Would they get to see them again? Would they be alright if they didn’t come back?

And then they were falling back down. Fear crept into their broken and aching bones before nothing. Nothing except darkness and the soft sounds of a bell ringing out against the dark abyss behind closed eyelids.

Time slowed to a near stop and Maveth could finally move, their back resting gently against the soft rolling sands of the -

Wherever they were. This wasn’t the Gateway anymore.

There is no God. There are no chains. Just the soft cloudy white mist and gentle hum of music. Their wool was clean, brushed, even, along with their ritual fleece - the simple red and white one they’d been given at the very start of their journey. It’s what they chose to wear that specific day, instead of their normal shawl and cloak.

A hand raised to their throat, the soft skin and fur no longer having that dull ache they’d grown accustomed to. Their mouth opened, and Maveth made a quiet, testing noise before a grin broke out on their lips.

“I can speak,” they said, quiet, but clear. The rasp they’d carried no longer present.

The Lamb hadn’t noticed the missing bell on their horn. Just the one that jingled against their collar as they jumped around excitedly, feeling light and weightless. They laughed and sang and cried out joyously, kicking at the white sands beneath their hooves, eyes glisteningly wet with happy tears.

They stopped abruptly, ears lifting as a sound came from further away. A singsong voice, one they knew well. It only took a moment in time before the sheep took off, a hand reaching up to unclasp the fleece they wore, the fabric flying away behind them, billowing in the wind, clothed in nothing but the wool they were born in, their collar and bell, and a piece of blue ratted fabric wrapped around a single horn.

Arms outstretched, Maveth ran right into the misty looking form of their mother, a large dark standing sheep with valleys of thick wool covering her body, sticking out from the holes in sleeves and the collar of a never ending white dress.

She looked as beautiful as the day Maveth had lost her.

Arms encircling one another, Maveth sobbing into her chest, the smaller Lamb feeling like a young child once again being comforted by their parent. They didn’t feel sad or angry or anything other than gentle affection. Longing. Love.

“Oh, Maven, look at how you’ve grown,” the sheep said quietly, lifting her child’s face between her fingers. She wiped away tears and smiled gently before turning her head to the side and making a pointed nod.

Maveth followed her gaze, brows knitting upwards, snot and tears running down their face, before reaching out and tugging the other sheep in close, their hand digging in against the soft downy wool of their older sister.

No more aching. No more pain.

This was all they had wanted for so long. To touch and be with their family. To love and be loved. To stay by His side. To-

His?

Oh, yes. His.

A look of knowing crossed their mother’s face, and she smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Maveth’s forehead. “Cherin and I be waiting for you,” she said softly, fingers brushing back wayward bangs from their eyes. They looked to their sister, who was signing to them. ‘We love you.’

And then hands meshed through their figures, and Maveth cried out, reaching through their bodies to try and take them back. To hold them one last time.

“No - no! I’m not ready, please-“ they cried, eyes wide and fearful. “Please, mama, Cher, no-“

Suddenly, they were pulled back through the sands, unknown claws grasping under their arms as the Lamb screamed, thrashing against the immovable force.

They were lifted up higher until they hit the highest clouds and -

Maveth sat up in Death’s arms, the God now small, but still large compared to themselves. His gaze was intense but warm as he watched them wake once more, a hand moving away from their face.

Screaming, crying. They clutched at their fleece, sucking in trembling breaths, mouth open and drooling down their chin. They could remember everything. Every death. Every life. They couldn’t feel it now, but the echoes of lifetimes of aches were etched into their mind.

They remembered their mother and Cherin. It had been so long since they remembered their names or the sounds of their voice.

Panic rose in their chest and quickly, they hunched over, dry heaving into the sands, nothing but spit and saliva leaving their empty stomach.

And, oh Gods - the hunger. They’d never felt a hunger like this. Even before vesselhood, they’d lived on a farm.

Their mortal body was weak now. Hollow from power, but filled with memory. Maveth didn’t know which they’d preferred.

“Breathe,” a voice came from behind them, a hand resting to their back. It was familiar. Of course it was.

Maveth turned to look over their shoulder to their God, their body trembling. Eyes widen before softening once more, they hiccuped and turned to bow, their forehead in the sands before Him.

They wanted to throw hands with Him for bringing them back. Even though it was what they had asked for. Begged for, even.

Gently, a soft hand brushed through their wool, a pleased noise coming from the black cat. From Death. From Narinder, from their God.

Three red eyes pierced through them. The Red Crown settled easily upon his head, the pupil staring directly to the lamb.

“Welcome back.”

[starlitsheep]

Death’s Shepard getting ready to tend to their flock 🧡 WIP