A canon-divergent Cult of the Lamb AU built from my playthrough, headcanons, questionable decisions, and a concerning amount of emotional damage.
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📌 Start Here
🐑 The Lamb
Follow Briar's story, thoughts, choices, and questionable leadership decisions.
→ #the lamb speaks
🐐 The Goat
Bane's perspective, chaos, commentary, and whatever emotional baggage he brought along.
→ #the goat speaks
👑 The Crown
Creator notes, lore explanations, AU details, behind-the-scenes thoughts, and me yelling about my own characters.
→ #the crown speaks
📖 Stories
The Heretic and The Hound → AO3: [CLICK HERE] | TUMBLR: [CLICK HERE]
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Intro + Briar and Bane → [CLICK HERE]
Ratau and Hollow → [CLCIK HERE]
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Previous Chapter | Chapter Four | Next Chapter - Coming soon...
Pairing: GoatLamb / NariLamb
Summary:
A trip into Darkwood reveals more than Briar expected. An encounter with a strange fortune teller leaves him questioning fate itself, while his first true battle as the Crown's vessel forces him to confront what his new existence really means.
Warnings/Tags:
Angst • Hurt/Comfort • Psychological Horror • PTSD • Codependency • Morally Ambiguous Character • Unreliable Narrator • Character Study • Enemies to Friends to Lovers • Obsessive Behavior • Possessive Behavior • Manipulation • Power Dynamics • Power Imbalance • Sexual Tension • Sexual Content • Smut • Kink Exploration • Blood and Gore • Sacrifice • Resurrection • Everyone Has Issues
Notes:
3 AM chapter posting because sleep is apparently optional when fictional sheep are suffering. Hope you enjoy Chapter Four!
Always posted to AO3 first under PinkStarDust, this is intended to be a long running fic so go give it some love.
Word Count: 2406
Chapter Four: Three Cards and a Curse
Briar woke, his eyes slowly opening, the sun warming his skin, and then he was lurching upright, his ears flicking as he looked around the little makeshift camp they’d made.
Ratau was sitting nearby on a rock, Meriyan was making what actually smelled like food.
“You are finally awake…” Ratau’s eyes were on the lamb, taking in the rigid way they held themselves.
Briar's gaze slid to the rat. “I was tired.” he mumbled, rubbing his face.
“The cult will need more lumber, food, coins…” Ratau reminded.
Right. Darkwood.
Briar glanced to the entrance of the cult's domain as if seeing beyond to the gates of Darkwood and the other domains beyond.
“I’m going.” Briar sighed pushing to his feet.
“You should take some of these.” Meriyan offered up some of the berries they had gathered.
Briar glanced down at the offered food before slowly taking it. “Thanks.”
Meriyan simply nodded, looking pleased that he’d accepted the offering.
“Leshy and his cult will likely be waiting for you.” Ratau warned.
Briar was painfully aware of the trail of carnage he had left in his wake in escaping the Darkwood after The One Who Wait’s resurrection of him. The smarter thing to do would have been to lay low and follow Ratau’s advice but it was a little late for regrets. Second guessing himself now would only sew doubt.
The best course of action was to keep playing confident leader, and try to make it back in one piece.
“I know. Him and his cult probably aren’t pleased with my little rescue.” Briar’s gaze slid to where Meriyan was perched over the cooking fire.
He couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision to save her even if it had complicated everything.
“You will need to be careful.” Ratau said, watching as Briar popped a berry into his mouth.
“I will be,” Briar walked past the old rat before flashing a smirk that was more confident than he felt. “I’m the leader, remember? I got everything under control.”
He walked away from the makeshift camp and towards the entrance of their domain.
The way to Darkwood was already open, looming past a large statue of the crown, a flame flickering inside its hollow middle.
Briar tilted his head at the stone likeness standing before the gates. “That explains the ego…”
“My ego is a perfectly reasonable reflection of my greatness thank you.” The crown’s voice echoed inside his head.
“Good morning to you too. I was starting to think I was going to be taking on Darkwood on my own.” Briar sounded almost amused as he walked through the stone gate.
“As if you could survive it without me.” The Crown scoffed.
Briar squinted, the light change from the bright sun of his cults valley to the dark gloom of the forest left him momentarily blind as his vision adjusted. He blinked, the crown already shifting and moving to his hand.
The lush foliage and red flowers were almost deceptive. The forest would almost look welcoming if it weren't for the speared heretics and cultist effigies that littered the path before him.
“Welcoming no?” The Crown mused.
“Very.” Briar’s nose scrunched as he started down the path, his ears flicking, listening to the sounds of the forest around them, on high alert for anything that wasn’t some distant animal call or a creaking branch.
“Don’t shy away from the red flowers.” The crown advised.
“Why? Are they poisonous?” Briar nudged one of the red blooms skeptically with a hoof.
“They are medicine.” The Crown told him, sounding exasperated. “Not everything I point out is trying to kill you…”
Briar huffed a sigh before stopping and crouching to gather up the flowers. The trek through Darkwood wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The first stretch was mostly rock and flowers.
He paused mid step as a flash of gold caught his attention, a small flutter of light flashing through the dappled shadows for the forest. His brows furrowed as he walked towards it, small golden decorations hanging from the canopy casting fractured light as he walked under them.
“What is that?” He murmured, following it like a trail until he stopped at the edge of an open area. The crown shifted to his hand turning into the familiar form of a blade as a large bird-like creature wearing a red pointed cowl.
“Welcome Lamb, conduit of great power, promised liberator of The One Who Waits,” The bird said, his eyes narrowing as Briar lingered in the shadows of the treeline.
Briar edged out cautiously, his hand gripping the sword in his hand tightly.
“You know me?” His form was tense and rigid as if expecting a trap.
“The cards have showed you to me once. Many lifetimes ago.” The bird mused thoughtfully.
“The red feathered one speaks both truth and nonsense at once. I dislike it.” The crown whispered.
Briar’s ear flicked in annoyance but he didn’t acknowledge it, still on edge as he watched the crimson clad bird.
“Lifetimes ago?” Briar asked, looking skeptical. Not that it was incorrect considering one lifetime had ended roughly twenty-four hours ago.
“I have always drawn your cards Lamb,” The bird's eyes narrowed slightly. “Though this is the first in this lifetime.”
“Draw my cards?” Briar arched a brow.
“Come, I am Clauneck, let me pull cards for you once more.” The bird ushered him closer.
Briar hesitated before moving closer until his hooves met the edge of the blanket rolled out on the ground where Clauneck was sitting, already shuffling a deck of cards. He tilted his head watching the birds hands as they shuffled the cards before laying out three before them reading the cards.
“One’s loss is the gain of another, one hopes to be turned away while another harbors violent wrath that cannot be contained…” Clauneck murmured thoughtfully before his gaze stilted, locking with the lambs.
Briar stiffened a chill racing up his spine, the feeling of something almost ominous settling over him. “Who’s wrath?” he prompted.
“The cards do not say. It is both known and unfathomable.” Clauneck chirped. “Perhaps one, perhaps many.”
“You’re being intentionally vague.” Briar accused his hand tightening on the sword.
“The deck decides the fate lamb, I am simply an interpreter of its will.” Clauneck seemed unfazed by the irritated lamb. “We will meet again, lamb. I will draw your cards once more and we shall see if fate has changed its mind about you…” the bird seemed pleased with his predictions as vague as they seemed.
Briars shoulders slumped and he just stared as the fortuneteller in disbelief.
“You should not dwell on the nonsense of the fortuneteller…” The Crown told him as Briar walked back the way they came.
“So I'm supposed to ignore the giant oracle bird?” Briar grumbled.
“Preferably yes. If you linger on the past and future you’ll be distracted in the present.” The Crown advised.
“I’m already distracted in the present…” Briar huffed heading down another path.
“Well stop it, that is how vessels die and I do not want to return to that wasteland the cat is banished to.” The Crown hissed.
“Can you just-!” Something long and bush-like collided with his face.
He went down hard, his nose burning and throbbing as he slashed upward through the thing, a mix of black and green chaser worm fluids coating him.
“I told you not to get distracted!” The Crown scolded.
“I wasn't trying!” He said getting to his feet as more enemies appeared. “Ugh, what are these things? It’s guts smell foul…”
“Chaser Worms. They use their bodies like battering rams.” The Crown supplied as if it were reading from a lousy field guide.
“That would have been useful before getting hit in the face.” Briar snipped, cutting through another worm and then another.
The movements became more fluid, easier as worked his way through each enemy. Chaser worms, Diver worms, bats. Easy enough monsters for Briar and the crown to cut down clearing their way forward.
“You’re not as horrible as you were at the start.” The Crown praised begrudgingly as they sliced through another worm before continuing down the path.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Briar let out a small laugh.
“It’s an observation of your progress…” The Crown huffed.
Briar froze at the next area, robed cultists slowly turning to look at him.
His chest seized and suddenly he wasn’t a vessel standing there smeared with worm guts and a sentient crown turned sword gripped in his hand, he was a small helpless lamb kneeling on cold stone. He froze, wide eyed as memories of his execution flashed through his mind unbidded.
He could feel his pulse racing, a muscle in his neck aching as his stress levels spiked and his jaw clenched.
“Move lamb!” The Crown shouted in his mind.
Briar jolted, moving just before a blade swung down where he had been standing. He turned and thrusted the blade into the cultist, before yanking it free and moving to block another blow.
Briar plowed through one cultist after another, trying to keep up as two rushed him at the same time. He blocked the attack, grunting as both cultists hit the blade, pushing him back, his hooves sliding backwards through the dirt.
“Fight better.” The Crown told him.
“I’m trying!” Briar growled through clenched teeth before pushing the cultists back a few paces.
The one to the left swung its blade at him and raised his own blade to meet it only to leave his midsection open.
The second cultist’s blade sank into his abdomen. He’d expected it to hurt and burn. Instead it felt like a hollow ache. Briar reached out, the cultist within grabbing distance thanks to the blow, before running him through and letting it collapse in a heap at his feet.
His vision swam and darkened at the edges as he watched the remaining cultists turn and run when he didn’t immediately crumple into the dirt. He didn’t let himself fall until they were out of sight, his knee’s hitting the ground with a heavy thud, then the ground was rushing up to meet him.
Executions had been cleaner, quicker. One swift strike and then the dark, no pain, no feeling your life slowly drain out of you. While it wasn’t exactly painful, it was agonizingly slow and he was alone, not even the cultists here this time to watch as he sank into oblivion.
“I told you not to die…” The Crown sighed as darkness came rushing in.
────── ⋅ ⋅ •⋅⊱∘⊰∙∘☽ ♰ ☾∘∙⊱∘⊰⋅• ⋅ ⋅ ──────
Briar’s eyes snapped open, the unsettling pale brightness of the Gateway just as unsettling and jarring as it was the first time. This time was also considerably worse given that he woke up in front of The One Who Waits, the large ominous feline tilting its head at him.
“You died…” He sounded unimpressed as Briar pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed?” Briar muttered before he could think better of it.
All three of The One Who Wait’s eyes narrowed at the lamb. “You are my chosen vessel,” he rumbled seizing Briar, a large bony hand wrapping around the lamb's small body. “I still have need of you. Death will not halt you, I will not allow it.”
“So what? You’re just going to resurrect me again?” Briar wriggled and twisted in the feline's grasp in a vain attempt to get loose.
“Each time you are brought down you will rise again.” he confirmed. “Take what you have gathered. Build and strengthen the cult. This is how power is gained.” The god instructed his face looming close enough that Briar could see his fangs.
────── ⋅ ⋅ •⋅⊱∘⊰∙∘☽ ♰ ☾∘∙⊱∘⊰⋅• ⋅ ⋅ ──────
Briar gasped and coughed choking on air and ichor. He rolled onto his side, heaving the black viscous liquid onto the ground next to him. Resurrection sickness was getting really old really fast. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth wiping it, his gaze flicking down to the blade that was no longer inside him and now laid discarded next to him. No signs of cultists, or monsters but given the lack of light it was nearly dark now.
How long had he been dead for?
“Open a portal back to the cult.” Briar rasped, sounding as miserable as he felt.
“Quite bossy for someone who died.” The crown snarked.
“Now.” Briar commanded.
A red portal opened under him, before swallowing him and depositing him at the entrance to the cult's territory.
Briar slowly forced himself to stand, swaying on his feet as he descended the stone steps from the gateway.
“Do not collapse. It doesn’t look good.” The Crown told him seeming more anxious and active above his head than usual.
“What? Afraid I’ll die a second time today?” Briar muttered though there was no humor in his voice, only exhaustion.
“It is not a joke.” The Crown bristled its irritation a prickly sensation against Briar’s consciousness.
Briar walked back into camp looking worse for wear wearing a mix of bug guts, ichor and blood across his body clothes. Meriyan looked horrified at the state of him immediately rushing to her feet her hands hovering an inch away from him as if unsure if she should touch him.
“Look at you! What happened?” She sounded concerned and upset.
“Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting.” Briar told her, his hair hiding his face but he could see the way her hands recoiled at his words through the locks of white hair. “I’m fine, and I brought back what was needed.” He said dropping the supplies at his feet before stepping over them walking through the makeshift settlement they were building.
“You did not answer the question.” Ratau interjected his gaze tracking the lamb as he walked through camp.
“He looks like he crawled through a body pit.” Meriyan murmured to the rat.
Briar’s ear flicked at the sound of her hushed voice. “Close enough.” He murmured before glancing over his shoulder offering a small exhausted smile. “I’m fine, I just need some rest. See to the supplies while I clean up and take a nap?” He asked.
Meriyan just stared at him for a moment before nodding mutely.
Ratau on the other hand did not seem convinced by the lambs' reassurances.
Thank you for reading!
Ominous things are coming, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
After surviving resurrections, eldritch horrors, and the sheer nightmare of building a cult from scratch, Briar is finally taking a nap. Please keep your voices down in the valley today, or Ratau will aggressively shush you.
The Worst Babysitters In My Cult of the Lamb Universe
Okay, so I said I was going to take a break buuut... while working on this AU I realized something absolutely hilarious.
Briar and Bane are both vessels of the Red Crown, both chosen by Narinder, both thrown into a horrible situation involving gods, prophecy, death, and way too much trauma...
And somehow they ended up with completely different flavors of emotionally damaged old man assigned to them.
🐀 Ratau — Depressed Rat Dad
Everyone knows Ratau. He exists in canon as the former vessel of the Red Crown, the guy who guides the Lamb after their resurrection and helps them understand what they’ve been dragged into.
But because this is my AU and I apparently cannot leave anything alone, Ratau got hit with the character development beam.
In this version, Ratau is less of a mysterious tutorial NPC and more of a genuinely tragic figure.
He was a vessel.
He carried the Crown.
He failed.
And instead of becoming bitter or turning away from everything, he stayed. He remained devoted to Narinder, even after losing the thing that once made him important.
Which is honestly such a fascinating contrast because Ratau is someone who lost everything and still found a reason to keep going.
Then Briar shows up.
A tiny, terrified lamb who has just been murdered, resurrected, handed a sentient eldritch artifact, and told "congrats, start a cult."
And Ratau takes one look at this disaster child and basically goes:
"Well. Guess I'm a father now."
Not literally, but emotionally?
Absolutely.
He's still sad. He's still carrying the weight of his own failure. But he is alive in this AU.
He worries. He has opinions.
He's not just "the guy who failed."
He's the guy who failed and chose to help someone else succeed.
🦌The Hollow Shepherd — The Haunted Crypt Uncle
And then there is the Goat.
Because if Briar gets Ratau, Bane absolutely needed someone equally tragic and equally weird.
Enter:
The Hollow Shepherd.
A creature that was never meant to exist.
A failed vessel.
A discarded attempt.
A mistake Narinder made and then decided was too useful to throw away.
The Hollow Shepherd was created during Narinder's desperation.
Before the Lamb. Before the prophecy. Before the Red Crown found the vessel it was actually waiting for.
He was supposed to be a solution.
A way out.
Except the Crown rejected him, and somehow, his body survived.
His soul didn't.
Now he exists somewhere between life and death: a half-rotted, half-living relic of Narinder's desperation.
A creature that crawled out of a grave and is honestly just exhausted about the whole situation.
He doesn't remember his original name anymore.
He doesn't sleep.
He doesn't eat.
He is covered in old relics, broken chains, faded markings, and pieces of a life he cannot fully remember.
The biggest thing?
While Ratau functionally acts as help, guide and comfort for Briar, Hollow Shephard acts as both guide and cautionary tail.
He represents what happens when a gods desperation does not turn out as planned.
I wrote Ratau as devoted and having blind faith.
The Hollow Shephard is some one who's survived having his god fail him and is still forced to serve.
I think that's really important and explains how Bane handles his crown differently compared to Briar who's actively manipulated and influenced by his crown.
Anyway...
This AU accidentally gave the Lamb a sad old rat dad and the Goat a haunted crypt uncle, and I refuse to apologize.
One of them teaches emotional healing.
The other teaches eldritch artifact safety.
Both are exhausted.
Both are somehow responsible for traumatized murder animals with god complexes.
Briar inherits a ruined temple, gains his first follower, and begins laying the foundations of his cult. Between clearing rubble and questionable cooking skills, he makes one thing clear: he refuses to rule like the Bishops.
Warnings/Tags:
Angst • Hurt/Comfort • Psychological Horror • PTSD • Codependency • Morally Ambiguous Character • Unreliable Narrator • Character Study • Enemies to Friends to Lovers • Obsessive Behavior • Possessive Behavior • Manipulation • Power Dynamics • Power Imbalance • Sexual Tension • Sexual Content • Smut • Kink Exploration • Blood and Gore • Sacrifice • Resurrection • Everyone Has Issues
Notes:
I love writing Briar when he's allowed to just...exist for a minute. He may be carrying an ancient god's crown, but he's also just some guy trying to build a home with zero qualifications beyond "I don't want to be like the Bishops."
Anyway, enjoy the domestic fluff before I make everyone miserable again.
Always posted to AO3 first under PinkStarDust, this is intended to be a long running fic so go give it some love.
Word Count: 1565
Chapter Three: Foundations
The territory where the temple was located was almost cute. A quaint valley nestled away from the bishop's domain. Briar walked through with Ratau at his side. The land was already clear, crumbling remnants of old structures, vines had overtaken stone and what might have been a garden.
“This is…underwhelming.” Briar said scanning the area, his eyes back to normal now.
“It has not been used in quite some time but it is safe and the earth is fertile.” Ratau assured him.
“This rubble…what was here before?” Briar asked.
“This was once where my cult settled, now it will serve you.” The rat said as if it was already decided.
For a cult that was supposed to be his, Briar was noting the startling lack of choices he was being given.
“The rat is right. The spot is good. People will come.” The crown purred.
“Is it not weird to have me take over?” Briar asked, looking at Ratau.
“The endeavor is not without its pains,” Ratau admitted. “But it was long ago, my role is different now.”
The acceptance in his voice was unsettling. Briar couldn’t understand the rats ability to simply trust The One Who Waits and whatever vague plan he had implemented they were supposed to see through. Briar had never had that much faith in anything. He’d always prided himself on his ability to think for himself, the painful self awareness he seemed to possess. Now he wondered if his life might have been easier as one of the masses. If it might have been a relief to float through life believing that some all powerful deity was looking out for him, protecting him, caring for him.
But there was no going back now. Gods, bishops, cult leaders, it was all the same thing. A power scale with the one with the most power sitting at the top and ruling over the others.
If they had power, if they could gather and amass it, it could be taken away too.
His gaze drifted to the dilapidated remnants of the temple, a wooden triangular structure with faded red paint. That was where Ratau had said the rabbit he had rescued had been sent. He started heading in that direction, allowing Ratau to trail after him.
“I would advise you to be gentle, some of them tend to be skittish when they arrive.” Ratau advised.
Briar gave a small nod of understanding before entering the old temple.
It was quiet, save for the gentle scuff of his hooves, the temple smelled of must and mildew.
“Hello?” Briar called out looking around before spotting a long purple ear sticking out from behind one of the pews. He approached slowly, glancing down at the small cowering figure. “If you're trying to hide from me, you're not doing a very good job.” He said watching the rabbit flinch.
“Please I-” They started sounding more pathetic than Briar could bear.
He sighed before crouching next to the pew. “No one here is going to hurt you if that is what you’re frightened of. No one is going to keep you here either. If you wish to leave you can go.” He said.
The purple rabbit lifted its head, wide tear filled eyes scanning his face as if they expected it to be some sort of trick or cruel joke.
It was to be expected, most of the people who dwelled in the Darkwood had been tormented and subjugated by Leshy and his cult for a long time.
“I can leave?” The rabbit whimpered.
“If that's what you want. Though, it would mean returning to Leshy’s domain.” Briar promised with a small nod.
The rabbit's ears pinned, the idea of leaving suddenly seeming less appealing.
“Letting it leave would be stupid, they will find themselves upon another altar.” The crown advised.
Briar had a sinking feeling it was true as unhelpful as it was. That aside, he wouldn’t force them to stay, he wouldn’t keep them trapped here if that wasn’t what they wanted. If they wanted to flee back to the Darkwood or somewhere else, he wouldn’t stop them.
“But there’s nothing here…” The rabbit whimpered.
“That’s true. It’s pretty bad right now. But you can help make it better.” He offered a small smile. “We can work together and make a safe place for others who want to escape the bishops of the old faith. Things will slowly get better, but someone has to take the first step.”
The rabbit stared up at him, the tears and trembling slowly stopping. “You think so?” They asked seeking reassurance.
“I do,” Briar said softly, reaching out and gently patting the rabbit's head. “But only if people stay and help make it better.”
There was a long moment of silence and then, “I’ll stay. I’ll help.” The rabbit decided.
“Clever little lamb.” The Crown mused with approval.
Briar exited the temple a few minutes later with the rabbit in tow much to Ratau’s surprise.
“You calmed them.” Ratau observed.
“I did, and they have chosen to stay and help.” Briar seemed a bit pleased with himself at the feat.
Something that did not escape Ratau’s notice.
“Chose?” Ratau echoed, arching a brow.
“Yes, chose,” Briar crossed his arms. “I refuse to be like the bishops. If I am to build this place up and run it I will do so with my own rules and doctrines.” He told Ratau.
“A very wise decision. One must learn from the failures of others in order to surpass them…” Ratau seemed to approve of his approach.
“Now, where do we start?” Briar asked, tugging off his cape leaving the black long sleeve shirt he wore exposed, a small bit of white peeking out where the neckline dipped into a v-shape.
“Mm, the essentials would be food, shelter and a shrine…” Ratau told him.
Briar looked at the rabbit. “Gather wood and whatever you can forage from the immediate area, I’ll start clearing things.” He ordered rolling up his sleeves.
The follower blinked up at him, seeming surprised. “You’re going to help?”
Briar looked down at them. “Yes?”
“But you’re the leader…” They said, seeming nervous.
“I am. Which means I’m responsible for making sure things get done. I will help until we have the manpower for me to do otherwise.” Briar told them before wandering off to start on moving debris.
The work went quicker than expected. The rabbit, who Briar had learned was named Meriyan, had made quick work of gathering wood and food. The time consuming part was clearing the debris. Masses of stone and wooden remnants of the former settlement were scattered everywhere on top of overgrown vines and roots that seemed to make their work harder.
After what seemed like an eternity they finally managed to get a decent area cleared, a small shelter erected and the rabbit was busy crafting what looked like a bed roll while Briar worked on starting a fire to cook over.
“You’re going to cook?” Meriyan asked, glancing up at Briar, a small tendril of smoke drifting up from the kindling they were working with.
“I am.” Briar murmured not looking up from his work.
“You’ve cooked before?” She tilted her head, a long ear flopping to the side.
“Yes. I did have to eat before this, you know.” He sounded almost amused, the kindling catching fire. He started taking the smaller pieces of wood building up the fire.
“What have you made before?” She seemed genuinely curious.
Briar opened his mouth to answer but he couldn’t recall learning a set recipe, or even if anything he made had a proper name. He had always just piled stuff together, heated it and hoped for the best.
Sometimes it was fine and edible, others…eating whatever concoction he made was better than starving.
“Food?” He said his brows furrowing.
“What kind of food?” Meriyan prompted.
“The…edible kind?” He shrugged. “The point is we won't starve.”
Meriyan just blinked, staring at him.
“What?” He asked.
“Tomorrow I can cook.” She volunteered.
“Maybe that's for the best…” He looked down at the odd collection of berries and other odd edible items the rabbit had foraged. “I can go into Darkwood and see what I can find.”
Meriyan nodded, seeming pleased with the arrangement.
Hours later and sleep had found the others more easily than it had Briar. He sat near the fire, cape tugged tight around him to keep the night's chill at bay. He poked at the dying embers of the fire with a stick, his ears flicking towards the treeline every now and then, listening for any signs of a threat.
Not that he expected one to come. Ratau had reassured him that this place was safe, that the other cults did not venture into this place. A small mercy.
But hypervigilance and the events of the day refused to let him sleep.
“You are avoiding it. I can feel exhaustion tugging at the edges of you Crown Bearer…” The Crown whispered into his mind.
“I am not avoiding sleep.” Briar murmured.
They both knew it was a lie.
“Whatever you say little lamb…” The Crown murmured before closing its eye.
Briar let out a heavy sigh glancing to where Ratau and Meriyan slept nearby. He would stay up a while longer, at least until the first bits of light peeked over the horizon.
Briar awakens in Darkwood and quickly learns that resurrection came with unexpected company. Guided by the former vessel, Ratau, and plagued by the Red Crown's unnervingly sentient commentary, his first steps toward building a cult begin with bloodshed, manipulation, and the rescue of his very first follower.
Warnings/Tags:
Angst • Hurt/Comfort • Psychological Horror • PTSD • Codependency • Morally Ambiguous Character • Unreliable Narrator • Character Study • Enemies to Friends to Lovers • Obsessive Behavior • Possessive Behavior • Manipulation • Power Dynamics • Power Imbalance • Sexual Tension • Sexual Content • Smut • Kink Exploration • Blood and Gore • Sacrifice • Resurrection • Everyone Has Issues
Notes:
Alright, tutorial's over.
We're officially leaving "canon but novelized" territory and entering "I have been left unsupervised with Cult of the Lamb" territory.
This AU is built on my own playthrough, way too many headcanons, and me asking "okay, but what if I made all of these little freaks significantly worse?"
The answer, as it turns out, is: a sentient Red Crown with opinions and a depressed rat man.
Have fun.
CW: Graphic violence, blood, gore, body horror, ritual sacrifice, manipulation, and eldritch peer pressure.
Always posted to AO3 first under PinkStarDust, this is intended to be a long running fic so go give it some love.
Word Count: 1609
Chapter Two: My Hat Hates Me
Briar hit the forest floor with a resounding thud, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. He gasped, rolling onto his side, coughing and choking on the air.
“Stop choking on the air, Crown Bearer.” A voice whispered in his head, what felt like another consciousness brushed against his own mind.
Briar tensed his head snapping up, looking around for where the voice had come from.
“Who said that!?” He demanded his brows furrow.
“Above you, Crown Bearer.” The voice said and Briar’s gaze slid upwards to the crown floating just above his head.
“A god dropped me and I hit my head hard enough I'm hearing the crown talk…” Briar rationalized to himself.
“One would think the cat would have chosen a smarter vessel this time.” The red crown huffed, sounding indignant. “You are not what I expected.”
“I feel like I should be offended.” Briar sighed pushing to his feet.
“Probably.” The crown mused.
“Great, my hat hates me.” He grumbled looking around. Based on the trees and the flowers, he’d landed somewhere deep in Darkwood. Leshy’s territory.
“I am not a hat! I am an ancient sentient artifact which has seen the rise and fall of gods you brat.” The crown fumed the large red eye at its center narrowing clearly not pleased.
“Same difference.” Briar mumbled trying to figure out which way to go, ears flicking at every rustle and twig snap.
“It is not!” The crown insisted.
“Will you shut up? I’m trying to think.” Briar snapped at it, a pounding already forming behind his temples.
The crown begrudgingly went silent, though Briar could feel the clear displeasure radiating off of it.
A branch snapped behind them, and Briar whirled, the grown shifting shape mid turn, forming into a sword in his hand, forcing him to grasp or let it drop.
He stood there, the blade pointed at the chest of an old one eyed rat.
The rat stood there his hands held up in a placating gesture, his gaze flicking from the sword to the lamb then back.
“Do not be afraid, I am Ratau.” He introduced himself, keeping his voice calm and even. “I was once a vessel like you. I was sent to guide you, I was instructed to lead you to safety. Come, follow Ratau.” He said moving towards a nearby path, motioning to the lamb to follow him.
“You’re not seriously going to follow the crazy old rat into the woods?” The crown questioned.
“It’s not like we have much of a choice.” Briar sighed under his breath, his grip tightening on the sword before following after the rat.
“Mm, hopefully the next Crown Bearer is more cunning than you.” The Crown huffed as if already disappointed by his seemingly impending demise.
Briar ignored it trailing after the rat through the brush of the Dark Wood. They traveled in silence, the rat occasionally glancing over his shoulder now and then to make sure the lamb was still following.
“You said your name was Ratau right?” Briar asked, picking up his pace.
The rat glanced at him. “Yes.”
“And you were a vessel?” Briar eyed him, it was hard to imagine the rat as more than he was with his paper hat and staff.
“I wore the crown a long time ago.” He murmured his gaze going distant.
“He was sufficient in his efforts.” The Crown supplied unhelpfully.
Briar ignored it.
“What happened?” The lamb asked, eyeing the scar that spanned the rats closed eye.
“I failed.” Ratau explained simply.
“And?” Briar prompted, curious. Not just for curiosity's sake but for what might happen should he fail, should The One Who Waits find out his plan to leave behind the cult he hadn’t even formed yet.
“And nothing. I failed and I gave up the crown, another vessel was selected.” Ratau said, looking at the lamb. “I am just glad I can still be of use to my god. Even if it means becoming a shepherd to the new vessel.”
The faith and devotion in the rat's voice made Briar's stomach twist.
“That’s…good…I suppose.” Briar said, looking away trying not to sound ungrateful for the help.
“Mm.” Ratau hummed, the sound a noncommittal acknowledgement as silence settled between them again.
The silence felt like a void. An empty vastness between the lamb and his predecessor. There were so many questions that Briar wanted to ask.
How had Ratau failed? What were the consequences? How did the rat know where to find him and which way was out of the Dark Wood?
But prying too much seemed unwise. He didn’t need the rat to ask his own questions in return.
Ratau’s ears flicked, his head tilting towards a sound further down the path.
Briar mimicked him, catching the faint sound of chanting, and went pale.
Cultists.
“We should slaughter them.” A thought that wasn’t entirely his own snaked through his mind.
Briar shook his head trying to clear the thoughts and the uncomfortable feeling of the crown drawing him towards the sound.
Ratau moved, keeping silent, his form obscured by the shadows of the Darkwood. Briar followed after him, keeping to the shadows, his small form actually useful for once.
“Another poor soul to be sacrificed.” Ratau said, shaking his head mournfully as they watched familiar hooded figures gather around the small form of an animal bound to the altar.
“Familiar no?” The Crown whispered in his mind. “If only someone had saved you, how different things would be little lamb…” It mused inside of his mind.
The urge to intervene slowly devolved from an urge into a compulsion. A toxic and intoxicating mix of Briar's own bitter anger and the crown's manipulation and will. His hand tightened around the crown, still in sword form in his hand and slowly stood to his full height.
“Lamb what are you-!?” Ratau’s urgent whispers died on his tongue as Briar shot him a sharp look, the lamb's eyes mirroring the same crimson eyes and slitted pupil as the crown. The rat shrank back going silent at the sight of it, and Briar turned back towards the cultists walking out into the clearing.
“What is that?” One of the cultists asked, catching sight of Briar walking towards them.
“Is that a lamb? I thought they were extinct?” Another added sounding confused.
“They are.” Briar said his voice eerily calm, his red eyes piercing the gloom. “You’ll be joining them.” He said before darting forward, using his speed to his advantage as he rushed the cultist closest to him, running it through with the sword.
“Twist,” the Crown encouraged, sounding pleased. “Make sure they can’t get back up.”
Briar didn’t hesitate, twisting the blade, blood spurting and gushing from the cultists mouth before yanking the blade free before turning towards the other two. The one closest to them was staring wide-eyed frozen in place while his companion was already moving across the clearing towards escape.
“Since you were all planning a sacrifice I figured you wouldn’t mind me making a few of my own.” Briar mused before rushing towards the cultist staring at him, the figure coming to his senses just in time to draw his own blade blocking Briar's blow.
“The other one is getting away.” Briar directed the thought at the Crown.
“I see him.” It replied sounding almost bored as Briar traded blows with the cultist in front of him.
“Then do something!” Briar snapped.
The crown rolled its eye before the ground rumbled and split long black tentacles emerging from the ground to grab the escaping cultist, dragging it into the gaping wound in the ground as it screamed.
“The rat was never this needy.” The crown chided.
“Yeah, well the rat isn’t currently up to his elbows in cultists!” Briar shot back bringing his blade down diagonally across the cultist's chest and abdomen, the figure freezing as its internal organs slid free and onto the ground with a sickening wet squelch.
Ratau stood in the brush line, frozen as he stared at the carnage that had taken mere minutes. When he had been a vessel, it had taken years for him to get the crown to work with him, to learn how to wield it. He had never seen it answer a vessel so eagerly before.
The poor creature bound to the altar was trembling and whimpering when Briar approached.
“Please! Please don’t kill me! I have nothing to do with the cult!” He whimpered.
“...I’m not going to kill you.” Briar told the cowering animal before using the sword to slice through the ropes binding it.
It scrambled off the altar only to have a red portal open beneath it swallowing it whole. Briar tensed, rushing over staring down at the spot before his head snapped in Ratau’s direction.
“Where did it go!?” The lamb demanded.
“Fear not little lamb, he has simply been sent to your temple to await your return now that you’ve collected him.” The rat explained, approaching with caution.
“I have a temple?” Briar asked, brows furrowing.
“So incompetent this vessel…” The crown hissed inside of his head.
“Yes, a hollowed place where you will build your new cult.” Ratau explained. “We can go there now, rest.” He said, reaching for the sword in Briar’s hand.
The lamb jerked back dismissing the blade as if suddenly afraid that Ratau might try to take the crown from him. The Red Crown returned to its original form, occupying the space above Briar’s head.
“The rat misses his crown.” The crown purred, unease settling into Briar’s chest.
“Fine, show me the way to this temple.” Briar commanded.
The Bishops of the Old Faith believed sacrificing the last Lamb would prevent their downfall.
Instead, they delivered him directly into the hands of The One Who Waits.
Resurrected and bound to the Red Crown, Briar is tasked with building a cult in Narinder’s name and destroying the Bishops who erased his kind. But with every death, every crusade, and every sacrifice, the line between vessel and person begins to blur.
When Narinder creates a second vessel, the Goat known as Bane, Briar finds himself faced with the one creature who understands what he is becoming.
A story of gods, monsters, devotion, trauma, and two broken vessels who were never meant to survive.
Warnings/Tags:
Angst • Hurt/Comfort • Psychological Horror • PTSD • Codependency • Morally Ambiguous Character • Unreliable Narrator • Character Study • Enemies to Friends to Lovers • Obsessive Behavior • Possessive Behavior • Manipulation • Power Dynamics • Power Imbalance • Sexual Tension • Sexual Content • Smut • Kink Exploration • Blood and Gore • Sacrifice • Resurrection • Everyone Has Issues
Notes:
Okay, so chapter one is obviously playing pretty close to canon, and that is very intentional. I wanted to keep the foundation of the game’s opening because Briar’s entire story starts with that same tragedy: the last Lamb, the execution, the resurrection, and the deal with The One Who Waits.
This AU is based on my own playthrough, my personal headcanons, and my interpretation of these characters, so while canon is the starting point, things are definitely going to start spiraling from here.
Right now we’re just laying the groundwork. The trauma, the questionable decisions, the emotional damage, and the absolute disaster that is everyone’s relationships are coming. I promise I am getting to the fun AU nonsense.
Enjoy the suffering. :)
Always posted to AO3 first under PinkStarDust, this is intended to be a long running fic so go give it some love.
Word Count: 1201
Chapter One: Little Lamb
Prophecies.
They were supposed to give direction, act as warnings, precautions. And yet he still ended up kneeling on cold stone, his arms bound and surrounded by hooded figures and the bishops of the old faith. Prophecy had led them to hunt down the rest of his kind, to keep the thing they feared most bound and at bay.
He was the last lamb.
And they would sacrifice the lamb in a vain attempt to change their fate, to diverge from the prophecy that had declared their failure and the return of The One Who Waits.
“Before us stands the last of its kind. All others have been put to the blade.” Leshy, the bishop of chaos rumbled, the sound reverberating through the stone beneath him.
“With this sacrifice, the prophecy will be impossible to fulfil." Heket, the bishop of famine, croaked, seeming pleased with their efforts.
“The heretic who lies bound below will be bound to eternal captivity.” Kalamar rasped their eyes narrowing at the lamb.
“The old faith shall be preserved!” Shamura declared their eyes unnervingly blank and distant.
The lamb lifted his head looking up at the bishops who had ordered the extinction of his kind, who had ordered his execution.
Most people would have screamed, and cursed, begged and bargained. But Briar learned long ago that the bishops of the old faith didn’t care about names, or who you were, or even what you could offer. They simply cared that the prophecy be avoided at all costs.
He didn’t resist as a large clawed hand descended on his head shoving him downward until his face pressed into the cool carved stone beneath him.
His gaze flicked around the robed figures, the motion small but frantic as he searched for familiar faces, anything to focus on other than what he knew was coming, but all he found were familiar hooded figures, their faces obscured by deep hoods.
“Stay still little lamb and this will be quick.” A low voice growled above him, the large clawed hand releasing his skull.
He could get up, he could try and run…and then what? He was surrounded by cultists, the bishops loomed overhead and his arms were bound.
He wouldn’t get far if he even made it off the stone. The bishops were more likely to kill him on the spot.
There was nothing he could do. There was no escape. Nowhere to run. No one was coming to save him.
But maybe-
SHINK!
The thought and the small thread of hope he had was snuffed out as the executioner's blade fell.
***
Briar woke in the Gateway, his eyes opening slowly at first taking in the cold white light. Sand shifted under him, and what looked like fog obscured most of the terrain. His throat felt raw and aching. A hand reached up, fingers brushing tender scarred flesh, an itching sensation crawling across the scar at the contact.
He lurched upright as memories came flooding back. His stomach lurched and a throat that shouldn’t have worked spasmed. He doubled over, fingers curling into the sand as he vomited black ichor into the sand, his body trembling as his muscles clenched, limbs locking, refusing to let himself crumple into the dust.
The vomiting slowly stopped, punctuated by soft desperate pants as he dragged air into his lungs. And then he laughed. It bubbled up out of him against his will. He was supposed to be dead. In a ditch somewhere forgotten and rotting and here was sitting up, head somehow back on his shoulders and puking up black ichor.
It was impossible.
Maybe it was a twisted version of his life flashing before his eyes. Perhaps in his last few moments of fleeting existence his mind had chosen to alter his perception of reality instead of allowing him to perceive the reality of his head rolling across cold stone.
“Come closer…” A voice snaked through the air. Briar's body lifted from the ground, moving through the air, the pale scenery blurring past until he lurched to a stop before a massive dark figure.
Briar froze, his body tensing as he stared up at three massive red eyes, the slitted pupils locked onto his small form. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart a frantic racing thing in his chest.
The bishops had been looming distant figures, imposing and intimidating but something vaguely distant.
This was so much worse.
Too close. Too big.
Briar's body wouldn’t listen to him as he floated suspended before the looming figure, his eyes wide and terrified.
“Fear not, for though you are already dead I still have need of you, little vessel.” The figure mused with a predatory tilt of his head. “Those foolish bishops thought to keep you from me, but by executing you they sent you right to me.” He chuckled darkly.
Briar swallowed thickly, his gaze lingering on the sharp teeth, the figure's lips curling into a cruel smile.
His mind was desperately trying to piece things together like a riddle. He was dead…undead?...alive? And if the figure in front of him was speaking of the bishops and the prophecy that made him-
Briar’s ears pinned at the realization that the massive looming predator before him was The One Who Waits.
“I have given you life again,” he continued. “All that I ask is for you to start a cult in my name. Do we have a deal?” He crooned a large shackled hand reaching out, a sharp claw tipped finger tilting Briar's head upwards to meet the large trio of eyes locked on his small form.
“If I say no?” Briar asked, his voice a trembling rasp as it left his lips.
All three eyes seemed to glint at the implication that he might refuse. “If you refuse, I will simply kill you again.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a blunt factual statement.
A chill raced up Briar's spine.
He couldn’t say no. Well he could, if he wanted to die and stay dead. Maybe that was the easier choice. Considering how terrifying and jarring it had been the first time it wasn’t the most appealing option. Besides, The One Who Waits had simply asked for him to start a cult in his name.
That wasn’t too hard right? Just a small group of gullible weak willed people, give them some hope, something to believe in while he played dutiful leader until he figured out a way to get out of the deal.
“Then…I accept.” Briar told him, trying to keep the hesitation from seeping into his voice.
“A wise choice,” He mused, summoning a black crown with a large red eye at its center. “Take the red crown. With it you shall control the masses and strike fear in our enemies. Return to the land of the living and begin my cult. Once you have successfully recruited followers we shall confer again.” The red crown floated moving to hover just above Briar's head. Then he released the lamb, sending him falling through the air, through the fog and the sand of the Gateway and back into the world of the living.
Thank you for reading!
I know this chapter was not all that original or exciting but I hoped you guys liked it. I'll have another more chaotic chapter for you soon I promise lol.
Hey, I'm the creator, and welcome to the absolute epicenter of my Cult of the Lamb hyperfixation!
This blog is the official home for my custom universe: The Heretic and The Hound AU. What started as me just playing the game has completely spiraled. This AU is a chaotic blend of my actual playthrough experiences, my own twisted headcanons, and way too much time spent playing with these characters like barbie dolls.
Before you dig into the lore, here is a quick heads-up on how things operate around here:
The Ships: The primary focus and main ship is GoatLamb. However, this blog flips violently between GoatLamb and NariLamb content, with the lamb being the main character of the overall story.
The Narinder Situation: Narinder is relentlessly infatuated with my Lamb. My Lamb is heavily scaroused by this. It is a mess.
Content Warning (18+): This is an explicitly 18+ space. It centers on a m/m ship, and I will be making spicy shit of these little fucks. There is also a high probability of fanfic drops in the future.
If any of that isn't your thing, this isn't the blog for you. Otherwise, welcome to the AU.
🩸 THE HERETIC AND THE HOUND AU🩸
Welcome to The Heretic and The Hound, a Cult of the Lamb Alternate Universe focused on trauma, power dynamics, and the consequences of divine resurrection.
The Origin
Before the events of the game, the Bishops of the Old Faith executed all sheep to prevent a prophecy surrounding the imprisoned god, The One Who Waits (Narinder). In canon, Narinder resurrects a single Lamb to act as his vessel.
In this AU, Narinder did not want to leave anything to chance after the failure of his previous vessel, Ratau. He resurrected the Lamb (Briar), but also created a contingency vessel: the Goat (Bane). They were never intended to meet.
The Vessels
Briar (The Heretic)
Role: The manipulative, sociopathic face of the cult.
Appearance: Doll-like and delicate, with pale hair and a dark complexion.
Psychology: Repeated martyrdom and resurrection have severely fractured his psyche. He masks his deep PTSD with a bratty, entitled, and arrogant persona.
Leadership Style: Handles all social engineering, sermons, and gaslighting. He views himself as intellectually superior and refuses to tolerate incompetence.
Bane (The Hound)
Role: The feral enforcer, protector, and right-hand.
Appearance: Robust and muscular, featuring prominent canines, and a heavy spiked collar.
Psychology: Naturally aggressive and abrasive. He operates with a blunt, utilitarian mindset and actively distrusts mysticism.
Leadership Style: Manages the cult's physical reality. He disposes of bodies, breaks up fights, and scans the congregation for dissenters while Briar preaches.
The Dynamic
Briar and Bane are two halves of a fractured whole. While their relationship features a high-tension "Predator vs. Prey" binary, they are fundamentally two sides of the same coin, each fulfilling a vital function the other cannot survive without.
The Duality: They are the mind and the muscle of the cult. Where Briar is the divine, manipulative voice that controls the masses, Bane is the brutal, grounded physical force that secures their reality. Neither can lead the flock alone; they lock together seamlessly to maintain absolute control.
The Leash: Because they are so deeply interconnected, Bane acts as Briar's necessary anchor. Briar frequently becomes overwhelmed by the psychic noise of his crown and his own trauma. When he begins to spiral or throw a feral tantrum, Bane serves as the physical "leash." Bane is the only entity allowed to forcefully drag Briar away from a situation, often by simply covering Briar's face with his hand and hauling him off.
The Crowns
The artifacts granted by Narinder possess their own wills and influence.
Briar's Red Crown constantly whispers to him, exacerbating his worst impulses and manipulating his thoughts.
Bane actively bullies his crown. Through sheer willpower, he forces the artifact into submission, making it serve him rather than acting as a conduit for its own agenda.
The crowns are also boyfriends. Are Briar and Bane a thing because of the crowns? Guess we'll find out. How are two ancient relics boyfriends? I don't know, i just wanted the crowns/snakes to be cute together.
Crusade Tactics
Briar (The Glass Cannon): Relies entirely on the Red Crown's magic and ranged curses as well as quicker weaponry favoring swords and daggers over more heavy hitting weapons. This allows him to crowd control enemies and move quickly.
Bane (The Vanguard): Operates as the frontline tank. He uses raw, physical brutality to carve paths through enemy waves and actively intercepts any attacks aimed at Briar. Favors hammers and axes as well as ichor/poison type curses.
The Flock's Perspective
Viewing the Heretic: Followers view Briar with a mix of religious awe and absolute terror. He is the divine voice of the cult, and crossing him socially means immediate sacrifice.
Viewing the Hound: Followers avoid Bane completely. He does not speak to the congregation. His presence is a silent, looming threat of physical violence for anyone who falls out of line.
That’s the foundation for now, but there’s plenty more to unpack. I’ve got endless headcanons about their day-to-day, their 'spicy' interactions, and the general disaster that is the Heretic and the Hound.
If you have any questions about the AU, the dynamics, or want to know more about what happens when Briar pushes Bane just a little too far, drop an ask! Otherwise, stick around! There’s plenty more chaos coming to the feed.
"It’s not my fault. He’s massive, he’s terrifying, and he’s holding me like I’m a toy. How am I supposed to remain a fearsome cult leader under these circumstances? 🐑✨"
(OOC: I love that he's just having an entire crisis in this pannel)
