What Makes Me Angry About The Whole "sometimes The Curtains Are Just Blue" Thing Is The Abject Unwillingness

A group of hooded figures watch from high in the trees as a lone lamb picks flowers from the forest floor below.

"Something's off..." An opossum shifts in his perch on a branch. "The crown, where is it?"

The badger on the branch next to him flashes a manic smile from underneath his black hood. "That's the thing! They lost it! They're vulnerable. Grendal, you and me, we can be the ones to finally kill them."

Grendal fidgets nervously with the pick he grips in his hands. "The way I've heard it, they've fought gods Flitch. You think we can take that?"

The badger next to him scoffs, rolling his eyes at a cowardly opossum. "Please. All the power they've ever had, it all came from their fake god. Can a fake god stand up to the might of the bishops?"

Grendal shrinks down into his arms, "Well... no...".

"Exactly. And guess what, they don't even have their fake god's power anymore!" Flitch grabs his compatriot by the wrists, and shakes them, as though he could wring the cowardice out. "They've lost the crown. They're nothing now. Just a little lamb, waiting for slaughter."

"Right," Grendal gives the signal to the others waiting in the tree tops "just a lamb"

Half a dozen warriors drop to the ground below, armed to the teeth with picks, knives and magic of the old faith. The lamb is outmatched and outnumbered, all on their lonesome carrying nothing more than a basket of flowers, and a bag slung over their shoulder.

They hardly seem surprised by their sudden appearance. Stopping in their path, they simply stand there; hands folded in front of them, quiet and relaxed, waiting patiently.

"Just a lamb. Just another sacrifice."

---

Grendal gapes in horror at the carnage around him. Corpses cut to pieces and burned bodies surround The Lamb, blood dripping down the steel of their blade as they stare at him expectantly.

It had all happened so fast; the violence, the killing. He believed himself to be an expert, but how many times has The Lamb danced this dance? Dozens, hundreds of times? How foolish was he to think he could fight that?

Shakey hands raise his pick at the lamb. They don't react. They don't need to. What threat could one fool pose to such an efficient killer?

There is a long, agonizing moment where neither of them move, each staring at the other, waiting for their next move. Eventually, The Lamb begins to step toward the terrified heretic.

Grendal drops his blade, falling prostrate before his target. "Please, spare me! I was wrong! I shouldn't have come after you!"

He hears the sound of hooves on dirt as they approach him, and flinches as they kick his weapon away. "Please..." he sobs "I'm sorry."

Gently, a bundle of flowers and two rolls of bandages are placed before him. "Your friend, the badger, he still breathes." They motion to a body leaning against a tree at the far end of the clearing. "Clean and apply pressure to the wound. Grind the flowers into a paste and lather it on the cut when the bleeding slows. It will stave off infection and help with clotting."

They rise from where they crouched before their assailant. "Work quick, and you should be able to save him."

"...why?" Grendal cautiously brings his eyes to meet The Lamb's. "Why not just kill us?"

Their mouth turns down, and eyes droop to the forest floor. "Because I never wanted to in the first place."

I find it very interesting how in Cult of the Lamb, even though you may begin the game as an innocent lil guy with only the best of intentions, you do eventually become the villain. Sure you may try to do it as little as possible, but manipulation and murder are a necessity to complete the game, and even when you are given the opportunity to avoid it, it makes the game harder for you. The bishops are bastards but by the end you aren't all that much better than them. This results in a lot of people in fan content showing very morally grey if not outright evil lambs. Lambs who are twisted into manipulative or violent gods. Lambs who are still kind, but only as a mask, or lambs who crave flesh and violence but do not know why.

This does give me an idea for an AU. A Lamb who is a paragon of kindness and empathy. Lamb who is so scarred by the violence committed upon them and the ones they loved, that they try to erase it wherever they find it. Lamb who does not even find joy in purging heretics because they too are people with lives and dreams.

Lamb who's morals and ideals are so incredibly at odds with what they are tasked to do and the world they find themselves in. Lamb who fights tooth and goddamn nail against a world that would see them become just another monster. Lamb who is so antithetical to the cruel divinity that seeps into their flesh that it rips them apart. Lamb who feels so much that they need to give and give that they need to be held back from throwing themselves off a metaphorical ledge by the very god they usurped. Lamb who fights their own corruption at every turn, forcing themselves to go mad.

Is this anything at all? It's hardly a new idea I'm sure but I find it to be an interesting one.

When Narinder wakes, the storm has passed.

He’s lying alone beneath the wagon. The canvas and the earth beneath it is damp, but somehow the tempest came and went without Narinder getting soaked to the bone. Water drips down from the wagon’s sides. He shimmies carefully from beneath it, taking care not to smear mud all over himself in the process. His shoulder, neck, and back all complain about the conditions with a chorus of aches. Narinder hisses under his breath and stretches, rolling his aching shoulder until something pops satisfyingly.

The noise draws Hamal’s attention. They’re sitting at a freshly built fire with their gun in hand. It’s unloaded, six bullets sitting on the ground in a small pile beside them. A rag is in their free hand, stained by some kind of oil.

“Hey there,” they say. “Sleep well?”

Narinder rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I slept.”

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

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

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

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

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

Love their outfits! Seeing them dance together is always a joy.

If you are still looking for doodle requests, perhaps Narinder and Lamb dancing? I always thought those were so fun.

Narinder falling into a Leshy hole is also fun.

i drew them on stream wheeee dancing is v fun

i am getting better at fabric look at them not being naked lololol

It's not something I've experienced much myself, and I am hardly a historical scholar, but I can imagine how genocide or oppression can hollow out a culture and leave the survivors with only the worst parts of it. How they only remember the way their people would run and fight and hide. How they only remember the jackboots in the streets, the insults hurled their way and the friends left to die. How no one remembers the way they celebrate because they haven't done so in so long. How no one remembers their stories because the ones who told them are dead and their books burned. How cruelty strips everything away and much of what is left must be cruel in kind.

But they still sing. They still dance. And they do so because joy is stronger than those who would see it stamped out. Because they are still here, and no amount of hate can change that.

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

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

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

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

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

My most successful post is entirely based on other people's work. This is less a dig at myself and more a comment on how other artists lift me up and inspire me by being Just That Good.

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

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

Tired creature.