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Narinder w/ aym and baal
Saw this and got real tempted adbfjsnmq
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^ I saw @ane-doodles asking this in the rb tags of this post, so I drew both of them again today <3
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I hc that Narinder is like. Super lazy and doesn't do any work
He doesnt give a f (real)
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Narinder's perspective!! :D
Finally, in the next comic we'll have Nari with the loyalty necklace >:D
I had a lot of ideas about Narinder living with other followers while he adjusts to the cult, but I'm also looking forward to going all out with Lamb and Nari with the necklace.
I warn you that the next comic may or may not start off a bit strong (Lamb is not mentally well).
(I apologize if something is unclear, I'm just starting to make comics and I don't know much English either)
This is what it feels like when someone infodumps to me. By the way
junepurr1 reblogged
Have an early Happy Halloween
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They’re soulmates but one of them is infact trying to choke the other to death with the red string of fate tying them together
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Do you look like me, do you feel like me,
Do you turn into your effigy?
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It seems like it's pretty easy to lift up the Lamb.
Although Narinder does not process what "bride style" is (actually does).
Goat also tries, although to annoy them.
Did the lamb creator and made a silly au where the lamb finds and adopts a younger lamb they find as a zombie. Cause you can't sacrifice what is already dead
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Lamb and goat!
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Kind of continuation to this comic.
The first thing he opens his eyes to—
———
“Narinder?”
Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.
Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.
Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?
Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.
How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.
He chose wrong.
The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!
The one he gave life to! The one he saved!
Betrayed by one he trusted so—
Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.
“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)
Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?
Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.
There was no point in putting things off.
Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)
Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.
He felt worse.
Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.
“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.
Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.
“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.
If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.
“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.
He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.
When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.
“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”
The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.
Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.
They all would pay.
junepurr1 reblogged
16. Confess your sins