Chapter Text
He was alone. He was alone as he sat on his throne, looking around idly at nothing in particular. Not moving an inch he sat, time losing its already skewed meaning in his eyes. His two servants, ever vigilant, sitting in front of his throne. To his left Aym and to his right Baal, not uttering a single word as day after day passes. His servants leaving for a while and coming back, in a way becoming his only way of noticing that indeed time had moved forwards.
He knew his lack of activity was not exactly good for his body. Gods were made much more enduring than most mortals but even so, he felt the effect of time and the stagnation was bearing down on him. His once dark fur was graying out, his muscles felt impossibly stiff, his tongue felt like a dead fish slumped at the side of the river, bloated in his mouth.
He didn’t know or really noticed any goingons in his cult. Most of the time he assumed Aym and Baal took care of it in his absence. Even if they weren’t he doubted he would care. He just sat there, motionless much like one of the statues that were once made in his siblings' image. There he sat with only the two of his servants, ever silent and statues he dare not gaze upon, ever still to keep him company.
He wasn’t always like this. He knew a time when there were his siblings to keep him company. They would talk and tease, play and fight each other in this now empty throne room. It felt like a cage that once felt like home. There were no Kallamar to make fun of alongside Leshy, no Heket to then scold them both and lastly no Shamura to save them both from Hekets wrath.
He felt his heart skip for a moment when he thought of her, Shamura. He would shed tears once, all those years ago when he had first sat upon this throne to sulk away from the world that took so much from him. She was the last one to leave his side, her death becoming the catalyst for his now self made exile from life. It felt both ironic and most fitting that he, the God of death, would be the one to shy away from life. It was almost poetic.
He wanted to remember how each of them was, their stories, their lives with him and perhaps how they even died. however he could not, for even thinking about them and his memories with them other than a few well remembered snippets felt like a herculean task. It all felt muddled, all their faces felt foreign. The disfigured faces on the statues tried to remind him how they looked but really the imitations were not good enough, especially when they were too damaged by time. They gave him no true memories, only echoes of the past once remembered and now no more. Thus he dared not gaze upon them for he knew he would be disappointed again.
He knew these thoughts weren’t new. For however long he had been there, he had been solely thinking about them. The thought of them always lurking in the infinite depths of his vast and ancient mind like sharks in the ocean preying upon his sanity, taking small bites each time, eating him from bit by bit. He sighed, one of the few physical activities he still felt like doing. Although he supposed calling ‘sighing’ a physical activity was a bit of a stretch. Alas it was the only movement of body he felt like he could do without breaking his exile.
Meditation he thought, maybe that would give him some piece of mind. He shut off the world around him, something he was much familiar with these days. All around him was drowned by the white void he called his realm, as he hummed. All thoughts left him momentarily as he looked deep within and to the infinite skies of his vast mind and soul. It was as dreary as ever to feel nothing at all, but he supposed it was better than what he felt while not in meditation.
So he sat there, meditating. Has it been days? maybe weeks. He could not tell, he would go on for longer, maybe this time for what he supposed months but he was awoken from it by an unfamiliar noise emanating from the door of his throne room. It sounded like frustrated bleats that blended with angry shouts from his servant Aym while Baal’s voice felt like an afterthought that neither party seemed to be really listening. He turned his eyes at where the noise was coming from, for maybe first in years moving his neck to see a sheep bearing his cult’s robes with a fleece as white as snow.
***
Lambert sat in an old wooden chair with only hard wood to keep her comfortable as she wrote away. She was currently in a room she had yet to recognize as her own. Books in various conditions adorned the walls on all sides with only the window in front of her desk to give her a semblance of space, indeed the room itself felt too small for what it was currently being used for. She was the new chronicler after twenty years of service done by the previous one who had died from a sickness a few weeks ago.
She still couldn’t believe how she had come to inherit this duty, although the lack of literate people in the cult might have something to do with it she supposed. Her job was to write about important or historical events that had come to pass in the cult and she was doing a poor job of doing so. The previous chronicler had not been there to train her and on top of that, the cult as usual could not spare much. New paper to write on or even a subsistent supply of ink was mostly out of their reach. So there she was trying to keep the history of their cult alive while the cult itself felt like it could barely keep itself afloat.
Running the quill on the old yellow tinted paper was becoming ever so harder as she realized she was running out of the aforementioned supply of ink. she groaned as she knew what she had to do next. It was already a long day and this would just add to it all but she had to do it to keep their history from going up in flames, which had happened not too long before she had been given her new duty. Maybe that's what made the old chronicler get sick, she mused. She imagined she would not be particularly happy watching all her life's work go up in flames. She shuddered at the thought of all her work going up in flames like the old jackal’s.
She dipped her quill in the last of the ink, careful not to take too much as she wrote down what she could copy from the text that survived the flames, which wasn’t much. Almost all the works on the other bishops were gone with much of how their cults had worked within the old faith following a similar path. She knew not many within the cult knew of these topics even before the fire and now with the previous chronicler gone it was impossible to know what was. Well not impossible, more likely just about impossible.
There were maybe a handful of people within the cult that could know about the previous cults and their respective leaders, the foremost being their Lord Narinder, the last living God of the old faith, God of death. Which felt somewhat ironic in the most saddening way.
She heard much about him, about how mighty he was and how he was the only God to survive this long. But behind shut curtains she had also heard about how little anyone even knew about their own Lord. He never left the temple, never interacted with the people within the cult which was fair she thought. He was a God after all, his worshippers shouldn’t think they are worthy enough to get to meet and speak to him directly. The only ones that ever interacted with the outside was his servants Aym and Baal, they were the ones that supposedly carried his orders to the rest of the flock. Carrying rituals and defending the cult from the enemies.
She wasn’t sure what to think about any of these. On one hand she understood she shouldn’t expect to meet him directly. But on the other hand, a Lord not even bothering to come down for rituals? Not even to protect them from danger? She felt conflicted about him. Did he simply not care for them? Were they simply that beneath him in his eyes?
She sighed, something she did rather often these days. She didn’t know whether she did it out of frustration or simple boredom. They felt both possible, with frustration winning out at the moment. She sat up from her desk, looking up at what she had written when her ink finally ran out. It was not much, mostly surface level knowledge about the old bishops that were unfortunately no longer with them. Their names, those being Shamra, Katamar, Hetek, Eshy and their respective domains hunt, oceans, dreams, discord. It felt odd writing about the Gods like this, she was sure she was getting the Gods and their domains right, afterall it is what it said in the book, but it still felt like they were too shallow of a description for these once mighty Gods.
She needed more material, more of the past, she needed to speak to someone who had been there. As soon as she thought of that, it clicked. She needed to speak to Lord Narinder. He would be the best source, the best place to get the information out of. He was a God after all, she would think that if anyone had a keen memory it would be him. Yes she thought, this was the breakthrough she needed. She would just have to enter the innermost parts of the cult, go through his servants and ask him directly, a God that has not been seen by mortal eyes for about a century… She realized now that that might not be the easiest thing but still maybe she could find some other person in the cult, maybe someone who knew at least a little bit about it or maybe a library of some sort. She wanted to give a try to whatever she could find in the temple, afterall she didn’t have much to lose -Not after that day anyway- She thought for a split second before she pushed that thought of the way. No, today would not be spent thinking about that. She needed to focus on the task at hand.
She took her quill with a few coins she was saving for what she had to before she went to the temple proper. She put on her cloak and fastened her buttons, shifting her bag as she pulled it against her. It was a small handbag filled with only the essentials, a few extra coins if she needed anything and a small dagger for any possibility. She thought for a second to comb her wool but decided against it, the journey nor the work would be long. She felt a sense of determination as she left her cabin/workroom and into the street.
Where she lived at the moment wasn’t the best part of the cult, nor was it the best maintained one as she avoided the cracks in the cobble road that connected the city together, but it was far better than the ones further away from where she got to live.
She first had to fix her lack of ink and if she was lucky she would find someone with the information she seeked or at least someone who could lend her a book that might shine some light. While walking down the roads away from the temple her mind started to wander around. She looked up the mountains where their home Silver Cradle was situated. They were mostly bare with snow that clung to the top of it all year around. It was a beautiful sight, she would not get sick of the somber feeling she felt whenever she gazed upon it.
She made her way down another road as she entered the outer lands of the city. She could not help but hold on to her bag as she walked further, she knew theft was not really uncommon around these parts. She knew where she was headed, it was a small shop nestled between two buildings carved into the walls. She entered through the open door.
The inside could be described as homely, if one’s understanding of home consisted of old trinkets lining the walls with only a small desk on the front to serve as a counter. Who she was looking for was not yet here but she knew he wouldn’t take too much to arrive, even in his old age the Ratau was not hard of hearing. She settled on the only furniture available to her which was an old chair at the corner of the shop to wait for her friend.
Ratau entered the store from the back side with a box in his hands and settled it on the counter before saying. ‘’Welcome, dear customers hope this old rat hasn’t made you wait too long.’’
She smiled at the old rat who still seemed like he had not noticed her. She said ‘’Don’t worry Ratau I had just arrived’’
At her words the old rat grew a wide friendly smile on his narrow face before giving her a slight laughter. Now as he looked upon Lambert he said ‘’Didn’t see you there lass, it has been a while.’’ His smile was gentle as usual coupled with his laugh it made her worries disappear just for a second. He continued ‘’How have you been you rascal?’’
She gave him a laugh of her own before saying ‘’I am fine Ratau, Also don’t worry I know your eyes haven’t been what they used to be. It's only understandable you couldn’t see me’’ She wanted to tease the old rat a little bit before they had to do business. She knew it was nothing the old rat couldn’t take.
The old Rat gave her a laugh before dramatically saying ‘’Indeed my dear lass, I am but an old rat too old to see or even hear. Oh woes be upon me’’ he put his fist to his chest as he gave a cough or two all the while keeping the act.
Unable to take it anymore she burst out laughing which was joined by Ratau. When they were both done Ratau asked ‘’So lass, what brings you back here? wanted to visit or did you want to buy something?’’
As much as she wanted to tell him she just came for a visit, the fact was she came mostly because she needed to. It wasn't as if she didn’t want to visit her friend but taking herself off of her duty these days was not something she could afford easily. So She nodded before saying ‘’Yes, I wanted to buy something but a quick visit wouldn’t be bad either I thought’’ She got up from her seat and got closer to the counter before in a quiet voice said ‘’I am looking for some ink, I am fresh out and I really need it at the moment’’
The feeling of the shop shifted at that moment. Ratau sighed, the smile he wore drying on his face, it made her feel bad for a second but before she could delve on that Ratau looked around the shop and towards the door before walking up to it and closing it shut. He turned back to her and in a quiet voice said. ‘’I see Lass, I might have a bottle or two lying about’’ There was a seriousness to his voice that felt wrong on him. It wasn’t as if possessing or even selling ink in the cult was seen as a crime but selling a bottle of ink from outside of the cult was.
She sighed, as she produced the coins needed for the purchase. it was about a week worth of her current salary, she would be less willing to lose such money so quickly but the cult's past was at stake and maybe even her job so she supposed going a little hungry for a week wouldn’t be too much to bear. She knew she could maybe get the price lower or not even pay but she already knew that his old friend needed the funds. He was not really young anymore and the medicine he needed was not really cheap. Also smuggling items from the outside was already costly as is and she didn’t want to pay him less for the dangerous job he was doing, even though it was slightly dubious.
Ratau took the coins, not bothering to count. He knew she would be honest and even if she wasn’t she doubted he would mind. He went back around the desk before pulling on a loose brick by the ground and pulling a bottle of ink out of it. He put it on the counter before saying ‘’Here it is Lass, a bottle of ink.’’
She nodded before she took the bottle and stashed it into her bag. She would replace the bottle with the cults once she went back home on her way to the temple. She knew she had to be careful with the bottle, no one needed to see it.
Ratau looked at her with tired eyes. She felt bad in a way, she knew he didn’t like seeing her having to go through such trouble for a simple bottle of ink. Perhaps he thought of the days before her own when such things didn’t happen. She didn’t want to develve on those topics too much, before she put her hoof on his shoulder and gave him a slight smile. The smile was returned, even though it was not really enthusiastic. She wanted to say more, to assure him everything was fine and she wouldn’t have to go through this much longer but she knew it would be a lie. Indeed she more or less knew she would need to come back here maybe a few weeks later, hopefully a month.
She opened the door back and gave him a wave before existing. She would leave the outer parts of the city quickly, she didn’t want to stay here more than she had to, not because of fear of attack she knew she could take care of herself, the dagger in her bag was more than good enough for her. But because she wanted to get back home to fill her own bottle, she wanted to give a visit to the temple before it was night time. The Silver cradle at night was hard to go around, with the mountains keeping much of the moon’s light from reaching their home and the lamps outside not really helping much if they were even filled to begin with.
The walk back home was not eventful, some people outside laughing and drinking even though it was normally frowned upon to do so. With some others just going about their business, all just keeping it to themselves. Children playing in the streets most with old clothes with one too many patched parts. playing some silly games, she smiled whenever she saw them laughing. To be a child again with no worries, well at least for a part of it anyway. She pushed that thought away just like the one she had before she left, she really needed to get that under control. She breathed for a second before continuing on her way.
The more rundown buildings and cracked sidewalks gave way to more uniform and much more well maintained houses as she got closer to her home. She entered after unlocking the door with her key, and got to refiling. The whole process took only a moment before she left again. She wanted nothing but to go back to work but it would have to wait. She had a duty to attend to.
The walk was pleasant enough, this part of the city was far better than the other two. The houses were all lined up with marble walls and glass windows as opposed to the wooden ones they had to use. The roads were cut stone unlike their cobblestone paths, they were well maintained and showed little wear down, though that might be caused by the lack of people walking on them as not many people lived in these parts, only the most higher ups of the cult.
She soon came across the temple proper. It was a gigantic structure, a cathedral built into the stone of the mountain it was nestled on, the last lights of the day making the whole structure feel larger than life. Perhaps it was in a way, being inhabited by the God of death. Was it too much of a stretch to think as such?
She scaled the steps and went for the front entrance. There were not many around the temple, few attendance with priests going about their duty or chatting amidst each other. She didn’t slow herself to hear what they were speaking, she didn’t really understand them even if she wished so. Most of the priests were more occupied with the idea of getting favors with their Lord than any matters outside of the temple. She knew the importance of the matters of the rituals and whatnot but it always felt like the priests did not care too deeply about the common people going about trying to make a living. It was almost like they were ignored for the most part, or maybe she was just letting her mind wander too far.
She nodded to the Guardian Attendance as she entered, they knew who she was now. Being the chronicler had its benefits, such as entering the temple itself. The inside of the temple was as big as the outside with the ceiling reaching way above her. It made her feel small which was probably the feeling they were going with.
She didn’t know where to look first, if someone was to know of the old times she supposed she had to venture deeper into the temple. She would eventually find someone who looked like they could shine some light on the history of their cult.
As she approached the inner parts of the cult the chatter of the previous sections were replaced by a silence that felt thick in her ears. It felt dead in a way. This section didn’t have the loud arguments of the priests, nor the droning breaths of the attendance or the general walking upon the dust covered steps of the temple. No, there was only her and the corridor with many dust covered statues and paintings. Some bore resemblance to the now gone Gods with paintings showing scenes from battles of old. It was eerie but she could not just turn back now, she had a duty to attend to. She had to find out about the truth, the history of the cult depended on her. That thought pushed her further into the temple.
She pushed on through the silent corridors that snaked their way into the inner parts where she supposed she could find someone with the knowledge of the past. After some more walking she came upon a large door that was easily over a few times her size. She froze in front of the gigantic doors as she heard it creak open. It vibrated her to the core, as it did so, sending shivers through her. There she saw a black cat exit with an unreadable face. He was much taller than her and really anyone she had come to see in her life. Was this Lord Narinder? It fit the bill somewhat, a large frame with feline features adorned in black fur, eyes of red poking through. He had no crown but really at the second she couldn’t focus much on that.
She bowed her head low to show her respect, she was honestly surprised to have met her Lord so soon and even just here. Maybe the people she heard talking about how they never saw their Lord was a bit of an exaggeration. It felt like she would have met his servants first or maybe some other leader within the cult but as it seemed she would not have to look further for what she came here for, she should probably count herself lucky she thought.
She said ‘’Lord Narinder it is an honor to have met you, I as your ser-’’ Before she could finish was interrupted by the whom she assumed was Lord Narinder
The figure said ‘’Who are you mortal? Why would you think I am master Narinder?’’ The figure who definitely wasn’t Lord Narinder now said in a perplexed and confused tone.
She Blinked as she looked at the figure in front of her. Master Narinder? What happened to Lord Narinder? Also he wasn’t their lord? He looked exactly like the description she heard from the other followers. With a confused tone she said. ‘’I am sorry I had thought you were our Lord Narinder’’ after that she asked ‘’Who are you exactly?’’
The figure now had a frown on his face, his ears glued to his head. With an annoyed tone he said ‘’I believe I had asked that question before you sheep.’’ He towered over her as he said it, now standing closer to her.
Lambert Stunned for a second before she answered ‘’I am Lambert, the new Chronicler of the cult and I wan-’’ She was cut again by the rude figure in front of him.
The Figure in Black said ‘’I do not care for your name nor your occupation sheep, this part of the cult is off limits.’’ His tone had a finality to it.
She was getting more annoyed with the figure now instead of getting more scared. She gave him a scowl of her own and said ‘’Firstly you DID ask for my name and secondly I had asked a question also’’ She didn’t raise her voice too much, just enough to show that she is annoyed.
The figure bared his teeth at her which almost made her bleat in surprise by the sheer anger that it resonated. But before the figure could say more a similar looking figure appeared by the door. The new figure was as tall as the other one, but he wore a white tunic instead of the other figure’s black tunic with a veil that covered his face like the figure he was next to. He wielded a staff not unlike his counterpart with his bearing resemblance to the sun instead of the crescent moon like the other.
Just who were these people she thought, but before she could stop to think the new figure in white said. ‘’What's happening here Aym? I heard your screams echoing off the entire temple’’ There was a touch of annoyance in there, not as much as the first figure however. His was much more of an indifference, while the figure in black’s tone screamed indignation and a touch of anger.
It took her a second to realize what the figure in white just called his counterpart. He called him Aym, as in Aym the servant of Lord Narinder, as in Aym the voice of their Lord, as in Aym screwed because I had most possibly just offended the personal guard and servant of our Lord. She wanted to go down to the ground and beg for forgiveness at that moment, as it felt like it was the only way she could avoid being sent off to be sacrificed, but her shock won over her fear at the moment so she remained where she was, looking dumbfounded.
The Figure in Black, no Aym, looked at his counterpart who she guessed must be Baal with a less annoyed but still on the verge of a shouting match face, his ears now raised a little more than before.
He said ‘’Firstly, I was not shouting you know I do not shout’’ Baal gave him an amused look that screamed ‘sure’ but he didn’t open his mouth otherwise. Aym then continued ‘’Secondly, I was trying to stop this intruder, this heretic from entering and do Gods know what to our Master’’ They continued to talk to each other with Baal looking like he was getting more bored by the second.
When she heard what Aym had just said she felt herself freeze. Did Aym, the servant of the Lord Narinder, just call her a heretic? She felt a momentary hurt that was replaced by an anger that was fed by the two weeks of trying to write the whole history of their cult into paper with barely any supplies nor sleep nor ink that she didn’t need to starve herself to buy. After all her work, all her loyalty, all her unwavering faith, this is what she got?
She stomped at the ground with her hoof to get the attention of now full on arguing servants. They looked at her in surprise before she shouted. ‘’I am not a heretic! nor an intruder, I am the chronicler of the old faith! I told you that but you’’ She pointed at Aym who looked perplexed now ‘’Didn’t listen to me, I am here because I wanted to find out about our past that if you do not know was lost months ago to fire’’ She wanted to stop deep inside but her rage didn’t seem to subside ‘’For crying out loud, barely anyone in the cult even knows who the Gods of the Old faith were or how they were, I-’’
‘’Glorious’’ a voice boomed across the room. It continued ‘’They were all glorious, Loyal Leshy, Brave Kallamar, Kind Heket and Wise Shamura’’ The voice sounded raspy and as rough as sandpaper but still carried a strength she had not felt before.