Chapter Text
Everyone knows the tale of the lamb.
They know about the tale of the tiny, scared lamb being sacrificed by the cruel bishops to rid the world of sheep. The genocide scared the poor lamb into silence, unable to fight back.
But they were lended a hand, the hand of death themselves. Narinder, known either as the bishop of death or the one who waits. After all, death can do nothing but wait.
Narinder passed down the red crown to the sheep, proposing a deal. Make a cult in his name, and kill the four bishops.
It was a win-win situation for the both of them. The lamb gets their revenge, and so does Narinder.
But the lamb wasn't done! Oh no, of course they weren't. Narinder was still the reason their whole race was killed off, after all.
So, they killed the bishop of death. Of course, they are more merciful than their victims. They accepted the former bishop of death as a follower, but still not taking his shit.
And that's where the tale ends. Maybe. There may be more, but who can tell? The story was lost to time, blown away by the dust and blood of heretics.
So, what if we changed the story?
This is the story of the white crown.
Three of the five bishops sat around the war table, the spider web pattern courtesy of the eldest of the siblings, Shamura. Narinder, the second youngest, gave an icy glare at the map in the middle.
“Where. Is. Kallamar. He should've been here by now,” the black cat hissed through his teeth, flashing his bloody red eyes to the middle sibling, Heket.
“I've told you this five times, brother,” the toad croaks, “he will be here soon. Fifteen minutes tops, by now.” This just causes Narinder to groan even more.
His blind younger brother, Leshy, just sat next to Narinder, weaving a flower crown from camellias. “Nari? You're next to me, right?” the small voice of Chaos breaks Death out of his daydream.
“Yes, Leshy,” the cats' voice is softer than before, giving in to not wanting to startle the younger bishop. He taps the mossy worm's right shoulder, the worm in question snapping his head towards his brother.
“Will this fit you?” he shoves the red flower crown towards Death. The crown was much too small for the cat, barely being able to fit it over both of his ears.
“No, it's too small,” Narinder gently gives the half finished crown back. The worm nods, putting his head back down to finish the flower crown.
“Tch, playing favorites are you?” Heket scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Maybe you and Kallamar are both just annoying as fu-”
“Narinder,” Shamura, the eldest and wisest, warned death. War had as much patience as death did, maybe even more. Chaos’s face lit up at the voice of his older sibling, dropping the crown instantly(Narinder would be caught dead before he admitted he was sad with the loss of the flower crown).
“Sorry, Shamura,” Death glared at Famine, who rolled her eyes in response. Kallamar came in behind Shamura, clearly stressed.
They all sat down in their places. Green, yellow, blue, purple and red. All rarely together at one time, but this dilemma needed attention. Desperately.
“Ok, so we all are aware of what is currently happening, correct?” Shamura sighed, already seeing Narinder seething.
“Who is killing my fucking sheep,” Death slams his fist on the table, causing Leshy to flinch.
“We aren't killing your sheep, Narinder,” Shamura calmly states, putting the figurines on the map. “But they are going missing.”
“Yeah, so someone is taking my god damn sheep,” Death's crown grows brighter, signifying his rage.
“I… I don't think I’ve even seen a sheep in the last year or so,” Kallamar adds, desperately trying to contribute to the conversation but also trying not to set off his younger brother.
“Well you barely leave anchordeep anyway!” Heket snapped, plague should've brought her into consideration.
“Will you three shut?” Shamura hissed, “sister, you told me you have a lead correct?” Famine nods, albeit reluctantly. “Well then, enlighten us Heket.”
“I have a feeling Chemach has something to do with this,” the toad croaks, “her relics, as we know, aren't natural but made from natural things. And she is completely insane.”
“Do you have proof?” the blind worm speaks up, his head twitching. Shamura nods to his comment.
“Yes, do you have proof?” War asks, “after all, just saying she's crazy is as much of a lead as dirt is food.”
“Yes I have proof!” Heket sighs, “anytime I have visited her she talks about lamb tails, and she always makes an excuse about how she needs to ‘tend to somebody’” Narinder leans in, curious about this… statement.
“Hmm. we know where she resides, correct Kallamar?” Shamura turns to their younger brother, who is currently writing something down.
“Yes, but it doesn't have an honorary name yet,” Plague states, “i-its by anchordeep, though. I have been calling it just ‘Chemachs lair’.” Death mumbles a “how creative” under his breath, still glaring at Famine and Plague.
“Alright, Kallamar and Narinder can go to her lair to find definitive proof that she is really capturing the lambs,” just as Shamura said this, Narinder let out a long groan. Kallamar froze, pausing his writing.
“Why can't I go?” Leshy complains, making a small frown. A small smile forms on Narinders face, feeling a sense of pride. It was his idea for Leshy to be Chaos, after all. It just didn't feel right for him to be Pollution.
“Leshy, right now you need to control darkwood. Plus, you're not strong enough yet,” Shamuras comment makes Leshy pout even more. Narinder leans towards Leshy, tapping his shoulder to notify the worm that he's there.
“I can train with you when I get back,” Death whispered into his younger brother's ear, causing the frown to be wiped from the mossy worm's face.
“This meeting is dismissed, Narinder and Kallamar? I will give you weapons for your excursion,” Shamura stood from their chair, silently walking to their armory.
Despite Kallamar being older than Narinder, Death was still taller. In fact, he's the tallest bishop period. This fact always made Kallamar slightly terrified of his younger sibling. So it wasn't very surprising when Kallamar was practically shaking when they went to the armory. It didn't help that Death was pissed.
When they reached the armory, the jackal turned away from the light reflecting off of the decorative crystals(a gift from the squid). Narinder, despite being blinded by the reflected light, honestly thought it was pretty.
“Nari, I have a scythe for you. It was a gift from Kudaai,” Shamura gave a soft smile, handing Death his scythe. It was light, but very sturdy. It was adorned with red gems, the handle being a smooth cedar wood. Symbols and runes were carved out, circling the soft handle.
“And for you Kallie, I have a longsword and a shield. Courtesy of Kudaai, of course!” as they hand over the weapons, Plagues eyes widen in excitement. He's always had a knack for collecting weapons, and the sword and shield are no less than breathtaking. Blue crystals line the hilt guard, the hilt being made of oak. The steel of the blade is in a raindrop damascus pattern(Kallamar was ecstatic when seeing the design; he didn't have that pattern yet). The shield was also made of oak, the pattern being of Plagues’ own religion.
“Take these and be brave, brothers,” the spider pats the taller bishops, “find the lambs and bring back balance. Just please don't kill each other, okay?” The two brothers glare at each other, both trying to one up each other with posture. They both nod at their older sibling, bowing then turning away from them.
“...and I love you both,” Shamura whispered, but it was loud enough for the brothers to hear. The statement was so simple, but it stopped both bishops in their paths. Both of their voices got caught in their throats, both wanting to say it back.
“Stay safe you two, make me proud,” the spider walks past their brothers, patting their shoulders as they walk by. When War left, Plague and Death looked at each other reluctantly. They knew they had to work together, even if they hated it.
“Let's go,” Narinder spat, still a little shaken by the interaction. Kallamar nodded silently. They weren’t used to Shamura giving them affection, they were used to War being so… formal.
They grabbed rations from silk cradles natural resources, bumping into Leshy along the way.
“You two should take these,” Leshy(after finding out where his brothers were facing,) held out a sack of berries from darkwood. “You better be back safe, got it?!” the mossy worm puffed out his cheeks like a blowfish, moss and sticks poking outward.
“Thank you, Lesh,” Narinder accepts the berries, giving the sack to his older brother next to him. Both Death and Plague give chaos a head pat, signaling that they are leaving. Leshy twitches with each pat, tapping his own side.
Even if Leshy thought it was a great idea to bring the berries, Heket thought up the plan. Her thought process was “if they die I'm going to kill them”, which sounded dumb to the youngest bishop.
Regardless, the two bishops were off to Chemachs domain.
Saying Chemachs domain was creepy is the understatement of the century. Body parts were strewn around, all either rotting or surrounded by magic keeping it fresh. The smell was nauseating, making Narinder gag.
“God this place is awful,” Death scrunches his nose, gripping the scythe tighter. Kallamar shared this sentiment, covering the bottom part of his face with his shield.
They spent a good hour wandering the domain, killing heretics while they moved. The scent of blood and Deaths dropping patience fill the air.
It isn't till Kallamar sees a tuft of wool do they start believing there may be sheep here.
“Holy shit, Nari!” Kallamar, not really paying attention to his words, beckons his brother to a corner. Before he could insult Plague, Death sees the soft wool. It has blood caked in on one side of the ball, twine wrapped around it.
The cat was stunned, snatching the wool from the cold stone. Narinders main followers were sheep, and he couldn't fathom them disappearing right under his nose.
“Fuck!” rage spills from Death, running away from the ball of fluff and blood. Kallamar rushes after the ball of rage, keeping a good distance.
Now with proof of lambs being around here, the duo searched from top to bottom for any hint of sheep. With five rooms of no luck, Narinders rage was still boiling hot.
That is until they hear a sob.
Narinder immediately thought it was another heretic, so he quickly drew his scythe. After locating the source of the cry, the brothers see a heartbreaking scene.
It was a lamb, practically covered in their own blood. Their wool was patchy, pieces sheared away. They were chained to a pole, surrounded by other dead sheep.
“Shit,” Death whispered under his breath, rushing to the sheeps side. They backed away from the cat, unable to see properly thanks to the blood.
“Hey hey, you're safe. I got you,” he grabs the lamb protectively, holding their waist with one hand and their head in the other.
“W-who…? Wha-what?” The lamb sinks into the cat's soft fur, confused as all hell. Kallamar, after realizing he's just been sitting there, cuts the chains from the small lamb.
Narinder picks up the small lamb, holding them bridal style. “We have our proof, Kallamar. Let's head to Silk Cradle,” Narinder cradles the lamb close to his chest, the lamb in question still scared and confused.
They make their way back to silk cradle with the lamb, who passed out on the way. It was hard to tell if they lost consciousness because of exhaustion or the blood loss. Maybe it was both.
Kallamar was snacking on the berries Leshy gave them, making his hands slightly purple. His chewing was aggravating, being slightly too loud.
“Can you not?” Narinder’s ears fell flat against his head. Plague mumbled an apology, at the same time the ground shook.
Bursting from the soil, the youngest bishop was waving his arms in a panic. “Brothers! Chemach is…” he sniffed the air. “Did you bring a lamb here?!”
“Yes, what about Chemach?” Death spoke with malice. He had a bone to pick with the witch, well more than just a bone. Perhaps a whole ass skeleton. Despite how pissy the cat was, he still held the lamb with care.
“Get the lamb to an infirmary!” Leshy ordered, “Shamura is dealing with the witch, they may need back up.”
“I'll take the lamb to an infirmary and you can-” Plague was cut off by Death… hissing? Yeah, it was definitely hissing.
“Absolutely not. I will take the lamb to safety,” Narinder snapped at his brother. He practically had a death grip on the sheep, just loose enough to not wake them.
Speaking of which, the lamb stirred. Just as their eyes flutter open, Narinders voice starts to raise. “They are part of my flock, I will be the one to keep an eye on them!”
“Narinder, you are more equipped to aid Shamura!” Leshy turned to the squid next to him. “You should aid the lamb, you know more about medicine.”
Just as Narinder started to trudge away with his follower, Heket sprinted toward the current trio, seemingly out of nowhere. “What in the seven hells do you think you boys are doing?!”
“Nari refuses to give up the lamb so he can aid our sibling,” Leshy spat. Despite being on Death's good side, Chaos could help but spread some, well, chaos.
“Narinder! You brought a lamb here!?” the toad gasps, grabbing her taller counterpart by the ear. “Do you know how bad this could be?! If she finds out that's here, you will be paying for the follower deaths!” Death pries Famines hand off of his ear, rubbing the now sore spot.
“She won't! I didn't even know that the witch was even here,” the cat rolled his eyes at the toad, causing the worm and squid's anxiety to rise.
The siblings stood in silence, all of them trying to think of a plan. The lamb, at this moment, was awake. They couldn't see that well, but they could hear the cats breathing.
That's when they started to panic. Where are they!? What is going on!? Why couldn't they see!? Their own breath started to quicken, and their hands started to shake.
“Oh shit,” Narinder looks down at the lamb, seeing their tears start to form. He rushes out of the area, heading towards the nearest private infirmary. It was best if the bishop wasn't in a public one, as he was, you know, Death.
As he reached a private room, he began to inspect the lambs' injuries. He put them on a cot stuffed with spider silk, the cot sinking under their weight.
“I-I can't see…” the lamb cries out, clutching some of their wounds. Death tries to soothe the lamb, combing his fingers through their matted wool. He pried their hands off of the wounds, getting a better look at them.
“Shh… you're okay now. You are safe,” he whispers into their ear, reaching over to grab a cold, wet rag. He dabbed it over an arm wound, causing the small sheep to recoil away. He grabbed their hand, keeping their arm in place.
“You have to keep still for me, okay?” the lamb nodded in response, still trying to blink the tears and blood out of their eyes. Death then started to clean the wounds.
After getting around two small cuts clean, Kallamar rushed into the room, hoisting a certain worm over his shoulder.
“Huff… you're doing it wrong!” the squid huffed, pushing the cat and dropping Leshy. The mossy worm made an ‘oof’ noise, landing on his stomach.
Plague, despite being, you know, Plague, was really good at first aid and medical stuff. He ripped the cold towel from his brother's hands, starting to scrub the cuts more thoroughly. The lamb winced at how rough Plague was being, instinctively grasping Death's hand.
“Hey. Could you be, ya know, gentler?” the cat hissed through gritted teeth. The lamb mumbled something inaudible, their other hand finding Deaths other hand. At this point, they were on their side, plague checking their sore and beaten back.
“Speak up, little lamb,” Narinders voice softened to the point where silk would be considered as solid as crystals. “I can't hear you.”
“I-I… stinging… f-feeling like dying…” the lamb could barely choke out the words before breaking back into sobs. Death's ears flatten against his head in pity and frustration. What did they do to deserve this? What did any of the lambs do to that witch that she felt the need to do… this.
A few minutes later, Plague finally made his way to the little lamb's eyes. Grabbing some cleaning eye drops from the aid bench next to them, he grabs the lambs face.
“Stay still, lamb,” Kallamars voice was cold, the typical voice he used when talking with mortals. While not happy with the treatment of his follower, Narinder did not protest. The lamb has been complaining about their sight being gone, so this was the only way to get it back.
“It's going to be okay, you'll be able to see,” Death whispered into their ear, “just bare through it.” the lamb whimpered and nodded in response.
“Ack!” a drop landed into the lamb's right eye, causing them to recoil in surprise. Their hand squeezed Narinders hand tighter, causing it to cramp up. “Ow…”
“I told you, if you do have the lambs this means war,” Shamuras voice was steady, never wavering. They didn't mind having a war, but it would be a hassle.
“Lamb tails, lamb chops, I will never tell!” Chemach giggled, madness swirling in her eyes. Shamura sighed. They were getting nowhere fast.
“Chemach, you know that Narinder will not be happy,” Shamura sighs. The owl tilts her head slightly with a sick sense of delight. The witch giggled, “so what? He's always been batty, even if I had his precious little lambs he would see them soon anyway!”
A moment passes. Neither god makes a sound.
“Well! Thank you, my time was wasted!” Chemach complained, “I could've spent my time making relics, but nooo!” She stands up from the war table, turning her heel and walking out. She slammed the door, causing War to flinch.
They could only sigh. If their brothers didn't get proof, how would they prove that Chemach is dangerous?