Cult of the Lamb art & more ‖ Makes NSFW🔞 artworks, just not on here ʕ ᵔᴥᵔ ʔ
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Latest Posts by qknala - Page 2
🥹
Hi, do you mind drawing Shamura? Thanks in advance:D
is it okay for you
Poor shamura having to deal with
The bahonkers™️
we are putting the spider on estrogen
they lost their powers and gotta pay the bills SOMEhow
The last time Shamura talked to Narinder.
Yoooooo!!!!
She flesh on my sin til I update
some Lamb/Follower Shamura
full pic(nsfw🔞):
Twi:
AO3:
hc of Shamura having different forms for different domains, and some other art I did before
Please a part three !
I was inspired to expand on this story, so I'm currently revising part 1 and 2. But here's part 3 in all its unedited glory!
When Does a God Lose Their Heart? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Narinder stomped into his “base of operations” as he often called it, Kallamar in tow. The door creaked as it slowly closed itself, but didn’t fully shut. Shamura tentatively pushed it back open as they entered, not always sure when they were welcome when it came to Narinder.
Shamura often wondered about Narinder’s attachment to this abode, but knew better than to ask. They had vaults of their own sprinkled about the lands where they stored trophies and supplies, and recouped in as needed. But this comfy little cottage sitting out in the open was no vault. Crafted of wood and stone, with a roof that leaked when it rained, and no defenses outside of the simple protective-barriers Narinder himself setup. Without a doubt, this was a home, not a vault.
The living area was lit up primarily by the fireplace, but supplemented by candles hanging from the rafters. They were surprised to see the place so messy. Narinder wasn’t exactly a stickler for cleanliness, but the clutter decorating the floor, seating, and most other surfaces was uncharacteristic for him.
They entered the cottage and gently shut the door behind them. They lingered by the door for a moment. Less out of hesitance—if Narinder didn’t want them to come inside, he’d have shut the door—and more out of curiosity regarding the mess.
“What, are you a stranger? A servant? Settle yourself.” Narinder barked at them as he weaved through the items littering the floor. Shamura followed his lead to find a place to sit.
“Goodness, it’s like a desert in here.” Kallamar commented. “Aren’t you warm?”
“Quite comfortable, actually.”
Narinder set Kallamar on the sofa in the middle of the room with a surprising level of care. Kallamar had even braced for a sudden drop. Narinder’s half-lidded gaze lingered on him, causing their eyes to meet for just a moment when Kallamar went to scan his surroundings.
“The problem is my spine, I believe. My arms hurt as well, however, so I shouldn’t go anywhere until those are better as well! I wouldn’t want to have to defend myself with only two arms, if the problem arose…”
“I didn’t think you had a spine.” Was all Narinder had to say as he went to retrieve the necessary supplies. He stopped by the fire to put on a kettle of water.
“What? Of course I have a spine, how else would I—Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”
The more Shamura looked around, the more they hoped Narinder was eager to share whatever it was he was working on. On closer observation, they realized the items strewn about were positioned on top sigils painted onto the floor. Divining Sigils were used to glean the purpose or origin of an item—divine or otherwise.
Narinder had asked for Shamura’s assistance in how to use and activate the sigils, which they happily provided, but he hadn’t shared why he was suddenly inclined to learn about it. Shamura was pleased to finally know why—albeit only partially. It also explained all the random objects. Divining an object was a tedious process that required a lot of trial and error to discover the resources that would resonate with it. Shamura could recall the exasperation they felt after spending months acquiring rare gems and magical geodes to divine the purpose of a magical key they had found, only for the damn thing to resonate with a bowl of milk.
“Stop being nosy.” Narinder suddenly broke the silence.
“May I move this… toy?” Shamura gestured to what looked like a golden puzzle box resting on a seat. They knew it wasn’t a toy, but hoped it would provoke him into explaining.
“No.” He pointed to a different seat with a stack of papers on it. “You can sit there. Just throw the papers on the floor, they’re useless.”
Shamura went to the assigned seat, having to both step over a baffling, metal contraption and duck under a candle to reach it. They placed the papers on the floor with care regardless of their allegedly useless status, and had a seat on the plush stool that they usually preferred to sit on when they visited. Narinder thought the way they sat on it was strange, but they truly enjoyed it despite their odd posture.
“When I suggested decorating, piles of junk aren’t quite what I had in mind…” Kallamar hummed.
“What?” Narinder didn’t look up from the concoction he was brewing.
Shamura envied Kallamar’s ability to inspire people to engage with him socially, especially when it came to Narinder. Their conversations with Narinder were often insightful and thought-provoking, so it was a shame how little they actually conversed with each other.
They stretched their back, and in turn their claws—well, claw—before they settled back into a similar position, just no longer tensed to strike. They’d been fairly on edge since barely defeating the Green Crown, but now they could relax.
“It is inspiring though. How about piles of skulls? A bit macabre but, you like bones, don’t you?”
Narinder was swirling a liquid in a flask, but stopped to look at Kallamar. “What? They’re not—These aren’t decorations!” He stammered, confused and a bit offended. “Are you dull?”
“No, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. What’s all this junk?
“It’s not junk.”
“The useless papers aren’t junk?”
“…some of it is junk.”
Narinder’s ears perked up at the sound of a soft ‘kh’ noise from Shamura—their equivalent of a snort. He snapped his head around to make sure they saw his annoyed look, which Shamura met with an embarrassed smile, before he turned his attention back to manufacturing his unique method of healing.
Shamura wasn’t aware that they made such a noise until they met Narinder. He had no reservations questioning them about what they found so funny whenever he heard it. Though now they could usually hear the sound when they made it, they had a hard time stifling it.
Kallamar thought for a moment, then warbled with excitement. Narinder gave him an odd look as he poured the concoction over Kallamar’s body. It had taken on the consistency of smoke, pink in color but thick like a polluted cloud. It sits for a moment before it suddenly seeps into the squids body in a blink.
“Did you acquire a stall at the market after all? You must be preparing your stock, yes? Am I right?”
Shamura’s eyebrows raised, causing their second pair of eyes to squint. Was Narinder in need of resources? Narinder’s brief hiss of annoyance made it clear that this subject was not meant to reach Shamura’s ears.
“Ah, Ah! You should let me help!” Kallamar sat up, clearly feeling better even if the color hadn’t returned to his cloak or crown.
“Why?”
“There a things I wish to buy, but I don’t have any money.”
“Oh, is Shamura finally cutting you off?” Narinder smirked.
“Yes, in fact, they did! I’m sure your petulant insistence that they were allegedly ‘spoiling’ me had everything to do with it, so it’s only fair that you help me raise funds.”
“That is not the reason why,” Shamura interjected, worried that Kallamar was missing the point. “It’s important that you know how to provide for yourself in case there comes a time that I am no longer able to.”
It was important for both their sakes, really. Shamura knew they had gotten far too comfortable with giving Kallamar whatever he asked for, they couldn’t even fully commit to cutting him off. They still fed and sheltered him, but had to force themselves to stop indulging in his more frivolous wants like jewelry and money.
Regardless of how valid the reasoning, Narinder and Kallamar scoffed in unison. For better or worse, if there was one thing that could reliably get them to agree, it was Shamura.
“If you are ever incapacitated, then we have already fallen.” Kallamar gestured dismissively.
“Likewise,” Narinder added. “It’s humorous how you pretend that this fool would not drop dead the second he could no longer suckle on your teat.”
Kallamar let out a gasp of offense.
Shamura would have liked to inquire further about the first half of Narinder’s statement. But they take far too long to choose what they felt would be the proper way to ask. Kallamar and Narinder had already bickered over the latter’s rude comment and moved past it to the next topic.
“Well, if it is not to sell, then why do you have all this stuff?”
Though Kallamar had successfully put Narinder back at the center of the conversation, he rejected the position with the finesse of a hippo on ice. Narinder stared at Kallamar, forcing his expression to be blank with limited success. There was silence as the two waited for his response.
“You seem to be missing something, Shamura.” Narinder said, abruptly changing the subject.
“Ah?” It took them a moment. “Ah, yes, yes. My claw. I… Underestimated Murmur. She ripped it clean from my body.”
“I take it you’ll be requiring my assistance to re-attach it?”
Shamura blanched, a rare demonstration of embarrassment from them that managed to surprise Narinder.
“…I… forgot to retrieve it.” They slowly said, processing the information for themselves in real time. They clear their throat. “Alas, that is my punishment for carelessness. It will be… awhile…” Their apprehension shows in their tone. “…but it will grow back in time.”
“Oh! Shamura, I didn’t even notice! When did that happen?” Kallamar gawked.
Narinder seemed upset, but Shamura couldn’t fully put together why. Was it disappointment in them? Annoyance with Kallamar? They briefly considered that he might be concerned for them, but they shooed the thought away as rather presumptuous—something Narinder often accused them of being.
Kallamar lit up at the sound of the kettle whistling. “Oh! Are you making tea? I’m parched—”
“I wasn’t.” Narinder said, a bit too quickly. “I merely forgot to remove the kettle from the fire before I went to investigate the intruders that crossed my barrier.”
“Then, Shamura, will you make me a cup of tea?”
“No, they will not. Make it yourself.”
Shamura did not understand Narinder. But, they wanted to. As much as Kallamar and Narinder postured in a way that would suggest they didn’t like each other, the two clearly understood each other, even if they didn’t always realize it.
“But I am injured still! You did not heal my arm!” Kallamar protested.
“And you have three others that are completely functional. Leave Shamura be, lazy brat.”
“Lazy? Brat?”
Before the two could launch into another petty bickering match, Shamura interjected.
“Kallamar, if you could, a round of tea before we set off would be most refreshing.” They stood with grace, their strength already beginning to replenish. “And I will prepare a snack to pair with it.” They turned their gaze to Narinder. “Consider it our thanks for allowing us to disturb you this evening.”
“Ah… Let us trade tasks. I must insist.” Kallamar bridged his fingers, a pose he often took up when he felt awkward.
“If you must busy yourself with something, then I would prefer you make the tea.” Narinder sounded exasperated as he finally took a seat, knocking an assortment of smooth stones off the coffee table as he propped his feet atop of it.
Shamura was a bit lost again, but quickly adapted. “Then tea I shall make.”
The trio fell into a comfortable silence. Shamura retrieved the kettle that had been hollering throughout the entire exchange while Kallamar sifted through Narinder’s cabinets to assemble snacks for them (mostly he and Narinder). Shamura continued to subtly snoop as they had to cross the room again.
Trying to narrow in on things that gave off some amount of arcane energy. But none of the items that stood out seemed like things Narinder simply couldn’t ask them about. Small statues, a beautifully preserved skull with a gem embedded into the forehead, a black card sporting a red mandala—
“Shamura, did you lose your sense of taste as a consequence of no longer needing to eat, or did you stop eating because you lost your sense of taste?” Narinder suddenly broke the silence, Kallamar’s scolding tone quick to follow.
“Narinder!”
*uses them as crab bait*
Was doing a purgatory run when I went to the final boss and brought the whole family into this mess.
I find it equal parts amusing and cruel tbh, I like to think that during purgatory, the lambs followers that get into this stage are in a sleep like state where they can see, hear and sorta feel what is happening to them but once the purgatory is done they are brought back to reality like nothing happened
I also like to imagine this is sorta a karmic F u to the bishops and narinder for literally killing lamb’s species. because imagine seeing yourself in the past in a battle you remember having and reliving it again in a different view.
But hey, atleast they accept our divinity now
Someone else also mentioned that to me actually so dw! Kallamar would slay the look while being a terrible maid, methinks
yeee
Bishops of the Old Stock
The Lamb, but when they are not smiling