#cotl gods

Yesterday an extraordinary revelation occurred, when a friend shared the background skull sprites found by Ewefall. And the discovery was that all those skulls were those of gods. The same thing happened with some skulls in The Rot, whose names confirmed that they were skulls of gods.

"Infant God, I have existed since these Lands were formed, and I have never felt the ether rebel as it does now. You fracture Nature's order. You make a plaything of Death and Fate. You tempt it to break. Cautious, Infant God, for if you break open the world, who knows what may emerge?" Does that not sound like foreshadowing?

I'm gonna say that I'm pretty good at predicting this stuff, because I predicted Woolhaven being a paid DLC that would add winter a year before it was revealed and even guessed that Ewefall would become a new location back in ~2023.

In my professional opinion, I believe the next update/DLC/whatever will expand on lore related to the Mystic Seller / their realm. The lamb messes with too much and causes problems that they have to go deal with, possibly even in a dungeon similar to the realm the mystic seller is from (which seems to somehow be connected to the gateway / where Narinder was trapped, so perhaps the afterlife of some sort?)

Another thing I think they MIGHT use at some point is this area on the map. It's always been a point of interest for me, it seems like it stands out, especially with the portal-like structure seen there. Considering that the other map POI of mine became an actual location (Ewefall/Woolhaven), I really trust my speculation here. Not sure what exactly it'd be used for (could be related to the theorized new dungeon previously mentioned, though I think the middle gateway where Mystic Seller is located makes more sense), but it's still something to think about.

People are making their version of the Fanatic or try to think of how the gods mentioned by relics and tarot cards would look like... I'm gonna make gods based on biome backgrounds!

First up: crystals in Silk Cradle

We need more lamb in dresses NOW

Focalor righted himself with alarming speed, his many legs finding purchase on the silken walls. His dozens of tiny red eyes fixed on Lambert with a hatred so intense it seemed to generate heat.

"You have been touched by death." the spider hissed. "I can smell it on you."

Lambert gripped his axe tighter, the crown pulsing with angry energy. "Last chance, Focalor. Stand down."

The spider's response was a burst of sticky webbing shot from specialized glands beneath his fangs. Lambert ducked, but not quickly enough...the substance caught his left hind leg, anchoring him to the floor.

"HA! You're stuck!" cried Focalor with wicked delight. "Now we shall see how the little lamb dances!"

Lambert swung his axe at the webbing, but the blade merely bounced off. This was no ordinary spider silk...it had the consistency of steel cable. Focalor took advantage of Lambert's predicament, charging forward with fangs extended. Lambert twisted his body desperately, bringing the axe up in a defensive arc that caught one of Focalor's legs. The crown-axe sliced clean through the appendage, sending it flying across the chamber. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, hissing where it landed on the silken floor.

Focalor shrieked...a sound so high-pitched and terrible that Lambert's ears rang with pain. But the spider lieutenant didn't retreat. If anything, the injury seemed to fuel his rage. He lunged again, this time shooting a jet of venom directly at Lambert's face. Lambert ducked just in time, the poison splattering against the wall behind him. Where it touched, the silk dissolved into smoking holes. Lambert didn't want to imagine what it would do to wool and flesh.

"Hold still, little sacrifice." Focalor taunted, circling Lambert like a shark. "Your death will be quicker that way."

Lambert tugged frantically at his trapped leg. The webbing wouldn't break, but perhaps... He drove the handle of his axe into the floor beside his leg, creating a small tear in the silk platform. Then he widened it with his free hoof until he had carved a circle around his trapped limb. As Focalor charged again, Lambert dropped through the hole he'd made, his trapped leg pulling free the section of floor it was attached to. He plummeted for a heart-stopping moment before landing on a lower level of webbing, the impact sending shock waves through the entire structure.

Focalor followed immediately, his seven remaining legs scrambling down the sides of the tunnel. Lambert had only seconds to free himself, hacking frantically at the chunk of webbing still clinging to his leg. Finally, it came loose just as Focalor landed before him.

"Clever lamb." the spider acknowledged, his breath a putrid cloud. "But cleverness only prolongs the inevitable."

This time, Lambert didn't wait for Focalor to attack. He charged forward, the crown flaring with power that coursed through his body like liquid fire. The axe became a crimson blur as he struck at Focalor's legs, his movements impossibly quick. One by one, the spider's legs were severed, each strike accompanied by a terrible shriek and a spray of black ichor. Finally, with only four legs remaining, Focalor crashed to the silk floor, unable to maintain his balance.

"Surrender." Lambert commanded, standing over the crippled lieutenant with his axe raised. "It's over."

Focalor laughed...a gurgling, bitter sound. "Over? Nothing is over until one of us is dead, lamb."

With his remaining strength, the spider lunged upward, fangs aimed directly at Lambert's throat. Lambert sidestepped and brought the axe down in a final, decisive arc that split Focalor's body nearly in two.

The spider collapsed, black ichor pooling around him. His many red eyes flickered like dying embers as his life ebbed away.

Lambert stood over him, breathing heavily. "Why?" he asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "Why wouldn't you yield? I would have spared you! I only want the bishops dead!"

Focalor's mandibles clicked weakly. "Spared me? For what purpose? To become your servant, like those other traitors? To abandon everything I am?"

"You could have chosen a different path." Lambert insisted. "Just as I have. I'm not as cruel as the bishops."

"Ah, but there's the difference." Focalor whispered, his voice growing fainter. "We spiders have our code. It is woven into our very being, just as surely as we weave our webs. Shamura is the one I devoted myself too. I cannot change what I am any more than you can change what you are."

Lambert frowned. "But I HAVE changed! I'm living proof that one can choose their own destiny."

A sound like dry leaves rustling emerged from Focalor...his dying laugh. "Are you? You were LITERALLY blessed by the God of Death himself. You think that was chance? You think you had any choice in the matter?"

The crown grew uncomfortably hot on Lambert's head.

"Besides." Focalor continued, his many eyes fixed on the crown, "Are you even still 'yourself' anymore? We know all about how you killed the Bishops. Leshy, Heket... and especially Kallamar."

Lambert stepped back as if physically struck. "What do you mean?"

"The way you sliced him apart." Focalor wheezed, black ichor bubbling from his mouth. "So methodical. So cruel. So...unlike a gentle lamb. We have eyes everywhere, little vessel. Do you really think you have ANY true control over your own fate?"

Lambert's hoof moved unconsciously to touch the crown. "That wasn't me." he whispered. "The crown took control."

"Exactly." Focalor's voice was barely audible now. "Don't you see? It will again. And again. Until there is nothing left of the lamb who once was. Just as there is nothing left of Narinder in that crown. Only hunger. Only purpose."

With those final words, Focalor's eyes dimmed one by one, like stars being extinguished at dawn, until all that remained was the empty husk of what had once been Shamura's lieutenant.

Lambert stood in silence, Focalor's words echoing in his mind. The crown felt heavier than ever before, a constant reminder of the question he'd been avoiding since Kallamar's temple:

How much of Lambert was still Lambert? And how much was now Narinder?

"I'm…I am NOT going to be like him…or the Bishops." Lambert insisted as he clenched his fists, and then held his hooves up. "Come back to me…live…LIVE…LIVE!" He roared out. "I won't be the god of death. I…will be a god of LIFE!" He proclaimed as he slammed his fists down into the ground.

SCHAA-THRAA-SCHWOOOOMHHH! A burning red circle engulfed Focalor's form. His body shimmered and glowed, and bit by bit he began to shrink. Slowly but surely, he was now a smaller, stubbier-limbed specimen of spider with blue fur over his body, four horns with spiderwebs interlocking them, and two fangs on either side of his head.

"I…feel…odd. What…what did…wait, am I…?" Focalor moaned, holding his head. "…I'm…Focalor, right?"

Inwardly, Lambert felt a pang of regret. He had hoped that maybe he was getting better at bringing people back to life, that maybe, as he got more powerful, his control would improve. But this was no better than Ratau's resurrection.

"Yes, you…you're Focalor. I want you to go here…" The lamb reached into his cape, pulling out a copy of his map. He kept several just for such occasions, to give to new followers who would want a safe place to call home. "This is where you'll be safe. I've built a nice home here. You'll find good people." "Ooh, that sounds nice…yeah, I…I think I'll go there." Focalor said, a rather dumb smile on his face as Lambert watched the transformed spider trotting off with the map, the Red Crown speaking to him in his mind.

"Do you think you're being kind?" It asked. It sounded less mad though and more…pitying. "Narinder did the same thing you did. He thought he was being merciful in bringing back followers. His very first resurrection was of his first follower, one he KEPT returning to life, who only became more pathetic and mindless with each time."

"I want to be better. There HAS to be some way to perfect resurrection, or at least improve it." Lambert murmured back as he rubbed over his arm. "If Death is just the beginning…then Life can find a way."

"…you're less selfish than Narinder was." The Red Crown said and it deeply sighed. "You know…I was originally a crown of life AND death." It quietly admitted. "I belonged to a very kind god who thought much like you. But those days are gone. I don't know if they could ever come back."

"Who was the first owner?" Lambert asked. "What were they like? This God of Life and Death?"

"Warm as the sun…gentle as the morning rays. I remember days of peace, and happy gods, with happy followers. For a brief, short time…there was love in these lands. We had hope for a brighter future, and faith in our fellowship of gods."

…

…

…

… "Oh! Jourmungandr, you're here! Chemach was hoping you'd come, your followers make the best roasts."

The three feathered beasts had their lovely home at the far edge of the island, where there laid an immense iron gate. It'd been set up with a clear warning sign upon it…that beyond this way laid danger. The island, sadly, was surrounding by horribly deep waters. Not merely Anchordeep, oh no! The entire great sea that cut them off from whatever mainland laid beyond was nigh-impossible to properly sail on if you went too far. The most anyone could get was about two, maybe three miles off the coast.

Something was clearly "off" about the whole island. Oniero had always seemed to bring out the worst in nature with its freakish mutations that would infest unfortunate creatures, and the rough weather that seemed to batter miles and miles of land for days on end didn't help either, and finally…that horrible, rough sea that cut them off from ever leaving, or even just getting outside help…it was all too much sometimes.

But then there was that house. The order of the universe intact…in Chemach's house. Big, welcoming, a soft paint job, enormous in size, almost a mansion, and the assembled chosen would arrive every single year to feast and speak to one another.

"Ah, hello Owl." Jourmungandr smiled playfully at Haro, giving him a bow, one hand against his chest, the other spreading wide. He had brought a small contingent of followers that were carrying fruits and freshly-roasted meat in delightfully-woven baskets. "I heard Chemach's picked gods of the seasons?"

"Why yes, Snake. Our favorite artist has made some INSPIRED decisions." Haro offered his own little nickname for Jourmungandr. "I think you'll really like the newcomers. Especially-"

"Here he is! See?"

There SHE was. Chemach, in her blue robe, cheerily smiling, waving enthusiastically as what stood by her was quite possibly the cutest, most adorable female sheep Jourmungandr had ever seen. She had two pairs of grey ears, and multiple horns, four in fact, atop her head. The roots were brown, the tips gray, and she wore a black, three-pointed, mountain-shaped crown with a snowflake at the top and roots at the bottom. She had a cute blue blush to her cheeks, and an adorable little black nose, and wore a blue bell on a collar around her neck.

"Ohhh my! What a LOVELY bit of jewelry you're wearing. Very tasteful." Jourmungandr said as he took the lamb's hand and bowed to her as well. She smiled in tender way, looking at his own big beaded necklace.

"My kind often wears bells. We have to put up with a lot of stormy, cloudy, foggy weather where we live, so it's a simple way for us to find one another." The female sheep admitted. Her voice was beautiful, it sounded musical and brought a warmth to Jourmungandr when he heard her speak. "I'm Yngya, and I'm the Goddess of Winter."

"Jourmungandr is my name. Chemach chose me to be the First Faith's herald. I stand for Faith and the three Tenets they represent." He admitted back to her as Chemach patted him on the back, and he felt a blush come to his cheeks as he looked back at her.

"Indeed, and you've done VERY well. But before you come in to join us for dinner…have you washed your hands?" She playfully inquired, wagging a feather finger in the air.

"Of course! In the blood of half a dozen heretics." Jourmungandr wisecracked, wiggling his clawed hands in the air as Yngna snorted. "Kidding, kidding. I'll do that now. Could you show me where you've got your new toilet?"

"Oh, you heard about THAT too? Yes, it's very fancy. A gift from Yngna, she carved it herself. Evidently it's a skill her mother passed down. She's SO talented!" Chemach said with a happy grin on her duckish face. "I just love a fellow artist."

"Ooh, your mother taught you to carve?" Jourmungandr followed Chemach and Yngna into the beautiful house, waving at the sight of Kudaai and Clauneck as they were getting plates ready, setting them down at a large dinner table where quite a few other gods sat. Haro, that dear Owl, sat down by one he definitely recognized, the one and only God of Life. You could easily recognize the white figure, this beautiful dragon had white scales that were so soft, they were almost furry. Their eyes were a deep black, but had a soft, gentle green undertone at the bottom, and their wings were as the rainbow, with a hundred colors flowing forth. They radiated warmth and life like the sun, and were currently setting down bread rolls for others to enjoy.

"Yes. I tragically lost her in a climbing accident almost a year ago." Yngna sighed sadly. "I found Chemach a few months later, she was kind enough to attend the funeral. She saw I'd carved a beautiful headstone for my mother and she said she saw potential in me."

"I understand. Yesterday was the anniversary of my own family's deaths. I know how hard it is." Jourmungandr offered as he and Chemach and Yngna made their way to the bathroom and he began to wash his hands in their sink. "Whenever I get sad, I try to recover some childhood memories to cheer me up."

"Find any good ones in your mind?" Chemach offered.

"It gets hard. I know what they SHOULD look like." Jourmungandr intoned, as his voice became wistful, his four eyes closing as he stepped away from the sink and began to dry his hands, his tail slowly swishing back and forth. "A mother…gentle, nurturing. Forgiving of my failures. A lilac-scented touchstone of unquestioning love, and soft, black eyes. A father. Patient. Wise. A drier of tears. Deliverer of comfort, security, ready to tear into any one who'd threaten his family, and always willing to tuck you in at night." A deep, long sigh. "A childhood…a lyrical passage to discovery. Insulated with love. Protected from pain. Soothed with lullabies."

"I think we would ALL like to recover memories like that." Chemach admitted quietly as she finished washing HER hands. "Any of those recovered yet?"

Jourmungandr laughed dryly. "No. I got my father struggling to stay alive after a bird pecked his insides out, and my mother eating my brothers and sisters."

"UGH." Yngna cringed. "I'm so sorry. That sounds terrible!"

"Ol' Chemach knows what'll make you feel better…her signature wine, and our dear friend Sude's finest biscuits." Chemach offered, giving Jourmungandr's shoulder a hug as she then ruffled Yngna's wooly head, leading them towards the table. Jourmungandr looked around, noticing quite a lot of the followers there, who were close to their respective gods…that is, except for Kudaai, Clauneck and Chemach. None of them had any!

Clauneck looked…rather worried. He kept furiously shuffling a card deck, then pulling out three cards, then shuffling them again. Each time he did so, his face seemed to become a bit more scrunched up and nervous and fearful. Kudaai gave him a soft pat on the shoulder, and Clauneck finally put the cards down, sliding them back into his robes.

"Are you alright, great feathered friend?" Jourmungandr offered as he sat across from him, right next to Yngna on one side and Sude, God of Life, on the other.

"Please forgive my rather silly brother. Clauneck's only recently gotten his fine gift of foresight through the cards, and he doesn't like what he's seeing."

"It's not…happy news." Clauneck quietly mumbled. "But there seems to be…nothing to be done. No, just…nothing at all." He laid his hands his lap, glancing quickly at Chemach, who was pouring herself some wine.

"I've noticed that none of you have any followers here. How come?" Yngna asked, bringing Jourmungandr's own question to her lips as she tilted her head slightly. "Oh, we don't need any and we do not ask for any." Clauneck said nonchalantly. Kudaai shook his own head.

"Yes, we're quite fine without followers, dear sheep. We don't ask for anything, really. We're quite fine with what we've been given. We work with amazing gifts that the First Gods gave to these lands, and that alone's an honor."

"Yes, we couldn't ask for anything more, really." Chemach added as she sipped on her wine. "Now, who wants to lead us in a song to start us off?" She cheerily intoned as the assembled gods all cheered and whooped, Chemach putting own the wine and getting out a small lyre as Jourmungandr reached into the very nice golden robe he'd put on for the occasion, getting out a flute to contribute.

"Wow, they really don't need followers?" Yngna asked Jourmungandr as he chuckled slightly.

"I know what you're thinking. I used to think them strange, these three feathered beasts, unworn and unweathered by the passage of time. To be keepers of Godly tools, and yet not be tempted to Godliness themselves…do they not hunger as we do? Now, wisened in age, I understand. Hatched beneath the First, they crave no power, seek no other fulfillment, for it is not in their nature. And it is by nature that we must abide…"

"What's YOUR nature?"

Jourmungandr blew a soft note on the flute. "The three tenets of the First Faith. Hope, Faith, and Love. That's what I've tried to abide by. Prophecies can fail. Tongues can cease their talking. Knowledge can vanish. The three most important things to have are hope, faith and love, and the greatest of them…is love."

Yngya.

So that's what she'd looked like. Lambert's dreams had been more pleasant this time. He understood what the Red Crown had said about the past quite well. There'd been camaraderie and warmth and he could feel the delight, joy and hope that filled the room when all the gods had been together. But…now that warm feeling was gone as Lambert stood at the entrance to Shamura's inner sanctum, his little heart pounding like a drum against his ribs. The chamber was immense, intimidating and yet…surprisingly CLEAN. Instead of the sticky, chaotic webbing of the outer nests, this space shimmered with orderly tapestries that told ancient stories in threads of silver and gold. Soft, tiny glowing mushrooms grew along the walls, casting a gentle, blue light over everything.

At the center of the room sat Shamura on a dais of smooth, obsidian stone. The great spider looked different at the moment. Though massive and terrifying, Shamura radiated a quiet, melancholic dignity. His deep purple fur seemed to absorb the blue light, and his eight eyes were like dark, black pearls, each reflecting a different image of Lambert. His voice, when he spoke, was a soft rustle of silk.

"Welcome, Lambert of Woolhaven." Shamura said. "I wondered when you might come." There was no threat in the words, only a deep weariness.

"You know who I am?" Lambert replied, his voice thin with tension. He was surprised Shamura knew his real name!

"I have been watching you." Shamura answered, his long, segmented legs folding neatly beneath his body. "Ever since you rejected your sacrifice and received my brother's crown."

Lambert raised his chin defiantly. "Then you know why I've come. I want the full truth. Why did you slaughter my kind? Why kill every last sheep? What possible threat could innocent lambs be?"

Shamura remained motionless, his gaze distant and sad. He let out a long, mournful sigh. "Because, little lamb, you were the key."

Lambert shook his head in disbelief. "What're you talking about?!"

"To answer that." Shamura said slowly, "You must understand that I was born with a gift. And a curse." His delicate limbs brushed the tapestries behind him, and they shimmered with new patterns...images of galaxies swirling into existence and ancient mountains crumbling into the sea. "What your kind would call prophecy. But mine isn't glimpses of what might be...mine are absolute truths. I do not see potential futures; I see what WILL be, much like that…" He hesitated, as if struggling to remember. "…that duck. Yes. Clauneck. He too, has the same gift I did. But he sees it through cards. I see mine as if right before my face."

Lambert stepped forward cautiously, his eyes fixed on the images. "And what does that have to do with my people?"

Shamura swept back to gaze at Lambert. "I foresaw my beloved brother Narinder's ascension as the next God of Death...an irreversible fate carved into the tapestry of time itself. I foresaw the burden that his domain would bring: that he would gather only a handful of followers. People fear death and worship motivated by fear is a feeble foundation for faith. Narinder knew this. He craved more...not for power, but for a connection that fear could never forge. He wanted…love. So, against my better judgment, I taught him a secret art. The power to resurrect the dead." A soft blue tear welled in one of Shamura's many eyes. "I loved him. How could I deny him? But the consequences were disastrous. Our followers...all of us Bishops...abandoned us. Why worship any other god when you can restore a loved one? Death itself lost its meaning."

Shamura's limbs trembled slightly as images danced across the tapestries: cultists gathering around Narinder, abandoning temples of their former deities. "But it was never enough for him. His compassion became obsession. He aimed to obliterate death itself. He forged immortality...first for himself, with the same intent for his followers. The chain reactions of that pursuit…it threatened the foundations of existence. Balance shattered. Life and death tangled into madness!"

Lambert listened, spellbound. He thought of the crown whispering cruel things into his mind and his own struggles resisting it. He thought of Narinder alone in the Grey. "You mean…is THAT it? Immortality made Narinder the One Who Waits? THAT'S why you banished him? It wasn't just him bringing people back, it was-"

Shamura nodded. "Yes. Can you imagine the chaos it'd cause if everyone was immortal? There was but one choice. We chained him in the land beyond life and death. There in the Grey, he will never fade, not truly, thanks to the immortality he gave himself. Trapped. Alone. Forever."

"And my kind?" Lambert whispered.

"I am sorry. They had to die. I saw the future with absolute clarity." Shamura explained. "I foresaw that one day, an innocent lamb, one offered as a sacrifice, would rise and don Narinder's crown to either become his vessel or free him. And so I and the other Bishops panicked. We decided all sheep must die to avert that prophecy."

Lambert felt his wool stand on end. "But I escaped."

"Yes, helped along evidently by another sheep, carried away on a river, if I remember right." Shamura answered simply. "Prophecies are as tides, Lambert. They can be delayed, resisted, but never diverted entirely. And now here you stand...living proof that we made everything worse with our desperate violence." Shamura's voice broke as he uttered those last words, an emotion so raw Lambert could almost feel it himself. "I loved my brother. And in sealing him away, we broke something beautiful. But do you know the cruelest twist of all?"

Lambert shook his head silently.

"My gift fails me now." Shamura said. "Your presence creates ripples that muddy even my certain sight. Before you, Lambert, I could see the clear road ahead...every speck of dust, every blade of grass on the path of fate. Now? I look toward your future, and all I see is a brilliant, terrifying white light. It blinds me."

Shamura took a single, deliberate step forward, though he was careful not to come too close. "Had I known what the prophecy truly meant, I should have suggested your kind not be slaughtered. You would not be allowed to truly live free, but you would be comfortable in gilded cages. At least then, if treated comfortably and kindly, when the time came for all of you to die, you would have rejected Narinder's demands, having only known mercy at our hands. I am sorry I didn't take that route. So tell me, Lambert of Woolhaven. What comes next?" He inquired.

"…" Lambert focused as the Red Crown shifted off his head and turned into the familiar weight of the Zealous Axe. Shamura's eyes widened slightly as he gazed at it.

"You and the Bishops slaughtered all my kind. I don't even remember what my family looks like anymore. Being Narinder's vessel took that from me. YOU took that from me. I…" his hoofed hand began to shake. "I WANT…to say I forgive you. I WANT…to say I'm glad you're sorry for what you did…but…I am just SO damn…ANGRY right now!" he murmured, as he felt a horrible, cold, creeping chill sinking into him. The Red Crown was quiet…silent. It was just going to let Lambert do what he wanted.

This is his latest reference to show what he looks like, he has an eye on his chest and eyes on his ear fluffs that i want to use for the design

Some background lore for the animatic I’m making

There are no names for them at this time

If you have any questions about them, PLEASE ASK!! I’m really enjoying exploring these characters that were meant to be one-offs :D