ＮＡＲＩＮＤＥＲ

“Pity that I have none to give.” It’s a subtle way to announce he would not make an appetizing target.

Narinder comes to a stop at a distance, and sweeps his gaze across the nearby remains as indication of his curiosity. “Is it your biology? Or is it a curse which motivates you?”

“So the cause of deaths rising in this region is you.”

One moment there was seemingly nothing, and now, preceded by a flicker of red eyes, the former god of death appears from the dark. He steps into the dragon’s domain with no sign of fear, paw carelessly toppling a heap of bones as he approaches.

So much for that. But he had no interest in them otherwise, so it makes no difference to him. Narinder watches the opposing cat with a dull gaze.

“You presume your meal isn’t already spoiled,” he warns ominously. Despite his words, there isn’t any concern in his tone. It may well be he hopes it is.

Narinder doesn’t so much as flinch. Three crimson eyes gleam, safe behind their veil. His unaffected gaze lifts from the barrel of the gun to the human behind it.

“Be at ease.” The tall feline’s voice is low and raspy, but smooth as butter. “Your time has not yet come.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 a breeze. It tugs his robes, and he turns his face towards it. So this is peace.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 recent storm has blackened the waters and brought in driftwood and dead fish and ailing seabirds.

𝐀 faint smile graces his muzzle. He always did love the sea, and it loves him back, he sees.

𝐇𝐞 walks along the shoreline, gaze skimming the rough waters. It's his first time feeling sand beneath his unchained paws since he was freed. Muddy pawprints well with algae-choked seawater in his wake, complementing the already dark beach littered in twigs and dead long grass.

𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧
◦ Penned by Sun.
◦ Descriptive and novel writer.
◦ All non-official art here was made for me.
◦ Dark and sometimes gruesome themes, which are better suited for mature audiences.
◦ Non-lewd, no shipping.
◦ Aym and Baal won't be written on this account, they're background characters.

(𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧.)
◦ The cult is still and has always been devoted to him. Once the Lamb ascends into the ranks of the Mystic Seller (dubbed "Archon"), the Red Crown will return to him. He will regain a fraction of his powers, but technically not his title; he will then only be the Lamb's proxy.

𝗖𝗨𝗟𝗧 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘
◦ The cult's name is "Of Dark Seas", in which all non-unique Followers have black fur.
◦ The Merciful Lamb is gradually becoming an eldritch being, bordering on barely perceivable by now. They cannot be described, and are only loosely remembered. Soon, they will be intangible.

(𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧.)
◦ In forests, he leaves a trail of mushrooms and lichen in his wake. In cities, it's cracked sidewalks and moss.
◦ He can still change size, but usually stays in his follower form.
◦ Sometimes he's just a corpse or a skeleton overgrown with moss and camellia flowers if he's in a mood.

𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘
◦ He's been granted "freedom" by the Lamb and now travels with Aym and Baal.
◦ Without his veil, anything that looks in his third eye will die.
◦ He thinks the ultimate expression of love is death and rotting together. Yet he will never harm the Lamb, who this is aimed at.

… 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘢, 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱.

Independent portrayal of Narinder/The One Who Waits.

#CotLRP // #MVRP // #OCRP