#i want to make the lamb in bishops' size but I like the idea of ​​a small god knocking down more bigger entities

[mioju0]

so I had this idea of ​​an au (maybe???)

well basically the idea is that ,after a time, narinder decides to leave the cult and live somewhere else, he's no longer a follower of the lamb and no longer affiliated with the old faith.

he'll live in some abandoned house in darkwood and live like a farmer, as long as the lamb continues to care for the growing cult and protecting it from heretics and remaining followers of the old faith.

the lamb has a chance to visit narinder's house during a crusade (only in darkwood of course), just have to be lucky enough to have it in the routes, or choosing a faster way via the cult's teleport. During a crusade, the lamb may take extra tarot cards (also pick up some food from the narinder's plantations).

narinder also visits the cult from time to time to share information about rituals/doctrines (just like ratau at the beginning of the game) or how the followers of the old faith have acted in their surroundings (he cares about lamb and he can't deny it).

[donutfloats]

Reign of Gods musing

Keep listening to the Hayfields album by Yaelokre which is giving me brain worms for this AU, so here or some of my ideas

The War hasn’t/doesn’t happen, but the Bishops are some of the most powerful gods within the region, while the others have small followings or none at all (mayhaps a possible God Apollo for that LeshyCat ship, dunno what he’d be tho)

God Lamb doesn’t have a huge following, really is a small god in comparison- BUT their domain is strong as its concept is *Change*. From the flower blooming then wilting, the trees growing their leaves then shedding, the current in a creak growing into a pond etc. but the most important aspect is the inevitability, as change comes for everything, and will come in many forms, the scariest for the Bishops is change to their own godhood.

The Bishops are worried about this, especially Shamura, as the eldest and wisest they can see the probability and change, and with it an imbalance

Narinder however, is curious. His Domain is of course Death after all, the inevitability, yet the idea that change comes for everything has him curious if it’s even possible for his domain

They eventually decide to simply ignore the Lamb, taking into consideration of their cult size they don’t view them as a threat- but do keep tabs on them, and have plans that if a change in the air does appear: The Lamb will be executed

Narinder can’t help but want to know more about the Lamb, so he chooses to visit them. He does this under the guise of bing the one to “keep tabs on them.” But he really wants to know more about their domain

Its first presented more diplomatic, Narinder just wishing to see their domain, expecting pushback at first because, well, he’s the god of death, so assumes the Lamb will tell him to leave- but is surprised when he’s welcomed in happily

And this is how their friendship starts, Narinder visits more often than he needs to simply because he enjoys their company

Lamb is, well, lonely. They have followers yes, and they love their followers dearly, but they want to make a connection with someone who just see’s them as another person. But that was hard, as word spread of this God of Change, of a New Kind of Inevitability, so they were avoided by many, as these other gods worried that if they interacted with Lamb, that they may lose their godhood to this “change”. Narinder coming into their life felt like a blessing, and they savoured every minute their spent together

They both found someone who didn’t fear their inevitabilities

Yada yada they fall in love, the Bishops are like “WE TOLD YOU TO KEEP TABS ON THEM NOT DATE THEM” and Nari is like “Oops… Anyway”

This is all I got so far lol, some ideas I keep going back and forth between, like the Bishops killing Lamb and making Nari become a vengeful deity who has to be locked up but since he’s the god of death he brings Lamb back who defeats the Bishops and free’s their boyfriend/hubby

This idea is tricky tho cause I do want the Bishops to live and be forgiven so they can be a big happy family, but idk how I could do that if they do this specifically

Idk lol I’m insanely rusty with making AU’s and musing ideas, haven’t done this in in 5 years so idk what directions I wanna go with this stuff lmao

[neonpaperlanterns]

Something I don't know if I rambled about was the way each Bishop fights.

Leshy, being blind. Doesn't seem to really target Lamb. At least, he blindly tries but most likely struggles with the sounds and smells of his minions in the fight. (Wonder if in the Papa worm story... This is more just him fighting at a self given disadvantage. Despite duties and responsibilities, he just struggles to even think about willingly fighting and killing Nuala.) he is most likely overconfident and overwhelmed himself thinking he could take Lamb (mostly) on his own.

Heket fights like a leader, her cult heavily with her, her siblings do have aids but she has it in spades in comparison I'd say. Even doing a tactic of having her retreat mid fight while two of her elite beasties jump out. Plus, they just keep coming. Hopping into battle while she fights Lamb.

Kallamar fights like a coward, most of his attacks are to keep you away. And from what I've seen, he is the most desperate and it shows in how a LOT of people state he is the hardest boss fight. A cornered wet beast.

Shamura... Fights like they accepted death. They won't give in, but they accept it and aren't afraid to meet it.

They've mastered the fights to reflect the bishops in some way or form. Leshys' overconfidence (or familial love conflict with familial love in Nualas' case.) Hekets' loyalty (to her family. But still). Kallamars' cowardice and fear of death. Shamuras' acceptance of it all. "Five becomes... Becomes... Nothing. Nothing at all."

...

Just wanted to ramble that to someone. Onto the question.

Regarding stories of post-CotL, where Lambert is the new god of death and recruits the bishops... In your head, how would sizes work?

Obviously they'll be the same size as the followers once recruited in game. But in real life there are creatures huge and small, in game that is also the case. There are large hostile cultists whom wield big swords. And that one pig dude with the axe whom decapitated Lamb then ditched the entire story of the game.

So would you keep them as... Giants in your stories or what?

-Sunny Anon

Okay so that's really cool! And looking back on their fights make so much sense. Thank you for pointing it out, you are really good at noticing things. Again I find that so fascinating.

But onto your question.

In my head they stay big. Not as huge as they were because I like the idea of them decreasing in size after being stripped of their power. But still definitely tower over others just not as dramatically has before.

side note: Sunny2 has passed away of old age. Any desire for the next reincarnation?

[regaldragonempress]

The 1969 Easter Mass Incident

Content Warnings: Religion, food, symbolic cannibalism, symbolic gore, penis mention, Blasphemy, SO MUCH BLASPHEMY, weapons, war mention.  Mind the warnings and your health always comes first. Its a HILARIOUS story, I promise.

As always, all the names have been changed to protect people’s identities.  This is a long one, so Press J now if you want to skip it.

When my dad was a young man and still a practicing catholic, he participated in a small church communion that nearly got him and six other people excommunicated.

Father Patrick ran a small church outside of California Polytechnical and tended to be… rather more liberal in his interpretations of scripture than most of the church was, which made him something of a hit with the local students and liberally-inclined populace.  Pat went to all manner of civil demonstrations, condemned the shit out of the vietnam war and the politics that lead to it and so on.  In January of 1969 a series of incidents lead him to start exploring “nontraditional” means of holding Mass as a means of reaching out to his community and exploring his own faith, which ultimately culminated in the 1969 Easter Mass Incident.

For those of you who weren’t raised catholic, Communion is this ritual where you become one with Jesus by eating a really horrible bland wafer cookie and taking a shot of wine (called hosts), which then *literally* become the flesh and blood of jesus in your mouth, allowing him to become one with you.  It’s big McFucking deal, and you have the opportunity to take communion at every mass.  All this had to be explained to me second-hand because after this and Dad’s 51 days in the army, Dad decided he wouldn’t inflict religion on any children he might have in the future.

*

“Hey dad,” Six-year old me asked the first time he told me this story after my practicing friends were talking about getting wine at church. “Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“We’re getting to that.”  He waved.

*

The First Incident in January when, due to a serious cock-up by the church, all the hosts Father Pat received were moldering and spoiled and probably would have killed someone if he’d actually fed anyone them.  But it was the first mass of the year, when a peak number of people came in after vowing to got to church more for new year’s.  He couldn’t NOT have communion.

“I’ll bake.” offered Maria, the parish secretary and probably the best baker in the county. “So we have hosts.  Jesus will understand.”

Father Patrick, not one to pass up the chance at Maria’s cooking, immediately agreed.

A Host is supposed to be composed solely of unleavened wheat flour and water, which is why they taste terrible.  It’s a theological point of some importance relating to Exodus or something but Maria had an important theological counterpoint: Jesus both divine and loves all his children, ergo, Jesus would neither be a nasty bland cracker nor want his children to suffer as such and so instead, she made Mexican wedding cookies.

They were a SPECTACULAR hit.  Many praises were heaped upon father patrick for the Much Better Wafers and that they’d be sure to show up next week as long as Maria kept making them.  Father Patrick figuring that hey, anything that gets people in the doors is good and really, if it was turning into Jesus once inside the parishioner, did it really matter what the wafers were made of?  So he continued to let Maria bake the Hosts, and encouraged her to try out new flavors, like nutmeg and cinnamon.

This went on swimmingly for a few weeks until The Bishop showed up for a surprise visit the same week Maria decided to experiment with rainbow sprinkles.

Dad remembers hearing the bishop through the windows roaring “THE HOLY BODY OF CHRIST DOES! NOT! CONTAIN! RAINBOW! SPRINKLES!”

The matter went clean up to The Archbishop, who decided that while Pat was probably right to not feed spoiled hosts to his parish, he should attend some remedial classes to remember what Communion was all about, so that if it happened again, he’s come up with a more suitable substitute.

Father Patrick returned in late March, full of spite and some fascinating new ideas.

*

“Is this where the Cannibalism happens?” Six-year-old me asked, eager to get to the good parts.

*

At his remedial classes, the teacher had stressed the importance of transubstantiation, aka “That bit where the wafer and wine, Actually, Literally, become the flesh of Jesus Christ and we expect you to swallow.”  Also on the syllabus was understanding the importance of Christ’s suffering and sacrifice.

“So, I was thinking about Easter Service.”  Said father Patrick one afternoon while dad was doing his computer science homework at the church because his dorm was a barely-standing fire hazard and the library was where you went to have sex.

“Well, we do re-enactments for christmas.  Why not on easter?  Why not re-enact the crucifixion of Christ right here? Make it real for everyone.  Trauma’s great for bonding a community together.”

“Who’s playing Jesus?” asked Maria, always one for a good laugh.

“That’s the thing- A Host, it doesn’t look much like flesh, right?  Doesn’t look like much of anything, really.  Not great for reinforcing one’s belief.

What if, instead, we- and I mean you, Maria, I can’t cook to save my life- make a man-sized loaf of bread, maybe in the shape of a T, and we have some of the boys dress up as romans and whip the bread and we pour the wine on so it’s bleeding and them- then we make a big wooden cross and actually nail the bread to it with, I don’t know, railroad spikes, more wine all over. And we raise the cross, all while telling the story of the crucifixion.”

He paused to take a drink, Maria slowly crumpling onto the floor in horrified laughter and Dad now thoroughly distracted from his homework.

“Then we lower the cross, and invite everyone who wants to take communion up to tear a hunk of Jesus off.  Just descend into his corpse like vultures.  I think that’d really be a good bonding experience for the church.”  he nodded thoughtfully.  “The hard, part, I suppose, will be finding enough romans.”

“I WANNA BE LONGINUS.” bellowed my father, barreling into the room.

And so, the plan was hatched.  Dad hit up every other guy in the Church and eventually rounded up four more romans, three of them from the Education Department of Cal Poly, and one guy from Chemistry, who just liked to watch things burn.

This, being a play, naturally meant that there was a rehearsal, and test Bread jesus.  Maria had decided that if they were going to start being extra-literal, she needed to make the most lifelike Bread jesus possible, and made a distressingly buff and human-proportioned Jesus by Advanced bread-braiding, complete with plaited hair, quail’s-egg-and-raisin eyes, bready muscle groups, and an eight-pack because why not make the lord completely shredded?*  She also made the important theological decision that since Jesus loves everyone and was happy to die in spite of all his suffering, he should be smiling, and had a toothy corn-kernel smile.  He was Wonderful and Terrifying all at once.

“Maria,” asked Father Patrick after a few minutes of delighted and horrified cooing over Jesus’ toothy grin and abdominals. “Why is he wearing a tea-towel?

“Well, he’s the Son of God. A Man.  With all that entails.”  She said, pointedly staring at Father Patrick while everyone stared at the suspiciously lumpy tea-towel.  “And he might have… burnt, slightly.”

Everyone nodded and agreed that the tea-towel was the best course of action.  The rehearsal goes splendidly and everyone agrees that this is the most delicious Jesus they’ve ever had.

*

Easter Sunday arrives and the Church is PACKED, from the more lapsed Catholics showing up for a high holiday, parents visiting for spring break and a whole horde of newcomers who had gotten wind that something was up and they ought to come.

Dad is a lanky as hell 21-year old composed mostly of technical jargon and acne but he is STOKED to be playing Longinus, the roman that speared Jesus on the cross, because he gets to do the BEST technical effect in the whole parade.  Since he came in at the end me missed a good portion of the sermon, but did hear the “oooh” from the crowd as the massive cross was dragged in by the other Romans, followed by horrified gasps and high screams and a discernible “What the FUCK” as they brought in Bread Jesus 2.0, whipping him enthusiastically, and hammering him into the cross, the sound of wine splashing onto the floor loud in the terrified silence of that Parishioners.

Finally Father Patrick gets to the part about Longinus, and Dad comes sprinting down the aisle as hard as he can, because in order for Bread Jesus to be seen by everyone, his middle had to be about 10 feet off the ground, so Dad had to run, shrieking latin curses,  down the length of the church, with a big honking spear and take a flying leap at Jesus in order to spear him in the gut.

Please take moment to imagine you are some normal god-fearing catholic who has decided to visit little bobby or maybe patricia at college and you’re all going to church together like a nice family and this Fucking madman has decided to go all Silence of the Lambs on mass and now there’s some sort of underfed translucently pale man in ill-fitting Roman armor and cape flying at a horrifying glutinous effigy of your lord and savior, with an actual fucking spear, screaming like a madman.  Don’t you feel yourself drawing closer to God already? Defensively, perhaps, like an octopus trying to ooze itself into a crevice against the horrors of the ocean.

However, two things happen that were not planned on

1. Dad misses.  In his defense, Bread Jesus is close to but not quite the size of a man- more like the size of a doughy teenager, and his middle is a small target 10 feet up in the air and dad is has a computer science minor, not an athletics scholarship.  He misses by about 8 inches and instead very solidly stabs Bread Jesus right through the groin, leaving a big hole in Maria’s tea-towel and the spear jutting out at a decidedly… attentive angle, as Bread Jesus’s Bread Dick drops to the floor with a splat.  Nobody notices this, however because

2. In rehearsal, Dad had managed to get the spear right in jesus’s navel but neither Father Patrick nor the other romans could get the wine up there to make his middle appropriately bloodied.  

Maria come up with the Genius solution that since wine is made of grapes and Jam is made of grapes, she could make a jelly-filled Jesus for Dad to stab.  There was a normal-sized test loaf and when dad stabbed it on the table, it had a nicely gooey dribbling effect.

However, this time the loaf was torso-sized, still hot from the oven and upright, so when dad speared the very end of the loaf, all the steam-pressured jam had collected at the bottom and a spray of lukewarm smuckers exploded out from bread jesus, turning the first three pews into a splash zone of symbolic entrails.

There was  a hot, sticky minute of complete silence in the church after that. 

Then, Father Patrick indicated it was time for the cross to be lowered, and continued on with the normal preparations of the Host, he himself covered in hot smuckers, as though nothing particularly ordinary was occuring, quietly kicking the bread-dick under the altar. At the end of it all, Father Patrick and invited everyone up with the Last Oration:

“Thou, O God, has kindly allowed us to have a part in this Holy Sacrifice; for this we give Thee thanks. Accept it now to Thy glory and be ever mindful of our weakness. Amen.”

…And everybody came up, shuffling like terrified zombies, pinching off tiny bits at first but then the madness took them and they began tearing apart bread jesus by the handful, weeping as they partook, scattered prayers and begging for forgiveness.  The whole congregation was kneeling about the altar, tearful and united in their guilt and their need for God.

*

“IS CHURCH ALWAYS LIKE THAT?” six-year-old me asked, absolutely stoked.  I’d convert on the spot if I got a show like that.

“No, it’s normally bland wafers and lots of chanting in latin.”

“Well that’s boring as hell.” I remember muttering and Dad snorting the coffee he was drinking out of his nose.

*

As people filed silently out of the Church to a gloriously sunny California afternoon, faces wan and smeared with wine and jam, Father patrick turned to Maria and asked “You don’t think that was too much, do you?”

“No.”  Said Maria with a sarcastic deadpan so intense it was hard to tell from sincerity.

It was the exact same tone she used when the Archbishop and Six other high clergy showed up, clutching a letter someone had written, Livid and almost foaming at the mouth, demanding to know if such blasphemy had transpired.

“No.  That’s crazy.”  She said, staring down the archbishop like he was an idiot.

“Such imaginations some people have!” Said Father Patrick, much less convincingly.

“And you-  you didn’t…  Spear an effigy of our lord and savior?”  the archbishop demanded of my father.

“Do I look like I can jump that high?”  Dad asked, having in the interim been drafted for 51 days then nearly died of pneumonia from it, and therefore no longer afraid of the Church, the Law or God.

Somewhat relieved that he’d only received the extremely detailed ramblings of a doddering parishioner, the Archbishop sat down and complemented Maria on her most excellent Mexican Wedding Cookies, may he please have another plate for his nerves? Perhaps the ones with sprinkles?

Dad went on to help build the internet, Father Patrick converted to Buddhism and Maria became a Nun.

*For those of you wondering, Jesus was made of Challah.

If you got a laugh out of this, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Paypal, as telling stories on the internet is my only source of income right now.  Thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed it!

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

The Value of Keepsakes (Post 103) 8-26-15

                        I spent a good part of the last 48 hours in an angry stew. My progress on writing was ground to a screeching halt by a virus on the new laptop I bought for my job search. I think I vaguely remember purchasing an Anti-virus disc as part of the package, but I don't believe I ever installed the software and I expect that it has now been lost in the move. Usually, Nicholas, my IT guy handles problems like this for me but he began the first five classes of his college career yesterday, so I haven't asked for his help out of respect for what he is trying to accomplish. Usually I would switch to Pam's old laptop as a back-up, but Natalie informed me that it no longer recharges so that plan was out. It is quite a frustrating situation, especially, as I only use the laptop at home for the newsletter so there is no real reason for me to expect to get infected. Natalie and Stephen both use the laptop as well so I should have made the effort to protect my device; there is nothing so frustrating as to look over both shoulders in search of a culprit to blame while only discovering your own visage in a mirror staring back from every possible vantage.

Of most concern to me was the idea that I might have let Natalie down with respect to the pictures that I have been saving for her. Usually Pam was the picture taker in our family, but I have made more of a point of collecting family images since Pam became ill. Because Pam was adopted as a child, she had very few baby pictures and she was sensitive about it. My mom had given us albums of pictures from my childhood and a good sized box of my "better" efforts from grade school. I don't go through my albums or keepsake box very often, maybe once every several years, but when I do, I usually find certain pictures or items that remind me of happy times long ago. The memory thread to other items and pictures is lost to me, though. If it is a piece of homework completed for a teacher long forgotten, I usually discard the paper and whittle down my collection still further. Someday, after I am gone, the box will probably go straight into a rubbish bin, although Natalie may go through it piece by piece. I leave that choice to her. An old puck from an Ohio State hockey tournament long since played might become a paperweight on her desk or it might roll right into the trash truck however she so chooses. The thought of losing a cache of pictures of her that I had saved in no other place just bothered me. Finally, I successfully transferred them to a back-up drive today during my lunch hour and felt much better.

Natalie shares my broad but not limitless sentimentality while Stephen would horde everything he has ever touched. By contrast Nicholas and Abby are both more sensible than the other three of us. Because they packed up the family house in Brentwood, it will be interesting to see what made the cut. I had set aside boxes for them that included too much of their school work and other stuff, not knowing what memories were tied up in which pieces of paper and which toys, clothing items and curios from their childhood. Nicholas admitted that he tried to sift through some of the boxes in Pam's and my closet unsuccessfully. He said that he associated too many of the items in some of the boxes with happier times so opening the memories randomly was like occasionally being punched in the face. They were on a tight deadline and just couldn't afford the distraction. I was pleased, in a way, by his reaction; in at least some cases I must have saved the right stuff.

Abby is a tougher nut to crack with regard to sentimentality. I got her a couple of music boxes for her birthday the other day that turned out to be dud gifts. I had always remembered the music boxes that my grandfather had given my mother for Christmas and birthdays. They were in no ways useful to her, but they fascinated us as children. I remember pulling out her dresser drawers in increments to form a staircase so that I could reach the fragile ones that were stored beyond my grasp - they made furniture quite a bit sturdier in those days. I guess my burglary was a comical mix of Mission Impossible and the Nutcracker Suite. That kind of exploit must happen a lot with kids as my antics could have been from any number of the plots from the television show Rugrats. Of course, we surely broke a few of Mom's keepsakes, but she does still have quite a few things still that I remember being stored up high back in the days of my indoor clandestine Lara Croft-like archaeological expeditions.

Natalie told me that she wants music boxes for her next birthday so I may have gifted my wrong daughter. She is attracted to the same items that I also appreciate, so my cache of keepsakes may not all end up decorating a landfill or thrift shop. In the end, I expect, all my stuff will all eventually be discarded down to the last puck as mementos are sifted by successive generations of varying tastes. I have not collected Bugatti's.

 Words can sift down as well. What my grandfather wrote in his newspaper evokes emotion in me because I knew the man. What I write might interest some of my grandchildren, but others will collect stamps, baseball cards or whatever innovative pastime replaces those tried and true favorites. Whatever they consider my legacy to be, their interest in me will be voluntary. My goal remains to pray for my children and grandchildren beside my wife in heaven. The keepsakes serve as reminders only of where I have been, without real intrinsic value in themselves. I chuckle to myself at the dreams of wealth that I once entertained. Stephen told me the other day that he hopes to buy a Tesla and a motorcycle one day. I now have an understanding that the riches that await even the person in the very last seat at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb are well beyond the imaginings of Bill Gates or the richest Saudi oil Sheikh.

 The Wedding Feast makes me think of the subject about which I originally intended to write. Because I have come to discern some of the value of the Eucharist, I now possess only the greatest pity for the many modern people who are leaving the Church about hard sayings that they refuse to understand. John 6:66 describes for us that even in the presence of Jesus himself, many 1st century Christians chose to abandon the Bread of Life. No one knows whether any of them would likely have stood with The modern Church in the face of the debates over abortion, same sex marriage or contraception, but they couldn't abide by the idea of the Real Presence even as the Living Word declaimed the doctrine to their very ears. Others have left the fold over the centuries chasing various other fads, trinkets and heresies. Many continue to leave over a selection of worldly issues that misunderstand the very essence of Christianity . We are not of this world, but were made for the next.

Not all those leaving The Church are leaving because Catholicism is too conservative. Unfortunately, for instance, one of Pam's relatives is an active dissenter against Pope Francis because the man who sits in Peter's chair is not a fan of unbridled capitalism. I pray for Pam's relative and don't really I understand or share that point of view. Certainly, like Francis I prefer capitalism to socialism which is always atheistic, corrupt and exploitative. With regard to Francis' statements about capitalism tending towards enslaving and exploiting people, I wholly agree. Once Americans became capitalist only and ceased being Christians except on dress-up days, then pornography, prostitution and abortion slipped the leash and greater proportions of men and women began to generate wealth without regard to how many souls are being eviscerated for the sake of healthy balance sheets. 

Pornography is now a multi-billion dollar industry, drug cartels dominate whole Latin American countries, and baby parts are bought and sold as a commodity, but profits are good. I plan to continue to listen to what Pope Francis says as well as the Bishops who most clearly articulate opposition to the most spiritually corrosive aspects of our society. Bishop Barber is a good one, but I will be especially pleased to see Pope Francis shaking the hand of Archbishop Chaput in Philadelphia. Also please encourage your Protestant friends to support Rev Franklin Graham's efforts to facilitate a Christian renewal in America.   We need it.