"All is as it should be, as it ever was, as it ever will be."
The bunny, Maon turned out to be fairly useful. She hadn't expected much strength-wise given his frailer, weaker build and admittedly tiny gray paws but he could swing a makeshift axe effectively. It had hardly taken any time to gather the necessary wood for fire and the subsequent stones to keep it covered. From there, the little guy had wasted no time in getting the fire lit and in only a few moments, the crackling warmth of a bonfire had filled the rapidly fading day. While Maon did that, Eve moved through the clearing collecting the berries she could recognize from the edible plants. A little water and a few sour-mandrake leaves later, she had a somewhat subpar meal to be shared - though for some reason, she had yet to feel the teeth of hunger in her belly. She gave the entire bowl to the bunny to consume, leaving him to warm by the fire.
Most of Ratau's following speech had flowed almost casually over her head - this cult was not for her, nor did she have any desires to lead one but it was part of her deal. The idea of forcing new individuals into this fledgling group didn't appeal to her either - a flock is only as strong as its weakest members, and someone who remembers the horrors and pains of 'convert or die' would spread their story among those who had joined willfully. A flock that currently only consists of three - herself, Ratau and Maon - wouldn't last long with cruel tactics. No, best to start with only bringing the willing into the fold.
One interesting ritual with the strange doors left in the pillars of their little encampment later, and Eve's hooves had once more set themselves down in the gloomy, crunching leaves of Darkwood. Her blade cleaved cleanly through the various inhabitants ( heretics, insisted the crown) that rushed her on sight, crumpling to her might. So far, she had found no new individuals to be followers, merely those who politely declined her offers or who found the presentation of another belief to be sacrilege in of itself and proceeded to attack violently.
For a brief moment, she'd assumed her journey over when the Lord of Chaos rose from the earth at her hooves.
Instinctively, she'd dropped to a knee in the presence of the blinded worm even as the red crown upon her head rallied furiously against her showing deference to a bishop, a heretic.
As she'd expected, kneeling had been the right move given the worm showed mercy, commanding that she leave and proceeding to vanish beneath the earth once more. Suddenly, gathering followers in the Heart of Darkwood didn't seem like such a good idea.
She quickly - though with dignity she hoped - fled the area, venturing down another slightly less clear trail. Returning the way she came would take too long and she would likely be faced with whatever backup the Lord of Chaos had placed to capture and slaughter her in any attempt to flee. No, it was best t venture onto a road less traveled in the hopes of perhaps finding a better, safer place to begin recruitment for the cult.
And it was on this hidden side-path that introduced her to him.
Sitting in the center of the woods atop several woolen rugs, seemingly unaffected by the haunting whispers of the Darkwood trees and sparing droplets of rain that pierced through the defensive canopy, was a duck draped in a strange if ornate red-feathered cloak. Was it made from his own feathers, she wondered. Or did ducks, like sheep take the time to gather what had fallen (or was sheared) and craft it into useful things?
The duck turned its gaze upon her, calm as if expecting her.
"Praise be to the lamb, conduit to great power and promised liberator of the one who waits below," he uttered, proving that he probably had. "So the cards told me once, many lifetimes ago - or has that yet to be?"
An omenseer, they hesitated. Seeing the future - even in fragments - has never led to good things in their experience. The fall of sheep-kind was a prime example of that - they say it was a lamb that will one day free, He Who Lies Beneath and that there have been many ewes and rams that have borne and failed the Red Crown.
"I have always drawn your cards little lamb," the duck said, seemingly noting her hesitance. He moved his palms, shuffling the cards around in her line of sight, spreading them out briefly only to scoop them up again. "Yours and others who have worn your crown - though perhaps in your head, it is only our first. Take these cards and I will draw another each time we meet - they will grant you power, a power alike but not the same as your dear crown."
He set the cards down face-down in a stack, motioning for her to approach.
Eve debated the merits of it for a moment before electing to draw the cards - 'each time we meet' implied that the omenseer would chase her, follow her if she didn't draw the cards now. That this was a sort of inevitability in her life - in which case, it was best to get the encounter over and done with. The crimson-eyed crown upon her head whispered into her mind the duck's name.
Clauneck.
With the name came a long barrage of flashes, memories of sheep - from the fluffy and white wooled to the curly and brown pelted, each drawing cards from the omenseer in various locations across the realms.
"I see you know me once more little lamb," the duck said, visibly satisfied. "The cards shall decide, what power both known and unfathomable you shall receive."'
Eve shivered as she reached out, palm hovering over the first card at the top. She doubts she would need the crown to feel the magic contained within the flimsy items. She quickly drew drew three; past, present and future as she'd always known tarots to represent and watched as the duck chuckled.
"Lend yourself to the draw of the card," he hummed, flipping the first card. " Lovers."
Eve opened her mouth in a silent gasp, startled by the sudden surge of strength that flooded her body and sank its pointed claws deep into her heart. She shivered, a cold sensation overtaking her life a second cloak draped over her shoulders nearly having her miss the duck's next utterance.
"Do you believe little lamb, do you believe in destiny immutable? True sight."
The next to burn were her eyes, irises stinging as the room grew suddenly sharper. She squeezed them shut as the light grew brighter, blinding and sending needles of agony as her breath became shorter. Her wariness was warranted it seemed - always fear the omenseer, not only for his word but for his gifts.
"Are we all but players in this game of chance? The Arachnid, " continued the cloaked duck as if oblivious to her suffering, the pain branding through her. How could such innocent actions cause her such agony? It felt like the first time she'd ever cut herself all over again, as if her body had forgotten that it had experienced much worse horrors, far worse pains. "The Fates have spoken, but who shall listen? Will you, little whisper of a lamb?"
As her body recovered, Eve bid another tactical retreat. She swept to her hooves and fled from the room, from the cards and the duck that chuckled low behind her.
"Your cards have been drawn, your path lays ahead - what shall you choose little lamb, omen and whisper of the lands?"
