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Modern Day, deep on Some snowy-ass Mountain…
It’s been… at least a few hours since you were sent off on this little expedition, and this raging snowstorm you’ve found yourself in has yet to give up even a bit. At this point, it’s snowing so hard that it’s become difficult to tell if you’re going forward or just aimlessly walking in circles.
Couldn’t it let up just a little bit so you could at least see where you were walking? Mayyyyybe? Hopefully, even? Ah, it’s no use trying to argue with the weather of all things. No matter how much a clearer vision would help with finding this specific artifact.
What artifact? It didn’t have a proper name, per say, but it did look like a stone sheep or ram when you were shown a picture of it just seven or so hours ago. Possibly a good couple hundred years old in age sense, though it appears to look less aged, likely due to being located in a wintery area. So at least you knew what exactly you were looking for out here.
It’s just… this fucking intense snow storm decided to make itself known to this part of the mountains just a half hour into your journey, being your only source of constant company out there. Though all it does is provide more harm than good via covering up where you came from and where you were going at the same time. As well as making the winter environment so much colder than it could’ve been.
It felt as if Jack Frost didn’t want to just nip at you anymore and decided to cruelly wrap its tendrils around you and hold your body hostage in its tight, unrelenting grip.
Not even the winter gear you were provided for the trip could properly protect you from the cold, only making you just a little bit warmer than usual.
These conditions seemed to make the perfect recipe to snuff out the life light of any poor soul who dared to sink in their heels and make their way up a mountain without preparing extensively first. Except for the fact you were made to go on this journey by yourself in such a short time span, and likely would’ve been ignored if you tried to get out of doing said job. So… more of a major difference.
But there was one thing obvious in your mind; it was very likely that you’d probably get hurt out here, or worse, succumb to the overwhelming cold. God, did they even count on this fucking storm happening at all? (They did, of course. You just weren’t made aware of it on purpose.)
However, there’s only so much reminiscing one can do before they get distracted from their goal. And you swear that you’re coming up on some sort of mountain side up ahead. One that seems outwardly different from other mountain sides, as if the last people that had stepped foot there were from generations upon generations ago. Perhaps this would hold the artifact that you were looking for, and this whole mission wasn’t an elaborate death trap after all!!
You stumble over your own steps in a hurry to get closer to the mountain side, eager to get a closer look at whatever set up this little place has going on. Alas, you have found something actually worth exploring; though if only you had a way to tell someone.
Up close, it appears to be a small shrine of some sorts, likely for the worship of a now long gone deity figure. Etchings of wintery scenes and upright sheep figures make up the back wall of this thing, slightly faded from age and dusted in snow. Crumbling, or already crumbled pillars, surround the shrine, with the remains of a reddish cloth flapping about in the unfriendly winds. In the middle is a singular, pristinely kept white pillar resting a pitch black triangular, mountain-like shape atop of it. A slab of light grey marble is attached to the side facing you, a scrawling of words upon it.
You cautiously approach the slab, huddling to yourself to save what little warmth you had left in your body. Leaning forward, you take a closer look to read the contents of the marble scrawling on the side of the untouched, pure white pillar:
~~~~~~~~~~
When the Bishops return, when four are crowned,
It is when the hidden fifth will be found.
Bringer of Winter, Shepherd of the Lamb,
Once alive, now slain and damned.
Their crown laid dormant, and hidden afar,
Awaiting the awakening of the other avatars.
But once the Four are revived, so too will they,
To reclaim their domain, and rise from their grave.
For when the world's well-being is at stake,
That is when the fifth will emerge, and change its fate.
If thee have found this dormant crown,
And have found themselves on the cusp of death.
Tis you who is chosen to have this power bestown,
Wear it, and draw not your last breath.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s. . . not what you’re looking for. NOT in the slightest. But it does look mighty powerful for what seems to be the relic of an ancient deity, a bit large too.
However, there might’ve been a grain of truth to whatever this little poem of sorts it was saying.
Lately you’ve been hearing stories of large beings in robes that resemble animals being spotted in the woods. Whispers of the immense power these beings wielded flowed through one person to the other until it reached your ears. Something about domains of Chaos, Famine, Pestilence, and War that those creatures commanded, or whatever it was that your neighbour Jonathan told you the last time you saw him.
They seemed like big deals, and lined up incredibly well with the ‘Bishops’ that the poem was talking about. If so, is this artifact… choosing you to be its host? To become a godly being just like them?
The cold further wrapped its tendrils around you, drowning out your last bit of warmth. And the storm's wind continued to blow carelessly, drowning out any other noise. Almost as if the mountain itself was laughing at you for even getting into this horrible situation in the first place.
It would not be long before this weather would douse your metaphorical light, and claim your poor life.
In your yet to be freezing mind, you remember the last four lines of the pillars prophetic poem; ‘If thee have found this dormant crown, and have found themselves on the cusp of death. Tis you who is chosen to have this power bestown, wear it, and draw not your last breath.’ Your shivering gloved hands reach out to grab the crown, its otherworldly feel flowing over your semi-numb grip, and cautiously place it atop your head.
Once firmly on, the crown's vertical bright blue eye shoots open. A second chance at life, offered to it by a mere working-class human who’s found themselves on the cusp of death.
To not take the chance now would be a foolish move.
So it would begin adjusting your body pronto, to save your near-freezing body from the bitter cold.
Though you were quickly losing what little body heat you had left, your body began to rapidly adjust itself to become used to the cold winds blowing through the mountains. While still losing said bodily heat, your new, soon to be godly body would grow resistant to its cruel, tight grip. Soon, the constant lashing of the storm and snowfall felt like nothing at all. Almost pleasant, even.
In reality, however, the crown was slowly restoring your energy to your body via making you used to the winter weather, in preparation for the other physical changes to take place.
Speaking of. . . your head began to feel funny, that being the place where the proper bodily alterations would begin.
Your hair (well, the front top of it, anyway) began to dye itself from its natural color to a distinct gray coloring, becoming fur that would be better befitting that of an animal more than an adult human. More of it began to grow all across the front of your face, while the back shifted to something else entirely. Something thicker, warmer than the normal fur forming across your head; wool. Wool that was as white as the snow blowing around you, perfect to protect in conditions such as these.
Meanwhile, your nose melded back into your furry head, leaving only two slits behind to prepare for something else to happen. Your jaws began to jut forward, pushing outwards more and more until it became a full-on snout. Kind of like the one on a. . . sheep.
Ah. That would make so much sense, thinking back on it.
What better form for a guardian of the lamb and deity of winter to take on than the animal they’re a patron of?
Four slits form above and under your normal eyes, opening up to reveal new eyes in their stead. Completely black save for their striking, icy blue pupils. Ones that your eyes would soon match, dully burning and causing them to water a little as their colors subtly shifted.
Your ears would tingle next, widening and getting longer. Though once finished, they would split into two identical versions of themself. Save for being flipped horizontally opposite of their counterpart, leaving you with four ovine ears to hear out of.
The top of your skull just behind the crown would ache next. The exact place where slightly curled horns would pierce out of, each a bit longer than normal sheep horns. However, it wasn’t just two horns that would grow back there, not even four either.
Eight of them in total would settle themselves onto your head, each a mild stabbing pain in your shifted skull. Similar in height, yet just as dangerous as a single set of sheep horns.
With your head finished, the changes spilled themselves down to infect the rest of your body.
More wool began to sprout all along your torso, smushed up underneath the thick coat you had on. It stopped at your shoulders, where more grey fur would grow along your arms instead. A dull heat entered the core of both your arms, adding some natural muscle to them. Which, of course, pressed up against the sleeves of your coat as a direct result of that.
Just beneath your thick gloves, your nails began to darken into black and take over most of the tips of your fingers, where the grey fur stopped. They grew sharp, like claws of sorts, and tore holes in the ends of your gloves. You flimsily took them off with your new claws, sensing that something else was going to happen to them. They fell into the snow below you, soon to be buried and consumed by the constant snowfall.
A certain something you sensed would happen in your hands next. A change that the gloves would’ve obstructed if they were still on your hands.
The four fingers on your hands began to meld themselves together, fusing inside and out in an uncomfortable fashion. Once finished, you were left with only two large, hoof-like fingers. Your thumbs then grew a bit larger to remain somewhat proportional with the remaining fingers on your sheep-esque hand.
With your arms all taken care of, your lower half could be attended to in the same way.
More grey fur travelled down to cover your legs, adding some muscle to them in the process. It too pushed your legs up uncomfortably against the shoddy snow pants you were provided.
Once the fur reached down to your feet, a sort of similar process happened with your feet. A similar hardening began to spread all across your toes, fusing them together into two distinct, claw-like hooves. They began to stretch and raise up from their former plantigrade stance. Shifting around the very muscular structure of your feet, and placing noticeable pressure on your snow boots.
They fought to be freed, while your boots fought back to keep themselves in one piece. Though it was obvious that this was a battle they would lose, as the boots would warp unnaturally and grow tighter around your new hooves.
Suddenly, a loud SNAP noise rang out, cutting through the howl of wind. It signified the boots' surrender to the overwhelming force of the Crown’s changes. They fell apart into the copious amount of snow below, meeting the same fate as your gloves before.
All the while your feet, mainly their bone structure, continued to alter. Your heels ceased to exist as your hooves snapped into proper position, leaving your legs permanently digitigrade.
Finally, your lower spine ached a little as a short, fluffy tail grew out of it. Pushing up against your snow pants, but not enough to tear it open. Which left said tail cramped up inside the confines of them.
Fortunately for it though, it would soon be freed.
The crown began to slowly pump your body with added height, like that of a God. What seemed like mere decimetres became obsolete as it increased into metres.
As a result of said height increase, your clothes had reached their limits quite quickly. They simply couldn’t stand to keep your god-like body contained inside it anymore.
Your coat tore open into distinct, purplish-colored scraps. Some clinging onto your body, while others were blown away in the cold wind. Your snow pants, already worn and torn from many previous uses, split apart much easier. Tearing apart with all the grace and ease of a medieval executioner's axe.
However, two more things had to occur before the crown could consider you completed. One being… getting an attire change to fit.
A black collar wrapped itself snugly around your neck, with a bright blue bell suspended on a small chain attached to the front of it. Then, a distinct reddish robe with a strip of white just above the edge wrapped itself around your body.
It layered itself well over the deeper red, scrappy-looking one that appeared over you. Covering your ovine form quite well, and giving you some extra protection from the seasons that weren’t winter.
Your head began to ache slightly as the second, and final, change occurred in your mind. Your mind begins to fill with memories of a different life; One of shepherding the sheep under your protection while heralding the coming of winter.
A life that ended in being slain by four distinct figures in grey robes, rotting alone while they started to cull your own kind. Feeling many lamb spirits gathered in a wintery biome, awaiting the day when they could be put to proper rest.
And finally, the– no, Your crown sealing itself and its power away for hundreds of years. Waiting patiently for the crowns of the Bishops to find their own hosts, so it too could come out of hiding and find a host of its own.
With your memories returned to your new form, the changes were complete.
You stood tall in the billowing snow storm, its lashings ineffective against your new form. Looking down at the small shrine dedicated to you that was presently in ruins, a wistful feeling enters your head.
It had been so long since you could feel the snow under your hooves, the cold wind against your robes. The feelings reminded ‘you’ of peacefuller times, ones of tending to your flock.
Speaking of. . . you had a domain to attend to. Your new flock would come to you eventually, but the flow of seasons had to be carefully managed by your hands. More specifically, from autumn to winter, then winter to spring. About time to get to that.
With the light of your bell to guide the way, you turn away from ‘your’ shrine and begin to trudge deeper into the mountains. The bell around your neck lightly jingled as you walked further away from it, and the dusting of snow continuously buried your hoofprints, and further buried your torn clothes.
Soon enough, it appeared as if you were never there at that shrine at all. The ones who had originally sent you out on this purposeful death mission would never know that you had not only lived, but was reborn into something greater. All they, along with the rest of this planet, would know that a new large, robed being had suddenly appeared to the rest of humanity.
Another deity that walked the earth with a domain. Not a force in flux like the domains of Chaos, Famine, Pestilence, and War were.
But instead, a constant in the yearly cycle of Earth; Winter.