Chapter Text
It was another sunny day in the pastures of Hastur, and Avery was glad to be alive. What else could he want? He lay flat on the grass, basking in the sun's warming rays while his flock of sheep and slime sheep feasted on the endless fields of tall grass and flowers. The sound of happy sheep and spring breezes pleased his soul. If he weren't careful, he could see himself melting into the ground from how content he was. With his trusty staff in his hands, his panflute dangling off his neck, and his faithful sheep around him, Avery felt whole and complete as he blessed Hastur for his benevolence upon his devotees.
Avery was a young but experienced shepherd. He wore a black cloak with little yellow flowers embroidered all over. Underneath, he donned a simple tunic, long baggy pants, and sandals strapped all the way up to his knees. Around his neck, he wore Hatsur's Bell, a little iron bell tuned to a resonant B that designated him as one of Hastur's shepherds. He also had a necklace that held his panflute and a leather satchel that carried everything he'd ever need for his shepherding work. And of course, Avery had a shepherd's staff. It was a sturdy oak staff shaped to look like a flower's stem, complete with iron bells that jingled as Avery walked. Of course, being a slime, Avery had to make some adjustments. His staff's handle was wrapped in leather so his hands wouldn't stick to the woodgrain. His clothes also had to be waterproof so he wouldn't melt if it rained, and his sandals had to be strapped just so, or they'd fly off if he broke into a run. But even so, Avery kept things simple and proper.
He may not have been experienced enough to earn a bronze bell tuned to a warm E, but Avery was reliable, kind, and quick-witted. His slimy nature allowed him to run through fields faster than even the sprightliest of kids, and as long as Avery wasn't doused with water, he could survive falls most wouldn't. He made sure he got what he wanted done, and he always made time to help everyone around him, too. Yes, the work was hard- masochistic, even at times. But Avery was happy. His sheep were happy. He and his sheep were content with this simple life. What more could any of them want? Really.
Today began just like any other. He woke up before the sun and bathed in a pond by his house (quickly so he didn't dissolve), did his laundry, and put on a fresh set of clothes for the day. Next, he prayed to Hastur for guidance and protection, then visited the nearby town. There, he'd buy 8 bread rolls of various fillings from the baker, and 8 cuts of dried fish from the fisherman. 2 of each were meant for the 4-bell monks and nuns who lived by his house. They always appreciated it, so Avery kept doing it. Besides, who wouldn't want to spend time with the friendliest folk Avery knew around?
Once his business in town was done, Avery returned to his cottage to journal. He liked writing out what he needed to get done. If he didn't, the day always ended up wrong. He also liked to scrapbook with pressed flowers and random paper scraps he found while traveling. Once that was done, Avery then went to his sheep pen and opened the gates, guiding his sheep to fresh pastures. He'd eat 2 rolls and 2 fish by the time they reached the river to drink, and there, Avery filled his canteen with the fresh spring water. Then he sunbathed with his sheep in the rolling hills by his house, playing songs of praise or little jigs on his pan-flute. He played light jigs on a pan-flute that always hung around his neck for easy access. Sometimes others joined him with their own instruments, turning the whole affair into a jam session. Whatever the day brought, Avery welcomed it with open arms. All of it.
Now it was the afternoon, and the sheep were enjoying their second full meal while Avery relished his own meal. It was simple work, sure, but work to be proud of-and Avery was certainly proud of his work. Avery was one of the rare few who would willingly go on excursions to save even one lost sheep, an endeavor that most thought to be pointless or even suicidal. But Avery was not a shepherd in it for the money-no, he was a shepherd who loved dedicating himself entirely to his work. He loved dedicating all of his time and energy to his sheep.
So great was his dedication to his work that today, the God of Shepherds Himself came to visit Avery, the gentle chiming of bells announcing His presence as he soared through the fields. Avery's sheep stopped what they were doing and raised their heads to watch. His long woolen robes billowed like silk in the wind as he approached the faithful shepherd. The God of Shepherds rarely ever visited his people directly, if ever. But those whom the God visited always said that His beauty was beyond words, and they weren't lying. His cloak's hood obscured the God's face most of the time. But at the right angles, His face resembled a lamb's. His black woolly hair twirled and sprawled all the way to the floor in elegant braids. Flowers and grass were interwoven in the braids as a symbol of his abundance, filling the air with the scent of fresh fields and flowers. Antlers the size of tree branches sprouted from his head in rings, all decorated with bells of iron, bronze, silver, and gold tuned to a bright, resonant E Major-7 Chord. Birds and bugs perched on His antlers wherever he went, singing and chirping harmoniously with each other. (Sometimes the God even found a bird building a nest on His head, using His soft hair as a cushion for its nest. He always left the nest be, much to the amusement of his followers.)
Now, to be in the presence of a God, especially one as reclusive as Hastur, was a rare thing indeed; so it was understandable for Avery to get a bit spooked when Hastur revealed Himself to the meek shepherd. "O-oh, my God!" Avery exclaimed, leaping to his feet to genuflect. "What might I do for you?"
"I see your sheep are as peaceful as always," The God mused, extending a friendly hand toward Avery to help him get up. His slender fingers were covered in golden rings with jewels shaped like flowers. "Great work guiding them today."
"I-It's all thanks to you!" Avery exclaimed, graciously taking Hastur's help. Avery stood up, supporting himself with his staff, keeping his eyes away from God's face out of respect. "Without your great blessings, we would all be as skinny as the fish of the sea." Avery's praise came out as easily as water ran in a stream, and it pleased Hastur greatly.
"You are much too kind. I am only doing what I must." The God smiled. But as the conversation shifted to what the God needed to be done, a solemn air suddenly grew between Avery and his God. "Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news--as that's Cthulu's job as the God of Fishermen, not Me-- but just yesterday, one of my most faithful shepherds went missing," The God lamented. "The last time I heard from him, he said he was looking for a lost sheep and asked me for guidance. Ever since that day, he'd gone missing entirely."
"Oh, no," Avery frowned. "I-Is it one of the gold bell shepherds? I hope they're OK!"
"They are fine; it's another shepherd I am concerned for- one that, I believe, you also have ties to," Hastur revealed. "Do you remember the Shepherd with the knight's helmet? He saved you from a bear once. He never gave you his true name, I believe. His name is Derek. He goes formally by Derlord, does that help?"
Avery's brows furrowed the second the dots connected. Just 2 years ago, Avery happened to meet a shepherd with a golden knight's helmet, a crimson cloak, and a silver bell tuned to a crystaline D-sharp around his neck. His cloak obscured most of his outfit, but Avery couldn't help but notice how massive the man was compared to him and shuddered to wonder what could have possibly made such a man turn to shepherding rather than military service. Shouldn't he be a guard? Or maybe a mercenary? What was he doing in this line of work? It wasn't that the man didn't belong in the field; everyone deserved to try the calling. But Avery always wondered why the man chose to be a shepherd-and why the man seemed so good at being one.
It was around dusk when it happened. Avery was trying to get a stray sheep out of the woods when a bear suddenly burst forth from a bush, about to attack. But just when Avery believed he was about to meet the Creator, he saw the shepherd punch the bear squarely in the face, blood spraying from the bear's mouth and all over the shepherd as the bear collapsed to the ground, stunned. Avery's savior then pulled Avery up to his feet, checked Avery to ensure he wasn't harmed, and then proceeded to help Avery bring his stray sheep back to its pen without a word between them. The man did not speak a single word as they walked home, only speaking with Avery when he was to leave. "Be careful next time, Avery," He said, his voice disarmingly deep and commanding. He then gave Avery a polite little bow, muttered a small blessing of Hastur, and turned around to leave, his blood-soaked coat billowing in the wind as he disappeared into the night.
Avery sometimes found himself distracted by the memory of that day. He'd spend minutes on end replaying the scene in his mind, remembering how it felt seeing that blur of crimson and gold strike the bear squarely in the jaw, blood splattering on his clothes as he landed on his feet. He remembered how the shepherd's grip on Avery's arm was so firm, yet gentle as the man led him back home, his strides confident and precise. And then that voice...
That man was Derlord. His savior was Derek. And now he's...gone?
"W-wait, HIM!? He went missing? H-How? He took on a bear; he'd be able to take down anything with that strength!"
"Precisely why I am concerned," Hastur sighed. "...I have taken his sheep into my care. They are alright, but they're visibly upset and struggle to keep food down. It's heartbreaking to see."
"Did you want me to take over his flock for you?" Avery immediately offered. "I-I don't know what kind of sheep he raises, but I'm sure I'll be able to manage!"
"No, it's alright, they're under my care. In fact, what I ask of you is not about sheep, per se, but about Derek specifically." Hastur extended a hand toward Avery. "I would like you to find Derek for me."
"M-My God, are you...Are you sure?" Avery blinked. "I-I am not sure if someone as small and fragile as I could be fit for the task of finding where he might be," Avery admitted honestly.
"I will bless your travels so you may not perish," Hastur reassured him. "I also know that you had experience in free-style combat before you became a shepherd, yes?" Hastur chuckled.
"A-ah, right, my Skywars phase..." Avery blushed. "Yeah, I may have learned how to use fishing rods to take people down when I was a kid."
"A useful skill nonetheless," Hastur smiled. "Again, you do not have to take this quest, but I could not think of a better person to find Derek. I seek to entrust his safety to you. So please, if you wish, find Derek and bring him back home to my pastures, will you?" Hastur asked again, his hand gently extended outward for a handshake.
Avery stared at Hastur's hand for a minute, weighing his options. Could he do what Hastur asked? Avery was not the best at exploration; he was also quite the scardy-cat and was better at fleeing than fighting. But if Hastur, the God of Shepherds, deemed him worthy of the task, then who was he to decline?
"I'll do it," Avery decided, taking Hastur's hand into his own for a firm handshake. "I will find Derek and bring him back to his sheep, I promise!"
"Wonderful." Hastur chimed, letting go of Avery's hand after a moment. As soon as their hands let go, Avery's bell suddenly began ringing.
"W-what are you-" Avery blinked, watching the bell suddenly shift hues from dull brass to glimmering gold. The bell's pitch shifted higher and higher until it reached a crisp G-sharp, the sound reverberating clearly through the hills as it went. "D-did you..."
"Yes," Hastur smiled, clasping His hands together. "You of all people deserved to have it, Avery. Consider it a sign that even though you'll be traveling far, I will be watching you and will be with you on your journey."
Avery felt tears welling in his eyes. "M-my Lord, I....I am...T-thank you so much!" Avery laughed, going to hug the God before he could even think. Hastur chuckled, wrapping his arms around Avery without much hesitation.
"You are very welcome, my child. The pleasure is all mine."
The following morning, Avery woke up feeling like he could punch Cthulu in the face. Today was the day he'd start his journey to find Derek! Today, he'd go out and find the mysterious man who saved him so many years ago. He started with what was familiar: He first prayed to Hastur. He thanked Hastur and asked for guidance, as he always did. He packed his bags, bathed, and did laundry in the lake, making sure not to leave anything hanging outside while he was away. He then got dressed in his shepherd's attire, pausing to thank Hastur for bestowing him a golden bell. Then, once he steeled his nerves, Avery went out toward his sheep's pen. Hastur promised to tend to Avery's sheep while he was away, but Avery decided to give his sheep one last goodbye before he made his way to town.
"I'll be home soon, I promise!" Avery said to the sheep, waving goodbye to them one final time as he skipped down the road toward town, just in time for the sun to greet the sky, painting the world in gorgeous crimsons, fuscias, and golds.
The sun was slowly rising as Avery ran from shop to shop, trading wool and slime balls (from his slime sheep) for food, map supplies, journals, and more things he thought he'd need. By the time he reached the fisherman's hut, Avery was exhausted from skipping all over town.
The familiar scent of salted fish hit his nose as he pushed the door open, the familiar jingle of bells announcing his arrival. A scruffy-looking man with a truly unruly beard immediately beamed at the sight of Avery bouncing into his shop. "Well, look what the shark brought in! Mister Avery, are ye getting yer usual?"
"Sort of, Captain Maverick!" Avery laughed, walking toward the front counter. "I need a box of dried fish for traveling."
"Ooh, a box this time?" Capt. Maverick mused. "How long are ye gonna be travelin'? Are ye lookin' fer new pastures?"
"Not this time," Avery shook his head. "My God wanted me to find a lost shepherd, so I'll be away for a while."
"Ooh, a holy quest!" The captain's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Who're ye lookin' for?"
"Derek-Er, Derlord!" Avery exclaimed, bouncing on his feet a little. "He went missing not too long ago. Would you maybe know anything about that?"
The captain's face fell. "Wait, him? Of all people? Goin' missin'!? That ain't usual..." He scratched a finger through his beard. "Mmm...No, I can't say I heard o' him disappearin' until now, which is actually mighty odd. Us fishermen love to talk," he mused. "But if it helps, I once shipped a package for him a month ago, so I have his address saved. He lives quite a bit aways, though."
"Oh, that'd be MASSIVE help! C-could you write that down for me?" Avery asked politely.
"Yeah, yeah, sure! Anythin' to help ye. Jus' lemme fetch my assistant." The captain turned around. "OY BRINEY! GET ME A BOX O' FIFTY DRIED FISH N' THE ADDRESS BOOK, GOT IT?"
"YEAH, YEAH FUCK OFF!" A voice shouted in the back, irritated and raspy.
"Oh, is your son Caspian not working today?" Avery blinked.
The captain chuckled. "Ay, no. He's on pilgrimage. If ye happen to meet up with him, tell him Daddy said hi, yeah?" Captain Maverick chuckled. "I'm sure he'll love to hear from his ol' pop."
"Yeah, I can do that." Avery agreed. As soon as he finished speaking, the back door burst open as a large, burly woman walked over to the counter and set the box and book down with a thud.
"Here's yer shit, Capt," Briney huffed. "I gotta finish fryin' the cod now, if ye don't mind. No more fuckin' interruptions, I almost burned me hair off!" She headed back into the backroom before Captain could reply.
"Much appreciated," Captain grunted, taking the book from the counter and idly flipping through it. Avery took the box of dried fish and stuffed it into his bag, thankful that the box fit despite everything else he'd crammed into it. "Now, as for the address? Here." The captain handed over a piece of paper with Derek's address marked on it, along with a little doodle of where his house was. "Would this help?"
"Oh, this will definitely help!" Avery exclaimed, taking the paper with a firm bow of thanks. "You've been so helpful to me, Captain Maverick! Thank you!"
"All my pleasure," Captain chuckled. "Now, fer the payment...Could I have 10 slime balls, if ye don't mind? I heard someone tried usin' em to cool fish and I wanna give it a try."
"Sure thing!" Avery fished out the slime balls and laid them gingerly on the counter. "Just be sure to wash your hands after they get sticky. They dissolve in water, so be careful!"
"Noted," The captain smiled. "But I gotta ask, ain't it a little weird for a slime to be sellin, well...Slime?" The captain shrugged. "Is that a loaded question?"
"Pff, no. I get asked that all the time, honestly." Avery laughed. "It's not weird to me anymore. Besides, these are from slime sheep, not actual slimes like me!" Avery explained. "It's kinda like how the blacksmith is an iron golem. He knows that not all iron is from golems, right?"
"I see yer point. Heh heh! I should probably not keep ye waitin' anymore, yeah?"
"Yeah, I hate to leave so soon, but the longer I wait, the longer it'll take for me to get back. I'll see you next time, Captain!" Avery waved goodbye. "And thanks again for the fish!"
"Save travels, landlubber." The captain waved goodbye back, chuckling as Avery bounced out of the store. But as soon as Avery was out of the store, Captain's smile fell. "Oy, Briney. Did ye hear anythin' about Derlord?"
"I TOLD ye not to fuckin' interrupt me, didn't I!?" She screamed back from the kitchen. "An' no, I didn't! Why are you even fuckin' curious about it anyway?"
"Do ye think it's got anythin' to do with that statue we fished up recently?" The captain mused, raising an eyebrow as he stuffed the slime balls into a drawer for later. "Y'know...that omen thingy?"
"Wut? Yer still on that shit!?" Briney groaned. "It's just a statue o' an octopus, for cryin' out loud!"
"Cthulu's an octopus, ain't he!?" Captain sighed. "I dunno. Things feel off. The pilgrimage, the statue, Derlord abruptly vanishin'... Call me mad, but me instincts..."
Captain tsked, looking up at the sky through the window. "I sense a storm comin' soon. Right toward us."
Green.
All Derek could see was green.
Green grass. Feldgrau skies, twisting in agony against itself above turbulent, prismarine seas. The muddy olive hue of glinting fish scales. The scintillating color of molded bread; of algae and bamboo and poison and rot. Vibrant green acids and vomit. Gangrene. Rotten fish and maggots crawling in decaying carcasses tinged a sickly bright green. It was all green. Green, green, green. He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried; no matter how much he screamed. All that he could see, all that he could smell, all that he could feel, touch, envision, think, conceptualize, admonish, reject, consume, dread, long for, purge, eat, drink, and breathe was GREEN - And he DREADED it.
How many times had Derek puked his guts out onto the floor of the cave he'd found himself in? He doesn't know. He doesn't remember. He doesn't even remember entering this cave at all; all he remembers is screaming at the top of his lungs as he fled from whatever stared at him behind that green door, the feeling of wet tentacles licking his legs playing ceaselessly in his mind. They tore through his pants and boots like they had iron teeth; they wrapped around his legs so tightly he feared they'd snap right off the same way one would snap a lobster's shell apart to feast upon its flesh. He only escaped them because he tripped on something, and they happened to let go at that moment. The tentacles were this dark emerald color that he still saw when he closed his eyes.
Derek's hands desperately scrape at his helmet as he gasps for air, his mind screaming and reeling. What did I just fucking see? What the hell was behind that green door!? Why didn't I go after that stupid sheep!? IT WAS RIGHT THERE, AND I TURNED FOR THE DOOR INSTEAD!
He still hears it, calling to him from behind the door. The sound of drowning; the sound of water filling the lungs until no more can come in, and the lungs instead just pop under the pressure like a balloon smashed under thousands of years' worth of dirt, soil, and rock. Those whispers chanting his name like a prayer, a curse, a plea, beckoning him closer even as he fought to run as far away as he could from that damn door. The foul smell of saltwater and rotten fish and seafood and green and GREEN and GREEN.
He's retching again. His mouth is pried open by his own instincts, and he reels as his stomach spews out whatever it has left all over himself and the floor of the cave he happens to be in. He feels it spill on himself, the warmth sickeningly comforting as he feels his layers seep with acid and puke and GREEN and RED and MUCUS and BILE and BLOOD and--
He's screaming again. When did he even inhale enough to scream like that? He doesn't know. Oh, god, he doesn't know. He feels his legs give in, and his head suddenly hits the floor of the cave with a sickening thunk that finally, finally stills his thoughts enough for him to focus on something as he lies down on his side, clutching his stomach:
The silver bell of Hastur was torn off his neck and stomped on until it became nothing but a thin sheet of useless, dull metal. It will no longer sing. It will no longer ring praises to Hastur. Useless.
...When did he do that? Did he do that? Or was that someone else who did that, and he just didn't realize it again? He can't remember. It's all a vague, burning, inaccessible memory now. His mind wasn't any better: It was a library set ablaze by an unscorchable fire that melted stone like mercury and turned every monument to ash; and then turned every bit of ash to dust so fine that even the Gods could not pick a grain up between their all-powerful fingers.
More liquids wet his clothes. It stings his skin. It burns his enderman-like flesh. Was it raining? More vomit and blood? Pus, perhaps? No. Tears. He was curling up in a ball, crying out to whoever would listen for just one brief reprieve from the pain.
"P-please, please, please, anyone out there, please fucking kill me, I-I can't live like this-" Derek gasped for air. "Please, please, please...I...I can't breathe...J-just kill me..." His voice was so weak. Shaking, trembling like the last leaf in a hurricane. Pathetic. Derek would have rather leapt into the ocean than hear himself speak again, if only the ocean weren't GREEN. "H-hello...? A-anyone!? ANYONE!?" Derek shrieked as he sat up, his voice echoing infinitely into the mountainside. And then he fell again, collapsed into a little ball on the ground, and wept.
He was alone. Alone with this undying ache in his brain, alone with this sinking feeling of dread that suffocated his throat and crawled through his veins like tentacles squeezing prey tightly until it burst like a pimple.
...He missed his sheep. He wished he were still in that field of golden green grass, idly chewing on a sandwich while the sheep grazed and ate their fill. He wished he were still sane. He wished he didn't have to tremble at the thought of green. He wished he were still Hastur's beloved shepherd and not whatever he was now.
"I...I...." Derek gasped for air. The air felt foul here, like he was breathing in smoke rather than air. "I-....I can't....I can't...."
Derek forced his jaw to shut and bit his tongue so hard it bled. He didn't care anymore. Blood was red, not green. Good.
"...h-hastur...s-set me free..." He heard himself whimper, before the shadow of sleep--or perhaps death-- loomed overhead, sapping away the last of his strength as he fell asleep, body crunched up against itself as he slept.