deep within the land of the dead..a lamb rests thier weary bones..beyond what narinder knew..the lost elder..mastro..they rest on the ground, chained by the ankles they watch the world around him "...what a dreadful day..like always...the deary white..the gloomy spikes...and that damn bishop narinder won't shut up about a lamb other then i.." they groan as they mess with souls of slain followers