Andarin: The Mountains: JohJoh;

“This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown.:
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'Save Us!'...:

...and I'll look down, and whisper, 'No'"

The stallion closes his eyes in a rather peaceful way. Had he? That was indeed a wonderful question that could only be answered with time. For now there was no real answer. For now there was only his absolution that ultimately he had done the right thing. His first priority above everything else in this world was to protect them. It made him quite the resented for that reason, because hero’s work seldom goes very appreciated. But Nicodemus did not care. They were safe, and it was all that mattered to him. He hears the call of his phoenix from his back. This is is the calm before the storm. Nicodemus nods gravely, though subtly in a way that only Andraste would note it. He knows. He can feel it…and he didn’t need an Oracle to tell him that. His flames swept backwards as a sudden chill ran through his spine.

He feels the accusation in her voice, and yet the stallion holds himself. He holds himself to his vow, because that was what Knights did. The Code runs through his mind and spirals into his bloodstream. It was almost soothing…

A Knight is sworn to valor.

His heart knows only virtue.

His blade defends the helpless.

His word speaks only truth.

His wrath undoes the wicked.

Nicodemus knows his oath well. His eyes open once more, to find the blackness that was Joh. Andraste calls out, her wings unfurling from her sides and taking to the sky above, so high above. The smoldering eyes of Nicodemus follow her, and while he speaks there they remain.

“Because it was my duty.” He smiles so faintly. “It is always my duty.”

His smile fades then into nothing. He feels that she will be angry, as most others were often with him. "I don't expect anyone to thank me or even to understand. It just....that's how it is." He sighs. "No one here understands."

SEER

**NICODEMUS**

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.