Andarin: The Mountains: Listen;

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'"
She speaks, and the man smiles. His head lifts brightly to the skies, his flames extending as though to reach for the sun and moon. He feels a static pulse twisting about his legs, reaching forwards with his flames, molding into one perfect element. It was different, something that the stallion was not used to, something that in reality he did not truly welcome. Flames had always been his, and he never cared for more as others did.

Her lips upon his mane are nice, though never misinterpreted. He was good at those subtle things, and he understood a lot that others didn’t. His lack of care for personal space would send most on a tangent, though Nicodemus did not intend for such a thing nor care what they made of it. It was simply him, and who he was, and that much he respected in her.

Nicodemus knew much of love, the bittersweet emotion that falls so harshly upon our shoulders. He knew how powerful it was, and the weight of it upon him had made him buckle, his heart charred by the women, his women. It was never an easy thing to explain, this emotion, and so it is for a while that he simply smiles, taking her words in, eyes cast upwards towards whatever worlds lay beyond their own. So many times he knew this emotion, and in so many different ways. Illiana, Illuiette, Requiem, Hawthorne, Skylar….and now…..

But he shakes his head at the thought of the Starweaver, Andraste chiming from above in her chastisement at them both….

Unrequited love. Insert eye roll here.

He laughs at her last before sighing, eyes still upwards. “Love…” He thinks. “Love is everything it is said to be. That's why people are so cynical about it...It really is worth fighting for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." He smiles. “There is something said of love… that it is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit."

He shakes his head. Andraste preens from above. Like you look at her. The man sighs. “It cannot easily be summed up, dear one.” He chuckles as he returns the bump to her side. "What brings this on?"

KNIGHT
**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.

FIRE III LIGHTNING III

Emissary of Andarin, Phoenixsong, Iriase, and Kaikua'ana

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