[ Even though he dons the skin of a mortal man, Andor can feel the itch of something beneath it - the god, the hunger - clawing it's way out of him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. It's plagued him ever since that fateful day he had tried to help Metia destroy the Singularity. Ever since Yasi'halaun had nearly killed him. Ever since he'd had his first taste of emotion fueled by Mythos' god-like despair of a brother no longer here.
Even before that moment the hunger had haunted him, so a taste of a powerful emotion should have left him satisfied. Instead it left him wanting more.
It starts innocently and valiantly enough. Andor limited himself to those that were deserving of it - those that tried to oppress and crush and chain. But that hadn't been enough. Times of peace did not bode well for a herald that was designed to break systems and carry the weak on his back. So naturally, sadly, his carnal desires had left a trail of innocent mortals in his wake.
A village once bustling now stands quiet. Desolate. Dust, sand and dirt lays thick on every surface and every body as a lone figure simmering with the heat of a supernova callously tosses another body to his feet, burnt and hollow. How much he's had he can't say for certain. His hunger tells him not enough. And there's still more. The dust that lies in the corners of this place whisper, telling him there's still others to be had. The villagers quake at the feet of El Povo, cry to other gods to save them from this relentless being.
But those gods don't concern him right now. All he knows is that he's ravenous and he will not leave until he's had his fill. ]
— thancred
Even before that moment the hunger had haunted him, so a taste of a powerful emotion should have left him satisfied. Instead it left him wanting more.
It starts innocently and valiantly enough. Andor limited himself to those that were deserving of it - those that tried to oppress and crush and chain. But that hadn't been enough. Times of peace did not bode well for a herald that was designed to break systems and carry the weak on his back. So naturally, sadly, his carnal desires had left a trail of innocent mortals in his wake.
A village once bustling now stands quiet. Desolate. Dust, sand and dirt lays thick on every surface and every body as a lone figure simmering with the heat of a supernova callously tosses another body to his feet, burnt and hollow. How much he's had he can't say for certain. His hunger tells him not enough. And there's still more. The dust that lies in the corners of this place whisper, telling him there's still others to be had. The villagers quake at the feet of El Povo, cry to other gods to save them from this relentless being.
But those gods don't concern him right now. All he knows is that he's ravenous and he will not leave until he's had his fill. ]