rae's fingers, safrin's veins

REMI

the alchemist

What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold

Though Torchline had grown colder as the season changed, most were able to get away with little more than a long-sleeved shirt and perhaps pants rather than shorts. Some locals stubbornly clung to their threadbare outfits, but given the wealth of firelight constantly alighting the shores, there was decent heat even at night.

So it was that the Alchemist and whoever felt so inclined made the trek up towards Safrin's lighthouse. Remi had made sure that everyone in attendance had been given a lit candle so that they might all look like twinkling stars. It was all just pageantry for Safrin of course, but if Remi had learned one thing about the goddess, it was that such actions, even if not entirely genuine, were still welcome.

"Should this request not be...received well, I'd not have any of you bear the brunt of Safrin's anger." The Alchemist said with a wry smile, glancing at those in attendance. "Not that I'm one for public speaking, but I'd ask that you let me do the talking." Given what a lightning rod he had been in the past for the anger of gods, this might not be the best plan. But Remi would rather a failed attempt at asking for aid, than to see any of the Torchers be unduly cursed.

And what good are hearts
if you bury them all alone?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!