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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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03-23-2025, 09:43 AM (This post was last modified: 03-23-2025, 11:31 AM by Melita.)
Melita
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
No one in the village had chased her out yet, though based on some of the look she’d received from the merchants after the latest hide and seek game (hey, she hadn’t been the one to set the fires everywhere, so…), she figured she was on borrowed time. Or, at least until she’d done something else to piss the locals off.
So instead she occupied herself by glancing around here and there for particular flowers, and then eventually settled upon one of the benches with a nice little umbrella to shield and shade. From there, she pulled out a piece of parchment, intending to create one of those stupid ass poems they had to make for Vox.
Huffing a breath and staring down at the blank canvas, she offered several lines to her companions. “How about this? Eat shit. Die die die.” Glancing at Fangorn and Sila for advice, the pumpkin rolled his eyes, and Sila snorted. “Well, I thought it had a nice ring to it,” she offered in turn, wrinkling her nose down at the paper, as if it had been the one to offend.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
Straight from Stormbreak to the Greatwood – in spite of knowing he’d likely fare better heading home. It wasn’t that much of a detour, and at the very least he could stop by that wonderful tea shop that Niki had shown him and perhaps wander enough to see if he could find a rose. Though, he isn’t bold enough to assume he could find one on the first try, it was at least worth a shot.
So, with the threaded cane in hand, the butcher drifts through the village – towering over everyone and mostly everything with his height, though he doesn’t seem to pay it any attention. A bag is clasped in his free hand, one laden with treats and tea to take home when he hears the a woman speaking by a nearby bench – to her companions, if he had to guess.
Unable to help himself, the butcher drifts toward her with an easy yet still sharp smile of greeting, dipping his horned head should she look over toward him. “Might I suggest a limerick?” He hums in greeting. “Assuming you are trying to write something for the most violet of Caido’s inhabitants, that is.” His head tilts slightly, dark hair falling onto the edge of a black horn.
“There once was a Family purple in nature, who harbored quite a unique wager. To arrive and be embraced, only to be met with distaste, and find that their new friends harbored a series of razors.” He suggests, before he lets the low chuckle escape him. “Apologies, that was not my best.”
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
Melita hadn’t expected any company; but then again, when one designs their day mostly around poor impulse control, anything occurring outside of the present moment could be a bit of a surprise. Her head jerked upwards at the unfamiliar voice, brow arching immediately – as apparently he didn’t hold a fondness for her stanzas yet either.
Leaning back and listening, arms crossed over her chest, she snorted. “No, no, I like the part about razors.” Jotting down similar verses, she lifted hers up and began to recite, seeing and gauging reactions from her makeshift crowd. “You’re all a bunch of liars, I’d like to see you on big ass pyres.” It probably wasn’t the right tone for the event – but then again, the Honeybee had always been a bit bold and impudent.
Fangorn grimaced, but Sila seemed to like it, based on the puff of smoke swirling from her nostrils. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are,” Melita offered instead, though she might have recognized him from crowds or some shit. If she paid attention to anything besides food and the next barrage and sieges. “I’m Melita.”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
He didn’t mean to surprise her, though he supposes it’s in part because he hadn’t announced his arrival prior to giving his two cents on the poem. Luckily for him, though, there isn’t much offense taken, and he comes to a stop a comfortable distance away from Ludo’s demigod, keeping that smile sharp and present on his face even if he looks exhausted. “It is quite a nice touch, I would agree.” He murmurs, before she lifts her newly adjusted paper up to recite her next one.
The low chuckle returns, inclining his head in appreciation for it. “I like it, my dear.” He hums, though he knows she likely had other thoughts spinning around as she gets back on track. Though, with the realization that he hadn’t introduced himself and despite her being an absolute stranger to him (though he recalls seeing her possibly at the big fighting event in Torchline with the demigods and other of Caido’s strongest), he straightens up. “Ah, apologies. I am Astaroth, it is a pleasure to meet you, Melita.” He offers a slight bow of greeting, keeping that same comfortable distance as his tail flicks behind him idly. “You are… Ludo’s demigod, yes?” He asks, having heard things through the grapevine of who the current demigods were, as had often been the case in Caido in years past.
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
She watched him very carefully – as perhaps one often did with strangers, an observant cast upon her features. Survival had always been a key point in her life; and she had made multiple estimations based on individuals, that had ensured her opportunities weren’t forfeit. They’d pretend no one had seen her cut down by a god damned lightning strike though.
But she logged the name away, nodding and penciling down some other fragments to make the poem a bit more succinct. “And then I can add: fuck off to your own world, before you end up…,” her eyes narrowed for a second, and then her head tilted again. “Hurled?”
As far as her own demigod status, her features brightened – the snicker suddenly sharp and Cheshire too. “I am.” Eyes meandering over his features again, and spying ‘Ancient’ observations, she considered probabilities – well, as much as Melita ever would. “You here for…,” she gestured at the ground, as if not to give them away to the ether. “Searching too?”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
Chuckling more, the butcher nods, letting his grin sharpen and grow brighter – in complete and utter amusement of the resulting poem. “Whirled?” He suggests, incase she doesn’t like the mention of hurled, even if it was a nice touch too. The idea of the Family getting flung off of Caido was comforting, and one he wished would happen sooner rather than later.
But, he questions whether she’s Ludo’s demigod – based off of everything he’s heard of her, and he’s happy to see her perk up with the question. So when she shoots one back, he nods his head. “I am, yes. Roses in particular.” Which he assumes she’s also here for, though perhaps that’s a bit bold given what he knows of Ludo, but the fact that she’d said too at the end leads him to believe he’s guessing correctly. "But I happened to take a detour to the lovely tea shop in this village."
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
“Hm. Maybe hurled and whirled.” It wasn’t exactly in any proficient meter or whatever the fuck it was – but poetry was supposed to be free-flowing and all that shit so, they could take it or leave it. She liked the double-meaning of hurled anyway – from throwing them off their grandstand or being vomited on.
As for roses, she nodded, waving her hand in the direction of many others doing the same. “Yeah. I haven’t seen any,” and then instead had rounded the crowds into hide and seek and then watched as Thalassa set fires. A typical day.
Lovely tea shops gave her pause – enough to rifle her paper and cross out the lines she wasn’t going to use. “That’s neat. Did they have anything good?” Uncertain whether or not he was a great scholar, she pointed in the direction of the Undercroft. “They have a neat little library here too. Full of old shit.”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
There was a faint pop, like a bubble made of static bursting just over their heads. The smell of ozone twitched in the air. And then—
"Melita! My razor-tongued ray of sunshine!" Vox’s voice crackled into existence like a delighted gasp on an open wavelength. "You do such marvellous work with so little patience! The imagery, the fury, the deeply satisfying threats—chef’s kiss!"
A gentle ripple of static purred through the bench beneath her. "And Astaroth! You towering connoisseur of verse! I loved the razors. So vivid. So personal! What a pleasure to have poets with such bite!"
There was a pause—a grin that could be felt but not seen.
"Double points for ‘hurled and whirled.’ I’ve always liked a poem that can be taken literally and screamed at a sky god during a lightning storm."
A low fizz. A pleased hum. And then, as suddenly as he’d arrived—
Gone.
Except for a faint buzzing in the ink where the words had been scratched out… as if someone was still reading.
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
Blinking a bit before agreeing with a nod of his head (similarly to both? Both is good), the butcher flashes a brighter smile and a low chuckle to hear the poem come together. Content with the result, despite how it isn’t his own, he’s glad to have helped when the conversation shifts.
Admittedly a little put off to hear that there hadn’t been any in sight so far, his hands rest easily on his cane as he shifts his weight and the ashen hue of his tail flits against his heels as his gaze drifts toward the Honeybee’s companions. “Quite a variety of unique teas, actually. Everything from tooth-aching sweet to spicy. It is not often to have so many options available.” He doesn’t know if she drinks tea, but it might be worth a look if she’s curious at all.
Just like he is certainly interested in the library she points out, glancing over to try and glimpse toward the Undercroft curiously before a horrible static overcomes him and he hisses out his displeasure. Hearing his name on the odd waves of vibration really grinds against him and his smile turns toward a glower, like a baring of his sharp teeth toward the open air.
The mention of bite has his snarkiness coming full front and center, however, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “I have plenty more when it comes to bite.” Most notably those in his mouth. But it does little at this present moment when the buzz is gone and Astaroth is very much back on edge, tail whipping like an enraged feline.
Eating fire is your ambition to swallow the flame down
For some inexplicable reason (lack of foresight, or…thought, for that matter), Melita wouldn’t have ever believed Vox would just fucking talk to them out of the blue. But the moment she heard the staticky pop – she froze and stilled entirely – spine ramrod straight and compounded into something equally tense and malicious.
Even the compliments extended her way did nothing to ease the sedition layered through her limbs. If she could snag a weapon quickly, would she be able to counter the little shit?
Her eyes flickered down to the paper and she scowled, a vicious little image. “Fuckwad,” she murmured, before jerking the parchment away and shoving it down into one of the many pockets in her bag – likely to be forgotten and misplaced, but the encounter certainly not.
She could feel her companions’ urgency throughout her mind, and she stood from the bench. “Yeah – could you show me? I’ve suddenly lost all will to stay around…this.”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein to be the sun
you see right through the lies in my eyes, and it's all underneath if you take the time to scratch the surface,
Certainly not harboring the same kind of vocabulary that the youth in front of him did, the butcher can’t help but to agree with the sentiments as he sneers into the empty space. He can still feel the air of static, even if he was sure that it seemed like Vox had vanished and it truly left the sourest of tastes on his tongue. So, as Melita stands from the bench, the butcher straightens as his tail whips like a disgruntled feline.
“Yes, I am more than happy to.” He agrees, twisting on his heel and stepping to the side, allowing space for her and her companions to join him at his side to guide her toward the tea house he’d just departed from, imagining that another cup of tea wouldn’t kill him if it helped get this taste out of his mouth.
