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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.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
Iskra clucked to the mule and set the reins snapping against its back, guiding it forward since the log got affixed. "Steeeeady," he tells the beast, paying heed to its flicking ears and cautious steps as it traverses brush and soft snow drifts. "Beats working in Halo this time of year, 'eh?" he calls back over his shoulder to Damien. Nearby, Goose is rolling in the pale powder that settled with last night's storm.
"Hollowed Grounds also needs lots of firewood, so their logging business is always booming, and trading labor for firewood to bring back to Halo for Longnight sure beats freezing our assess off in the Tundra." Although it's still cold here, and Iskra is bundled in a thick, plaid coat that boasts its usual smattering of woodchips at the overturned collar, along with his leather gloves and thicker trousers and boots, it's nothing like the windchill and subzero temperatures of their home. He doesn't mind the cold, but he is not impervious to it.
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
Damien trudged in the mule’s wake, boots crunching through the pale crust of snow that hadn’t yet been chewed down to mud. He shifted the weight of the bundle already tied and slung at his shoulder, the scrape of rough bark against his coat a steady reminder of the day’s labor. The Hollowed Grounds had always felt strange underfoot—softer, almost tame, as though the earth here had been broken in by too many feet over too many centuries. Not the raw bite of Halo, where even breathing sometimes felt like wrestling the tundra into letting you live.
Aria padded close by, pale fur puffed against the cold, her fuzzy paws sinking deep where the snow softened. Every so often she'd try to initiate a game of cat-and-mouse with Goose. But, if the dog paid her no mind, she'd turn her frustration on the snow itself, scattering powder into the air with feline determination.
Damien glanced up at Iskra’s call, catching the man’s grin, and allowed himself the faintest huff of amusement. “You’re right about that. No frost biting your ears 'n fingers off—” he shook his head, a quiet appreciation in his tone “—that’s a gift in itself.” He bent, hands sure and steady, as he gathered another armful of split logs to add to their growing stock. The wood smelled sharp and clean, sap still weeping from the fresh cut, and he lashed the bundle together with a practiced twist of cord.
His eyes drifted past the mule, out to where the brambles knotted thick along the tree line. Luxere moved there, distant but glowing, their pale light threading through the dark like embers. Damien’s gaze lingered, a quiet habit born of a hunter’s caution and curiosity alike, before returning to the work at hand.
“How many of these bundles you figure we’re making?” he asked finally, straightening, snow dusting from his gloves. His tone wasn’t complaint—it was calculation, the sort of practical tally a man kept when he measured hours against daylight, effort against need. “Feels like we could load the mule down all day and still not stack enough to last Halo through LongNight.”
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
Goose, normally a massive fucking chicken, is not daunted by the small cat, not after his cautious introductions from earlier had completed anyway. After snuffling through the snow and rubbing the chill through his coat, the husky's snout pokes through one of the drifts with a dramatic snort. He noses some of it in a spray towards Aria, bowing low between a front spread of his paws in reciprocation of her bounding play. Behind him, his tail wavers slow and careful, stilling just before he abruptly bounds off and zips around trees, running away from Aria. He does haul up his stride and plant himself back into a bow in the snow, side eying her and her pursuit.
Iskra nods along to Damien's agreements. A blessing indeed to not force muscles to work and warmth to remain in his body as temperatures plummet to unbearable lows. "Been meaning to get a magical coat, although it seems a bit unnecessary when I can make fire." Well, okay, he can't make it, yet, which is part of why he's here and not in Halo. Some of the other workers have means or equipment to beat back the cold and are still working in Halo, but even so, this seems a far nicer slog.
The mule notices the luxere too and grows still for a moment. The ears twist forward and the head rises with the alert, but after some encouragement from Iskra it heaves back into motion, sliding the felled tree with ease. "Dunno," Iskra admits, scratching at the scruff of his beard. "Until we're tired of making them I suppose." He shrugs a bit. "Always families in need of wood in Halo, so I figured this is a way to give back to the place that helped me find myself. I'd rather burn the hours doing this than be part of a search party tracking down some soul who wandered into the cold in hunt of wood." The region has places to gather for warmth, but crowds aren't always kind the poorer among them, and sometimes people just don't want to mingle and think they can manage just fine on their own. Those are the ones they search for and find bodies rather than people usually.
"Longnight prep is pretty much year round it feels like," Iskra laughs, at least where wood is concerned for Halo. Since there's fires that never go out there, same as here, there's always gratitude for flame and fuel. Job security and all. "Whoooa," he tells the mule, tugging faintly on the reins until it stops. Iskra sets them down, stooping to unhook the log, motioning to Damien to grab the other end so they can haul it the rest of the way over to where the splitting is happening.
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
Aria crouched low, muscles coiled, then sprang in a tight, zigzagging dash around Goose, claws digging into the snow. Her little growls echoed through the cold air, each one a challenge thrown down and instantly snatched up by motion alone. She twisted, spun, and launched herself over a drift, landing with a soft crunch only to pivot back toward him, springy and relentless.
Damien’s lips curled upward at corners as he just shook his head, trying not to get too distracted by the animals while they worked. “A magical coat would be nice,” he was saying, tone almost casual, “Would’ve saved me more than one miserable night in the snow if I’d had something like that.”
The cub was a whirlwind, impossible to track, a blur of white fur and teeth that only looked sharp because she was small and overenthusiastic. Each time she collided with Goose, even if just in a bump or a paw swipe or complete barreling, she skittered off across the snowy ground again, long tail swimming behind her, ears perked up in pure delight, chirruping to tease the dog.
Damien listened as Iskra spoke of the bundles, his eyes following the mule's steady movements. It wasn’t just the wood, it was who it warmed. That line of thought always made the work feel less endless, more like it mattered. Halo changes a person. Even the small things stick with you.
After a moment, Damien tilted his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you left behind when you came to Halo,” he said, tone quieter than usual, “but I get it. Places can take, but they give too. You learn to be grateful for what you do have.”
He stepped up at Iskra's signal, hooking the other end of the log. He shifted his weight, letting his knees absorb the heft as he lifted, the muscles in his back and arms remembering years of cold mornings and frozen woodpiles. The log wasn’t light, but it wasn’t a surprise either; the forest had taught him to respect weight, not fear it.
They moved it toward the splitting area, snow and twigs crunching under boots, Aria padding nearby with a careful, curious watch.
He set the log down carefully, rolling it into position against the chopping block.
Damien’s hand rested briefly on the haft of his axe, the old one he’d trusted for seasons now, blade nicked and worn but honed sharp enough for the job. It wasn’t flashy, didn’t gleam, but it carried the comfort of familiarity, of every swing that had split more logs than he could count.
09-10-2025, 11:14 PM (This post was last modified: 09-13-2025, 03:07 PM by Iskra.)
ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
The game of tag the two creatures play sways back and forth with who is it. A mess of barks and growls, fur and tails, and snow-flinging feet that at one point shy too close to the mule and them. Iskra chastises Goose, who ought to know better, with a stern tone and a sharp command tossed out. The husky heeds the warning by tucking his ass and drifting the play further away, but he also yips back some sort of opinion about the whole thing, scarcely fazed.
As they haul the log, Iskra doesn't have breath or mind to do anything but bear the weight and the movement to get them done the quickest and safest. Once they get it in place, he sets it down with a huff, a gloves hand swiping at the sweat that's beaded up around his hairline with the nonstop labor. Behind him, the mule cocks a back foot, dozing while it can between the hauls.
"Why don't ya ask a god for something?" Iskra wonders, squinting over the log at Damien as the man gathers his tool. Iskra's got his own on his belt, ignored for now in favor of talk and wind. "Ludo made me a nice greataxe. I actually need to see if he'll help me improve it." He's not sure if Ludo's who Damien would want or not, and he isn't sure if he remembers right, but he thinks Damien is an Accepted. Unlike Iskra, talking to gods is rather up his skill tree then, so perhaps he's already got a notion of what he wants and from who.
Wiping off some sap on the side of his leg, Iskra grabs for his axe too, nodding at Damien so they can strike together on either end. With luck, they'll work a split together down it. "I grew up in Torchline," Iskra explains as he heaves the axe over his head and drives it down with his full body. "Bit of a change," he laughs, wrestling the metal free of the wood.
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
Damien let his eyes scan over the grain of the log before him, fingers brushing against the edge where the axe would bite. No softness, no hidden rot—just good, solid wood. He rolled his shoulders once, loosening them, and glanced up when Iskra’s question came.
“That would be a good one,” he admitted, a half-smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth. “But I already asked for her to be my companion.” His chin tipped toward Aria, who had launched herself into another dash. Goose had her on the run this time, the husky sending her scrambling in his wake. Her ears flicked back, eyes wide, and she gave a startled chirrup that made Damien huff through his nose. “Still working on that quest. Think all I’ve got left is the bonding part now.”
At Iskra’s nod, Damien wrapped his hands around his axe, the familiar weight settling into his palms. He let the other man take the first strike, waited for the reverberation to fade through the log, then followed with his own swing. The rhythm came easily—one, then the other, wood splitting clean down its spine.
“I’d say,” he muttered at Iskra’s laugh, tone dry but not without humor. The mention of Torchline drew his brow tighter, though, and he studied Iskra a moment, head canted slightly. “What made you wanna trade sunshine and beaches for ice and snow?”
Behind them, Aria found her footing again. She veered sharply, cut low into the snow, and with a burst of energy managed to pounce high enough to tag Goose’s flank. Aria let out a shrill cub-growl, tail lashing like a banner. Damien’s ears caught the sound, but his focus stayed on the swing, the thud of the axe, and the steady, even measure of the work.
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
Iskra's glance that flicks towards Aria is a knowing one. The bond he and Goose share is not one wrought with magic, just need and solidarity, forged with years of depending upon one another. He figures it'll be much the same for Aria and Damien, the young cub requiring care and protection now, and then offering it back in turn when she's older, the companionship a priceless thread between them. The thought of deepening his bond with Goose is one that has crossed his mind a time or two, but in general Iskra isn't one that chats with gods frequently, and for now the dog and he have gotten along well as is.
"Nothing better than a companion," he commends with a rough smile, watching the pair play back and forth in a game of chase with rules he can't quite decipher, but certainly involves trading off on who's 'it'. They're infinitely more valuable than a magically warm coat, and once she became larger, perhaps just as effective of one, at least when sleeping.
Together they worked the word apart, the first major split cleaving it in half. Grunting, Iskra moved to turn it with Damien, to begin to split that half into another half, and so on and so forth in a bizarre version of nesting dolls, just with firewood. "Halo offered everything Torchline didn't," Iskra huffs, blowing through the labor between swings. "That's precisely what I wanted, nothing to trigger reminders of back home. Not when losing my mother made the memories too painful." For a time, being happy at all felt like a crime, like grief required him to only suffer for her absence. He'd been so lost in it, in himself. Thankfully he's far improved now, much of which is thanks to Goose.
"It's been home longer now than Torchline was," his smile tilts, not quite able to believe that truth. "Found my way back recently though. Gotta say, the beaches are nicer than I even remember." Maybe not enough to make him leave Halo, but certainly worth a long vacation over Deepfrost.
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
Damien followed Iskra’s rhythm, swinging his axe down into the wood, the thunk echoing through the Brambles. He rolled the split in place and caught it, letting the familiar strain of the muscles in his back settle him into the work. Aria darted past, Goose following shortly after, and he felt a small grin tug at his lips before it faded back into thought.
“...I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, though Iskra would hear. Not for prying, not for asking, but for the loss he recognized in the man’s words. “Losing your mother… I know what that’s like.” He let the comment hang for a beat, letting the timber, the snow, and the scrabbling of the animals fill the silence that followed.
He shifted the log into its next position, hands sure and steady, letting the edge of the axe bite in the same way it always had. “I’ve been to Torchline a few times myself,” he admitted, voice low. “Nice place. But… I don’t think I could live anywhere but Halo.” His gaze flicked to the woods ahead, the brambles curling like black smoke across the snow. “No matter what excuses I come up with to leave, it’s still… part of me. Where my parents… where they lived and died. And who knows how many generations before them.” His jaw tightened slightly at the words, unspoken grief tucked into the cadence of his voice, but not raw enough to falter. “Being there makes me feel.. closer to them. In a way I wouldn’t anywhere else.” Indeed, Ulfsen is a name that goes as far back as Halo's records permit.
He swung the axe again, the tip of the blade catching the light, and split the log cleanly. Aria chirruped, leapt to the side, then crouched low, ears flat, ready to dart again. Damien allowed himself a short chuckle at the cub, shaking his head.
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
Sometimes the pity a person offers lands wrong because they didn't say it right, or mean it right, or aren't the right person to have said it at all. Othertimes it's because you don't hear it right, the jumble of thoughts and feelings that surround whatever is being pitied liable to distort sentiments into stings. It has normally been one of the two for Iskra, but today the ghost of his mother doesn't linger like something that might suffocate him. It hasn't really, since he'd properly sent her off into the sea earlier this year, but the grief comes back like a tide every so often and threatens to pull him under again. Not nightly, like before, but the waves still rise up now and then.
"Have you lost both your parents too?" Iskra asks, glancing over the carving up of the wood into smaller, more manageable pieces between them. It's not a rare thing in Caido to lose family, not with wars and aliens adding death tolls to all the other hardships. It doesn't make the loss any kinder though for it's frequency.
He listens to Damien speak of Halo the way his mother always did about Torchline. The passion there brings a smile to his face. "I don't think you need excuses to call somewhere home," Iskra admits with the gentleness of someone who has discovered himself in the darkest corner of his room. "As long as you travel and are open to new things, home can be home. It's when people get stuck in a place and refuse the rest of the world that gets bad."
Iskra heaves out a large breath, grunting as he steps back and swipes a sleeve over the sweat beading along his face. They've chewed the tree down into a pile of firewood. Brushing bits of bark from his jacket, Iskra moves to place his axe back on his belt. "Time to bundle," he announces as he moves back to the steed, tugging free a few bundles of rope, some of which he tosses towards Damien. "Like visiting here," he points out as he stacks some wood into a pile and loops the cord around it in a way to keeps it secure in it's pyramid. "Could miss out on this gain if we only stayed in the mountains."
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
At Iskra’s question, Damien tilted his head up from the axework and gave a curt nod. “Blizzard took ’em both when I was a boy,” he said, voice low, matter-of-fact. His gaze dropped back to the wood as he spoke, splitting another piece clean down the middle. How or why exactly, he’d never know. Avalanche, ursur, frostbite—it didn’t matter. They’d gone out into the white and never come back. Over the years, his imagination had worked every grim possibility. These days, he tried not to linger on it. It was better not to feed the ghosts.
Iskra’s next words drew his attention back up, though, that gentle tone carrying something unspoken Damien couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t good at reading hearts like paper—but he knew the weight of them when he heard it. He nodded once, firm.
He exhaled, set the axe aside, and straightened with a quiet grunt as Iskra called for the bundling. Damien caught the bundle of rope tossed his way and stepped over to the growing stack of wood. Kneeling, he began looping cord around his chosen pile of split logs. Bark scraped his gloves; the sap stuck faintly sweet.
At Iskra’s mention of visiting the Grounds, Damien gave a faint snort of agreement. “There's plenty to gain in new places. Balance, isn’t it? Travel where you can, but always come back to something that’s yours.” He paused as he cinched a bundle into a tight pyramid with efficient knots. “Hasn’t always been that way for me. Used to shut the world out. Just do the work, nothing more. It felt... safer, in a way.” His brow furrowed, then eased, a rare admission pulling itself loose. “But people need… people. Better to be part of something, take the risks, than spend your life with no one knowing you were even there.”
Aria yowled at Goose’s latest feint, tumbling into the snow belly-up with all four of her paws dangling in the air.
09-18-2025, 08:53 PM (This post was last modified: 09-18-2025, 08:54 PM by Iskra.)
ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
He only offers a quiet nod of understanding, solemn with the silent acceptance of the truth, as Damien explains what happened to his parents. "Blizzards are greedy like that," he confirms with a bit of a sigh. "Old things have strange hungers." Sometimes treating the cold like a creature and not just an effect made it easier to give it the wariness it deserved.
Continuing to build bundles with balance and wrapping, Iskra listened, nodding along again as Damien seemed to speak right along the same path as his own thoughts. "I've done the same. I think this work calls to us for that reason—lots of lonely moments with just the trees and the axe." Didn't have to be, he supposes. They could work in groups, and sometimes did for larger projects or when delivering lumber to the yard for cutting. For him, he sought out the solitude, the presence of a log-mule or Goose more than enough company. So it had been for a while, until it wasn't enough anymore, not to keep him from completely drowning.
"Yeppp," he drawls out, glancing up from the gathering and tying to look over at Damien with a rough, knowing smile. "Usually being alone is never good for us, no matter what we've convinced ourselves of." For him it's less about being remembered, than it is just remembering how to go on. He nods towards their work. "That's why this'll help the town, it brings people together, getting gifts, keeping warm." His smile stretches wider, then he sets back into the work. Once their fluffy shadows have tired and the mule has gotten close to being overloaded, they call it a day and head back in, sure to deliver their small, but free firewood bundles to the needy people of Halo, a home and a community they both are grateful for.
[FIN]
I've been trying to find something that can set my soul free
