Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
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!
a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
Marcus arched a brow at the words, his hands still braced against the weight of the stone he’d just hauled aside. A cage. “I know how to build one,” he answered at last, voice steady, and his eyes flickered over the pile of branches Deimos had left in his wake. They weren’t beams, not by any stretch, but with enough rope and force behind them they’d hold. He had enough experience even in his short, twice-jumped life, on the Halovian tundra to build at least something rudimentary.
He rubbed his palms together, grit grinding into the creases of his skin, and turned the plan over in his mind again. One side open, rope for the door. The flush, the snare. It was simple enough to work—
“Alright,” Marcus said, finally straightening, the sweat cooling against the back of his neck. He had put together what was clearly a cage, even if the craftsmanship was more focused on quickly than perfectly. And though his hands ached and his shoulders burned, the spark of Olson determination was sharp and steady in his chest. A cage, hastily built and imperfect, would hopefully be enough.
09-03-2025, 08:40 AM (This post was last modified: 09-08-2025, 05:48 PM by Damien.)
Damien
"I never see you at the club!" Okay? I never see you at the creek
Damien’s dark eyes lingered a moment on the cage where the foxes crouched. The little creatures thrashed once, twice, before huddling together, eyes wide and fearful but unharmed. The mother still bristled, but she hadn’t been crushed beneath a falling tree or left homeless in the snow. It was a win, however rough.
Theea’s helpful grin, Marcus’ stubborn grit, Deimos’ orderly stacks of lumber, Thorn’s sharp sketches and careful measurements—each piece had held. The site was cleared, the plan alive, the wood ready. For the first time, he could see the cabin starting to take shape.
“Good work,” he said to everyone, voice carrying across the clearing. “That’s one hurdle down. Now for the next part.”
He stepped into the open space, boots crunching in the snow, and spread Thorn’s notebook wide so all of them could see. He tapped the foundation lines. “Next step’s digging the trench for the base. Deimos—you're the only one able to cut it clean without wasting daylight. Think you could carve out the footprint of the cabin? Straight, level, deep enough to bite the frost and hold. Like this.” He'd show the Warden Thorn's sketches up close to give a sharper, more detailed idea.
Then his hand shifted to the frame lines, the long logs that'd be running up into the roof. “Once the trench is set, we move straight into raising the frame.” His gaze cut between them in turn.
“Theea—can you help Marcus set the first beams into the trench? Two of you’ll keep the beams steady while the rest of us fit the frame.”
“Thorn—you and me, we’ll handle the corner posts. Measure twice, cut once.”
He turned slightly, taking in the stacks of timber Deimos had already stripped. “And once your trench is dug, Deimos, your magic can brace the soil around the posts, pack it tight so the weight won’t shift too much.”
Damien closed the notebook with a snap, the sound sharp in the cold air, before handing it back to Thorn for now. “By the time this is done, we’ll have a frame standing.” His jaw set with quiet conviction, the kind that left no room for half-measures. “Let’s get it set up.”
Round 4 Breakdown
Deimos – Dig a trench foundation with earth magic. Then brace soil around the posts to lock them in place. Marcus & Theea – Lay the first beams into the trench Deimos digs as the foundation frame.
Damien & Hawthorn – Measure, cut, and set the four main corner posts. Accuracy is key.
It seemed things were coming together quickly and efficiently, despite fox-laden bumps in the road. His attention turned to their next task – brow arching at the directions given to him. He’d done similar things to ensure their hot springs were laden by the Palace, well within his abilities to churn through the hard-packed terrain.
Nodding, he glanced at the sketches Thorn had already made, implementing them into his mind, before passing them back over to Damien. Stepping forward towards the indicated area, he unfurled his Mastered Earth quickly and efficiently, feeling it weave and arch and contort through the pathways of deep snow and frozen portions. Concentration and focus honed, it carved and curved, the trench aimed to be exactly what was required – pathways laden in the frost.
Thereafter, he maintained the incantations to roam outwards, bracing through the soil along posts, packed so it would remain wholly unbothered by impending weight – tough and sturdy.
--
Deimos uses his Mastered Earth to dig a trench, then brace the soil around the posts.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
09-07-2025, 04:33 PM (This post was last modified: 09-08-2025, 12:16 AM by Theea.)
Theea
rise to the occasion
I’m still grinning from ear to ear when Marcus and I get back, even if my ears are still ringing from being screamed at the whole way across the snow. The foxes are safe, set loose with my jacket tucked into their crate to make it warmer, and I don’t care one bit that my coat is gone. Shut up, I’m perfectly warm and not shivering.
I glance down at my arms—noodles, as I so proudly announced earlier—and then at the massive timber stacked nearby. My lips purse, my jaw sets. Fine. I could do this. I glance at Marcus, and my grin sparks bright and defiant. “We’ve got this.”
I bend to grab my end of the first beam, grit my teeth, and very nearly squeak when the weight drags my arms down. I catch it barely, waiting desperately for Marcus to take the other end. Together we shuffle toward the trench, my back and arms screaming the whole way, but I manage it, step by step, until finally—blessedly—we drop it into place.
I straighten up, panting, arms burning, but flash all the boys a broad grin anyway. “Got it!”
And I do it again. And again. Helping Marcus brace each beam in turn while Deimos ’s magic packs the soil firm around them. My muscles might be noodles, but stubbornness? That’s solid steel.
Theea struggles but hauls the beams to the trench to lean up and brace them with Marcus.
Happy to let his journal be used to show the designs, Thorn lingers by Damien to help offer out any answers that might need a bit more in depth of an answer. Luckily, though, without many questions at all, the journal is tucked back away when Damien hands it to him, before he’s pushing up his sleeves again to get to work.
Going to snag the corner posts alongside the measuring tapes and rulers, the courtesan does in fact measure twice before marking where to cut. And once those have successfully been cut and prepped to be added to the stack, Thorn helps Damien set them into place so Deimos’ magic can pack them in nicely – offering a decent structure for them to build off of for the frame.
When the first one’s done, Thorn moves onto the next, double checking from his notes before they continue to place them.
Thorn helps Damien cut and place the corner beams!
a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
They’d done it. The plan had worked. Every careful step, every lash of rope, every nudge and shove had paid off. The foxes were safe, relocated far enough from the worksite that they’d be free from harm. The moment of triumph lingered only briefly, because the next task awaited—and it was no small one. Theea was already moving toward the pile of wooden beams, her hands stretching toward the largest ones. Marcus stepped forward, muscles tensing as he grabbed the first beam. It was heavy, heavier than it looked, and almost immediately he realized he would have to take the majority of the weight. Her persistence shone through, though, a quiet fire that didn’t care for her lack of brute strength
Together they lifted each beam, Marcus adjusting his stance to bear most of it while Theea balanced the other end. Step by careful step, they carried them toward the foundationwhere Deimos waited on them. Theea never slowed, never let the strain dictate her pace, and he found himself silently admiring the stubborn strength in her persistence.
Finally, they set the last beam in place. Marcus’s shoulders ached, his fingers grazed and scraped, but he felt a quiet pride—not just in the work, but in how Theea refused to give up, even when the weight was more than she could fully manage. Marcus would not forget this about her.
"I never see you at the club!" Okay? I never see you at the creek
Damien’s hands were steady as he braced the first post with Thorn, their shoulders moving in tandem. Thorn’s quick measurements made the cuts clean, and when Damien’s axe came down it was with the economy of a man who’d been shaping timber since his youth. Together they levered the post upright, steadying it against the trench wall until Deimos’ magic packed the earth tight around its base. By the time they’d set the fourth, the skeleton of the cabin was no longer just a sketch on paper but a shape rising out of the clearing, the bones of a shelter against the Greenwing cold.
He stepped back, breathing deep of sawdust and smoke, and let his gaze pass over the others. Theea and Marcus had heaved beam after beam into place, a stubborn rhythm that had left their arms trembling but the foundation true. He’d seen Marcus shift more of the weight, seen Theea refuse to falter, and between them the frame held because they hadn’t quit. Thorn’s measurements had been sharp, practical as well as clever; each post sat straight because he’d marked them so. And Deimos—Deimos had cut a trench as if the earth had been waiting to be told what shape to take. Packed, level, unyielding. No frost-heave or stray wind would unsettle this cabin’s base.
Cause and effect. Each piece had slotted in because the others had made it so.
“Looks good,” Damien said, his voice low but certain. He let the word hang, heavier than its syllables. “This will stand.”
He turned toward the logs stacked nearby, their bark stripped, the corners squared. Above, the pale sky was clear, but he knew too well what the coming Deepfrost would bring down in time. “Now comes the roof. If it can’t bear the snow, all this work is wasted.”
He glanced to Thorn, the sketchbook still tucked under the man’s arm. “We’ll give it the steep A-frame, like you drew. Strong enough to shed the weight, snug enough to hold heat.” Then he addressed the group as a whole.
“Choose your next tasks.” His eyes moved across each of them in turn. “The rafters need cutting and setting. The roof beams need to be hoisted and braced. We’ll need shingles—or boards—laid tight enough to keep snow out. And the joints sealed, so wind and ice don’t eat through before long.” His mouth quirked faintly. “Pick what suits your skills. There’s no easy job left, but every one of them matters.”
He set his axe aside and flexed his fingers, already reaching for another length of timber. “Let’s get this finished.”
Round 5 Breakdown (Final Push – The Roof):
Choose freely from these tasks:
Cutting & Shaping Rafters: 1 person. Measure and cut angled rafters to fit the steep A-frame design. Precision is critical—crooked cuts = unstable roof.
Hoisting & Bracing Beams: 2 persons. Work in pairs to lift and secure the heavy roof beams into place. Requires strength and balance to avoid collapse.
Laying Roofing Boards/Shingles: 1 person. Fit and secure planks across the rafters to form the roof surface. Success determines whether snow slides off or piles dangerously.
Sealing Joints & Edges: 1 person. Apply tar, resin, or improvised sealant; fill cracks with moss, bark, or other materials. This task ensures insulation and weatherproofing.
a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
Marcus rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tightness left from hauling beams. Theea’s determination lingered in his mind, and he let slip sideways glances at her to see if she was okay after all that. But heavier on him was the knowledge that there was more yet to be done. His gaze shifted toward the frame of the structure.
“I can help with the next,” he said, voice steady despite the burning of his muscles beneath his coat. He wasn’t just another set of hands here—he was an Olson. His father’s name still carried weight, his family bound to fire and endurance, and Marcus felt the unspoken expectation burning at the back of his throat. To falter here, on something so important to Damien, wasn’t an option. He braced his palms against the rough grain of wood, eyes narrowing with determination, and when he had the support of another, he helped hoist and brace beams.
With the earth shifted under his prowess, the rest could get to work. The process of assemblage was satisfying though; everyone working and clambering together to ensure the vitality of success. Eventually there was more to be done however, and so he took another deep breath, brow arching as he listened to the tasks. Nothing pinpointed directly at him this time – but he could ponder through which might be more suitable. He often ensured precision in his everyday tasks and incantations; but perhaps it would be his strength that was more necessary than anything else.
Making his way over to Marcus to join him in hoisting beams, when they were ready and assembled, he gave the younger Olson a brief nod and a small smile, before beginning to lift them as well. Muscles honed were eager and fervent for the job, willing to hoist and haul to whatever was imperative.
--
Deimos goes to help Marcus with the beams.
it's not the waking, it's the rising It's the fire it ignites
By the time we’ve muscled the last of the beams into place, my arms are trembling like I’ve been sparring all morning. I still flash Marcus a wide grin though, pride written all over me. He'd taken the brunt of the weight without complaint, and I know the task would have been doomed without him. And when I glance toward Damien, that matter-of-fact approval of his warms me more than the Leafchange sun.
When the next tasks are called out, one in particular catches my ear, and I can’t help the spark of triumph that rises in me. “That one’s mine,” I announce. Sealing the joints—finally, something my little arms are actually good for.
I snatch up the little pot of pitch that had been tucked among the tools, the stuff thick and dark as tar. It’ll hold, but not on its own. So I slip down toward the treeline, where bark peels loose beneath my nails and moss pulls free in soft, springy clumps. My fingers are already sticky when I spot it: a patch on a frozen creek bank where the snow runs down from the sunlight, leaving the ground slick and dark. Perfect.
I crouch in the mud. With both hands I dig in, scooping cold, wet clay into the bucket I dragged with me. The chill bites sharp, turning my knuckles red, but I keep going until there’s enough to work with. When I push damp hair back from my face, it smears a streak of brown across my cheek.
Back at the frame, I climb with buckets dangling from my arms. I squirrel up the structure, quick and nimble despite them. The beams groan faintly beneath me, but they’re solid—our work is holding. I balance like I was born to it, following just behind as each new piece is set in place. Wherever the rafters meet, wherever there’s the hint of a gap, I stuff moss in tight, smear pitch over it, and pack clay thick with my frozen fingers. I work fast, moving from seam to seam, high above the clearing with the cold wind in my hair and resin drying dark on my hands.
When I crouch at the peak, clay smeared over my palms, I glance down at all of them below—Marcus, Deimos, Thorn, Damien. "I think I'm done!" I call.
It’s very evident to the courtesan that he’s become weak in his time indulging in the stories of people rather than the stories of buildings, such that when he and Damien work to slot the beams into place sparks a burn that Thorn will be nursing for the days to come. And he wonders, if perhaps, he should have taken a few more days off for the added recovery lest he wants to just be a limp body haunting the House of Midnight.
Though something tells him they wouldn’t complain too much about it.
Either way, they return with the shell of the building in place and Thorn listens to Damien’s instructions, mulling over which he should partake in when everyone starts breaking off. It’s between the laying of the boards and shingles or cutting and shaping the rafters – and since he’s the one that designed the roof in the first place, the courtesan decides to pick the precise cuts. “I’ve got the rafters.” He announces, breaking to snag the boards to measure them out and ensure their angles are perfect to meet each other on the joints and begins to cut and fit them into place.
09-25-2025, 02:17 PM (This post was last modified: 09-25-2025, 02:17 PM by Damien.)
Damien
"I never see you at the club!" Okay? I never see you at the creek
Damien hauled a plank up onto his shoulder, the rough grain biting through his gloves, and set it across the rafters Thorn had just cut to size. The work was awkward—balancing high above the snow, hammer ringing sharp against wood—but steady, one board after another, until the frame thickened into something solid overhead. He spared a glance down now and again, catching Theea clambering nimble as a squirrel along the joints, smearing moss and pitch into seams with a grin fierce enough to shame the cold. The sight earned her a faint shake of his head, more amused than disapproving.
By the time the last board was dropped into place, the cabin looked less like a dream and more like a fact. Because Deimos had carved the earth clean, the posts held fast; because Marcus had lent stubborn strength beam after beam, the skeleton stood true; because Theea’s sealant gleamed dark in the joints, the roof promised to keep the frost at bay; and because Thorn’s sharp angles guided Damien’s own cuts, the A-frame rose exactly as it had been sketched. No piece perfect on its own, but together—together it was enough.
Damien climbed down at last, boots crunching back into the snow. He stood a moment with arms folded, eyes traveling from the peak down to the squared lines of the walls, and nodded once. “This’ll hold,” he said, quiet conviction grounding the words. “Deepfrost won’t touch it. We’ve done good here.”
He let the silence after hang long enough for each of them to feel the weight of what stood behind him: a cabin, a workshop, a foothold in the Greenwing that hadn’t been there before. Then he tipped his head toward the fire still smoldering in the pit. “Come on. Let's warm up and eat before heading out. I think Hawthorn brought some snacks as well.” And combined, there would be plenty for everyone to refuel for their journeys home.
Damien will take the leftover task of placing roofing boards, and with that...
