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!
Thal is usually the kind of person who enjoys being wet, who relishes in the salty brine and spray of the ocean, who lifts her face to the sky when it rains, who soaks in pools and ponds without a care for how she might dry off. But mud is disgusting. It's an abomination of the earth that has decided to make every step a struggle when she crosses the street to meet Asta.
Her mouth twists in a sneer, brows furrowed as she mumbles a colorful curse, pulling her boot from the mud with a sucking pop. Then the memory portion decides that now's a good time to splash the edge of her cloak, even managing to hit the tips of her fingers to elicit a hiss and snap of her tail, fire coiling out to bake the mud into dust that drifts from her hand.
Glaring up at Asta, she crosses her arms, not bothering with a greeting as she says, "This sucks. If I'd known it was going to be this bad, I would have stayed on the ship. The crew could use some extra training." She scans the mess of mud splattering the street, watching it follow her footsteps in tiny waves of movements that look suspiciously like mocking. Resisting the urge to flip off the dirt, she shrugs her shoulders, sighing exasperatedly. "I was too tempted by the Festival."
Speaking of, she tilts her head up at him, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "I barely saw you. Did you have a good time?"
He arrives at the meeting spot ahead of time – just in time to stand there with an umbrella made of flame to try and prevent the rain from drizzling down onto him (even if he’s found a small amount of cover from the taller edges of the building). He spots Thalassa just about the time she’s tugging her boot from the mud with a pop that seems to echo around the area despite the amount of people flitting here and there.
Once she makes it up to his side, he flashes her a shark toothed grin, letting the heat of the flame above him extend toward her as the fire umbrella becomes bigger. “In fairness, it is not usually this bad.” He announces – as if he’s got plenty of experience with Flowerbirth in the Hollowed Grounds (he doesn’t).
“Oh, did the Blood Moon effect you as well?” He asks, curiosity glittering in his gaze before the movement of the mud creatures captures his attention as well. “I was there long enough for someone to throw their drink at me and thus making me utilize my haunt, and then I left.” A slight shrug has his shoulders drooping before his perfect posture resumes. His hands shift on the handle of his cane, before one hand lifts it to point at the street. “Where are we heading to, darling?” He asks.
She doesn't even need to duck for the fiery umbrella to cover her, not bothering to wring out her sopping hair or wipe away the rain that glistens against her face - the same face that scowls down at the mess. "That doesn't make it any better." Especially as it wiggles and waves in taunting motions.
Luckily, her attention is captured by Asta's tale, eyes glinting as she pictures the poor sap who'd incurred the Butcher's wrath. They should be grateful the Ancient hadn't torn them limb from limb for their assault on his meticulous outfit. She's disappointed she'd been too enthralled with her own interactions to see. "Oooh. Sounds like your night was almost as exciting as mine."
Tilting her head to think, she recalls the night's events. "I tried to start a stick fight with this woman I've met a few times. Her choice of counterattack was a kiss." Thal's laugh is more genuine than she might have shown others, face brighter with the chaos of it all. "When I kissed back, she ran." A sharp grin spreads across her face, blue eyes flashing with victory. Her shoulders shrug when she finally adds, "I ended the night with fireworks and a healthy dose of sex. So not too bad."
At his question, Thal looks to the street, the rain trickling in a constant pitter patter against stones and damp earth, another sneer of disgust clear on her face. "Somewhere dry." Her boot kicks out as another clump of mud attempts to attach itself there. "I was thinking we could scrutinize a new vocalist in town. She's supposedly singing at one of the second-rate bars nearby, and they may have been claiming their alcohol is better than the Dusklight's." Raising a conspiratorial eyebrow, she smirks. "You up for some reconnaissance?"
The heat from the fire umbrella will certainly help to dry the rain in her hair, soaked nearly to the bone. “Mm, I suppose not.” The butcher hums with a quiet laugh, slowly drying out himself before he launches into the brief cliff notes of his experience at the Blood Moon festival. His brows lift when she says it’s almost as exciting as hers, though, letting her explain as he listens with a touch too much eagerness.
His head tilts as the grin spreads a touch wider, each sharp tooth on display before a low chuckle leaves him. “You know, that is a type of counter attack I never thought of.” Though the thought is enough to both amuse and disgust him – hilarious in the fact that the butcher would be too stunned to respond immediately, but it would also put him in prime biting territory – which… Would be the direct opposite of what the opponent likely wanted.
“Well, at least it was not all bad.” He inclines his head as the fire umbrella warbles under another breath of rain released upon them. His night could have gone better, but at least he’d brought Danta back from the brink of his anxiety. So, he supposes, his night could have been worse as well.
His question is aired, though, and he notes the way she kicks out her boot from the mud trying to reach for her. “Oh ho, darling, am I ever.” The grin is brighter and a touch more eager – even if he’s certain that he wouldn’t be able to go under cover, unless perhaps he hid his Ancient traits. “Shall I go more incognito?” He asks, dramatically lifting his hand to gesture to himself as he throws up his glamour, his horns and tail vanishing to leave him relatively mundane looking – still recognizable, but less so given the lack of fire obsidian gracing his crown.
The kiss still lingers in her mind, strange and utterly chaotic in the reddish light of the Blood Moon. It only seems fitting for how the night had gone, even if she doesn't necessarily want to do it again on any other night. Still, she laughs, shaking her head as she shoots him her playful sarcasm. "Me neither, but I might have to implement it more." Winking like he might need to worry about it (he doesn't), Thal flicks her tail and lets the events of that night fade into the background.
Asta seems to diminish before her eyes, shrinking enough to make the impression eerie. Having seen the effects multiple times, she doesn't sneer or grimace like she used to, although the disquiet flickers across her features along with the teasing. "It's impossible for people not to recognize you," she flashes him a grin, eyes twinkling in the overcast lighting, "but if you hunch and wear a cloak, we might be able to delay - "
Her words are cut short when a few blobs decide that they're done being ignored. Slapping their metaphorical hands against each other like a secret handshake, they chest bump and merge, joining forces into a larger mound of mud that looks at least slightly more intimidating than before. It's still slow and annoying, but now it's standing in their way, sending a few people scattering in haste to avoid getting dirty (or involved).
Groaning at the interruption, she rolls her shoulders, fire flickering at her fingertips. "This thing just doesn't know when to quit." The flames reach out - ready to show the amalgamation exactly who they're messing with - but the moment they extend from Asta's umbrella, the rain dampens their force, the wet exterior and overall size of the creature absorbing most of the attack in muffled sizzle that's even more obnoxious.
She winks up at him and the butcher shoots her a playful grin in return – knowing her well enough to know she wouldn’t utilize it on him lest she want to come away with far more than she asked for. But he’s ready to leave the thought of the Blood Moon behind, focused instead on the glamour he puts up, the way the fire above him in the umbrella he’s crafted reflects against the glimmer of shiny, dark hair with absolutely zero horns to speak of.
“That is objectively not true—” He starts to interject, cut off at the same time when the blobs of mud start to move. The high five and the chest bump have him incredibly confused, his brows pinching as he stares at it as it grows larger like some kind of awful dirty power ranger. People scatter and Asta’s head tilts as he lifts the cane again, prepping to utilize it should he need to.
She pulls at the fire that he has above them, and he watches as it dampens and sizzles against the side of the mud creature sluggishly making their way toward him. He can’t help it – the laugh that leaves him, amused by how utterly stupid it was. The button of his cane is activated, the sharp multihued edge becomes limp and malleable, granting Asta a moment to pull his arm back and in a well-practiced movement, use the serrated whip portion of his cane to strike out at the creature.
The mud pulls out its special power ranger moves, the semi-dried patch fizzling over with a new layer of wet mud. It ripples in a motion that looks a lot like flexing - and maybe laughing? Whatever it's doing, Thal doesn't appreciate it, and she unknowingly voices Asta's thoughts, groaning as she glares useless daggers at the pile of refuse. "This is so stupid."
She watches as Asta's cane whips out, severing an arm(?) only for it to reform in a bubbling of brown goo. Trying to stop the progression, she threads another ring of fire around the appendage, only for it to dry then reshape in a frustration display of resilience. It has her lips pulling back as she ducks a ball of mud thrown their way.
Sheathing the dagger she'd instinctually pulled at some point, Thal cracks her knuckles and looks to her partner in crime, a dangerous glint of fangs. "Maybe one of us can block the rain while the other torches the thing?"
“I could not agree more, my dear.” Asta sighs as he draws the threaded cane back, the bladed portions snagging on more muck and mud until its behind him awaiting another strike. He stares at the mess left behind, the amount of mud he’d have to clean out of each and every blade later. For now, though, he focuses on their tag team attempt, watching as it falls short with the way it seems to grow back its arm in a quiet little fuck you.
Thal ducks as a ball of mud is thrown her way and he sidesteps it just in case, gritting his sharp teeth as he rolls his eyes. Her suggestion is one that has him contemplating, head tilting slightly. “Mm, I have an idea.” He decides it’s less easy to block out the rain and let one of them unleash on it as it might be to have a source that continues to dry it out so more attacks can land.
As such, he looks over at Thalassa as the mud monster keeps trying to creep closer. He flashes her a wink before man becomes fyrhund, its volcanic plates shifting with lava beneath the exterior as he turns back toward the creature and snarls at it. Hopping forward to cross the distance, his maw parts as he blasts it with a continuous stream of fire, close enough that it'll be more difficult for the rain to put it out.
She hates this. The mud isn't tough or intimidating or even challenging, but it's stubborn, and that's all the more obnoxious. It has annoyance sighing through her body, a careless shift of her limbs showing that she couldn't be less concerned with the outcome of this disturbance. However, the flick of her tail proves that the time it's stealing is going to earn it quite the punishment.
Asta seems to have a plan in mind, the wink earning him a raised brow that suggests this better be good. And - per usual - she's not disappointed. He's shifting and leaving her to the mercy of the rain, his fyrhund blasting the mud with a stream of fire that doesn't give it a moment of reprieve. Layers of dirt dry and crack, falling away for the next layer to receive the same treatment. It struggles against the onslaught, torn between using what energy it has to escape or regenerate its lost mass.
Not wanting Asta to have all the fun, Thal darts forward to appear on the other side of the creature. Unbothered by the flames or the sacrificial clothing, she shoves her hand through the flames to place it against the sticky mud. Smothering a sneer of disgust, she pulls at the life force, sucking what chances the monster had at fighting back.
The fyrhund is on the defense, propped directly within blast range for the mud creature even as the rain pelts down. It isn’t enough for the fire breath that leaves the canine, aimed to wick away the liquid so it was easier to destroy the mud monster – a task he’s sure that his favorite captain would be more than capable of.
Dirt sloughs off of the beast and Asta watches as its energy begins to wane away from attacking in order to simply try to survive, and when Thalassa dives forward with the knife in her hand, it finds its home in the mudling that has been trying its best to punish them. It hardens even further, its arms wimpy as it starts to break away again and again, with each blast of fire from the fyrhund doing its job to prevent it from reforming. All it needs is another stab on the other side and they just might have it.
Energy flows into her as she draws it from the mud, the feeling almost better than drinking a glass of warm blood. It heats her veins against the cold rain, fire licking up her arm as she breathes in the life force, but the monster isn't done. With a shudder, the mud attempts to suck her hand deeper, causing Thal to growl her displeasure, her muscles straining to prevent any loss of ground (or limb).
Asta's flames slow the liquid, dirt flaking over her fingers, arm, and boots like years falling away from its life. In a final tug, her magic rips at the last bit of life force, the mound of wet earth going limp before crisping under the force of fire, even going so far as to char the sharper edges that crack away.
Based on its stubborn nature, she might have guessed it still alive, but the stream of energy is cut short, the dry and cracking earth falling away when she steps back. "I think it's dead." Her eyes turn to Asta, lips pursed with disappointment. "We might need to stop in a clothing store before the bar." She holds up her arm, the black cloth sleeve charred and burnt away to her elbow to expose the pale skin beneath.
They make a good team, charring and stabbing the mud creature. And with it, the fyrhund’s fire begins to wane as the creature starts to crumble and die before their eyes. Before it has a chance to fully commit to it, though, the fyrhund is stepping back and out of the main reach of the mudling in case it decides to explode on him like the others had in the Greatwood.
Once he’s sure it won’t erupt, he shifts back — straightening up and trying to flick some mud away from his hands. He looks up in time to see her showing off the sleeve that’s scorched and burned, emitting a low laugh of amusement and flashing her his traditional grin. “Luckily for you, darling, I know just the place.” He hums, inviting her to join him as he steps away from the mudling’s remains and goes to take her toward his favorite tailor.
Lowering her hand, she throws him a conspiratorial grin. "Coming from you, I trust they have impeccable designs." Not that she needs anything fancy, but at least she knows they can replace the simple black shirt that's currently clinging to her like a second skin, wet and smokey, and very much covered in mud. Then she won't end up going to the bar looking like a drowned rat someone tried to grill. That would probably have drawn more attention at the bar, blowing their cover before it had a chance to start.
Her eyes flick to Asta, winking as she steps in next to him, no longer accosted by the sentient mud. "Maybe we can get you a disguise while we're there. Something less... stiff." Thal chuckles, low and teasing with the full implication of causing trouble - most likely at the expense of this new bar and singer. That's just what happens when people stand in the way of two chaos-inclined Ancients.
