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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!
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Halo’s air bit clean and sharp against Noah’s lungs as he crossed the Citadel toward the Barracks. It was a moments reprieve from the freezing, screaming rain, and Noah was thankful for that. Snow had been packed hard beneath countless boots, the path worn smooth and pale beneath the gray sky.
Safrin’s decree lingered in the back of his thoughts: No shifts, no magic, no weapons.
For most men, that might simply mean fighting with bare hands. For Noah, it felt stranger than that. His shifts were as natural as breath. To set them aside entirely felt almost like stepping out of his own skin. Even when he was a demigod he wore his polar bear skin often, and the griffin when it came. His weaponry had been less flashy than his shifts, but he had become a master over his years of both archery and the use of a spear. Today, he felt like he had felt in his youth.
He rolled one shoulder as he stepped onto the training grounds. He knew, though, if anyone could work around that restriction, it was Deimos. The Sword had trained warriors through worse conditions than a lack of magic. Still, Noah wondered how the spar would look. How Deimos would shape his own responses when Noah was forced to rely on nothing but bone, muscle, and instinct.
Deimos, either much more accustomed to screaming, disasters, chaos, or the state of confusion surrounding Caido at large, remained mostly unbothered by the screeching decibels in the far-off distance. By now, most of the soldiers had done much the same; granting the horizon a pleading look, before attending to their business. Today was a rotation of abilities, from swords to staffs to knives, and they’d each gone round several times before dispersing amidst instruction and further teaching, trying to instill a variety of tactics into every warrior.
By the time Noah arrived the Sword was towards the opening of the barracks, along the backside, chambers widened and visible to the sky so that magic could be imparted with little recourse upon property or any passersby. Taking one inhale, he sent a flurry of earthen components towards his current opponent, who ducked, and was sent running behind a piece of rock and stone nearby. Unfurling a snort, he shook his head, eyes catching motion from nearby – nodding towards Noah. “What did you want to work on?”
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Deimos was already engaged, finishing a spar with one of the soldiers. Noah slowed near Deimos rather than interrupting outright, knowing the warden had a soft enough eye on the training grounds to notice his arrival and approach. The clash of movement and breath carried easily across the frost-hardened earth, boots grinding on the packed ground, the dull thud of bodies shifting weight and testing balance like the living metronome of the barracks. Noah folded his arms loosely across his chest and watched, patient.
When the Sword had thrown his last assault of earth, the Sentinel stepped foward. “Safrin set the terms for part of my quest. I need to complete a spar without using any weapons, abilities, or shifts.” His brows lifted slightly, acknowledging the challenge in the constraints even as he said it aloud. “Buuuuut," he added, meeting Deimos’s gaze steadily, unable to hide the mischief in his glacier eyes, “you can use yours.” Would he get pummeled? Probably.
Giving a nod to the soldier, he watched them disperse, at a rather swift speed, towards the rest of the warriors, seemingly grateful to be out of Deimos’ current breadth. Though he snorted and arched a brow in the younger citizen’s direction, his attention parsed back to Noah, making a mental note of other things to be working on.
The Sentinel appeared to have a different onslaught of his own to carry out – though not an enviable approach, perhaps, given Safrin’s terms. His head tilted, the vague grin beginning to form in the corner of his mouth as the conditions were set – and none for himself. Exactly a tip in the scales that while he might not have asked for, did lead to more inspiration and amusement on his part. “That is fine,” he smiled, beginning to back away, giving Noah and himself adequate space either to plan, concoct, or devise; the Warden had necessities of his own he intended to practice.
So within a matter of moments, he’d unfurled a combination of incantations. Air first, producing a whirlwind of movement and motion, before Earth, as debris, rock, and stones were collected and added to the miniature cyclone around him. “Go for it.”
--
Deimos produces a cyclone-esque shield of Mastered Air and Earth.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
As distance grew between them, Noah's glacier eyes trackd the swirl of air and earth curling around Deimos like a living barrier. The cyclone spun in a tight, controlled circle. Noah’s hands hung loose at his sides; no shifts, no magic, no weapon, just bone, muscle, and instinct. He let his weight settle low.
Then he moved. A quick step forward, and a low sweep aimed at Deimos’ right ankle. He kept his upper body tucked, arms close to avoid giving anything extra for the cyclone to redirect. The wind howled as it bent around him, trying to meet him. The sweep carried through with the momentum of his leg driving into the ground first, the motion fluid, practiced. He didn’t try to overpower the cyclone.
Much like he’d done with younger recruits when they intended to charge or make daring endeavors, the Sword went for the simpler options of evasions. Snorting, Deimos stepped aside to avoid the swing of feet, surprised by Noah’s timing – capable of alternating around portions of earth, rock, and stone circulating around them.
As the cyclone moved with him, he opted not to make it any easier; instead, he snagged at additional elements, plucking at the pulsing beat and heat of fire. Adding the dimensions meant embers and flames curled and coiled within, snagging at the formation of rock until they burned or pressed around the air, twirling and whirling around him on unpredictable fronts, rather than allow or permit them to be calculated endeavors.
If Safrin intended for Noah to be challenged, Deimos was all the more willing to conspire along with her.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Noah’s sweep cut through empty space as Deimos stepped cleanly aside. The cyclone shifted with him, the air and earth following like a loyal hound, and Noah’s boot carved a shallow line through the packed snow before he pulled it back beneath him.
He rose smoothly from the low motion, glacier eyes already adjusting to the fire that came. Noah watched the moment Deimos drew it in—embers threading through the cyclone, flames licking through the spinning stone and air until the whole shield became something hotter, sharper, more unpredictable. The wind carried sparks now, snapping and twisting in sudden arcs. Noah smirked.
The Sentinel shifted his stance, circling instead of charging straight in again. He moved again—this time quicker. Instead of sweeping low, Noah closed the distance in two long strides before dropping his center of gravity abruptly. One hand shot out toward the ground for balance as he pivoted hard on his lead foot, his other shoulder driving forward. The motion turned into a tight hook of his leg, aiming to catch the back of Deimos’ knee while the Sword’s attention remained on the upper approach.
Noah committed fully to the strike, ready to roll away the moment the fire-laced winds snapped back at him, or be burned if he wasn't fast enough.
Unbothered by Noah’s smirk, Deimos rendered his own faculties and capabilities. Ever sharp and shrewd in his endeavors, his eyes narrowed, watchful, as the Sentinel attempted feats of movements and motions. The Sword had seen many, many trials and tribulations throughout his lifetimes of wars and battles, skirmishes and crusades, and so, snorted inwardly as Noah offered a feint, then jammed the earthen portions against any incoming assault; a shield of rock and rubble as the Attuned tried to close in. He could feel the strike bound off with little more than a vibration – but it’d been a daring, bold maneuver to try and cut through magic that would snag at ripple effects.
From there, the Warden tilted his head, amused, before funneling the wind and fire outward, striving to push, to force, to entice Noah away from him entirely – well within range and risk of being snagged into the incantations.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Wind and fire surged outward in a sudden, violent swell. Noah barely had time to brace before it hit him. The force slammed into his chest and shoulder, heat biting sharp against him as embers scattered. His boots dragged hard through the snow, carving deep grooves as he was driven back several paces, balance nearly torn out from under him. A sharp breath tore from his lungs, more from the impact than the heat.
Noah dug in, one foot sliding back until it caught, his body twisting with the force instead of fighting it head-on. The motion carried him sideways rather than straight back, lessening the brunt of it. By the time the surge began to dissipate, he was already resetting—rolling his shoulders, shaking out the sting where magic had struck.
Tenacity burned hotter than the embers clinging briefly to him. Breathing heavily now, Noah cut in at an angle this time instead of charging straight forward, using the last of the outward push to fuel his momentum. He snapped forward into a driving shoulder aimed for Deimos’ midsection. He was fast, direct, and committed, testing whether he could break through the edge of the storm before it closed again.
The touch of magic seemed to leave Noah unbothered and unperturbed; an inkling that made Deimos wonder if he was a glutton for punishment, or simply devoted to his current cause. Semblances pointed to both - and though the Sword certainly didn’t put all his raw power into the motions, it still left him pondering just how far too push sometimes.
Especially as the Sentinel went forward to try again. Taking a long breath, Deimos snagged at his incantations once more, and they eagerly stoked and wove around him; all three elements clashing and combining together in a glorious compound of elements and fortitude. More than an edge and a fringe, but a miniature maelstrom, meeting Noah’s intended impact with a strong, enduring shield rising and prospering around his form. Like a blaze and swell of glory, tempestuous boundaries would seek him out should he dare and try again; embers shooting outward in warning. Or perhaps over his boots.
03-18-2026, 06:43 AM (This post was last modified: 03-18-2026, 06:43 AM by Noah.)
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
The hunter's keen senses picked up on the shift in Deimos’ magic before he ever made contact, the way the air tightened and the earth reinforced beneath it, the fire threading through both until the Warden stood at the center of something far more dangerous than before. Noah drove forward anyway, committing fully to the strike. His shoulder met the maelstrom. The collision was immediate and unforgiving. Wind slammed into him first, knocking the breath from his lungs, while the reinforced earth behind it struck like a solid wall. The fire followed a heartbeat later, curling and snapping along the exposed edges of his skin—his neck, his hands—leaving sharp, stinging burns in its wake.
The force lifted him clean off his feet and sent him crashing back onto the hard packed training ground. The impact jarred through his body, rough and disorienting, his breath gone again as he hit hard. Heat and cold collided across his skin as embers hissed out against the frost. But Noah had never stayed down easily. He rolled onto his side and forced himself up, dragging in a harsh breath as he pushed to one knee and then to his feet. The burns bit at him, raw and insistent, but he ignored them, shoulders squaring as his gaze locked back onto Deimos, lifting his hand up to yeild.
Noah had come into it knowing he had no chance of winning. That wasn't what it was about. Noah had no pride to sting, no standing to have fallen from. He wasn't here to prove anything except to Safrin. Standing with a groan, the Sentinel crossed back over to Deimos. Once the warden released his hold on his magic, Noah would reach out to shake his hand in a simple, thankful gesture. "A unicorn shift is what I am working towards, with healing magic." He tilted his head slightly to indicate where Deimos' magic had burned him. It wasn't harsh, or too severe, but there was a sting nontheless.
The Sword expected, perhaps foolishly, for Noah to simply cease and desist, to press just enough more indulgent contortions for the other man to yield. Instead, he rushed forwards, and Deimos had an instant to shake his head, as he often did with recruits when they got into newfound ideas that often sent them back into orbit moments later. Wind, earth, and fire made for a particular maelstrom, each element striking true and assembling along the Attuned in rapt display. Where he’d only intended minor burns on boots and a hint of more, Noah seemed to take the brunt of it; crashing into the ground, hissing embers.
He sighed, the magic dimming immediately as he stalked over, though Noah was upright again before he could lend a hand. The concession was imminent thereafter, and he shook his head once more as handshakes completed the unfortunate transaction of pain and training. “Probably a wise choice,” he granted with a light grin, before summoning over Zuriel from the corners, unicorn to eventual unicorn, intending to banish away those barbs and stings.
