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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
Noah tightened the leather straps on his boots, methodical fingers tugging them into place with the same patience he gave to setting traps in the field. The barracks were quiet this early—just the creak of wood, the whisper of cloth against steel. Frost hung in shafts of dawn light, white-gold and indifferent. He exhaled through his nose, slow, steady, and rolled his shoulders to loosen the knots that always settled before a fight.
Across the room, practice blades rested on the rack, dulled at the edge but still heavy with intent. Dummies that Deimos and others crafted for target practice scattered around the barracks training field. Noah watched as some soldiers came in for their morning sessions, moving dummies and grabbing weapons or stretching magic from their fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. He chose not to grab ay any weapons, leaving his own behind as well, and let his magic settle into the depth of his soul. He wanted to trading hand-to-hand today.
Then he stepped onto the mat, ready to begin, waiting for an opponent.
Despite his connection with Deimos, Zavien hadn't been inside the Shields' training grounds before. As he stepped inside, his eyes took in the similarities to the Dragoons' own facilities. They weren't much different, men of all skills and abilities sparring and learning from each other. There were certainly more magic users amongst them - and fewer dragons - but they still trained with the same weapons and targets, things all soldiers should know how to use. However, the Dragoon didn't approach any of them, knowing that his quest required something different of him.
Sol flew to the top of the wall to keep watch, his glittering gold scales catching the sunlight and more than a few eyes while Zavien searched for someone who might be willing to work with him. Quite a few others were paired off or training in groups, but a single man stood in the middle of a mat, stoic and unmovable. In many ways, he reminded him of Deimos, a seasoned soldier with a weathered look that suggested few would stand a chance against him. Perhaps that's why Zavien approached him, always eager to challenge himself and learn from those more experienced than he.
"I hope you don't mind if I join you." He shifted to the edge of the mat, removing his sword from his waist as he rolled up his sleeves. His smile was warm and friendly like a comrade in arms, reaching out a hand in greeting. "I'm Zavien. I'm just visiting, but was hoping to get some sparring in, specifically focused on trying to keep some distance. Would that be something you're interested in?"
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
”Not at all. A partner sounds nice.” Noah offered a small smile, but his eyebrow lifted with it. ”It sounds like that is a quest task. Who is it for?” Noah asked, hoping the man didn’t shy away from the the forwardness of the question. He couldn’t help it at this point. He was incredibly interested in any workings going on about quests and deities, but after meeting Sohalia by chance he wanted to know if anyone was doing quests for Vi — for it brought him a great deal of pride.
”Noah Olson.” Noah said, extending his hand to greet the man. Then he took a single step back. ”If you have to focus on keeping distance, that’ll be a good time for me to practice on a moving target. I was thinking no weapons, no magic, if that worked for you…?” He let his question trail off at the end and up, his second eyebrow lifting. Without his ring, having sold it a few seasons ago, Noah wasn’t confident this was an accepted before him.
Seeing no reason to hide his quest or the goddess who gave it to him, Zavien nodded his head. "It is. Safrin's helping me add some distance to my attacks." After all, close range didn't seem to be doing much against massive creatures who could skewer or decapitate with a flick of their claws.
The Dragoon perked at the name, recognizing it even if he'd never met the man before. "You're Vi's demigod, right?" His eyes widened with interest, curious to see what kind of person the god would choose. Having recently met Vi, he felt like he had a good idea, but one meeting didn't mean that he knew the deity well enough to make assumptions. Although perhaps there was a degree of hope there too - hope that he might also be someone Vi found worthy of his attentions.
Zavien laughed at the clarification. "Shouldn't be a problem. I've got no magic to speak of." And he'd already set his weapons aside, leaving him unarmed and ready to try avoiding whatever Noah deigned to throw his way.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
”Safrin. Excellent.” Noah’s smile spread wider, a fondness for the herald apparent in the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. At mention of his patron and status, the demigod nodded. ”I am.” And this man before him was accepted, as he let on, and with the attuned bond a dull silence between them, it was solidified. No magic, working for Safrin. This would be good.
Noah exhaled once, slow through his nose. He began, an invisible green flag rising mentally between them. No signal—just motion. He stepped in without warning—not fast—but with purpose, testing the edge of reach. Then, he tried to close the rest of the gap in a breath, hips low, shoulders loose. If he could make contact, he wouldn’t let go. Punch, knee, sweep—he’d chain every movement to keep Zavien on his toes. No distance. No room. Once he was close, he wasn’t leaving. Safrin was pleased with effort, and Noah would give that opportunity. Like a flame catching fabric—once close, spread fast.
Grinning, he nodded in approval of the deity. "I actually met Vi recently." His eyes took on a far-off look, reverent of the memory he now held so close. "He was even more incredible than I'd imagined." Despite all the times he'd dreamed of meeting the God of Life, he hadn't been able to capture the otherworldly presence that had settled over him, intense in its weight, yet uplifting with every word. He smiled at the memory, nodding his head again in recognition of the blessing he'd received. "Please pass on my thanks next time you see him." Zavien might have already said it, but it was important to him that the god knew how much his assistance had meant.
Then they were moving into the spar, and the Dragoon didn't have time to think. He acted on instinct alone, putting distance between them as Noah moved closer. If he could just keep space, he might be able to avoid being snagged. However, his hands raised as a barrier, his hips low as he shuffled in case he failed in maintaining the five feet of mat. Adrenaline was already racing though him, giving him enough energy to avoid the first onslaught despite the close call of a hand near his neck.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Zavien moved—good instincts, sharp and fast. But Noah was already adjusting. His first lunge hadn’t caught flesh, just icy Halovian air, but it narrowed the gap. Slightly. Zavien needed to keep space, and Noah wanted to make him work for it.
He didn’t pause to reassess; he flowed. Forward again, relentless, driving his heel down into the mat to launch a second surge. Zavien’s hands rose, defense coiled tight, but Noah wasn’t aiming wide. He went straight through. A feint with the left—a low twitch of motion to draw Zavien’s guard—then a sharp pivot off his back foot. The real punch came from the right, aimed square for the center line, just beneath Zavien’s raised arm, clean and fast. Not meant to drop him. Meant to force reaction. Meant to keep the pressure on.
Already, Noah was preparing the next strike behind it. One punch wouldn’t be enough. But if he could land the first, the rest would follow like thunder behind lightning.
Noah was fast - much faster than Zavien. His moves were fluid and graceful in ways that told of countless training hours and even more battlefield experience. The Dragoon's own instincts and practiced muscle memory were barely enough to keep from losing ground too quickly, but it didn't last long. He couldn't keep up with a demigod, and he could only push his skill so far before brute speed and strength won out.
Spotting the feint, he didn't flinch, but he stepped back again to add distance anyways. It still wasn't enough when Noah lunged for his real attack. Zavien only had time to shift his arm down, absorbing the punch into his shoulder rather than his ribs. Letting out a low grunt from the impact, he dodged out of range again, trying to put himself at Noah's back to make it harder to get to him.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
The punch landed—solid contact against Zavien’s arm, a thud of knuckles meeting flesh and muscle. A satisfied curve etched into Noah’s lips, the grunt from his opponent punctuating it. Noah felt the shift immediately thereafter, with Zavien trying to slip away, angle behind him—fast and smart.
Noah didn’t wait to turn. He pivoted into the movement, his foot sliding back in an attempt to to cut Zavien’s path. No hesitation. No retreat. He moved swiftly and precisely—not chasing, but intercepting. Shoulders squared as he rotated on his heel, Noah’s left arm came around in a tight hook, sharp and close, aimed for the ribs or flank—whatever opened first.
Noah had to give credit where credit was due, and Zavien deserved some credit. He was impressed that the man didn’t falter in the face of an opponent much stronger and fast than him. It was grit that Noah knew well, and since there were no magical abilities within the stranger, and the attuned bond was silent, Noah cast a net as he turned fully around to track Zavien. ”Learn that move from Anju?”
Noah might call it grit; others called it stupidity. Zavien certainly didn't flinch at danger, but that had landed him in trouble more often than not, evidenced by the mangling of a fleshy scar on his flank. Luckily, that was covered up, and he could continue fighting without the thought of death looming over him.
Despite his best efforts, the demigod kept up with ease, pivoting to face him like he'd never even moved to begin with. Immediately, his goal shifted from 'stay away' to 'keep the damage to a minimum.' He still drew back as far as he could, doing his best to follow Safrin's instructions, but when Noah came inevitably closer, Zavien played the mitigation game, twisting his body to absorb the hits as best his could.
Taking the next punch in the lower arm, he gave another soft grunt before moving again. The question threw him off for a moment, his fast breaths showing how much Noah was working him. "Nope. That one was Tal." The courier was quick on his feet and had taught him plenty during their short spar. However, just to confirm the man's probing suspicion, he added, "Anju's been busy." Being on Dahlia's side, that is.
Zavien tried again to put some distance between them, being extra careful of the mat's edge as he moved.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Noah absorbed the answer with a flicker of interest, though his focus never drifted far from Zavien’s movements. Tal, not Anju. That made sense—quick feet, survival instincts, plenty of scrapes to prove it. But Noah wasn’t here to trade stories. He was here to push.
Zavien moved again, trying for distance—the purpose of his spar, part of his quest. Even without it being a requirement, it was smart. He advanced in two sharp steps, no warning before the next strike—Noah snapped forward with a right jab, not to land clean but to press the guard. If Zavien lifted to block, the demigod would give a shoulder check meant to throw Zavien off-balance. If he didn’t, though, Noah would let him retreat.
He didn’t want to hurt the man. But, again, Safrin appreciated effort. If Zavien wanted to play defense, he’d have to earn every inch.
He shook out his shoulder as he moved, certain there would be bruises forming over the next few days. It didn't bother him. He was used to being littered with various wounds and injuries from spars or thoughtless interventions during dangerous situations. Regardless, his fists packed quite a punch.
Shifting to the side, he barely had time to slip under the incoming jab in a low weave. However, it left him slightly off-balance as Noah came charging forward, his shoulder plowing into his chest. If he'd been stable, it might have caused him to stumble and scramble for distance; but in the midst of his dodge, the check knocked him on his backside. His breath pushed from his lungs in the slap of the mat, a small groan joining the sound, followed by a breathless laugh. "You - win."
Zavien stayed put for a second, blinking up at the sunlight as he slowed the quick pace of his heart. Some might think he'd be disappointed to end up flat on his back, but the Dragoon was just happy he'd lasted as long as he did. That was the point of sparring after all, finding people better than him to test and forge his skills.
We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Zavien hit the mat with a thud, the shoulder check landing just right to take his balance. Noah didn’t gloat, but a satisfied smile pressed his features. He stepped in, hand extended without hesitation. “You held your ground,” he said, helping the man up, “That’s more than most can say.”
Once Zavien was steady, Noah ignited his celestial dome over them—his demigod magic already at work, mending bruised muscle and easing the strain from the fight. ”If you fight like that for Safrin,” he said, voice low but certain, “you’ll do more than fine.” His grit resembled that of others that Safrin took to liking — Hadama, Ronin, and the like. But perhaps, too, it would catch the eye of his own patron.
The glow faded slowly as the magic settled and Noah gave a small nod, eyes meeting Zavien’s with a flicker of respect. “Keep that grit. It’ll carry you further than talent ever can.”
Laughing again, he accepted the hand to help him stand. "More like I ended up on the ground." He might not have faltered too terribly, but it didn't change the fact that he was considerably weaker than the demigod.
That was even more obvious when the magic came into play, the pulse of celestial power wiping any trace of ache or injury from his mind. Zavien glanced at the dome of light, slightly distracted as Noah spoke of 'fighting for Safrin.' Knowing her tendencies, he wasn't sure he wanted to end up on the honor roll for fighting well, but he flashed the man a smile anyways, chuckling. "Thanks. Maybe one day I'll actually make you sweat."
His head came down in a nod, knowing exactly what Noah meant. It was the reason he trained how he fought, and he rarely gave up. Skill was just as important as attitude. It wasn't hard to guess that as Zavien reached out a hand, grinning. "Thanks again for the help. Hopefully, we can do this again some time." Perhaps he'd have better luck, although something told him that wouldn't be the case.
