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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!
It should’ve been a routine stop along Torchline – run some errands, go home. Perhaps Deimos had taken for granted all those times they’d gone to shrines together – from when the baby was simply strapped to his back, harnessed along, either asleep or restless. Moment after moment, placing down offerings for the Old Gods, or embedding multitudes for Safrin. For every ounce of his fortitude, calculations, and preparations, he’d hadn’t once considered the toddler rambling about his legs, hastening back and forth, to have any ulterior motives.
But Erebos seemed to be of his own mind, and within an instant, had grown, altered, and changed.
It had taken multitudes of control to not panic; for his nerves to steel over the consternations, to brush aside the familiar rushes of trepidation and apprehension angling down the notches of his spine, threatening to wind in his pulse. He took a breath and forged himself, glancing down, then crouching, so he was face to face with his son. And before anything else could unfurl, he tilted his head, careful, diligent, the ignorance binding him, hands coming up to cradle the youth’s face between his palms, an inspection, a validation. “Are you alright?”
His laughter was warm, bright, as the youth glanced down upon himself. Much longer limbs, a rush to the mind as many things and awareness sprawled before him – an akin to wonder embellishing across his cheeks and eyes widening at the very expanse of the facets around them. Maybe he just hadn’t paid attention long enough to warrant the sprawl; or his world hadn’t been so large or noticeable before, no matter how many times he’d traversed with his parents. Right and bright, as if this was always meant to be. He wouldn’t know, but maybe one day he could, and that natural curiosity surged through him –
Only to look at his father, bent before him. Erebos searched his dad’s face, sometimes wholly inscrutable and stoic, smiling when the calloused palms kept him still, held him steady. “I’m okay!” A phrase often heard when tumbling about and falling to the ground on uneven, wobbling configurations; now he wouldn’t even need to worry about that – balanced, ready, eager.
But he couldn’t hide his emotions like the Sword; and the grin dimmed a little, gaze studying, struggling to decipher; like an echo or a reflection. “Are you mad?”
The relief was tangible, billowing through him on a soft sigh and a hidden exhalation of breath. The question made him shake his head though, rumbling through the components of his emotions, trying to find the words and the right meaning. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed. Bewildered was probably the definition he sought, confused, rattled; striving to seek a stronghold for what Erebos’ sudden aging had seared within him. They’d had two years of baby coddling, growth as people, as parents, and he thought he had enough time to prepare himself for the eventuality that their son would simply keep growing, changing, altering. That he’d have more hours, more seasons, more weeks to shield him from the world. He’d raised Kiada until his death, but that experience hadn’t been like this. Nor had Amhran, who’d arrived fully grown, capable of most foundational skills, but new just the same.
And now here he was; long-limbed, gangly like a weed. Maybe the secret of parenting was that they’d never be truly ready, but willing to strive and try regardless, making mishaps and mistakes along the way. Hoping, perhaps, that they’d eventually be forgiven. “No. Of course not.” He shook his head, purposefully squeezing Erebos’ cheeks to relieve the tension. His features broke away from the intangible lines, granting half a smile, indulgent and juvenile, a matching set like his son’s. “Just needed to make sure you were okay.” Staying there, but dropping his hands away from Erebos’ face, only now to ruffle his hair. “Did you want to be older?” Likely difficult to decipher, having only been two – but he couldn’t quite help the need for logic, for pragmatism, even in the face of such a sudden change.
The softened expanse of his father’s gaze, the way his features changed, eased the sudden tension in the boy’s heart. Despite all the mischief of his toddler years, he still wanted to please his parents – to ensure he wasn’t a disappointment, that he was doing things right. It wasn’t in his mind to be rebellious, not at this tender age (yet, anyway), so the answer billowed away the blow of what he’d been quietly binding towards his pulse. Even his response was easy, even-tempered. “Yeah! So I could go on adventures with all of you!” How many times had he heard their wondrous stories? How many hours had he spent upon his father’s shifts as they traveled, or caught the finality of tales?
A proud beam embarked its way to his smile; very much his mother’s nature to let it unravel with ease. He put out a foot, started walking, sturdily, around Deimos, movements quick and sudden, warm but in avid exclamation and motion. “Then we can hunt stuff, and I can use a sword and shield, and magic!”
The Sword’s eyes widened, briefly, before he loosened a snort; something in his chest lurching beyond all that, at the thought that Erebos had simply wanted to continue venturing with them. While Deimos had worried about all the dangers, the exploits, the trials, the tribulations, the Family, protection, guarding, and shielding, innocence and ignorance had knotted its way into the boy and made him crave. Not unlike any youth, he supposed, to desire the edges of adulthood without knowing what truly laid out there. He choked back the sigh, stood upright once more, watching as the youth wound around him. Hadn’t he been the same, in his childhood? Desperate to be like his father, and the other soldiers, the warriors, making an impact?
Not that he’d rebuke Erebos learning how to handle a wooden, training blade, nor practice incantations (if that ran through his blood; given who he and Evie were, there was little doubt of such capabilities in the hybrid’s mind). “True. You can help us hunt ningo,” he joked and winked, stuffing down the mere thought of the lad venturing out on his own when the time came, launching headlong into danger. It wasn’t for the boy’s ears anyway – not yet. He and Evie would likely have some portions to work out on parameters for the sudden changes. “But first we need to tell your mother about all of this.”
At the suggestion, he scoffed, rolling his eyes at the response, half-tempted to make a retching noise; settling for wrinkling his nose in avid distaste. “Ugh, c’mon, I can do better than ningo!” Which probably wasn’t fair to say – it was likely exactly what he could conquer at this age and stage. But he had pursuits of glory and feats of strength to tackle and snag; the fat white birds of Halo weren’t going to be the exact stepping-stone a young boy craved. Kicking a stone out of his path, he glanced up, eyes focused initially on the sky, the sweeping clouds, then his father.
The mention of Evie made him grin though, no longer worried or concerned, figuring if he could pass Deimos’ pending lectures and apprehensions, his mother would be easier, a bit more willing to run on the edges of risk and reward. “She’ll understand,” mustered and said with all the confidence a sudden seven-year-old could unfurl, any regrets long since bound for some other continent. “Then I could help her and Amham with the plants too! And read! And maybe even help Kiada with stuff!” And more than likely to test the limitations of the Ignatius household’s collective patience with any number of things. Reaching upwards, he went to grab Deimos’ hand, much as he’d done many times before. Not so different. “They’d like that, right?”
Given that the Sword had seen full-grown adults have mild to moderate issues with ningo, he snorted, not granting muster towards the scoff. “I always make my fellow hunters prove themselves,” at which he smiled again, emotions still trying to parse through the heavier fortifications he’d built almost immediately. Maybe everything would be fine; and all those heady concerns would be unfounded pieces and particles. Or perhaps not, and this was simply another beginning to his endless and increased trepidations. Nothing ever really ceased.
But he clasped his hand firmly and gently around the youth’s the moment it was offered, beginning to walk the way they’d come, pondering over skyships and shifts. “I think they would love it,” came on a rumble, a declaration, a confident promise to press back into the world. “We can head back and show them.” And everything else that came with the unforeseen alterations.
