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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!
now i am the violence, i am the sickness won't accept your silence
“Gods no, darling.” The butcher purrs with amusement, tail flicking behind him as he lets his gaze waiver a bit lower and playful. “I love it when they think they have a chance with him. It is part of the fun showing them that they do not.” Bouncing a dark brow with the cheshire grin that spreads across his face, the butcher lets the warm and soft chuckle escape him as they continue to walk.
She laughs at his idea of a code word, the confusion flaring momentarily in the butcher’s face as he hears her answer and barks a laugh of his own. “Oh, no. I meant if we meet up after and he is not wearing his ring.” Asta mumbles before the dawning realization hits him that perhaps he might have gone too far into thinking of the specifics and not just the easiest thing he could do: “I imagine it will be spontaneous. I’ll send you a letter, how does that sound? You’ll certainly be in the top of those who know, darling.” He reassures her, nudging her as he steps past her to take the lead and redirect their trail to follow the speaking squirrel that continues to dive on through, leading them off to somewhere.
She's not bothering to be quiet anymore, letting his dangerous smile pull more laughter from her. All pretenses of 'ignorance' are abandoned in favor of the pleasure it brings her to think of the chaos that follows these men, her smile sharp and predatory. "I should have known. Do they get to keep all their limbs if they do?" Particularly, which ones remain?
Tilting her head, she appreciates the clarification, however, if Danta isn't wearing a ring, Thal will assume Asta just hasn't asked him yet and keep her mouth shut. But a letter. She grins, sure she'll be paying much closer attention to her mail in the near future. "That'll work. I'll try not to come running." There's a bit of playful sarcasm, but it's no lie that she'll expedite their next meeting just to congratulate them.
Her mouth opens to add a jibe about a growing line of revelers when the speaking squirrels darts past again, their squeaking words breaking the moment. "Yes! Yes!" Pure instinct has her wrist snapping, the dagger glinting through the air to imbed in the rodent, pinning it to the trunk of a tree. It twitches for a few seconds, its friend squealing and twisting around to escape the same fate as its friend.
now i am the violence, i am the sickness won't accept your silence
“Mm, sometimes.” He smirks, snorting a little as he shoots Thalassa a wink. It’s just before he’s clarifying the plan, the letter that he’d send after so she wouldn’t be left out of the happiness he’s sure will happen when he asks – unable to imagine a scenario where he says no, after all. And as she offers her sarcasm, the butcher huffs a softer laugh. “Perfect.” Perhaps having a dinner at some point with the both of them might be in order after so Thal can offer her congratulations.
But that’s a thought for later – because right now, the butcher’s focus is on the speaking squirrels that certainly will work for the plan in his mind. Once their focus shifts to them, the prey becomes nothing more than a game to the two of them. Thal’s dagger flicks out, pinning the rodent into the tree trunk while Asta opts for a different approach.
The knife he’d been toying with previously slices against the outside of his wrist, his bloodbane aimed at the departing squirrel just in time for it to collapse and crash into the underbrush. It’s less messy than Thal’s dagger, but both will have served their purpose. Stepping over to collect the lifeless body of the speaking squirrel that Asta had focused on, he spots a nearby fallen log that would make for a perfect little bench to dissect the beast to collect the portions he wants. “I only need the bones, so if you would like the flesh, be my guest, darling.”
Her kill is clean, but Asta's is more clinical, a single slice to his arm cutting the life thread of the squirrel with a surgical precision. It drops motionless to the ground, not even a twitch indicating life had once inhabited the body. She throws him a grin and an approving nod before stepping forward to help retrieve their prey.
Fingers wrap around the fuzzy tail and hilt of her dagger, pulling it free for the squirrel to dangle limp in her grasp. When she turns to Asta, it's with a bright flash of her fangs. "Good. I was going to eat it anyways." Flicking her tail with a quiet satisfaction that screams loudly in her posture, she follows him to the tree, picking a patch of sunlight streaming through the canopy. She soaks in the sunlight as she props comfortably on the bark, tearing a leg off with a wet squelch.
Pointing the limb at the Butcher, she smiles and basks in the moment. "I'm excited for you, Asta. You deserve to be happy." The words are light, devoid of any stress or darkness from the prior months, fueled by the opportunity to be excited about the future. Thal wraps her fangs around the meat, tugging it off from the tiny bone to leave it exposed, ready to make a pile for his bouquet, doing what she can to share in some of his joy.
now i am the violence, i am the sickness won't accept your silence
“Perfect.” The butcher hums with content, pleased at the result that they both get to benefit from the speaking squirrels. The hunt does bring satisfaction, and with it the butcher’s palm covering the slice he’d caused with the bloodbane until he’s fairly certain it’s clotted enough to remove his hand and snag a handkerchief to tie around it. It takes caution for him to tie it with his teeth, without shredding it from the sharpness of said teeth, but he manages it well enough as he steps over to the log to collect the squirrel.
He sits beside her, meticulously slicing the meat off of the bones and collects the pale parts in a small little pile – sharing the meat with her in a playful little trade the both of them start – Squirrel meat for squirrel bones, back and forth. “I am also excited.” He offers her, shooting her a sheepish smile – one beneath the typical exterior of overconfidence that the butcher often exudes. “Inever thought it would ever be a possibility.” Comes the other admission – the tone soft as they continue to work.
It’s idle conversation the rest of the time, about the excitement and the hopes that he says yes and the hope that he’ll manage to find a time soon to ask. And, as the gentleman he is, he walks her back toward her home with the bag of bones hung from his belt and thanks her for her company, departing after a shared drink of celebration and a promise he’d send a letter as soon as he could.
