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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!
He awakened in one gasping breath; a shudder he tried to keep hidden and away from Evie. It took a few moments to orient himself – the pitch blackness of LongNight through draped curtains, the rise and fall of the Evergreen’s frame as she maintained the lull, the quiet from the nursery as Belial guarded and Erebos slept. A gentle lull of birds outside, despite whatever hour it happened to be, indifferent to the harsher endpoints of the season. No ominous figures. No scandalous depictions. No crystals and shards and Stygian lilac combinations blistering behind his eyes.
But what he’d seen had been too real, and having been immersed well into dreams before, he couldn’t take the risk of shrugging it all away.
Rather than awaken his counterpart, as he had in a blind, and guilted, panic before, he tried to quietly turn towards the end table, find the charcoal and paper left alongside. Often it was for ideas or rough sketches, outlines before he faded into slumber; presently it was damned to be a distinct depiction of what he’d just seen.
Maybe it was nothing, but he couldn’t get past the shaking feeling that something was off – a warning, a fragment, a display, of what lingered along and below the surface of that damned island.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
Erebos is a blessedly easy baby, but he's a baby nonetheless, and though Evie isn't as light of a sleeper as Deimos she doesn't normally sleep hard enough to miss something like her husband waking so harshly - until she's exhausted by chubby-legged, gummy-toothed toddler tyrants.
It's not until Deimos shifts in bed and reaches for his bedside book that her brain starts to come back online. Shifting slightly, brow scrunching, Evie rolls onto her back and settles briefly only when her shoulder connects with some part of Deimos in reassurance of his presence in the bed. As her eyes blink blearily open, the first thing she sees is she book in his lap. A soft noise of curiosity and the small beginnings of concern builds in her throat. "Mornin'," she rasps, unwilling to sit up just yet. "Everything okay?" A gripping idea, a normal nightmare, or something more?
The sketches took shape in quick swoops and lines, not wanting to lose the notions to fading pinnacles or apprehension, quietly brazen across the pages. Despite his silent intentions, Evie was woken up, and the parallels of remorse flickered over his features again as she brushed alongside him. “Morning. Sorry,” followed suit, and he breathed, long and deep within his chest, striving to explain. She’d been there immediately after Safrin’s return to Caido; and the distinct throes of nightmares that still plagued him from time to time, but this one seemed different – more than a warning, an omen, or a regret of the past. “A dream,” he started, immediately showing her the depiction already created upon the parchment – crystals encasing human shapes and statures.
“I think I saw Starfall,” but having never been upon the land, he could only regard it in such wakes and falls and follies of someone who’d seen far too much. “Figures in these,” pointing to the crystals, features resigned to uncertainty. “And others, like Flora, Luka, Fox, Sunjata were all there…” the list could’ve continued, but that wasn’t half the point. “And then something else,” his brow furrowed, waiting for her reaction out of slumber and intrigue.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
His apology is met with a sleepy grunt, consciousness hastening at the implications. Deimos’ apologies are a barometer for Evie, a system she has learned over the years to clue her in on his state of mind. It would be comical if it didn’t make her heart hurt.
So as he’s turning the sketch to her she is already struggling up onto her elbows amidst a tangle of sheets and limbs with the renewed vigor that comes with trepidation. Quickly thumbing away the grit in her eyes she looks down at the rendering of his dream and can’t help the click in her throat as she tries to gasp and swallow at the same time. Gods, can they never catch a break? Can he specifically? Evie swallows down the directionless fire that rages, wanting to demand her husband’s freedom from these encounters but knowing her voice holds less than no sway to the gods and their fate-spinners anyway.
“So like…a caravan? A way to transport more of them to Caido on the rock?” Her wording falls short given she’s not exactly educated on space travel or any other magical or celestial versions of it. Troy’s wooden horse - so why aren’t they emerging? “Go on.” Evie will never be ready for this conversation but she’s as awake and alert as could be expected, and she doesn’t want to waste precious time on something so luxurious as her own comfort.
Rarely giving a thought to himself and the multitude of travesties endured, his apology still remained on the half smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. Grateful that she was willing to listen, and perhaps extend ideas and possibilities, he forged onward, brows furrowed and pinched again. “I am not certain. I wondered if it was something like an…” he waved his hand around, trying to summon the words. “Incubation?” For forms to be ready? If it was for transportation purposes, and assailment into the lands around Caido, then they were facing a much larger threat than previously realized. He swallowed down a semblance of trepidation, and began sketching again, clinging to the memories that had curled and contorted around his slumber.
Snagging the parchment back only to continue sketching on the bottom of the paper, he attempted to sketch the other form he’d seen specifically. A ball of condensed matter, seemingly growing, and he could scarcely impart the absolute apprehension barreling through him as the outline became clearer. When he was finished, he showed her again, features pressing into a frown. “And this, further down. Something like Vi, Mort, and Rae.”
07-01-2024, 10:38 AM (This post was last modified: 07-01-2024, 10:39 AM by Evie.)
Evie
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
It’s a word that makes her skin crawl with revulsion, vague ideas of assimilation and experimentation - not unlike her closest comparison of the Ascended - making her stomach churn. “Maybe they need time to be able to thrive here? Or can only walk around so often, like Mer and the full moons?” She feels hilariously underequipped to even muse over possibilities. And what would it matter? They can’t storm Starfall in an attempted preemptive strike. They’re stuck waiting and experimenting while more of the Family sit and slumber.
But the last idea is something she can grasp far too well. Abandoned had whispered about the Voice for years, debating the truth of her Abandoned origins and the curse she wrought. New gods - self made gods - they are a familiar idea to Evie. “It would explain why Safrin couldn’t beat them. The Family could be like heralds - or she fought that, and it would be the same as her trying to fight Vi or Rae.” But how did it come here? How many other pantheons exist? It’s like trying to understand multiverse theory when literacy was a privilege in the barrier - it’s practically impossible, and makes her head hurt immediately. “There’s nothing widely known that implies that more heralds can’t be created at will. It would explain why the Family are so strong. But then where did they come from?” Evie shakes her head, biting her lip into a pale shade. “It’s just more guesswork. It could be a different transmission even, meant to trick us. Nothing has really changed.” Not unless Safrin can - or will - tell them more, but surely someone has already asked her?
His eyes glanced down at the paper and he sighed thereafter, nose wrinkling at the thought; as trepidation combined with musing elements. “Perhaps. But then that means we only have so long.” Until what – they rose? They grew? They became ever more powerful and potent? He wouldn’t be surprised if any of them crave to run afoul upon the island after this – simply to try and stage a blow. The only valuable insight they had now was incantations useful against the Family and void; but not everyone had such elements at their disposal.
Self-made gods weren’t a foreign concept to him either, but only through the Voice and Kiada’s stories of Kisamoa. “Or if they came from elsewhere…they may have had gods of their own.” Deities had been present in Helovia, in Isilme, in the Rift…the notions themselves didn’t faze him. It was that it was assimilating and rendering itself into a more daring and dangerous situation. And why Safrin herself couldn’t beat them – it would need to be a massive effort of more than one herald.
At Evie’s culmination of the regards though, he nodded. “Just more information. I still am not certain what we could do with it.” Other than launch their own siege. Loosening another breath from his chest, and already damning the morning’s proceedings, he placed the parchment aside. “I can send letters to those who were also in the dream and see if they had it too.” And then they’d be back in the same situations – funneling through mail and trying to make sense of the occurrences.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
Evie is similarly at a loss, and her applications for tactics are far more political than her husband’s military adaptations. “Theories are still useful to share, though I don’t think we’re having groundbreaking insight either.” Evie can’t confidently say that everyone in the fight against the Family is competent, but the majority can likely make the same inferences based on the information they have.
“It’s a start. From there all we can do is continue to collect information, and follow what the heralds advise.” Evie has never and will never pry into Deimos’ relationship with Safrin or any meetings they have, but she prays that someone in Caido’s pantheon has firm opinions to guide them even if they don’t have answers for their faithful. Gently touching her fingertips to the top of the book, Evie’s eyes turn away from the charcoal strokes to look into Deimos’ eyes instead. “Same as before the war, though, we can’t exhaust ourselves running in circles. Send the letters, and then we plan something else for the day.” It’s all they can do anymore.
The groundbreaking motions themselves had been any insight into Starfall at all, and perhaps a sharing of the growing unease surrounding everything. With nothing more to go on, and plans of uncertainty brewing within his mind, he’d have to concede to Evie’s discretion. “Letters, noticeboard, and when I am done with my quest, I will ask Safrin about it as well.” Perhaps that was more of a concession of schemes and action than he could come up with thereafter; so he nodded, already beginning to rise from bed – dawn (or what it could entail during LongNight) meant more work to be done, and slumber had long since lost its potency after that dream.
“Thank you,” he added, eyes segmenting into her gaze too – for listening, for not panicking, for adhering to their routine and structure of being coherent, understanding, and striving not to unravel when the tough implications came to burden. “Breakfast? And then we can see what to make of the rest of the day.” There were still other layers to consider, and perhaps it was the Evergreen’s influence alone to permit him to do anything more than brood over the current subject matter.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
It’s a concise list, one that she can confidently agree to, and her head is already nodding without conscious command. It always feels difficult to smile after news like this - and the Evergreen hates that it has happened enough times to create a pattern - but his gratitude has her lips curling faintly.
“Of course. It’s what I’m good at - keeping Ignatius menfolk on the straight and narrow.” A cheeky wink and a kiss to his cheek motivates her enough to swing her legs out of the bed to search for her slippers blindly. Amhran doesn’t carry their name, but she’s counting all three of them in her mental tally of cats requiring herding. Or in Deimos’ case, a reminder not to be consumed by brooding. Warranted it may be, if it’s an endless circle then someone has to be the one to break it.
“That sounds like a far more actionable plan. I have a gift for you - from Erebos and I, actually.” She smiles over her shoulder as she stands, hoping it will entice him. It’s actually mildly incomplete, and her eyes widen as she holds out a hand as if to ward him away. “I have to uhhh do something with it though. So how about I make breakfast and you join us when you’re done with the letters?” She should have enough time to wake Erebos, finish the gift, and start preparing food…easy. Definitely!
A brief and abrupt snort followed through on her statement, but he had no objection or argument for it – a truth, when they got to the heart of the matter. His eyes narrowed playfully, boyishly, a return to sentiments known and valued well beyond brooding – even if he was far more practiced at the latter. It was easy to be consumed by contemplation, despondency, and ruminations of the world churning on around them, but he didn’t want to lose out on far more important moments and opportunities. The Evergreen had always been a steadying hand when it came to the flooding motions reaching for him, and he’d grasp hold of her along the shores rather than drown in the incessant misery.
Teasingly nudging her along with his elbow, he snagged at the book and started to make his way through towards the study, brow arching at her intentions. “A gift?” Here he could’ve waxed poetical on having them in his life bestowal and offering enough, but instead he tilted his head, making a vague impish and mischievous gesture. “We can trade then.” Wrinkling his nose and giving nothing else to imply what he could potentially mean, he meandered through the hall, granting her the time and space necessary.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
Evie can’t withhold the small, eager gasp at the proposal of a trade. She is inherently predisposed to some manner of materialism after a lifetime in the barrier yes, but Deimos’ gifts are always impossibly personal no matter the size. She’s spoiled, frankly, and ecstatic to be. She will simply ignore the fact that the gift she has for him will pale in comparison.
Nudged onward, Evie presses a fleeting kiss to his departing shoulder before heading to the nursery to coax Erebos into wakefulness. It’s easy as pie to feed him, and with the sling it’s even easier to keep her own hands free at the same time as she hustles downstairs to where she’d stashed the gift. It’s macaroni art to put it nicely, and Erebos is not old enough for anything to be particularly distinguishable, but it’s a fair degree better than the crayon scribbles they have so far. Even if Evie had largely orchestrated the final product by keeping the glue from covering one of said crayon scribbles which had served as the outline for…whatever it was Erebos had been envisioning.
As the skillet heats and she begins cracking eggs into a bowl to whisk, Evie adjusts a few of the pieces that had not fully glued themselves down and scrapes off a few globs of glue that had been overlooked against the white paper. Laughing to herself, she uses a touch of magic to help it dry fast enough to make it all seem planned, and then covers it with an empty folder from the office to conceal it in some poor mockery of wrapping.
As the eggs go into the skillet for a large batch of scramble, Evie calls up the stairs, “Ready when you are!”
He would much rather tend to Erebos or cook breakfast, but letters were not meetings, and therefore could be rightfully tamed without too much issue. But he spent some amount of time writing out certain lines and then scratching them out; the proof of gestures and dreams still difficult to describe and snag in certainty. There were no accurate citations for what he’d seen and visualized, other than the semblance of experience, and perhaps those who’d also been within had been active participants, and would be able to see –
His head rose from the parchment snagged across the page at Evie’s call, and he snagged at those deemed useless or irrelevant, and saved the worthwhile lines for later messages. Instead of immediately heeding towards breakfast, though the aroma was already defying his sedition, he snagged at his bag of holding, and then meandered back through studies and halls, towards the kitchen. “Always ready,” he murmured into her ear, sneaking around slings to check upon Erebos and grab hold of plates in singular movements. His careful and scrutinizing eye caught the folder on the table, with something inside, but could withhold himself momentarily for food.
normality is a paved road comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
He’s eternally light footed, and it’s only Micah emerging from the living room and making a small noise of greeting that spares her being startled (he’d likely been napping by the coals of the fire again). Throwing an appreciative wink toward her bonded before sneaking a kiss to Deimos’ jaw as he pulls away, Evie fluffs up the eggs with one arm so the other won’t jostle Erebos. She’s always been a runner but her biceps are getting pretty impressive as a mom if she says so herself.
Starting the bacon midway through the eggs cooking - timing both so that neither goes cold by plating time is harder than riding a landshark - Evie can only spare a quick grin over her shoulder as she gestures one freckled elbow toward the gift on the table. “Go ahead, we’re watching.” Well - after a quick tilt Erebos is questionably included. His eyes are certainly open and aware, but Evie can’t promise much more.
