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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!
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Yes, he really did seem fine. The way he spoke about it made clear he really didn't think his actions any different from chasing down a rabbit or a deer. If anything, that made it worse. The corners of her mouth drooped. Making no move to take his arm, Maea shook her head. "No. I'm not going back." The very thought made her throat feel tight, constricting; carefully she stepped back, forcing her limbs to move her out of reach. It almost worked - then her heel caught on a clump of ice beneath a stoop and she stumbled, tumbling backwards onto the ground.
Strange, how quickly ones perception of someone could change. Barely an hour ago Asta's shadow had seemed the safest place one could possibly be in. But now all she could think of was Danta's threat to have the Butcher drag her off to face judgement, and the suddent doubt whether he had meant what he'd said about eating Ancients.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
“Alright…” Astaroth murmurs, head tilting and brow rising slightly. She stumbles back and falls back down to the cold, snow covered ground, and Astaroth twitches as he steps forward to catch her before realizing she likely doesn’t want his help. “You cannot stay out here.” He informs her, matter of factly, before he works his jaw a little and the smile fades.
Glancing down the street he can see a few people slipping into the Dusklight, and from his distance he wonders if she’s too stubborn to go back or if something had frightened her from returning. “You do not have to worry about him.” Astaroth rumbles, as if that’s what crosses his mind. “I said I would protect you, and I keep my promises.” He adds, extending his hand once again for her to help her up.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
It was a hard drop, but though she'd likely be bruised good in days to come, Maea barely felt the pain. It was too much. The weeks of dread leading up to LongNight, too much work on too little sleep, the assault and now this - she couldn't take it anymore.
"As I recall, you told me you protect the Dusklight, not me. You also said you didn't kill people," she accused him, voice sounding brittle. "I saw you! That - what - it's – "
Breath coming faster, there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes now, or how close she was to a full blown panic attack. Scrabbling to get up again, her feet slipped on the icy surface; it did nothing to help her frazzled state of mind.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
Her snappy tone is met with the raise of a dark brow as his attention returns to her, head tilting and smile fading. “You are working the Dusklight this LongNight, are you not?” He counters her, until her follow up comment has his posture straightening. “I seem to recall mentioning that I didn’t harm people that didn’t deserve it.” Perhaps it’s too casual as he says it, but he continues anyway. “And he definitely deserved it.”
So as far as Astaroth was concerned, there wasn’t any harm.
But she says that she saw him and he snorts out a cloud in the cold, sighing shortly after. “So you chose to follow me, in secret, and are upset at what you found? I am not sure what you expected when you chose to embark on this little trek.” He was the butcher of Whitebrim, a known cannibal, what did she expect?
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Feeling lightheaded, it was a struggle to get back on her feet. Rising while Asta's expression fell, Maea had to brace herself against the wall of the nearest building to keep upright. There was so much wrong about what had happened that she didn't even know when to start. It went beyond the death of a brute who had broken the rules, to matters of nature and ones role in the natural world and back down to nitpicking choice of words... but ultimately she found that none of those big things mattered.
"You tortured him," she croaked, trembling at the memory. "I could accept it if what you ate was out of necessity. Or even if it came from people already deceased - or - or limbs already severed. It's fucking disgusting, but I could live with that. But this - !" Shaking her head violently from side to side, the nausea returned and brought bile into her mouth. Sour, awful - just like him. "You – I can't believe you. That was cruel, and sick, and twisted – if that's what it means to be an Ancient then I don't want anything to do with any of this anymore!"
If Danta was like this too, and Charlie, and if the bloodlust was capable of turning any of the others into this kind of monster - including herself - then... then they really were monsters. All of them.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
He continues to watch her in a surprising amount of silence, a look crossing his face that seems to say yes, and? to the comment of torturing him — like it didn’t matter that he had, because the man had deserved it. Which, as far as Astaroth is concerned, was entirely and wholly correct. “Maea, you are upset that a man that not only assaulted you, but also attacked all of the rest of the Dusklight workers that were there, and a number of innocent people trying to enjoy themselves — is dead? And it was too far that I “tortured” him when you and I both know he wouldn’t have had any issue torturing anyone else he set his eyes on?” A deep rumble of a humorless chuckle escapes the Ancient, dark eyes fixating on her as she spirals.
He lets her continue, biding his time by adjusting the gloves on his hands. “What makes you believe there is a textbook way to be an Ancient? That we all have to do things the same way? The way I act as an Ancient does not mean that Danta acts the same way.” Danta was far more chaotic than the butcher was, but in the day to day most times rather than instances like this.
“I did the Hollowed Grounds a favor. I just so happened to do one for myself, too. And once again you cannot accept that sometimes that is simply just how things are.” Annoyance flares for a brief second, breaking through the calm exterior he held after satisfying his bloodlust.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Her own silence was impatient and brittle in comparison, like Leafchange ice that fractured at the merest touch. "Fuck yeah, it upsets me," she agreed, like it wasn't obvious already. "Not that he's dead, but that you were capable of such a thing. That you enjoyed it! And if that's what you always do, and what is being permitted to continue here – you're right. I can't accept that. And I don't want to be part of it."
It hurt, saying it. Hurt knowing that she was removing herself from the little glimpse of companionship and belonging she'd had a taste of. But this had been an eye-opener to what the reality of what her so called friends were like, and it really hammered home once and for all that she had a very different idea of what was right, and good, and acceptable in the people she associated with.
This wasn't it.
"I quit." Her eyes burned, but she blinked the tears away - they were only a reaction to the nausea. At least that's what she told herself. "I give up. This fucking place – " Tugging on the buckle of the cloak, she pulled it off her shoulders, yanking it off a horn when it caught on it, and all but threw it at Asta. "This fucking family, huh."
Mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace, she pushed away from the wall and made to stalk past the Butcher. Ignoring the cold or the lack of anywhere to go, Maea couldn't care less as long as she got away from here.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
Snorting to her comments, Astaroth remains standing there with his perfect posture, that same dark brow raised, head tilting slightly as he regards her and the fit she’s currently having. “You made the choice to become an Ancient just as you had the choice to come back as an Ascended. And yet, you still cannot come to terms with change?” His head tilts, dark eyes still taking her in even as she unclasps the cloak and tosses it at him, to which the butcher immediately begins to fold it neatly and drape it over his arm.
“You know, Maea, darling, for as much as you wish to have companionship and closeness with others, it’s quite evident you simply want a clone of yourself.” He chuckles humorlessly after she starts to step away. “Nobody will meet the standards you put on them. So either you remain alone or you come to terms with the fact that people will think and act differently than you wish them to.” He doesn’t stop her from leaving. Either she’ll realize her mistake and find warmth somewhere, or simply turn back to stone.
At this point, he’s tired of the constant judgment.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Much as she wanted to just walk away and remain unphased by his words, she simply couldn't. They stung too much, and it wasn't like she was going because she wanted to.
"My choice was between living and dying!" she retorted, swerving around to face him again. Without a wall to lean against the petite woman swayed where she stood, huddled against the cold with pink spots flushing her cheeks. "It was a shot in the dark and I've done my fucking best to make the most of options I had no chance to examine beforehand. The one who's refusing to change is you! You keep using your past as an excuse to cling to the way you used to do things, using Danta as an excuse to complain that you're being made to obey rules you don't care for, when in reality you're not even trying. You don't have to resort to cannibalism to survive - there are plenty of options and yet you still go for people. Because you fucking choose to."
Breathing harshly, she was faintly aware that darkness began to set in on her vision. The reason was unclear. Exertion, cold, emotional strain - it could be either or all of them, just as it could be either that caused a trickle of blood to start from her nose. Body and mind were reaching a limit, and yet she couldn't bring herself to stop.
"Clones of myself? What's that even supposed to mean? What I want in people is kindness, and honor, and integrity - " she blinked against a buzzing in her ears. It was growing difficult to see the man, he faded in and out of focus " - and.. and not some monster who use torture as - as entertainment. That makes you... just as bad as - as him..."
The buzzing in her ears grew loud enough to drown out her own voice. The world twisted around her, and without quite knowing how it happened, Maea found herself on the ground. Blood dribbled from her nose into the snow; it looked black in the dim light.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
She continues to huff and puff and Astaroth wonders where the fire is within her to keep her so warm for this argument as he remains nothing more than a gargoyle, watching her stubbornly step away like a petulant child that’s just gotten into trouble. “When did I advertise what I was intending to do? I never told you to follow me, you did that of your own volition.” He pauses here with another casual shrug, shifting his weight to the other leg, boots crunching in the snow. “I have changed, Maea. I could return to being the living breathing Butcher of Whitebrim. I could be a monster in the night. And yet? What are people greeted with? Safety upon entering the Dusklight. I am far gentler than I used to be. And yet you do not realize this because you are so focused on yourself and how you think the world should run.”
He pauses, clearing his throat, only to bark a laugh that echoes off of the stones at her insinuation, even as she falls and he makes no move to help her. He does draw closer, a shadow dancing around her in the movement of the lanterns. “I am kind to those that deserve it. I honor my promises. Integrity is a moral construct that differs depending on who is in charge.” He answers, hovering over her ever so slightly, voice dropping low. “If I were just as bad as him, I would not have stopped him.” And it’s just as simple as that in Astaroth’s mind. “Did you think all he deserved was a slap on the wrist? A warning to not do that again? Men like that do not care. They do not have kindness, honor, or integrity.”
He withdraws so he can straighten again. “But sure, darling, compare us as one in the same if it makes you sleep better at night.” He’s brimming with a different sort of energy, a flare of further annoyance that brightens the lamps outside a bit more, before they die and he goes to step away.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Too dizzy to stand, she wiped pointlessly at her nose and watched the blood stain her fingers just like the snow. The shadow looming over her was dreadful enough to bring weight to his words about the true Butcher. Was this not bad enough? How could it be worse?
The mention of the man, the way he implied he might not have stepped in, brought the whole scene back to her in stark clarity. The smarmy voice, those questing hands, the way her head had been brought back down so easily, preventing her from getting any strength into her spine – the shudder passing through her was visible and visceral. It was too easy to picture the way it would have gone if given enough time. And the knew Asta was right. The way those eyes had followed her all night, there was every indication that he would have been back. Maybe even followed her –
A sob wrecked her thin frame, dry and painful sounding. Was the shock setting in or finally letting go? She didn't know. Somehow it didn't feel right that saving her excused all Asta had done afterward. But what if he was right that she was blind to any perspective but her own? Was she so wrong to be horrified over his violence, over the raw brutality in what she had witnessess? Gods, but she didn't know anymore.
"It feels wrong," she protested, weaker this time. Less certain. "How can it be right to eat people? We can talk to each other, reason - why do you have to be like that? You could have just killed him. I don't... I don't understand the fun in hurting anyone."
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
His steps pause as she speaks, even as he debates with quite a heavy sigh if it’s even worth him returning to her or answering her questions. But she begins to question why, and Astaroth, eyes shutting tight as he tries to relax some of the tension in his shoulders, keeps his distance from her but does turn to face her, standing with just as straight of posture as he had before.
“I relish in hurting people who have zero qualms about hurting innocent people. It allows them a taste of their own medicine.” He answers bluntly and matter of factly, before his shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug. “As for why I continue to eat people, it’s nostalgic. It’s how I was raised. It staves off the bloodlust longer for me, so I do not need to do it all the time.” It’s all casual conversation despite the topic, and his gloved fingers run through the blanket for a second. “We had no other options but that in Whitebrim. Believe me, I do realize it is not socially acceptable. That’s what sent me to the Climb in the first place, if you recall my history.” He rumbles. “That is why I do not advertise what I do.”
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
Sing to me, I am not doing well Getting tired of my own words
Every fiber of her being screamed of the fucked up insanity in what he was saying. Nostalgia? That's it? That's all it took for him to do all of that? Maea stared at him, unable to comprehend the pathways that lead to that kind of reasoning. "'An eye for an eye will leave the world blind'... you don't believe in being the better person?"
Wiping her fingers on the snow, she shuffled stiffly into a slightly more dignified position, sitting rather than sprawling. Her legs still wouldn't hold any weight; like a deer on ice they slipped away and wobble, her throbbing head spinning so much that looking up at Asta made her want to throw up again. He didn't offer to help her up. And she didn't ask for help. The idea of living like normal in a place where people vanished in the night and no one asked why still filled her with indescribable dread. But... worst of all was the small, dark part of her that perhaps didn't mind so much, if the ones who vanished had hurt her.
That part really freaked her out.
"... nothing makes sense anymore." It was a child's complaints, but it spilled off her lips all the same. Gasping and fighting a terrible truth that threatened to escape, she hid her face in cold hands, ignorant of how small she really looked. "I don't know how to do this – how to live in this body – I don't want to end up like – " Like you.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself through the loudness of my own hurts
“I believe in preventing worse offenders from ever being able to offend again.” If it made him a villain then so be it, but at least he would sleep well in the comfort of knowing that he wouldn’t be around to harm anyone else. “And I will bear the weight of the blood on my hands so no one else needs to. I am comfortable with it, so why not.” It doesn’t matter to him at the end of the day so long as he can continue to do his duty.
She sits up and Astaroth remains where he is, shifting a little in the snow again with a cloud breath of a sigh. “What makes you think that you will?” He asks, unsure why he isn’t just turning heel and walking back to the warmth of the Dusklight. “You’re so terrified of it and yet you think you could become it? You do not know yourself enough, then.” At least Astaroth knows who he is, what he is. None of it is surprising.
“I would love to stay outside and chat but, we are Ancients and it’s LongNight. So,” he trails off, boots crunching as he starts to turn. If she wished to continue this conversation, she would need to follow him.
Astaroth
i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy, i'm crazy /// everybody in the world knows i'm a little twisted
