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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!
11-03-2024, 12:06 PM (This post was last modified: 11-17-2024, 12:16 PM by Lena.)
Lena
even when no one was looking I was still kind
Arriving at the barracks gave the Caretaker a mixed feeling; while she was dropping off more medicinal satchels for current and future endeavors, her intentions were also inclined towards the armaments. Not out of violence, vitriol, or vehemence, for it had never been her way – but more because she’d hate to be a liability.
What good was she if she needed to be protected?
Pondering over those circumstances, she waited until several soldiers moved away from the armory, and then gingerly stared at the selection and choices. She’d tried the bow with Asta, but given how both of them had handled things, no one could say she was a natural. So her inclinations roamed directly towards the staff, familiar at least with its size and weight. But she used hers for healing…so the circumstances were bound to be drastically different.
Rather than follow anyone else into the closed range inside, she maneuvered away, heading towards the targets out in the open. Some others had seemed determined to do the same, but she kept her head down, intending to be unnoticed. Once she’d arrived at a singular, very beaten effigy, she tested the staff in her hands, swinging it a few times; but it felt off and bizarre, so she changed her grasp to an easier hold. That felt better.
Feeling a little more emboldened, she maneuvered her arm in attempt to hit the still form – and felt it connect with nothing, breezing around and away. Narrowing her brows and ignoring any nearby laughing (hoping it wasn’t meant for her), she strived again.
He'd been training all afternoon with the other Dragoons, winning spar after spar well until the sun had started to fade from the sky. Agreeing that it would be their last bout, he'd joined in one final match against a large man. Just as his sword was raised to begin, he'd noticed Lena - making her way into the training grounds. He hadn't been expecting to see her today, even less in the rowdy chaotic sand court. It caused him to stumble through the first attack, delaying his parry. The others noticed, chuckling behind their hands as he regained his composure with a counterattack. Zavien tried to push aside distracting thoughts. Like the fact that his girlfriend had randomly decided to come train without telling him. His sword swept into another strike.
Another minute passed, and it seemed like he might be able to focus enough to win the last spar when he caught another glance of Lena in the corner of his eye. Spotting her again only drew his gaze more, causing him to miss blocking a well-placed attack on his ribs that had him doubling over. He didn't blame his opponent for taking advantage, especially as he ended up on his back in the sand, groaning softly. Their spectators laughed loudly at his blunder before helping their comrade to his feet. "Maybe next time, Zav. Keep training." A few other teasing comments about his distractibility came up, but they didn't mention the Caretaker as they took their leave.
Once he'd brushed most of the dust from his clothing and sweat from his brow while ensuring that the others had all departed, Zavien slowly made his way towards Lena. His eyes followed her movements, noting how she attempted to strike the dummy. As much as he wanted to automatically give advice, he didn't want to offend. Leaning against the wall close by, he cleared his throat to gently get her attention. His smile was warm and bright as he playfully asked, "Sooo... do you come here often?"
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
Determined and steadfast and very unaware, her eyes narrowed, attention solely on the target. It wasn’t even moving, it should’ve been easy to wail on it. Maybe her footwork was wrong? Stance off? There were many complexities driving through her mind, but without the foresight or knowledge, she was simply…swinging away.
And on her next attempt, she went wide again, a familiar voice startling her so much that she tripped over her crossed legs and nearly stumbled towards the ground. Brushing back her hair and feeling very foolish, her cheeks flushed and she glanced back at Zavien, nose wrinkling. “No. Can you tell?” Half a joke, before she used the staff to lean against like a walking stick, contemplating the beaten away target and her own efforts. “I just came by to drop off some poultices,” waving her arm towards the dragoon quarters. “Thought I would try,” to explain why she hadn’t sought him out directly.
She hadn’t looked for anybody, really, striving to stay completely out of the way and unknown – quietly fumbling her way through things. “I didn’t want to be a hindrance, if something were to happen again.”
Zavien reached out a hand to keep Lena from faceplanting, although she seemed to do fine on her own. Flashing her an encouraging grin, he shrugged his shoulders. "Not at all." He stepped back, crossing his arms as he listened to her reasoning. Obviously, she didn't need to justify her actions or whereabouts to him. They were dating, not glued at the hip.
He waved a hand to dismiss any potential suspicions of hurt feelings, smiling warmly. "Well, whatever the reasons, it's a pleasant surprise." Despite the fact that he'd ended up with a large bruise on his side and a slight dent in his pride from the loss.
Her final words brought a scowl to his face. Stepping forward again, he grasped Lena's shoulders, staring seriously into her eyes. "You are not a hindrance whether you choose to train or not." He paused a moment to make sure the words sank in before adding softly, "But if you do feel a need, I'm always available for you." Zavien smiled, an open invitation for any and all assistance. He'd be a coach or a punching bag or an open ear. However, not wanting to overstep, he added, "Unless you prefer to train alone?"
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
Her cheeks remained fully flushed, embarrassment ripe for the taking; and even more so when he addressed the notions of her potential hindrance. And while the words were likely meant for comfort, she’d been enough danger and ridiculous antics lately to know there was more to be done, more she could do, to ensure others were protected. Animals were wonderful, brilliant, and always made an impact, and shifts were a gift, but sometimes that wouldn’t be enough. Nodding along, and glancing down at the dirt, she nodded, accepting it rather than arguing.
Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the target she hadn’t even been able to hit. “Well, I thought I had the stance and grasp down,” but clearly they weren't. “I’ll take any pointers I can get,” and she bestowed another grin, trying to bolster herself up.
Before going into the same stance as before; wildly unbalanced and seemingly ready to hit something while at bat, rather than anything moving.
Satisfied with Lena's outward acceptance, Zavien released her, smiling with a willingness to help. As she took her stance, he tried to focus on the positive rather than the awkwardly ineffective stance. "It's a good basis to start, although it could use some adjusting." He secretly wondered who had shown her the incorrect fundamentals or whether if they had found the Caretaker's own version of 'cooking.' Whatever the case, he slipped easily into the confident teacher role.
"Let's start with the basics: positioning." Standing before her, he demonstrated as he spoke. "Your legs should be at least shoulder width and slightly askew. If they're in line, it's easier for others to throw you off balance." He bent his knees, lowering into the proper position. "The stronger leg should be in the back, allowing its power to propel you forward for attacks." His weight shifted forward, showing how his right leg pushed and pivoted to give him speed and range. It felt natural to him after decades of training, each movement a dangerous dance, however, he knew that it would take time. Standing, he looked back at her. One thing that could easily be fixed was the egregious way she held the wooden staff.
Zavien slowly made his way forward, placing his calloused hands over hers. "As far as holding the staff goes, your hands should be a little farther apart." He guided her grasp until it was an equal distance along the staff, about shoulder width apart again. "It will give you more stabilization and control over the weapon." His smile remained, encouraging despite the corrections.
Uncertain whether that was too much information to start, the Dragoon looked up at Lena. "Why don't you give it a try?"
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
Glad she wasn’t being mocked or ridiculed, not that she’d ever expect it from Zavien, Lena tried to take on the role of learner, rather than tutor. It turned out that her stance had actually been horrendous, based on how much the Accepted had to inform, and her cheeks remained a solid crimson as she tried to focus on all the steps, positioning, and watch his modeling.
A natural weaponry student she was not, but the Caretaker tried. Swallowing down the frustrations threatening to bubble up, and more than likely embarrassment, she strived to initiate adjustments where they were necessary; legs shoulder width, not entirely straight, shifting her stronger leg to the back. “Like this?” Not a perfectionist by nature, for she’d learned from many a mistake, she unfurled a long, slow breath, and strived to relax into something she knew and understood – that everyone had to start somewhere, even if it seemed like a very long climb.
And it turned out her hold had also been abysmal – and she allowed her hands to be adjusted on the armament. “That does feel better,” she admitted with a slight grin; and it made more sense, to hold it that way.
Giving it a try, however, seemed all the more daunting; afraid to maneuver out of the position lest she never find her way back again. “Okay,” she nodded, as if it was something remotely feasible, and swung. It hit the edge of the target's base with a very light tap, and she grinned, inhibitions momentarily forgotten for the small moment, raising her hands and weapon up in the air as if she'd secured a great victory. "I did it!"
Watching Lena settle into her stance, Zavien nodded approvingly. "Exactly like that. It may not feel natural now but give it time." His smile was warm and encouraging, confident that practice would solidify the uncomfortable positioning into second nature. The generics were all the same, but people often found their own versions of the stance that worked for their style or body mechanics.
Once she had the correct hold, he stood back to watch her take a swing at the dummy. He tried to hide the slight flinch at the poorly aimed hit with a deep chuckle. "Good job!" It wasn't the best attack, but it might trip someone up enough to avoid having to fend off a counterattack. Stepping next to the target, he pointed to different places as he spoke. "Try to aim for the head or torso to start. Those will deal the most damage." And they'd be harder to miss, but he didn't say that part. Instead, he added, "When it comes to the staff, try to swing through the target as you step forward. It will increase your range and add more power." Grabbing another staff, he slowly demonstrated the movement of stepping forward with his back leg, sweeping the weapon in a clean attack that landed against the 'chest' of the mannequin with an echoing crack across the training ground. When he moved away again, he gave Lena another smile, leaning on his own staff. "Give it another go."
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
It didn’t feel natural at all – but then again, Lena has never coordinated her frame into anything formidable. She was used to racing through enclosures, tending to animals, and crouching amidst gardens; and she could feel her muscles beginning to protest already. But she was steadfast and determined, and if she was sore later it would be worth the potential agony and a long, hot bath to make up for it.
She beamed at the following encouragement though, proud of herself for making that insubstantial mark. Listening all the while though, the reality of the situation still sparked and sizzled, and she knew in her heart she’d have a difficult time ever aiming for someone’s head, torso, or anywhere else really; a dummy was one thing, and a living, breathing being another. So she nodded, taking another breath and trying to swallow down those feelings; but the Caretaker was no stone figure. Even as she watched him demonstrate, her eyes widened.
He'd probably read it on her face the moment she took the stance once more. Apprehension, clear and coiled, hand grasping too tight, not prepared to swing through. She gave it a shot anyway, summoning the depths of her practically, putting more force as she stepped forward, and watched as it sniped at the target’s elbow; probably enough of a knock to threaten a bruise. “Was that better?”
Noting the clear apprehension on Lena's face, he wasn't surprised when her strike barely tapped the target's 'arm.' Her soft, caring heart was one of the things he admired most about her. It nearly made him smile at just how adorable it was. Yet the determination she'd expressed was serious, and he didn't want to diminish her effort. It was true that he might not always be there to stand between her and danger.
Giving her a supportive smile, he nodded his head. "You're definitely getting the hang of it." It wasn't a lie, considering the improved accuracy of her staff, however, Zavien rubbed a hand on his stubble, thinking for a second. Perhaps it would be best to try things from another angle. "Let's try some defensive moves. It'll give you a chance to focus on the stances. Once you have that down, you'll be able to use those same stances for attacks."
Zavien picked up his own weapon, making his way closer before sinking back into the first fighting position. "We'll start here. Think of it like a dance. When I move, you move the same way." His smile was bright and encouraging, sure this will be much easier for the Caretaker. When she was ready, he stepped forward, swinging his staff up between them for her to tap her own against.
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
Defending sounded more up her alley, rather than striking out in any offensive manner. She’d rarely, if ever, be the first one to initiate some kind of brawl, and much more likely to try anything else before the situation came to that, so she nodded, taking a long breath as she stretched out her muscles again.
For some reason, she hadn’t thought she’d be striking against Zavien though, and the whole thing seemed even more implausible and foreign to her. “Oh, okay,” accepting despite the immediate apprehension coiling over her features in a tight grimace and furrowed brows. Maybe this had been a mistake.
Swallowing down the nerves and trepidation, especially because he was willing to put up with her nonsense and give her the time to fumble through everything, she tried to think of it like a dance. Choreographed maneuvers, right and exact moments, motions that bend and swayed; but with those undertones of vitriol she could never quite grasp. She initiated the stance again, trying to mimic his own, and then pushed her own staff, very cautiously, to tap at his.
Despite her agreeance, Zavien still saw the nerves tightening her face, the tension accompanying her every move. As she stepped forward, he gave her a sweet smile full of innocence. "Relax. We'll take it slow." Surprise, surprise, the other possible 'implications' of his words didn't seem to register, much too focused on the training at hand. He nodded his head at the tap of her staff against his. "Good. Next step."
Achingly slow, he shifted his left leg to the side and towards her, a gentle circling. Twisting his staff so that the bottom became the top, he extended it out again for Lena to tap against. He was shockingly graceful for his build, but he hadn't been lying when he described it as a dance. Each step was already mapped out, a gentle flow from one to the next. All the while, he gave clarifying instructions and encouraging smiles. "Step out with your left leg, making sure you keep your core activated for stability. They should be about even. Your staff should rotate as you move one hand up and the other down." He wiggled his fingers to show their new positioning while they stayed firmly in place on the wood. His eyes met hers, waiting patiently for her to follow along.
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
Zavien wouldn’t have to worry about any other implications and innuendos; they’d be lost on Lena for the moment, far too flummoxed and bewildered to register much of anything but brief, shallow movements and not wanting to hurt anything. Being told to relax just brought her shoulders almost squarely up to her ears, and she had to strive for several long instances on remembering the stance properly.
So she watched, painstakingly and meticulously, as he circled around. She couldn’t quite fathom why he’d rotated his staff, or how, and if she was supposed to be doing that, and took a few steadying breaths to measure how much she was treading. But the Caretaker stepped out with her left leg, keeping her core as tight as possible; the inquiries kept coming though, as she was trying to piece and parse through the methods, following along as best she could while the questions launched. “Why am I rotating it? Can’t I just hold it the same way all the time?”
Realizing his error in telling her to 'relax', he shook his head, more disappointed in himself than anything else. She was trying, but Zavien obviously wasn't making it easy. Was there another method he wasn't thinking about? Something to help her better understand?
As he ruminated on other ideas, he watched her struggle to follow his steps. Maybe he'd made it too complicated? Her stance looked right, but there was obvious confusion. "The point of rotating it is to build momentum and make it more difficult to defend against. It also takes more time and energy to stop and start an attack than redirecting the movement." Zavien may not be book smart, but he knew fighting in and out. Tapping his staff against hers, he made sure she was ready before proceeding. He tried to simplify it as best he could. His right leg stepped back again, pushing the bottom of his staff forward for her to strike against. "You're doing great. Now step back, staff out."
I learned that in suffering, we find the true measure of our strength.
