Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
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!
Deimos had been trying, rather unsuccessfully, to find some balance in between working, friends, and family, but with Evie out for the afternoon, he’d found the perfect opportunity to segment some ideas already in the works. No letters. No politics. No one asking for help. No one expecting him to immediately come to their aid.
Permitting Belial entertain Erebos, he set everything up on the floor of the kitchen, figuring if there was any mess to be had, it’d be the easiest place to clean up. Laying down newspaper to line and cover the tiles, he snagged at larger parchment rolls, paintbrushes, and paint necessary for the notions at hand, narrowing his eyes, and calculating things through until he had a wide variety and array of colors. If Amhran was opposed to utilizing those, he supposed he could always make more.
“All right, you are off duty,” he called back to the peryton, who whirled around and chirped, suddenly out of the infant’s toddling reach. “You can go let Amhran know everything is ready.” Whether or not the companion would do so without being an irritation would be its own mystery, but he skipped off in search of the young demigod. Scooping Erebos in his arms, the Sword made his way over to the first massive portion of paper, and plopped down in front of it, grabbing a paintbrush and dipping into the darker green well.
Having been tending to some of the indoor plants on the window sill in his bedroom, Amhran is easy to find and easier still to persuade to join whatever chaos is unfurling down in the kitchen. Padding barefoot after Belial, he's pushing the sleeves of his oversized sweater up onto his forearms as he peeps into the newspaper-lined room, eyebrows raising. "Are we redecorating?" he asks, having recently seen someone out in Snowcloak doing something similar to the interior of their shop; the paint and newspaper is enough to clue him in.
But then he doesn't know if the kitchen necessarily needs it, and certainly not in every colour Deimos seems to have available. But Amhran is nothing if not a gentle and helpful soul, and he motions to the paintbrushes on hand. "Would you like some help? Just let me know where I need to paint and what colour." Having been involved in a number of PQs team-related tasks lately, he slips back into that mode of thinking like it's an old coat.
“Gods no,” he shook as head as Amhran approached, granting a warm and deep laugh. Deimos’ form of decorating was especially Spartan, and Evie had done more than enough to make the house cozy, rather than grim, bare, and stark. Wrangling Erebos to the floor as well, as the youth giggled and tried reaching for his beard, the Sword swept a dark green hue across the bottom of the baby’s foot. Another amused screech filled the area, and he snorted in response. “I thought we could do some painting for Evie. As gifts.”
He then planted Erebos’ foot at the bottom of the paper, and lifted it away, leaving an imprint of the infant’s limb, while the babe kicked and splattered some other remnants and drops upon the newspaper. Shrugging, figuring it was a start to the idea he'd concocted, he didn’t intend to encourage the same for Amhran, who already neglected shoes at the best of times. “If you want – and you can use the brushes,” already trying to bar the attempt. “You could make her anything that comes to mind. We all have birthdays in this season anyway.”
"Oh," Amhran says, automatically smiling as if Deimos's laughter is contagious despite the boy's confusion; if not redecorating, what else could it be? Of course, he isn't left in suspense for long, and the Sword's explanation has something like curiosity and excitement blooming across the raeling's face. Nodding - and grinning - at Erebos's contributions, both aural and with a little green footprint, Amhran kneels before the parchment.
He considers following suit with his own foot for a moment (Deimos is right), and it's only the ridiculous size difference between himself and Erebos that prevents it. He doesn't know much about art, but he doesn't think that will look aesthetically pleasing. "Does Evie like paintings?" he wonders with a smile, selecting a brush and dipping it into a russet brown colour. He's not sure if the art is the gift or if it's just because it's from them.
"And what are... birthdays?" he wonders; as he speaks, he paints what is undoubtedly a tree trunk near Erebos's footprint, marking out spidering branches as he goes and blowing on it to let it dry.
Repeating the steps with Erebos’ other foot so that lined together, the imprint might look like a tree, if one turned their heads just right, Deimos snorted, wiping the child’s limb as the youth giggled with unironic glee. He waited for Amhran’s reaction too though – because while the demigod always seemed to be the agreeable sort, he didn’t want him to feel pressured into something too. Amicability was all well and fine, if coercion wasn’t burning behind all of it.
Wrangling Erebos with one hand, as the infant opted to dangle off his arm, the Sword watched as Amhran followed along, the question made him smile, laugh a little. “She does. Have you seen some of her work?” The Evergreen had adorned some of their library with the décor, and portions of the guild, greenhouse…anywhere else it would suit aesthetically or please her. Given time and space, and perhaps she’d have more ample opportunities now, he might view more. Duties and responsibilities had certainly made his own hobbies far out of reach.
Not wanting to reflect on mantles pressed well into his shoulders, he dipped his own brush into the same dark green hues, writing names and dates in the bottom corner. The inquiry gave him pause though, granting a small grin again. “A celebration of turning another year older. All of us, including yourself, Erebos, Evie, and I, have them this season.” Not that he’d ever commemorated his own. Sometimes survival was simply that.
"...Perhaps I have?" Amhran seems genuinely puzzled; the majority of time he spends with Evie is (understandably, perhaps) in the greenhouse, both personal and communal, and he makes a mental note to either ask her about it or to go seeking out some of her work. "Well, I hope she likes what we make in that case." Grinning to Erebos, his little feet prints and the way he dangles unceremoniously from his father's arm, Amhran finishes the branches of his tree and washes off his brush to ensure the paint doesn't stiffen the bristles.
To hear that all of them are turning a year older this season has the raeling's eyes widening in both surprise and pleasure, and he turns his attention to a brighter green, carefully dipping a finger into it. "If we are celebrating does that mean there will be a party?" he asks; not because he's particularly fond of them or otherwise, only that it seems to be a common occurrence when there is something to celebrate.
With his eyebrows pinching together in concentration, he reaches forward to start pressing his fingertips to the branches of the tree he's painted, using the prints to create 'leaves'. There is plenty of space for Deimos and Erebos to add their own fingerprints too, if they'd like.
“Mm, next time you are in the library, have a look around.” Pointing upwards to the cozy nook of shelves, lamps, and couches they had on the next floor, Deimos wouldn’t give away any of the works – far more inclined for Amhran’s curiosity to take hold, looking for certain signatures, etchings, subjects, or details that might showcase more of the Evergreen. He offered naught more than a smile thereafter, angling Erebos again so that he might have minor control over the infant’s fingers, dabbing them in the gray paint while the baby giggled along.
He maneuvered the youth carefully, avoiding the work Amhran was doing so as not to ruin anything, towards the top of the paper. From there, Erebos was permitted to touch his little digits to the parchment, fingerprints taking form of some symbolic little snowflakes flickering down the page. And a few touches of his flailing palms, for good measure.
Tilting his head vaguely at the demigod’s question, he snorted, pondering if he’d been listening in to a conversation he’d had recently with Evie. Trying not to recall the last bits of those motions, because then that overwhelming feeling flickered right back to the surface, he wiped off Erebos’ hands again, listening to another squeal resound and reverberate. “I suppose that depends on if you want one or not.”
"I will," he decides with a small and determined smile. His reading and writing is still coming along, and he has a love for books despite feeling initially concerned at the dead, silent paper that had once been living trees. He'll make a point to look at the decor the next time he goes to select something to pass the time on a blizzarding afternoon.
Not feeling as though Erebos would ruin anything with his additions, Amhran nonetheless offers a bright grin to the youth as he adds flakes of snow to the painting, the raeling continuing with his tree and its spray of green leaves - he even adds a few touches of brown, yellow and darker green for texture. Once he's finished, hands covered in paint but a small expression of satisfaction on his face, he nods between them.
"Do you think she will like it? Perhaps we should do another with all of our handprints. But I would not want her to feel left out of it."
Without a direct answer from Amhran about the party situation, Deimos wasn’t certain how to proceed on such plans, or lack thereof, as it was. Maybe in the end they’d just have something quiet at home, and in further years, make far more open invitations towards new friends and comrades for either youth. Instead of voicing it again, he smiled in the demigod’s direction, pondering if it was something simply uncomfortable for him.
As for what Evie would like, and any other machinations, the Sword nodded. “I think she will enjoy it.” Surveying the details, they seemed very poignant and oriented on just the boys – which had been his ploy all along. Something to showcase their growth and portions of family, without his clear and precise measures written all over it. “I was going to make one for her on my own,” as he finagled Erebos under his arm again, pinning the child against his ribs as he giggled, maneuvering the painted-upon paper off to the side to dry. “If you would like to do that too.” That way nothing and no one was left out, and it could be covered in Amhran’s handprints galore, should he so choose. “Or you can simply paint anything you want.” For fun and practice.
"Good," Amhran says softly, glancing between his fingerprints and Erebos's little feet and seeming all the more happy with the creation knowing it has Deimos's stamp of approval. Shifting back to let him move the paper aside to dry - and grinning to the youth as he wriggles and is a general menace pinned against the Sword - the raeling considers making something himself for the Evergreen and eventually gives a soft nod. "Yes, I think I will," he says. Selecting a much smaller square of parchment and a daintier paintbrush, he sits cross-legged on the floor to begin.
And apparently remembers (or finishes pondering on) the party conundrum and not at all because his writer forgot to add it to the post, pls poke me if this happens again. "Does everyone need a party for themselves...?" he wonders, raising his eyebrows in confusion. Because as Deimos has already pointed out, if they all have birthdays in Deepfrost, then that's a lot of parties. "I would be happy just to celebrate with everyone else," he decides. If that's just as part of Erebos's festivities, or Evie's, or Deimos's, then he's content.
With the approval of the Raeling, Deimos maneuvered to snag at his own new paper – smaller than the last as well. Opting to occupy Erebos with his nearby sword rattle, the youth was content to munch and teethe upon the object while the Sword began to lightly sketch out his plans with pencil – maneuvering it across the parchment until something slightly tangible began to form; in broadened little tufts of fur along the top portions of the drawing, and then paws and a tail. Only occasionally would he glance over, nosey to a fault, to see what Amhran was working on.
The answer came to light though, and he snorted. “Some would prefer it, but no.” He couldn’t imagine holding four separate parties for each of them. It would take the entire season, much less the discomfort of so much socializing; gods knew he likely wouldn’t have the time either. “If you want to have it with just us, that is fine. Means more cake anyway,” and he winked – solidifying the machinations then and there.
Not as nosey as Deimos, evidently, and patient enough to wait until the finished masterpiece is revealed, as the Sword glances across he'll see that the demigod has opted to freehand paint instead of sketch. It's a very small canvas that he's working on, but remarkably true to life as he beads colour onto the parchment in small, careful strokes. Flowers, naturally - one of the blooms from Evie's personal greenhouse, still lush and vibrant even at Deepfrost thanks to her commitment and care.
"They would?" Smiling at that, because as Deimos may have already guessed, Amhran is not one of those people, the raeling glances up and tilts his head almost knowingly, after a year of living with the Sword, at the mention of more cake. "Perhaps we can have a small celebration here, then, with just us. Birthdays happen every year, right? I can always make bigger plans next Deepfrost."
The images being brought to life, at least momentarily under Amhran’s touch, conjured a small smile from the Sword. But then he left the youth alone, as Erebos sank in between his legs and continued gnawing on the rattle, and Deimos could work on his own. The charcoal drifted across the paper smoothly, in wisps and tufts and curls, until ultimately the vision of Micah was complete, and he went about selecting a paintbrush, before dipping into brighter hues to match the tide jaguar’s fur.
“Yes,” he rumbled once more, eyes on the parchment while he slid a dark Stygian over paws and claws at the bottom. “Some enjoy being around crowds of people.” Deimos clearly wasn’t one of them – social niceties having grown over the years due to political machinations or simply gaining friends, but it took a massive amount of effort to maintain any graces around meetings and congregations. Especially in the wake of so many things going wrong; gods, just testing magic out on an orb had sent Amhran and others sprawling across the sand.
Too much endured and too much at stake, he simply tried to negate the rest of those confounding thoughts with better, easier topics. “True. So I suppose the better question would be what kind of cake you would like.”
"I suppose everyone is different," Amhran says, the first hints of what will one day be quite dry humour in his tone, a small smile on his face as he works. Glancing up to see the shape of Deimos's creation in full, his smile brightens. "Ah, it's Micah," he says, sitting back for a break. (It's a difficult posture, being lanky and having to hunker over parchment with a paintbrush, you know).
"I have been able to try quite a few different cakes this year," he says; his jaunts around Snowcloak and into cafes have been one thing, but he'd made a point of trying something in the other regions they'd visited, wherever possible. "There was a pineapple upside down cake in Torchline that was good. But I think I would like an ice cream cake." Obviously. He's Halovian.
