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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!
The night had worn on long enough that bellies had been filled and children had been tucked in. Lights were being dampered as most people settled in and shuttered the remaining hours out, only willing to greet the new day and let the remainder of this one fade into memory. It was the perfect time to indulge in secrets and the forbidden. In the low light of the Silk Houses, coins flashed like teeth as they passed from hand to hand, and faceless masses shouldered together as they stood in the shadows.
Each spray of blood that arced from the fighting ring seemed to feed the city's underbelly, the amorphous darknesses of unknown citizens jeering at the violence, like children dancing in the splash zone at an aquarium. Kaisel might as well have been called Shamu then.
The young Dragoon slipped to his left, narrowly dodging the jab from his much larger opponent. His feet pivoted on the floor, muscles bunching as he threw his momentum behind a hook that connected with the man's exposed ribcage. A grunt escaped the oaf and a furious elbow lurched down towards the grin on Kaisel's face, but he blocked with his forearm and let his foot sing into the brute's legs. His opponent staggered back, sneering. Kaisel stayed low, one fist near his cheek as a guard. "What, done already?" he asked, wiping the sweat dripping from his eyebrow with his other hand. Blood smeared instead, a reminder of a time Kaisel hadn't been fast enough. He winced as the touch returned the pain to his awareness. That seemed to renew the confidence in his challenger who grinned and rushed forward.
Perfect.
One maneuvre later, the juggernaut was sleeping on the floor, and golden teeth bared in the crowd as bets were paid.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
From beneath the eaves of a velvet-draped balcony, Flora watched the fight unfold with feline amusement. The air was thick with sweat and smoke and bloodlust, the kind of atmosphere that clung to the skin and whispered wicked things in the ear. Perfect for a night like this. She leaned languidly against the railing, curls tumbling loosely down her back, her green-gold wrap dress glittering subtly under the flickering lantern light. I
Her gaze flicked down to the two men in the ring just as Kaisel slipped past a lumbering swing. He was smaller, quicker, smarter—Flora could see that already. Her eyes narrowed with interest, a smirk curving her lips as she turned to the shadowy figure beside her. "Five hundred on the skinny one," she purred, plucking a coin pouch from her hip with delicate fingers. "The charming one with the bloody face."
The man grunted, scribbled her bet down, and took her coin. Flora didn't watch to make sure it was recorded correctly—she didn’t need to. Instead, she slipped away from the balcony’s edge and tugged the gold ring on her finger until it shimmered with a faint pulse of light.
Gone, or rather, invisible.
The crowd was thick, swaying and raucous, but she wove through them like smoke, unseen hands parting flesh and leather and silks alike. She moved with purpose as she slipped past spectators and gamblers, drunkards and dealers, until she reached the edge of the ring. Kaisel was squaring up again, his stance ready, the cocky slant of his grin half-obscured by blood. A burst of laughter came from the crowd as his opponent circled like a bull.
That was when Flora struck: a soft touch—nothing more. Her fingers grazed the dragoon's arm like a breeze in summer, a whisper of warmth that coiled through muscle and bone, mending bruises, dulling pain, soothing the ache like honey poured through cracked stone. The magic would settle into him like a sigh, the kind that filled the lungs and steadied the spine and hopefully allowed him to deal the sorts of devastating blows that would see her triple her money.
Flora uses her
Invisibility Ring | A gorgeous, copper-gold ring that, when worn, renders the wearer invisible.
and
Healing Ring | A golden ring made by the fae, capable of delivering mastered healing via touch.
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
The thud of the giant falling to the floor vibrated through the soles of his feet—the only gong this fighting pit responded to. Kaisel slowly rose to his full height, wrapped fists lifted in triumph as the darkness roared. Part of it cried out merely for the spectacle, content to see anyone bloodied, a thirst quenched only here. The other part though, it roiled, the growl of emptying pockets echoing from men who had bet on size and strength, thinking it a sure win.
Kaisel felt great. This was not his first victory, and while he'd suffered his share of losses, a win was always invigorating. Yet this was more than just the rising pride inside him. It was a second wind unlike any other. His breath was still clipped and deep, but energy coiled inside him like a gathering storm, a heat having settled into his skin in the same way a warm bath held you after a long and cold day. All his sneaking around to train down here was paying off. He was god's damned near invincible now. This would make the Dragoons notice him and assign him worthwhile missions. He knew it had been a genius plan. "ANOTHER ONE!" he roared to the gameskeeper, thumping his chest, residual blood flecking his shirt from his fist.
The crowd swayed with anticipation, but the gameskeeper glanced to a corner. There was a pause, a judgment being drawn in the dark. Unnoticed by most, someone there nodded. A silent exchange passed between a select few in the know, and all the while Kaisel soaked in the revelry of the crowd, trotting around the ring with infallible self-assuredness.
The ring shuddered as a new opponent hopped in, knife glinting at certain angles as she lunged forward. The blade wiped the grin from Kaisel's face as he quickly stepped back, hands snapping up in defense, teeth clenched. "What the fu-" his words cut off as he was forced to duck, her arm whistling past with the whine of the steel against the air. Her other hand thrust out and struck the side of his head, sending a sharp ringing through his ear as he spun, elbow driving into her side in passing. He pivoted sharply, one foot snaking between hers to upset her balance while his elbow followed through to finish the job. Her knife wouldn't mean shit as long as he floored her.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
03-22-2025, 08:49 AM (This post was last modified: 03-22-2025, 08:49 AM by Flora.)
flora
The moment Kaisel called for another round, Flora didn’t retreat. She slipped back into the crowd, just far enough to avoid suspicion, her invisible form pressing close to the edge of the ring. The energy pulsing through the Silk Houses was sharp as broken glass now, the crowd hungry, volatile, drunk on blood and coin. Good. That meant the odds were still in her favour.
Flora watched as the gameskeeper hesitated—subtle, but telling. Her gaze flicked to the darkened corner where decisions were quietly made, where someone nodded once. A new opponent stepped into the ring, and even before the knife flashed, Flora felt the shift. This wasn’t a casual brawl anymore.
Her brows lifted, impressed despite herself. "Well then," she murmured under her breath, unseen and unheard.
The steel glinted as the woman lunged, fast and brutal, and Flora exhaled slowly, folding her arms as she tracked the fight. She made no move to interfere—not yet. Her healing touch had already tipped the scales once. Twice would be pushing it, especially here. Getting caught meddling in Silk Houses business had a way of ending poorly… and permanently.
Still, her eyes stayed on the dragoon, cool and calculating beneath her invisible glamour. If he went down hard, she'd lose more than just coin. But if he pulled this off? If he danced that razor’s edge just right?
Well. It would make for an excellent return on investment.
And Flora always did love to win.
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
The opponent staggered back, nearly caught, but her flailing kept her on her feet. Kaisel couldn't take advantage of the opening, forced to recover as well. He shook his head like a confused dog, the ringing persisting as the pair circled each other slowly. Bit by bit, the wash of warmth ebbed away from him, and in its wake, Kaisel was left to wonder what had possessed him to press on like this. He could very well lose his life here. It was a sobering thought—not because Kaisel feared death, but because he didn’t want his mother to be right.
Spite is a powerful motivator.
The woman lunged and Kaisel ducked down and rolled with his hips to his left, but her blade flashed from her right hand, the left jab a feint. Kaisel's eyes widened. The steel snarled up his forearm, wraps splitting and dangling from his arm like broken crepe paper the day after a rager. Blood-red confetti messed the floor.
Kaisel didn't hesitate; the moment he knew she had him, he leaned into it, pushing toward her and the blade. A roar broke from his teeth as he surged, his right fist sneaking up his front and uppercutting into her jaw. He barreled into her, the punch snapping her head back as his weight toppled her.
He stepped over her as she slammed onto her back. He pressed his heel against the hand that still fisted the knife. The crowd was alive again, but Kaisel barely noticed. He held his opponent’s gaze, waiting for the fight to drain from her before turning away. She writhed under him, but her grip slackened. He kicked the knife away just before the gameskeeper stepped in and raised his bloodied hand in victory. "What kind of shitshow are you running?" Kaisel seethed, his words nearly drowned out as the mob's energy rose with his arm. "Get the fuck out," the gameskeeper snarled, his fingers pressing against the red line that separated the meat of Kaisel's arm as he hauled him off the ring. Kaisel’s head swam with pain, his left ear ringing out of sync with the hungry masses. His teeth set together, grinding back the exhaustion and the hurt as he tightly said, "My payment and I'm gone." From the dark a bag sailed towards him and Kaisel grabbed it with his uninjured hand. "A pleasure, as always, gentlemen."
Kaisel pulled his hood up and backed into the crowd. He pressed his wound tightly against his chest, the red spreading with a slow crawl up his shirt.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora watches as the bag of winnings is pressed into her palm, its weight solid and satisfying. The gold clinks faintly as she tosses all of it in the air with a theatrical flair, catching the glint of flickering lantern-light. "Compliments of Queen Dahlia!" she calls, loud enough to rise above the din. Gasps and laughter ripple through the crowd, a few heads whipping around at the Reaper's name, but Flora’s already vanishing into the shadows again, slipping through bodies like a current through coral.
It doesn’t take her long to spot Kaisel. He’s moving stiffly, clutching his bleeding arm, hood drawn up and eyes sharp beneath it. Flora falls into step beside him with the ease of someone who’s been shadowing strangers for sport her whole life (aka her twin brother). With a twist of her invisibility ring, the shimmer fades, and she appears mid-step, all glitter and trouble and a flash of gold from her dress.
"Yikes," she says brightly, looking at his arm. "You might’ve just ruined a really good thing for me, calling the gameskeeper out like that." Her eyes slide toward him, lips curling. "Then again, after taking down both of them like that? Stormbreak’s gonna know you’re a sure bet. And when the payout’s low, well..." She lets the thought hang, as if mourning the odds she won’t get next time on account of his spectacular victories.
"Still. Hell of a show." She pauses just long enough for it to feel like a pivot, then flashes him a smile, all effortless charm and pointed amusement. "You want a drink?" she offers, tilting her head. "My treat. You bled for it, after all."
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
Someone in the throng shouts an accursed name, and Kaisel’s steps falter as he cocks his head. Even here, where a certain infestation of its own kind has settled, that wretched name is being tossed about? Gods damned, maybe they really were doomed after all.
With bigger problems at the moment though, like staunching the flow (heavy days suck don't they girls), he kept walking. He'd lost a lot of people money tonight, he could tell by the unusual heft of his own coin purse, and that put a target on his back for two reasons. Better to leave here as soon as he could and stir up no more problems. Thankfully, he was dressed straight out of a seedy fashion catalog—right down to the bloodstains. As good as he was, there was always someone better. Wasn't that always the case? Even when you're on top, you're chasing someone else, some talent you feel yourself lacking. Life was just the pursuit of happiness, after all. Actually attaining it? Impossible.
"GODS TITS!" he spat out unwillingly as a jolt of fear spun through him at her sudden appearance. He jerked to such a swift halt his spoils of war thumped to the floor and his ruined arm lurched up to protect his face, an automatic response his trainer would be pleased with. She was saying something, but he didn't hear a word of it, even if every part was completely true and would definitely be a problem for future him. First, his ear was still a bit knocked around—an audio debuff, if you will. Second, he was still recovering from the heart attack she’d just delivered. That jumpscare was so flawless, any horror director should be signing her on the spot. Third, and most importantly, he couldn’t hear a damn thing over the sheer size of his own grin.
"FLO-RO!" he cried out, this time with a different enthusiasm. Though she wasn't quite on the same level as family, he'd grown up with her around enough to bestow such a nickname. Plus, Koa liked her—so obviously, she was top-tier. He reached to embrace her in a swift and strong hug, completely forgetting the uncapped red marker he was holding.
"Bruh you almost unalived me there for real," he laughed, a breath loosening the tension from him easily. "Ah shit, my bad. It's Majesty Flo-ro now, huh? Anyway—what was that about you owing me?" There were many ways to be bright, and Kaisel was one of them only.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora's laughter bursts out bright and entirely delighted as Kaisel nearly leaps out of his skin, the grin on her face blooming into something even more vivid at his shocked expression. "Sorry, babe," she says, though she's clearly not even a little bit sorry, eyes sparkling wickedly. But her amusement is short-lived as he's suddenly lunging forward with open arms and, oh gods, so much blood. "Woahwoahwoah—" she blurts, instinctively cringing away even as she's swept into the dragoon's hug, her laughter shifting to something horrified and amused all at once. "Gross, Kai!" Flora squirms free, but not before dosing him with another burst of magic from her ring, scowling playfully as she holds her hands out away from her dress. "I'm sending you my cleaning bill, just so we're clear."
Still, it's impossible to keep up the scolding for more than half a second with the way his grin seems to brighten the whole shady corner of the Silk Houses. She rolls her eyes fondly at the nickname, unable to hide the way her lips twitch into another smile as she gives his shoulder a shove with the back of her hand—the clean one, thank you. "Ugh, ew, no—I thought we put Flo-Ro behind us. And yeah, its been majesty for a few years now, thanks for noticing." She wrinkles her nose dramatically before flashing a sharp grin.
At his question about her owing him, Flora arches one brow, placing a thoughtful finger against her cheek. "Mmm, I think it was something about owing you a drink," she says, breezily casual. Her head tilts slightly, curls bouncing against her shoulder as she smirks up at him. "Or was it you owing me for betting on your hot-headed ass? Either way, drinks. Now. Before you ruin any more of my clothes."
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
03-23-2025, 11:13 AM (This post was last modified: 03-23-2025, 11:13 AM by Kaisel.)
Kaisel
Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me
He laughed easily—at her admonishment, his own nickname, and the way she tried (and failed) to squirm away. For a brief moment, it’s like they’d jumped back a few years—to simpler times. It felt good. "Oh my bad." He held his hands up apologetically. "Here, lemme just-" He searched for a clean bit of cloth on his body and proffered up a small square on the back inside of his shirt. He twisted the fabric around and lurched towards her as if he made to use it to blot the mess from her clothes. "See? No bill needed." He winked. Then he felt then that warmth settling over him again, the small pains subsiding, the little injuries knitting together. He arched a 'brow at her and then pointed, "It was you!" He belted out a laugh and droped his shirt back down. "Oh Flo, you're like a good luck charm. You should come down here more often!" Well, was it actually luck? She'd kind of almost got him killed. Definitely wasn't his own doing.
He snatched up his fallen coin purse before some ruffian could relieve him of it permanently. He tossed it once in his hand, grinning wolfishly at her. "Who knew royalty had to stoop to such lows as to bet on little old me." He tutted softly, shaking his head. "So, how'd I look? Badass, right?"Without waiting for her answer—because he already knew it was yes—he offered her his non-bloody arm. The other one was better after her magic, but he still pressed it close against him. "M'lady, those drinks. Seems we have a lot of catching up to do..."
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora lets out another exaggerated groan, holding up a finger like a stern mother about to scold a particularly messy child as Kaisel lunges toward her with his shirt. "Oh my gods—no, ew," she squeals, stepping backward dramatically, nose wrinkling even as her laughter betrays her amusement. "Keep your sweaty shirt to yourself."
Still, there’s a sparkle in her eyes, delighted even as she pretends offence, and she shrugs breezily when he calls her out on her little magical assist. "Mm, guilty," she says brightly, ringed-fingers fluttering in mock innocence and also to subtly indicate where her luck had come from. "But hey, it's not cheating if I don't get caught. Or if you don't know about it. You're welcome, by the way, for not letting you die and all that."
At his playful jab, Flora rolls her eyes extravagantly. "Please. Even queens get bored, and your dumb ass was way too entertaining to pass up." Her voice turns teasingly sweet, batting her lashes at him. "And yes, yes, you were very badass—especially that part where you nearly got your arm chopped off. Ten out of ten, would bet again."
But she takes the offered arm anyway, slipping her hand neatly into the crook of his elbow, careful to keep her dress clear of any remaining blood. "Lead the way, hotshot," she says, lips curled mischievously. "Here's hoping you can hold your liquor better than you used to," Flora chuckled, nudging him softly in the ribs, mindful of the fact that he likely had bruises everywhere.
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
"They cheated right back, so the score is even." He took her teasing equally in stride, even throwing in a dramatic eye roll. "All for the crowd effect," he assured her, a blatant lie regarding the slum's surgery he experienced. "Maybe now I could get a cool stage name. Like, Ironside... or the UNeviscerated. UNeviscerator? Anti-eviscerate?" he mused. "Well, I'll think on it."
As she slipped into the crook of his arm, he steered her with the easy familiarity of those raised in the city. They wouldn't be ambling out of the Silk Houses just yet though; he wasn't dressed well enough for any finer establishments, but they could at least escape the din of the pits. "I can't remember the last time we drank. So I'm guessing I didn't fare very well against you and everyone else. Then again, I was what, sixteen? I didn't realize your ego needed such a boost that you had to brag about beating children."
He found a barrel of water in an alleyway as they walked by and took a moment to wash the grime from his face. His wound had since begun to dry, thanks to her talents, but he still cupped some water in his palm and rubbed at the laceration. The motion reopened the wound—exactly what he wanted—to let the water flush it out. He didn’t have time to skip training over an infection. Not to mention, that'd raise questions he didn't want to answer. He needed to keep testing his limits and the coin was a nice return. His formal trainer certainly never paid him—cheapskate.
"See anything that looks promising yet?" he asked as he shook the water from his hands. Much as he enjoyed their moonlit stroll, the seedy taverns were calling—and a drink sounded pretty good right about now. Besides, he really needed something to disinfect the cut because he was pretty sure that water had horse spit in it.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora snorts delicately, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous name suggestions. "I vote for UNeviscerated," she drawls, entirely deadpan. "Sounds way scarier when no one knows what the hell you're talking about." But she squeezes his arm gently as they walk, falling comfortably into stride beside him, and the bright, playful smirk she wears softens into a familiar warmth.
She gives an exaggerated gasp at his next words, pressing her free hand theatrically against her chest. "Excuse me, I did not brag about beating children," she insists primly, eyes glittering mischievously. "I bragged about beating you, and a win is a win."
Waiting with pointed patience while he rinses his wounds in the very questionable barrel-water—she cringes dramatically, whispering, "You know, I could just... heal that properly for you? Without the horse piss or whatever is in there?"—Flora nevertheless gives a thoughtful hum as they finally move on toward the cluster of seedy taverns ahead.
Her gaze skims the ramshackle signs, lip curling in playful disdain at their names. "Oh yeah, we've got some real gems here," she says dryly. "You feeling more 'Rusty Anchor' or 'The Soggy Siren'? Both sound incredibly classy, obviously." Though at this point in the evening, so long as they served something that could passingly be called liquor, she'd be happy. "Oh, did you hear I own a bar in Torchline now?" Glancing at the dragoon over her shoulder, the queen grins. "So I'm going to be a real snob regardless of where you pick."
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
"What!?" he demands of her suggestion that she play nurse. "And ruin the chance to earn a wicked scar? I think not. Keep all your jewelry to yourself." He was grateful she'd saved his ass but damn if he was going to have her cramp his style. "I just need some liquor and it'll be fine." Probably without any additional context that sounded a bit strong on the alcoholic front, but Kaisel was equally interested in bathing the cut in it as he was his tongue.
Although, if worse came to worse, maybe some urine would be helpful. That was a thing, right? He wasn't completely sure, but something about peeing on an injured friend's wound sounded correct.
For both their sakes though it wouldn't have to come to that. Well, hopefully not anyway. With some of the names she listed off they might actually just be handed piss in a bottle and told it was beer. He made a face, the way a cat does when it's inhaling something deeply, at the options they had available. Admittedly he didn't ever come here to drink so he'd never paid much attention. "Oh?" he asked of her revelation. "So, what, you don't have a necklace of teleportation or something to take us there and get free rounds?" He looked at her like she'd just said the most heinous thing he'd ever heard. "Reeeeal helpful Flo-yo."
"Besides," he snorted, "you're always a snob so how could I tell the difference?" He laughed, but turned suddenly and pointed between them. "Look! The Slob Knob. Not rusty or soggy, I think that's our winner." The bar was buried in the ground tonight.
Here only the strong survive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
"Hey if scars are really your thing—" With an easy, theatrical flair, Flora slides one strap of her dress off her shoulder, baring the thick, gnarled patch of scar tissue nestled there—ugly, pink, and undeniable against the tan of her skin. "I got this one by literally dying after being stabbed straight through," she informs him matter-of-factly, letting him get a good look before sliding the strap neatly back into place. "A few others too, but that one was the worst." Unconsciously her hand sweeps across her lower stomach where she'd also been stabbed, but the wound had come out much cleaner than the mess she currently sported on her shoulder.
Flora, who had come here to drink before, is considering more refined options as the dragoon makes his choice. Gasping dramatically, she presses a scandalized hand to her chest as she mock-glares up at Kaisel. "Excuse me, I'm not always a snob," she protests, lifting her chin in playful defiance. "Sometimes I'm asleep. And honestly, Kai, the teleportation necklace is only for people I actually like." She sticks her tongue out childishly, eyes sparkling with laughter. Then, when he declares his choice of tavern, her nose wrinkles in feigned disgust. "Slob Knob? Gods gross." But she doesn't protest further, instead she pivots gracefully on her heel, curls catching the glow of the tavern lights as she reaches for Kaisel's hand, slender fingers locking firmly around his wrist. "C'mon, scar boy" she laughs, tugging him forward with more enthusiasm than the 'Slob Knob' has probably ever witnessed.
Inside, the tavern pulses with music and voices and questionable life choices, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and the sharp tang of spilled liquor. Flora slips deftly through the throng, nudging patrons aside with pointed elbows and sharp smiles, one hand still firmly latched onto Kaisel's as she wedges herself determinedly toward the bar counter. Raising onto her toes to peer past a wall of broad shoulders and questionable tattoos, she waves dramatically at the barkeep. "Hey! Two shots of your least sketchy liquor, please!" Her voice barely rises over the chaos, but the flash of coin in her hand is enough to have someone behind the bar grunting and nodding.
We can't make any promises now can we babe? But you can make me a drink.
