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!
Flora, who is already a queen, sees no issue in annexing whatever hill Kaisel wants to try and die on. Emotional battlegrounds, dramatic disputes over chip allegiances—conquered, catalogued, and added to her dominion.
"Besides," she drawls, her cheek still pressed into her folded arms, "it’s a win-win. Either I stay smooth and beautiful and you get to feed your weirdo sunscreen obsession, or I go full crispy and become your favourite salty snack. No extra effort on your part."
When he flops dramatically beside her and starts rubbing lotion into his chest like some overly bronzed cover model, she reaches for whatever’s closest—one of her sandals—and lazily chucks it at his hip. "Ugh, if you're going to do that, no crying at least," she mutters without looking, her tone perfectly dry as if expecting his hands to take advantage of their oily sheen and slip between his ombre shorts.
Her gaze trails over him with amusement as he tends to his legs, and though she doesn't say it aloud, it's obvious she’s noting every exaggerated motion. "The Dragoons must really be falling apart if your current assignment is this wishy-washy," she comments with a smirk. There's no bite in it, though—if anything, her voice softens with something close to appreciation. Even if the Dragoons really were going to shit, it was nice to see Kaisel more often, even if he was apparently being deployed on secret fucking missions now.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
"AhHhHhhH!" he yelps as the ultimate weapon flips towards him, hips lifting up in an attempted dodge. It strikes him square, bouncing off, and he flops back down, wounded. Lotion-slick hands grab blindly for the ammunition, fumbling for a second before grasping the sandal firmly in hand. He rotates it so that he's got a grip of the back heel portion, then swings towards her suddenly, pushing off with his other hand and his legs, still low but aiming to close the distance suddenly even if it means an ungraceful landing on his chest. As he sails, he yells, sandal in hand reaching out to smack her on the ass, ideally, for all its padding, but also to see it jiggle with the force.
Expecting retaliation to be swift and ferocious, he rolls onto his back, one hand shielding his dick and the other stretching out like he might be able to grab hold of whatever she unleashes in return. Talks of Dragoons and potato chips momentarily forgotten beneath the need to simply fuck with her.
It's not the devil at your door It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora, who had generously planted herself face-down to spare Kaisel the spiritual awakening of seeing her tits glisten under the LongHeat sun once more, immediately regrets every merciful decision she’s made in her life. Then again, she has no idea if he's a tits or ass man in the first place (then again he's 19, so it's definitely both), so maybe it had all been for naught anyway. Last time she ever bothers to do something nice for him again.
The slap lands with an echo, the sandal clapping against her cheek like a personal vendetta, and Flora screeches. "KAIIIIISEL!" Her voice ricochets off the deck like cannon fire. Whipping upright with all the grace of a capsizing dinghy, she clutches the impacted cheek with a gasp, curls flying as she twists to glare daggers at his stupid, smug, sunscreen-slicked form.
He's already covering his junk like the gremlin he is, one hand reaching out blindly like he might stop her. Please. Rookie mistake.
"Spice!" she shrills like a war general calling in an airstrike. The little dragon obliges instantly, diving in with a hiss of frost and unleashing a concentrated blast toward Kaisel's startled face—just enough to hopefully make him flinch as Flora lunges.
She grabs his ankle with both hands, fingers slipping for half a second on his dumb lotiony legs before locking in. With evil in her eyes and vengeance in her soul, she trails her nails in light, merciless patterns up the arch of his foot. "If my ass bruises," she growls, tickling him with precision born of pure spite and prior knowledge,"you're dead." stopped mid teeth brushing for WAR.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
05-10-2025, 06:46 AM (This post was last modified: 05-10-2025, 06:46 AM by Kaisel.)
Kaisel
One foot in the ground One foot in the grave
Whatever comes next, it'd be worth it just for that soul-satisfying shriek he pulled out of her. He's laughing uncontrollably, half from the imminent fear of her retribution, half because the recoil of her ass against the assault had been delicious.
He always forgets about Spice though. The dragon is so often helpful, and just cute as could be, that she doesn't register as a weapon that can be turned against him. Like how infants have big heads and eyes on purpose so you're innately tricked into caring for them instead of consuming them in a fit of rage for all the crying and the lack of sleep, not to mention the hormone dump—that's Spice. A cute baby in disguise, because she's actually a sleek missile of flying frost, and she's hurtling for him. He writhes, his outstretched arm curling against his face instead as her breath hisses out sharp and cold—a welcome relief to the sweat gathering there to be honest—prickling against him so that he squints against the strike.
He feels rather than sees Flora's hands clap against his ankles like manacles, stiffening every part of him as she flicks a finer out like a switchblade brought to a boxing match. "Flora," he says steadily, as if trying to reason with someone insane, as he looks up at her front the tilt of his head still pressed against the deck, glittering with rapidly warming ice. There's a flash of her wickedness, and then like a professional torturer that's done the job too long to be influenced by human cries anymore, she sets that nail against his foot with all the ruthlessness of a queen scorned.
"FLORA!" he shrieks, back arching up as he foot thrashes in her hand, his other leg kicking against her fucking strong grip in an attempt to regain freedom. Her growled warnings are barely heard over the starbursts of sensation and his wails, the pitch and the depth of which rise to hysteria as he begs for release. "FLOOOOOORA, STOP, STOP!"
It's not the devil at your door It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Slippery or not, Flora is committed. A lesser woman might have yielded at the sight of a grown man flailing like he’d been dropped in a sea of eels, but Flora? She just grits her teeth and clambers further up the battlefield of his body, determined to get a better angle.
"STAY. STILL," she barks like an enraged lifeguard wrestling a drunken beachgoer, one leg throwing itself over his like a net trying to catch a flopping fish. She hooks her calf over his shin, trying to use her weight to tug his legs snug against her side, hoping that if she traps him tight enough, he won’t reflexively kick her in the tit.
"Take your punishment like a man, or admit that I win!" she growls, pressing her forearm into his thigh for leverage as her other hand resumes its unholy assault—fingertips dancing up and down the arch of his foot, around the heel, devilishly skimming under his toes.
Their limbs are a tangled, sun-oiled mess, skin slick with lotion and indignity. Spice wheezes a puff of frosty approval from the sidelines, watching with gleaming eyes like a smug little referee.
"You assaulted a queen," Flora hisses between cackles. "This is justice. This is order. This is—KAISEL ASSBORN FUCKING STAY STILL."
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
Her leg slides like an iron chain against him, a new set of jewelry for this cruel imprisonment. It fits snug and harsh, a slip which tightens steadily until all hope of mercy is choked out. Even her arm clamps down tighter, a manacle biting against his skin until the weight of it will become more than he can resist. Still, he strains against each shackle laid upon him, bucking and thrashing, trying to spin onto his stomach like a gator.
"FLORA PLEASE. No no no FLOR—PLEASE—PLEASE!!" He's breathless with the effort, with the yelling to deaf ears, with the teased-out laughter that empties his lungs. His ribs are aflame with the maddening mirth, and like any victim of the Joker, he wonders if he can laugh himself to death. Asphyxiation by giggles is certainly a way to go.
His hands, too far to help his trapped feet, swing wildly overhead in a blind search for salvation. His fingers brush that chilly edge of his water glass, and he stretches to reach for the handle. His grip hooks into it and he pulls it towards him, mindful of tilting his arm as needed to keep the contents level. His jerking motions from Flora's relentless attack make this no easy task, but the retrieval is quick and the trigger pull even faster.
He flings the Spice-chilled water towards Flora, head lifting to watch the beautiful cascade greet her. A panting grin slips onto his otherwise anguished features as he manages to croak out a cheesy line straight out of CSI, "why don't you, chill out, babe," Whatever bit splashes on him as well is a welcome self-sacrifice for this war if it means turning the tide of battle.
It's not the devil at your door It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora gasps as the ice-cold splash crashes over her bare back, soaking her curls and sliding in rivulets down the curve of her spine. Water clings to her skin in shivering streaks, plastering her golden curls to her head and making her pasties stand out in stark, flower-shaped protest. She freezes in place—half sprawled across Kaisel’s legs, hair dripping, mouth agape.
Then she turns her head. Slowly. Silently. Her expression could boil oceans.
"You're gonna regret that," she whispers.
And then? Chaos.
With one sharp movement, Flora twists the ring on her finger and vanishes. Not a sound, not a shimmer. Just a wet towel, a smug man, and suddenly: nothing. No queen. No warning.
"Spice," comes her voice from nowhere, low and dangerous, like thunder over distant water. "Attack formation." She could have just thought it to her companion, but where would the fun in that be?
The little dragon squeals with glee and begins spiralling overhead, puffing controlled gusts of frosty breath downward, turning the sun-warmed air into a swirl of dazzling chill.
And Kaisel? He'd do well to fear the cold.
Invisible now, Flora pivots her body—twisting from where she’d been wrapped around his leg to reposition above him. His ribs, gloriously exposed in his oiled-up attempt at sun safety, are her next battleground. With a devilish grin that no one can see, she drives her fingers up along the sensitive length of his side, scratching and teasing with maddening precision.
"You wanna throw ice water and bad one-liners at me?" her disembodied voice growls near his ear, her breath warm even as Spice’s mist cools the air. "I invented the dramatic comeback, Assborn." He’s surrounded now. A cloud of freezing mist above. Invisible fingers below. Wet skin, slick limbs, and a queen with no mercy.
"Spice! Bring me his crown jewels!" A command the little dragon is more than happy to assist with, abandoning her post overhead and instead tilting to blast a stream of icy air between Kaisel's legs that his floundering has left wonderfully unprotected.
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
There is a fleeting moment of triumph as the tickles stop and Flora stills. Relief comes like a flood, euphoria spinning through him as everything that had been tight unclenches and Kaisel sucks in breaths like a fish hauled out of the sea. The victory comes at a price. One perhaps too steep for him to pay, he realizes with abject horror as Flora's head turns towards him with all the pace of a surefooted killer stalking a big-titted slut to her front door. Sunlit from behind and glistening with the residual water droplets, Flora's wrath appears holy—she might not wield the cosmic might of an actual deity, but her drenched scorn will smite him all the same.
She's gone when he blinks. For all the trouble she's handed him at the sight of her, the lack of her leaves him more fucked than any pasty-protected breast ever could. His mouth runs dry—fucking crow and all her rings. "Floooooraaaa" he says warily, an attempt to reason with someone who's become mad. He props up on his forearms, on knee bent as his foot presses against the deck, ready for movement but cautious to make any blindly. His gaze narrows, as if he might discern her shimmering here or there, and his head tilts to listen.
Spice.
A shudder rolls through him as her voice skates across the deck, soft as a nightmare in daylight but no less terrible. Kaisel's eyes dart suddenly above, trying to track the oncoming bombing. He tenses, ready to roll out of the way, but is frozen by another means as breath buffets his ear, suddenly, vulnerably, so close and nefarious. It curls in time with a finger against his rib, and every imagined retaliation, every calculated grab for her invisible lingering, is dashed by the uncontrollable ripple of muscle and skin commanded by her touch. Kaisel laughs against his will, jerking away as his torso twists, Flora' exertion of mental and physical warfare something this Dragoon has not trained well enough for. "FlOrA!" he wails, a sound of fear, though honestly it's rimmed with delight at her fuckery even if its scary. One hand lurches out into the nothing to grasp for her, to wrest some form of control back if he can. "You started this," he hisses, as if that means anything, as if it means she'll ever let him end it.
He has not known true fear until now though.
As her command rings out, Kaisel's eyes widen, "NONONONO, YOU WIN!" A final plead for sensibility here before the dragon zips down, all too willing, and Kaisel screams as he clamps his legs shut, knees rising as an attempted barrier.
It's not the devil at your door It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Kaisel’s panic is absolutely delicious—Flora drinks it in, invisible grin wide as he wails and squirms beneath her merciless fingers. His hand flails out, finally managing to catch against her sunscreen-slicked back, slipping over her spine as he attempts to hold her off. She shivers beneath his palm, biting her lip to suppress laughter, though he’ll feel her shaking with amusement as she continues her assault against his ribs.
She only pauses when Kaisel shrieks his desperate surrender, legs snapping shut in frantic self-defence against Spice's frosty advance. Satisfied with her victory, Flora shifts, leaning forward carefully, hips hovering so she doesn't accidentally create an entirely new and far less manageable situation between them (because there's harmless and then there's harmless).
"I accept your surrender," she whispers, low and teasingly smug near his ear, lips brushing lightly against the shell of it. Then, in a playful display of graciousness befitting her royal status, Flora presses an invisible kiss of victory to the very tip of Kaisel's nose—a quick, sweet punctuation mark to their messy battle. "Consider this me being merciful," she purrs, invisible fingers grazing lightly over his chest as she pushes herself smoothly away.
She settles elegantly back onto her towel, twisting her ring and reappearing with a glimmer of golden skin and water-slick curls. With a self-satisfied sigh, Flora crosses her ankles and kicks her feet lazily into the air, basking in her unquestionable win. "Let this be a lesson in picking fights you can’t win, Assborn," she informs him, her grin bright enough to rival the sun overhead. Then, glancing pointedly at the now-empty water glass and arching a delicately sculpted brow, she waves a hand in a regal flourish. "Now, since someone spilled all our water, I think you owe me a refill."
~FIN
I want to be when you fall on me like night I wanna kill the lights
