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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!
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
The party had been less than stellar for the butcher and having to get a grip on himself amongst so many strangers — that and watching Danta socialize. It set his teeth on edge, at least for the time it took until they’d managed to get away. With only one little prank made and a certain beautiful blood red rose in hand, the butcher finds himself heading toward Thalassa’s home, hoping that she’s residing within, for an apology on the tip of his tongue for the events in the masquerade.
They were all a little bit on high alert, it seemed, but the butcher arrives at her door with two gifts. One she won’t see, the other wrapped meticulously and carefully. The ribbon along the top spills in a blood red, at odds with the deep charcoal of the paper its wrapped in, and with the rose carefully hidden away from her sight, the butcher knocks twice, lingering at her door as lightning strikes around him, rain water dripping from the tines of his antlers.
The party had been about as fun for her as Asta. What she'd hoped to be a great distraction to lose herself in had only resulted in bruised pride, painful reminders, and such an overwhelming mix of emotions that it had taken her a few days to recover. Only a long, grueling hunt and a starry stint on the deck of her ship had helped to clear some of the confusion, bringing back a modicum of normalcy to smooth the rough edges; but even now, she feels the hollowing ache.
It follows her as she rises from where she'd been organizing her chest at the end of her bed, preparing for a long trip in hopes of getting out of her own head - since being on the water always seems to calm her. The knock beckons her to the door, and Thal palms a single obsidian dagger as she moves to answer it. Her dark hair catches the stormy breeze as the door opens, framing the slight widening of her tired eyes and rustling over the relaxed version of her usually dark clothing.
There Asta stands, a ribboned box in hand.
She doesn't immediately gesture him inside, pausing to take in the drenched form of her friend and considering whether she should make him wait longer. "Asta, surprised to see you here." It's a little sharper than she intends, the reality sitting like a poised blade over her heart, just waiting for him to give a small push, to do what she always anticipates from people. Him being here reassures her, but Thal's guard is already up, ready to hear about Danta or her own childish attitude, to hear all about her overreactions.
Whatever the reason for his visit, he looks pretty miserable standing out there in the cold, and she's not angry enough to bring him physical harm (yet), so she reluctantly steps aside to give him space to enter.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
He waits patiently for her arrival with zero judgement written on his face for however long it does or doesn’t take for her to open the door. He had a feeling she was there, based off of having heard that the Marauder was still docked in Jack Tar. So perhaps, part of it had been luck, but it had also been calculated.
The door opens and his smile brightens. The butcher straightens up, knocking a few droplets from his horns down onto his carefully swept back hair that’s also glistening with rain. She’s silent at first, taking him in, but in that time the butcher takes her in, too. The dark circles, the sharpness of her tone when she speaks.
But as always, Astaroth doesn’t take it personally. “Thalassa,” he greets her quietly, his voice warm and gentle as it trails across the syllables of her name. “I apologize for how long it took me to coordinate a time when you were here.” He murmurs softly, not saying one way or another what he was here for, nor the apology on the tip of his tongue from the party. Instead, he lifts the box in his hands a little as if in explanation as she reluctantly steps aside.
He takes the opportunity, stepping in and shedding his drenched coat, summoning a brief whip of flame to dry his horns and hair and face off, before he turns to her with his smile softening a touch. “I wanted to come and see you after the masquerade.” And the sharpness of which Danta had reacted to Thal’s quiet words. “We were all.. mm, on edge at that point.” His head tilts this way and that before he shakes his head and clicks his tongue.
“Anyway, I have brought this for you, darling. I do hope you enjoy it.” Handing over the box, the butcher waits for her to open it up. Beneath the beautiful wrapping and the bow, she’ll find that it opens to reveal a meticulously crafted and beautiful wind chime, made of bone and driftwood. Within the bones (some animal, some human), little carvings of ships at sea, monsters of the deep like krakens and ghost whales, and the crashing of waves line their surface. On the driftwood portions, they’re carved to be shaped in the form of musical notes. And when held up from the box would chime and clink with a haunting hollowness that he's certain would be a perfect addition to the thunder that sits like a baseline to the sounds outside her door.
As Asta steps inside, Thal gives a small nod of her head, voice flat with controlled disinterest. "You caught me right before a trip." Clothes and supplies scatter the room, making it appear messier than usual as she organizes the necessary chaos. The large chest hints at the voyage to come, an unsurprising amount of black fabric peeking from within, interspersed with the glint of silver blades.
Slipping her dagger into its sheath at her hip, the door clicks closed to muffle the storm outside, leaving them trapped with the one still brewing in her eyes. His words and soft smile should calm some of the tension, yet her arms come up to cross over her chest, buffering and protective as if she's preparing for a fight. "I got that part." It's not an acceptance or dismissal of the reasoning, just raw comprehension that does little to sooth her pain at having been so poorly received. Logically, she understands - gods know she's always on edge - but her heart doesn't run on logic, and it doesn't heal so quickly from wounds on her aready tender emotions.
Thal pauses at the offered box, scanning his face and the delicate wrapping like she's not sure if she wants it. But she takes it anyways, reluctantly pulling at the silky red ribbon in silence. She knows what it is the moment she glimpses the ivory, drawing in a slow breath as she looks over the intricate carvings that decorate the surface of each piece. It's more beautiful than she could have imagined and she can't help the awe and disbelief that laces her words. "You remembered."
Despite her best efforts, the gift softens her, overshadowing the ache with the reminder of how good a friend Asta is. She knows she's not angry at him. She knows it's her that's the problem, but Thal was never very good at admitting fault, and she prefers to cling to the guilt and pain than let it go. It's hard to decide if it feels better or worse than the nothingness that always threatens to devour her, but it's something, so she clenches her jaw against the onslaught and glances up at him briefly. "I'll make sure to hang it in the window of my cabin." Her fingers hover over the meticulous details again before she moves to place it in the chest, lingering in the distance that she's made.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
Nodding his understanding as he takes a periphery glance around her cabin to see things strewn about — very clear that she’s been packing. So perhaps it’s for the best that the butcher has arrived now, given that he’s intending to try and fix the wrong that’s only extended her prickly personality into the forefront of her life. That and the breakup with the brawler - he hasn’t forgotten about that part. But he wonders how much of it was truly her falling in love or was influenced by the void.
He supposes time will only tell.
His chin dips in agreement to the statement she’s made - neither accepting or dismissing it, something that helps his smile remain just as wide as he offers her the box. She stares at it at first, pausing, before she takes it and he watches with quiet delight as she unveils what he’s worked on over the past few months since they’d talked about it. “Of course I did, darling.” He hums softly, gently, as if indulging in a second of simple friendliness. He was her friend and he did care about her, whether or not portions of himself this season seemed at odds with that.
His smile remains, however, as her attention returns to him and she moves to place it in the chest. Her distance is noticed and he hesitates a moment before he takes a step forward, horned head tilting slightly. “I am sure it will look lovely there. A serenade amongst the waves.” He muses a touch poetically, thoughtfully, before he sighs a little wistfully. “Well, I do not wish to keep you from your trek. I simply wanted to ensure you received the gift.” But here he hesitates, gaze focusing for a moment on the chest before rising to her face. “And that you were okay, of course. Might you accept an embrace before I go?” He asks, something not out of the ordinary this season based off of what he’s already told her. He’s more physical this season, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Even if his motives for it are for completely different reasons.
Thal nods her head, swallowing back the way his unwavering friendship floods her with shame. She wants to ignore all the aches and the bitterness - to embrace him without remorse - but it feels like too much, like she won't be able to hold the pain anymore. And she's not sure she deserves that.
"I don't know if 'okay' is the right word, not when Maea took my solitude as an invitation to approach me at the party." Her shoulders come up in a shrug, her eyes sweeping to anywhere but Asta as she tries to hide the frustration there, like just saying it is enough to cast aside the emotions it had brought up. After all, he seems eager to depart, and Thal doesn't want to push the limits of their friendship, so she continues nonchalantly, "But I suppose you need to get back to Danta, and I should probably finish packing." As if to absolve him of any guilt or dismiss any suspicions of her excuse, she steps away to roll one of her maps, not noticing that she folds one of the corners in the process.
When she sets it into the chest, her eyes catch on the chime and she pauses, lingering. Her heart wavers in it's confused state, beating with clear appreciation for the first real gift she's received. "Thank you," it's soft and gentle, sincere, "for the wind chime." The words could easily be substituted with gratitude for his friendship, unwilling to let her prideful emotions keep her from expressing her unspoken regret for how she's reacted recently, even if she can't bring herself to release her grip on the distractions from her bigger problems.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
Mention of Maea has him stilling, a sharp little flick of his tail. HIs smile shifts toward a frown and he takes immediate notice of the way she doesn’t look at him. Avoids his gaze, even, and that simply won’t do. He hesitates, jaw flexing briefly with the tick that feathers through his temple and he cocks his head. “Did she, now?” He asks with a hint of his own frustration for her glittering to the surface - easier this season than it usually was.
He shakes his head at needing to get back to Danta for the moment - because it had been an excuse to try and get her to come closer to him, though she seems keen on keeping her distance. “No, no, I will stay if you wish to talk about it.” He murmurs, confident as he rolls his shoulders, the jacket only damp now that he wears. “I simply did not wish to intrude for too long, and he can wait.” An easier explanation, he thinks.
Against his better judgement, though, as she offers her soft and gentle gratitude for the wind chime, he nods and takes a step closer to her, brows pinched. Turning toward the variety of items laid out that still needed to be packed, he steps over to snag a stack of clothes that looked like it was about to go in next. Taking it, he steps over to her and hands it to her, carefully watching her now. “You are most welcome, darling.” He murmurs, offering her a gentler smile to replace the concern.
She doesn't want to blame Asta. He certainly hadn't told Maea to bother her, or for the ghastly flower to appear. But she subconsciously wonders if most of her suffering could have been avoided if she'd been encouraged to stay near him at the party. Maybe it's why she takes some bit of satisfaction when the irritation laces his tone. However, her own frustrations are tainted with guilt, and she refuses to see the visual signs of her success, not when there's a bitter sense that she's manipulating his concern to keep him here, to turn his focus on her no matter what means she has to use. It feels weak.
Yet she can't find the strength to turn him away.
Shrugging her shoulders, she tries not to let the reassurance show when he offers to stay, and does her best not to make it seem like he has to for her sake. Thal hesitates only a moment before elaborating in a flat, disinterested tone, "There's not much to talk about. She appeared disgustingly content, but the arguments were the same." Asta knows her well enough that he'll be able to spot the pain creasing her eyes, only the tip of her tail snapping in quiet discontent while the rest of her remains stiff and alert.
Setting a pair of daggers near the maps like she hadn't considered stabbing Maea, her voice speeds through the following events. "Then a Rose appeared, she shifted into a dragon, and got us thrown out by Ludo. Fun times." And she'd spent the rest of the night in a whirl of dark paths, overthinking, and general unease.
Thal finally turns to glance at him, a softness in her eyes as she accepts the clothes, placing them over her daggers. His smile is met with a quiet nod of appreciation before her attentions are back on the chest.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
“That unfortunately makes sense.” The butcher sighs in response to the first statement about Maea that leaves Thalassa’s lips — but to actually glance over at her and see the pain that sits there? It has that small frown of his continuing to tug at his lips, nodding his understanding. It gives him the moment required to go and snag the pile of clothes, returning to Thalassa’s side when she mentions the rose. His brows pinch, hesitation overcoming him before he sighs with the flair of dramatics he was known for. “Of course she did.” It comes out flatly, a low and thicker accented drawl.
She returns her attention to the chest and the butcher steps away to snag another set of clothes, folded neatly in his hands. After a few moments of ensuring they wouldn’t slip out of his grip, he steps back over toward her with a sigh, handing the stack of clothes to her. “She does not know when to stop, does she?” He murmurs, a distraction that despite the rest of everything, they can absolutely commiserate over. And perhaps it would work better than the alternative.
Because as he tries to keep her distracted with the piles of clothes and genuine distaste over their common enemy, the butcher hopes that this pattern repeats itself with her focusing back on the crate once she’s collected the clothes, because in a swift movement he withdraws the additional little trinket in his coat pocket, hidden as best he can with the flare of his haunt magic as shadows leak from him - hoping that it’s an indicator that he’s more upset about the Maea situation than he really is - if only to be able to return to her, hand her another pile of clothes. His gaze grows increasingly dark, like it is truly bothering him, while shadows leak and hide half of his torso as it flares out including his other hand. “If you would like for me to speak to her, I will gladly do so.” There’s a dark, murderous urgency in his voice, one that has him reaching up to snatch her hand as if to prove the point - while the hidden one with the rose and shadow launches to pierce her arm with the thorn.
They move into a familiar cycle of discussion, one they've agreed over a million times: Maea will never change. It eases some of the tension, but does little to smother the bitter guilt on her tongue as Asta performs the same role he always does - the supportive friend who says exactly what she needs to hear. The rhythm is easy to slip into regardless, exasperated comments sliding between the movements of her organization.
"She never did." And Thal didn't think Maea ever would, somehow rivaling herself in stubbornness. It's an annoying thought that has her tail flicking when she arranges the fabric in her chest. Then she turns to accept the next set of clothes.
There's rarely been a moment that Asta has touched her without politely asking first, but even when he has, it's been calm and gentle like a plume of smoke taking physical form - like she need only breath a word for him to retreat.
This is not that.
The flash of movement is so contradictory that it startles her out of that daze she'd slipped into, shock sending her instincts into overdrive to retrieve her hand from the foreign grasp before she's realizing who it is. Undisguised confusion is written across her face, glancing down at the shadows that ooze and flicker like uncontrolled murderous intent that she hadn't realized was a threat of spilling over. After all, their conversation isn't anything new, and it certainly doesn't call for such a reaction. But she has to wonder if the time of season has something to do with his sudden intensity, and hadn't Thal wanted to flare his emotions?
Her hand lowers cautiously to her side as she scans Asta, concern peeking through her lingering frustrations with Maea. It gives a slow consideration to her tone despite the anger that still coats her words. "No. I'd much rather she just fall off the face of the planet." She doesn't move, deciding perhaps that he needs a moment to collect himself, but there's a quiet tension to her stance, analyzing and observing for how far this reaction would go.
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
Perhaps he does say exactly what she needs to hear — but it isn’t because of her. He isn’t formulating these thoughts and ideas because he thinks that it will help her. He says them because they’re just as true to him as they are for her. It just has the brilliant way of being exactly what they’re both thinking. So it supports her just as he uses it as a mask, a guise to distract from what he’s really trying to do. And for a moment, he thinks that it could work.
The shadows swell, a mask for faux frustration and anger and an urgency to try and hide the rose in his hand. He reaches for her and misses as she becomes startled, like a wounded animal that he’s struggling to try and gain the trust of. And for a moment, he thinks he’s ruined it. He thinks there’ll be a fight on his hands, which only serves to help prove his feigned urgency some more.
And luckily, he has this season he can blame for it. He can have Maea turning into a dragon and ruining the party for Thalassa in turn to blame for it. He can pretend — and gods knew Astaroth was nothing if not a perfect pretender.
So her hand lowers, and he pushes the point again, stepping toward her. “I know, darling, I would too. However it seems that she is not unlike a cockroach and she will stay regardless if you wish her to or not.” His voice strains a touch, an urgency in it that he hopes will try to get her to focus on that and not the rest of what he’s doing.
He reaches for her hand again, this time a softer approach that he’ll aim to squeeze her palm, his eyes focused on her face as his brows pinch. “She always has an unfortunate way of popping back up. And I am so tired of her ruining everything.” The hand wreathed in shadow, a black blot that’s as if he’s aiming to cover her hand with his other one, and if he manages to get it just right, the thorn will sink into the back of her hand.
Asta tries to heal Thal again (PLS LEMME BE LUCKY THIS TIME)
His intensity is a surprise, but she knows Asta won't hurt her, and with the initial shock gone, Thal lets him step closer. Her head angles up, eyes narrowing in a combination of aching and frustration that's become unfortunately second nature recently. She nods with a heavy sigh, lowering her head to watch as he takes her hand slower this time. He's right - as much as she wishes Maea would vanish from existence and take all the memories with her, the woman is the worst combination: stubborn and delusional. Thal opens her mouth to agree, thoughts and ideas beginning to form as easily as the shadows Asta presses gently to around her hand.
But then Maea is the farthest thing from her mind.
The prick of a thorn breaks the skin of her palm, sending a cascade of light through every crevice of her soul. Its incorporeal fingers wrap mercilessly around the dark hollow roots that had taken hold, ripping with such a strength that her mouth opens in a silent scream, her arms clutching her sides to hold herself together in the assault, tears springing to her eyes at the breathtaking pain. It doesn't stop the warmth that spreads quickly, searing through her senses in a moment of blissful relief, a brightening of her mind that's eerily similar to the sun peeking from behind the cresting wave, banishing every crevice of darkness. The moment hangs in suspension, a single breath of freedom.
But then she's flooded with the burden of understanding, and it hits so hard that she gasps and falls to her knees. Her vision swims and acid curdles her insides, stripping the lining of her throat as it tries to carve its way up and out faster than any seasick passenger. Every infected memory loses its purple filter, exposing the grotesque and humiliating truth of the last few months, of every lie and horrifying influence that she's let control her.
Not to mention the attachment she'd felt to them - to Pierce.
What had started as a morbid curiosity and spike of adrenaline had left her weak and manipulated, an enchanted puppet he knew wouldn't betray him - that he could play with all he wanted. A deep, hidden spec of logic knows that Pierce hadn't been cruel, he hadn't pulled on the strings that laced between them, tangling in her very soul; but he'd also made the choice to infect her, taking that freedom away and forcing her loyalty. She'd been his obedient, brain-numb pet and he'd left her - crippled by the vacant bond - to rot like a discarded toy.
And she'd cried for him like a broken-hearted fool.
It sickens her so much that she's suffocating, vomit coating her lips as she trembles from the realizations that wreak her mind, like she can somehow expel the memories that prove just how vulnerable she'd been. Her body shakes, quivering as the false reality shatters away in a clattering of violet-hued glass, exposing her every weakness. Thal digs her nails into the wood, voice hoarse as she squeezes her eyes against the overwhelming sensations, only faintly aware that Asta is still there. "Shit. What did he do to me?"
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know Learned my lesson way too long ago
