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!
It would not come as much surprise to find the press of Deepfrost had its hold on Halo – and thereafter, when the new season arrived, there some portions remained in all their icy glory. A seasonal tradition, to shake one’s head at the amount of snow and rime built up around the exterior, perimeters, and portions of the Citadel, and then get to work.
So Deimos had done exactly that – flew over the walls and harkened back and forth, inspecting with eagle eyes, giving a heavy sigh, then landing by the notice boards and immediately tacking up a sign for assistance, designating a time, place, and promising the lure and snare of food and beverages.
Living up to the promise, an early Flowerbirth morning found him by the main northern gates, eyes narrowed and speculative while his companions hovered nearby. A table had been laden with fresh treats and preferred caffeine from the bakery, hoping the aromas of the enticing goods would get some quality workers over as well, and they could start.
--
Welcome to an SE to clean up after LongNight! Please post your characters arriving and anything they’ll be bringing.
Though Marcus had not lived that many years, he knew the depth of joy when the sun finally broke over the horizon at the end of Longnight. It was if life itself was being spoken back into being, the the radiance cascading over even the coldest of places in Halo.
When he rose, he immediately took to wings and soared high in the blue. He basked in the light as the winds brought him to the Citadel from the Greenwing, ready to see if he could be of any help after the darkness fled. He perched himself on a frosted gate, keen eyes reading the sign that must have been newly pressed to the board.
Excited, he found his way towards the meeting place Deimos had laid out in the message. Shifted at the last moment, his boots touched the frozen ground and he greeted those that had also gathered to help the warden, and then waited eagerly for instructions.
Marcus has his shifts and magic and a heart full of excitement to help!
Torchline has been a nice respite, but Iskra's home is still Halo, and despite the drastic differences of the regions, he is fond of this frosty city. Departing Mel with plans to meet up again soon, he had to force his door open through layers of snow, cussing the whole time, Goose barking up a storm about the whole affair (it seemed rather exciting to the dog). Inside he busied making himself back at home, but not for long before bundling up and heading into town to find an easier meal than the stove offered.
It's where he saw Deimos' notice, and having fought his own post LongNight battle already, he figured the least he could do is help others through their own challenges. Ampere remained in his home, only having meant to come out for a short jaunt into town, but his magic starters are always with him, as is his wood-cutting axe. Goose, too, of course is trailing along, but the hound's usefulness is ever questionable.
Swiping up a blueberry muffin and stuffing half of it into his mouth in one bite, Iskra offers a wave to Deimos and the less familiar, though vaguely so, lad. Making up a warm cup of tea, he chokes down enough of his breakfast to get some words out. "Morning Deimos aaaaaaand. Matthew, was it?" Something with an M, he's sure. Focusing on greetings instead of eatings, Goose relieves him of the remainder of his muffin as his hand drifts too low and limp. "H-hey—GOOSE!" the reprimand lands on deaf ears as the husky happily frolics away. Muttering to himself, Iskra returns to the table to grab a danish instead. "You ever just wanna, punt someone off a cliff, lovingly?" he asks them both over his shoulder.
Their arrival was swift and keen, and Deimos arched a brow at the excitement churning through Marcus (another reminder of his newly-forged hybrid status), greeting him with a nod of his head. “Marcus. I trust you all fared well through LongNight?” Noah would have his children safely ensconced, but it was always good to hear that things went well, despite the predictability.
Iskra came too, earning an arch to the Warden’s brow and a singular snort at Goose’s antics (he immediately warned Belial; because one could feel the companions’ sentiments eagerly coveting a chase with the canine), and the inquiry. “Yes, but not lovingly,” he gave with a light, boyish grin, but hints of truly meaning it with all the vigilance and violence behind the threads – the Aurora Basin had been a good spot to punt said adversaries and enemies right off the side of the mountain –
Regardless, there were tasks ahead, and once everyone had gotten their fair share of beverages and snacks, he persisted in the matters at hand. “Thank you for coming to help. I thought we would start here,” immediately pointing out the residual problems. “The gates, unsurprisingly, are frozen shut.” Which could mean a problem for anyone wishing to traverse in and out by foot. “And the pathway itself. Thought I could start by melting and thawing out the road.” If anyone wanted to assist in that venture, rather than the burdened aperture.
--
Pick a task!
1. One to help thaw out the gates (can use available tools, magic, whatevs)
2. One to help Deimos thaw out the pathway (again, can use available tools, magic, etc.)
Marcus’s breath misted in the cold air as he examined the frostbitten wreckage of LongNight’s aftermath. When another man came up and finally joined them, looking as ready to serve as the others, and greeted Marcus offered him his hand. "Marcus, actually." He corrected with a chuckle as he greeted Iskra, not a bit shaken by the mistake. Marcus was sure it happened to people all the time who took time to travel the world and meet new people. He had only made a few short jaunts in his eagle shift between skyboat ports, so his list of names was mostly comprised of people in Halo who's faces he saw often enough.
The dog snatching the snack from his owner made the young hybrid's chuckle turn into a sharp and airy guffaw, the smile breaking across his featurs and making his eyes wrinkle in the most Olson way.
He shook his head slightly and turned towards where Deimos directed them. The sight of the frozen streets and shattered ice made his pulse quicken just slightly, the smile wrinkling his eyes shifting some. He wanted to do something, but felt slightly held back. His magic could soothe wounds and coax things back together, but against the cold—he was little more than warm hands. But, ever the stubborn and gritty Olson he was, he grabbed a pick axe and began chipping away at the icy build up.
As luck would have it, Goose has become a bit more accustomed to Deimos' previously deemed scary companions, so after running off to scarf down his stolen prize, he could be easily prompted into a game. As for punting the mutt off a cliff, Iskra's lips have twisted into a wry grin. Marcus, as he's been corrected, has perhaps never dealt with food-stealing dogs or he might have agreed. Deimos however, has had any number of headache to deal with, so it's no surprise that he agreed, however rimmed with violence it is. The retort earns a sharp laugh from Iskra, who shakes his head as he settles in to down his breakfast, offering an apology to Marcus for the slip-up earlier.
With spirits lifted thanks to the pastry buffet and warm wash of tea, Iskra is ready for the flow of assignments to begin. "Leave the gates to me," he assures, and not just because it's all that's left. The metal looks sturdy enough to handle some direct flame, and with fire magic the quickest way to thaw the stubborn frost, he reaches into his pocket for some matches and boy this is almost the last time I have to write about those. With a small fire leaping to life at the quick swipe of the little stick, his magic hums in response, and he yanks on that golden vein and sends fire blooming over the gates.
After conversations and snacks, they all buckled down and got to work. While Deimos’ companions hovered nearby, either to annoy or heal if the opportunity struck, the rest filtered off to their chosen tasks. Marcus, intending to help carve away the path out of its ice shackles, would find, despite his Olson nature, that the pick only did so much, and his arms would likely ache with the wholly encompassing movements.
But Deimos was there to support and aid, unfurling a combination of his incantations in Fire, to melt the layers away, and Water, to ensure the ice didn’t harden back immediately, alternating temperatures. Before too long, they’d find the routes cleared and ready to embark upon, which only mattered if Iskra could ensure the hinges of the gates were no longer locked and sealed tight.
The Abandoned’s fire did most of the trick, but it was still a little unwieldly, leaving some portions still frozen. He’d find the gates could open about half-way, which would let people within, but certainly not any carts or sleds. “You keep working on that,” Deimos responded, motioning towards where they’d be traveling ahead. “And Marcus and I will keep going down this path,” to where there was, one would guess, ice.
--
Rinse and repeat!
Iskra is about halfway through thawing out the hinges, and Marcus and Deimos can move further down the path to ensure nothing is iced over.
The ice was unyeilding. The pickaxe bit into the ice with a dull, stubborn sound that barely echoed. Marcus braced, swung again, and felt the jarring sting travel up through his arms. The path was thick with the ice, the history of nights of endless cold and suffocating dark layering and layering. Each strike broke only fragments loose, and Marcus sighed as he looked to see only what looked like a handful of shattered glass spread over the pathway.
His breath fogged the air, his shoulders burned, and still the ice refused to give. He tried to find rhythm in the work, to tell himself effort was enough, but it was humbling in a quiet, aching way. He, like the ice, did not yield. He willed the excitement he felt about helping to stay in his heart and keep his arms swinging, the Olson grit a platform for him to stand on. Then Deimos lifted his hand, and the air shifted—heat rippling outward, ice hissing as it melted back from his feet. Marcus lowered the pickaxe for a moment, his chest heaving, cerulean eyes wide in quiet gratitude.
Then he swung again, continuing on the work now made easier by Deimos' power.
Iskra halts his efforts to lay a hang on the metal gates and press into them, testing his work. To some extent, there is always snow and ice to be had here, so sight alone can't always speak to the mechanism's free swing, or ice buried within the less visible portions. It takes some effort to manage it, but it does move, a sure sign he's made an impact if not a perfect resolution.
He grunts as she steps back, hands brushing off the cold and debris on each other as Deimos steps by with his own evaluation. "I'll join you all soon," he confirms, letting them both pass by before striking a new match. The little flame dances into view on the wooden stick, smoke curling thin and meager into the sharp blue of the sky. His magic hums again in response, and so he turns it upon the metal further, paying special mind to the hinges rather than the entirety of the structure.
The pathway would’ve been a slow, agonizing march of pickaxes and shovels had Deimos’ magic not unfurled before them again. Concentrating and focusing on the task at hand, the fire and water combination continued to disperse in rapid formations, allowing for Marcus to pick apart the edges of rime and glacial expanse easy. Eventually, the road could be seen again, no longer covered or hidden beneath the usual splendor of LongNight’s touches and fringes. “Good work,” the Warden rumbled to the younger hybrid, inspecting over the trail with a few steps and strides of his boots as they waited for Iskra.
The Abandoned would find the second touch of flames was enough – ice melting off the metal with aplomb and ease. Upon testing it again, Iskra would find it fully operational, and the walls were back in full force. Soldiers near the upper portions gave him nods and salutes, grateful they’d be able to maneuver back and forth as well.
Once he’d rejoined them, Deimos pulled out his list, reviewing and crossing off portions already taken care of. “The bakers are apparently almost closed in from snow off their roof, so we can head that way.”
Sure enough, upon their arrival and a short, brisk walk, the aroma of the fine baked goods surrounded the area, but the modest building was nearly surrounded by massive piles; the employees, workers, and owners must’ve crawled through and around. “We can remove anything by the doors,” and glancing around, he noticed surfaces not yet wholly crowded or impacted so immensely by the latest round of storms. “And put it there.”
--
Either use tools or any other methods to move the snow!
Marcus had never been more aware of his lack of musculature than in this moment. As he swung and cracked the pickaxe against ice only for shards to continue to break off, he could feel the forcing of his excitement start to dwindle. His arms trembled with the effort, breath turning ragged in the frozen air, each movement slower than the last. The pickaxe felt heavier with every swing, the resistance of the ice mocking his good intentions. His shoulders ached. Frustration pricked beneath his ribs, quiet and mean. He had come eager to help, to make a difference, but each dull strike only reminded him of his limits. Somewhere nearby, Deimos’ magic flared—steady, effortless—and the sound of ice cracking clean under power made Marcus sigh. Despite that, he worked until Deimos relieved him from the task.
Coming back together with the rest of the crew, Marcus stood by Iskra and listened. He lifted his brows as he rubbed with one hand at his opposite shoulder, rolling it in its joint and working the muscles that threatened to siexe and stiffen like the ice that the other abandoned had worked against on the gates. He knew the owners of the bakery well, often trading game with them that he and his father and siblings brought in off the tundra. Following the group, Marcus made his way towards the piles of snow, scooping up a shovel on his way.
After moments of torching the gate hinges, Iskra paused to inspect them further. A smile touched his features, satisfied with the job of his abilities as the hinges swung free and easy again. The gratitude of those eagerly awaiting the use of that path is one he nods to with a careful smile and a lift of his hand, not used to the feeling of being instrumental in something, least of all via magic. It'd been not so long ago that he'd felt incapable of managing even this, his fire likened to a candle skimming callouses. Even now, he's still reaching to improve it, but it feels better with every use, as if he can sense a ceiling about to break and give way to full competency.
Whistling Goose to join him, the dog having fucked off to chase a ningo, the pair slips through the gate and joins Deimos and Marcus. He glances over as Marcus works his shoulder, and too intent on his own dilemma with ice, he'd not paid much mind to their work and all the struggle Marcus had faced. He's pulled back to the list though, as Deimos explains and in return Iskra nods. "Those bakers are doing the work of gods, the least we could do is help out."
He reaches for a shovel from the supplies arranged nearby. His fire would only turn the snow into ice, or a puddle with any luck, pouring straight into the bakery. So, manual labor it is.
Grunting, Iskra drives his shovel into the mound, heaving it to the designated area. Goose, finds this the perfect place to stand, teeth flashing as he tries to snap at the stray pieces. As Iskra works, he glances up at Marcus. "You good?" Iskra queries, asking after his shoulder.
Moving snow wasn’t always the most awe-inspiring work, but a necessity for those living amongst Halo. If anything, Deimos found himself motivated by the bakery’s aromas, and as they all worked in tandem, he utilized his magic, Air, Water, and Earth combined, to maneuver much more massive portions, before scraping away at the ice layered and lacquered underneath.
Iskra and Marcus worked hard as well, hauling the rime back and forth despite the aches and pains. Zuriel, however, must’ve noticed the aches and pains upon the younger hybrid’s features, and glancing her companion’s way as a signal and indication, she then walked over, high and mighty and sovereign, towards the Olson, dipping her head to show she was willing to mend and heal the youth if he so wanted.
Meanwhile, the bakers must have appreciated their efforts, because once enough snow had been moved away from their doors, several employees came rushing out, extending their thanks and gratitude. Offerings were rendered in several bags, the pastries within already warmed up. Deimos laughed, then granted his own assurances. “All right, we can take a break.” However, it would soon be noticeable, that beneath the heavy portions of their favored element, there were blobs of memory mud, working their way out and through. “Then tackle that,” he gestured towards the muck and grime with his jaw.
--
Most of the snow has been hauled off, and the bakers are showing their appreciation. Take a snack, get healed, and then get ready to tackle the memory mud.
Conversation ebbs away into the sound of work—grunts of effort and even, steadying breaths to manage through it. The snow slides and shifts at times, then snarls back at others, requiring some elbow grease and a heel. Goose eventually tired of being pelted by the spray of snow, only able to snap at so much before it buffeted him in the face. He withdrew, lanky and long as he meandered down the pathways ahead in search of entertainment.
When it clears enough, Iskra sighs with relief, shoving off his last pile before leaning into the handle of the tool. "We did it," he grins at them all, Deimos already wreathed in bakery delights and gratitude. A beat later and a worker sweeps to Iskra's side, smile wide as the bundle of fresh treats are relayed. More than happy to oblige, Iskra murmurs his thanks in turn and whittles the cookies and bread into memory.
All the while he's kept an eye on the wriggling mud nearby. "I prefer memory snow," he admits, finding it much more charming. Dusting crumbs off his hands, he returns to old faithful, drawing from a lit sconce nearby to arch fire into a patch of the memory mud nearby, hoping to toast its ass to dust.
Iskra eats treats and fire blasts the memory mud
Fire Manipulation (Abandoned/Hybrid): Can manipulate flames. Must be within a 30ft radius. Control is excellent
Type: Dark | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
