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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.
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Draping his arm across her shoulders after their group howl, head still tilted back, although this time with a call of amusement, he steers them away from the shadowfang exhibit. The chaos is still dying down behind them as the now excited group of shadowy canines are romping around one another in the exhibit, people drawn in to see, which seems like a great time to slip away and see what other trouble they could get into.
"Might have to practice other sounds, get the whole Celestine stirred up," he muses around a too-wide grin, clearly pleased with himself. He's already directing them languidly towards the next platform entrance, certain there'd be some bingo solution wherever people are stuffed together for travel. That, and, "I think we have one more level we could hit, so let's see what's there." Then he might consider they find a pocket to nestle in and rest for their picnic, almost certain one of them would have bingo by then. "Although I dunno what all is going to be up on that one, to be honest. Maybe cloud wyrms?"
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
Her laughter resounded far more, now in much closer range, than the howls as they began to disperse, away from the crowd and looping back through another part of the Celestine. Her grin, bright and fluid and ridiculous, beamed straight at him as she tilted her head to watch him continue with the yipping, snorting in response. She still had half a mind to pinch him for fun. “Yes. That’d be such a treat.” In avid agreement of all things chaotic, her mind concocted a whole range of sounds they could angle and resound through the zoo, probably inspiring enough entertainment for the masses. “I can do a banshee cry really good now! Would you like to hear?” She could emit the high pitch in a crowded lift for prominent effects too.
Onto other levels now though – and she wrinkled her nose at the prospect of higher-rising contortions; given that she’d probably seen many out and about on her own travels amongst the sky. “Could be. Cloud wyrms and I don’t get along.” On account of they were somehow always in her fuckin’ way. It took less than a second before her mind reeled to something else though. “Ooooh, what about dragons?” She could imagine them loosened upon a modest threshold of encompassing sky, enclosed from tearing off into the world, or upon visitors, as they recovered.
03-29-2026, 11:11 PM (This post was last modified: 03-30-2026, 11:55 PM by Iskra.)
Iskra
It’s a double-edged sword. On the one hand, yes, he very much wants to hear her wailing impersonation. On the other hand, fuck no, banshees are awful. ”I would love to see you wander through a group of people and release it unexpectedly,” he decides after a moment of consideration. Maybe he could position himself well enough away, and like a flock of birds scattering as someone darts through them, he could watch the group stumble and disperse from her auditory assault.
”Bonus points if there’s sleeping babies in strollers. Although, that might get you beat up.” Not that he worried for her safety, quite certain she’d hold her own, but a mother’s fury would be terrifying and maybe they shouldn’t be trying to get into a fist fight with innocent bystanders. ”Maybe a group of teenage boys who think they’re hot shit would be a better option.” Might make one piss himself, and hopefully give them a healthy dose of respect for women.
A surprised shape lights up his features next, encroaching on a chuckle. ”I thought everyone loved cloud wyrms?” A clear ask for what the hell went wrong. ”Can’t be worse than ningos,” he’s quick to add, irritation descending swiftly for the inane nuisances. ”Not as bad as hels, not when it comes to being in your face, but they’re so… dumb I just wanna punt them every time I see them.” Their existence alone is a blight.
The prospect of dragons earns a more eager oooooh and he pulls himself out of the ire for puffy round birds. ”You think the dragons remember anyone who pisses them off while they’re here and then eats them later?” A child making faces perhaps, might become a snack a year from now.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
“Oooh, and I could go invisible for it too,” she murmured, eyes dreamy-like with the possibilities of vitriol, panic, and the wide unknown. “Start a whole new ghost story trend, right here in the Celestine.” Proud of the horrendous idea, Iskra’s additions just made the multitudes that much greater (worse) – and were she not distracted by him or the bingo card or the other endless parameters circumventing through her head, she might’ve marched right over to another flock of travelers. “When you spot a suitable group, let me know,” and she’d hone in on them as the shittiest demon to be summoned.
As for the cloud wyrms, she sighed and rolled her eyes, a dramatic throw of her hands upwards for effect. “They are always in my path when I’m flying. And they don’t give a fuck.” Had she started to just blast them out of the sky? Sure. Did they all seem to still congregate around her at the worst possible times? Yes. “I don’t think I’ve come across too many ningos,” wholly unaware that she’d soon be shooting those too with her uncle. “Are they useful, at least?”
The dragons are another concept, and she tapped on her chin, mind already rapt at the thought. “I bet they do. I can’t imagine being that big and powerful and kept here to recuperate. And then seeing everyone’s faces gawking at you all the time.” Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t be doing the same thing. “And they’re supposed to be super smart.” It made sense to the Honeybee.
Ever on the lookout for a suitable group for Bingo reasons, it’s no extra effort to add ones for harassment too. Although watching the way her smile blooms, sometimes it’s a distraction that pulls him away from his hunt, as it does now. He expected there to be something damning behind her dislike for the cuddly wyrms.
”Maybe you’re in their paths, ever think about that?” He doesn’t fully know how the wyrms work, but maybe they have territories in the air spaces. Maybe they’re all just gunning for the same thermals. Game makes trails in the woods, the seas have current streams, it’d makle sense the skies have a pattern too, invisible as it might seem. His laughter lingers though, imagining her punting cloud creatures out of the way. ”Could always get a big ass horn and scare them with some honks,” he reasons, or maybe by now she enjoys plowing through them, an unspoken feud.
Rolling his eyes at the fact he has to admit ningos are useful, it’s with a certain amount of disdain that he admits they are. ”Unfortunately, yes. Their feathers are rather warming in clothes, and though they’re little, they make a nice snack.” Another thing Goose eats.
Nodding along with the idea that dragons form revenge pacts here, they wander that way, and he’s hopeful they’ll spy one and not come to regret it later. It’s then that he sees something on his bingo card. ”Mother babying the hell out of her grown son,” he remarks, firing off a point in the direction of the crowd while applying the sticker to his board, his grin relentless.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
“Uhhh, they can go around me,” she snorted in response, her face contorting into something slightly mocking. The cloud wyrms would be far more nimble than the Firecracker (and if they were being perfectly honest, Melita would be going far too fast to turn that abruptly). The sentiments of big ass honking horns, not unlike an obnoxious goose, seemed somewhat suitable in her mind though, and she added it to a formidable list of horrendous items to entertain herself with.
A ningo’s usefulness made her eyes widen momentarily, a small ‘huh’ conforming out of the following shrug. She didn’t have the same mother hen aspect over the fat, round birds as she might have to the moushrooms, so there were no defensive aspects thereafter; only a quick nod of her head. “Noted,” with a wicked grin to match.
At his mention of a board addition though, her head whipped around, attention and focus so constantly diverted, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the mother and son drama llama fun fest. There was some Karen-esque performance, right down to the haircut, as she belittled a worker, then seemed to be fussing over her adult child. “Good gods, that’s fuckin’ gross,” as she pinpointed the location on her own card, noting that it wouldn’t be rendering her a win on another sigh.
But with a quick glance again, maybe she could see where Iskra’s was…not so subtly trying to peek over his shoulder.
Far too content at finding the obscene square, he doesn't even think to wrinkle his own distaste in response, although trust it exists. There's certainly a line for parental doting over their children, and much as he misses his parents, he'd never want this either. "I know," he instead says, the gross in this case being how close he is to victory, his board offering a few potential routes to succeed with only one more tile required. Has to be the right tile, but the chance is high. "Nearly done," he beams, looking up just in time to see her prying gaze.
"Ay!" he fires off, jerking his board back close to the vest, accusation narrowing his features. "I don't trust you for a second," he seethes with all the heat of a tease, and he suspects the feeling is mutual. "Knowing you, you're gonna scare away all my potential squares before they even happen." A bold claim, maybe if aimed at someone else, but Mel is ruthless in her pursuit of games and winning. She also has far too many options of fuckery at her disposal to not have an itchy trigger finger.
So with a furtive approach towards their continued trek to the dragon exhibit, Iskra watches for the next new potential. "I say we eat after this, I'm getting hungry enough to break into the moushroom habitat." Which is surely frowned upon for a number of reasons.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
Melita didn’t have much to stand on when it came to doting parents; her mother had been an exemplary model of sacrificial means and goals, and her father had been a piece of shit. So while her experience was vastly limited, the whole display made her features alter into a petulant frown, wondering if she should shoot them with her cannon and maybe save everyone a little misery.
But then she needed to pry and see just how far along Iskra had gotten – slowly and carefully tiptoeing around until her chin nearly rested on his shoulder, aaaaand the opportunity was gone. Sticking her tongue out at him and snorting, she breezily handwaved the notion. “You don’t trust me?” Ludo’s demigod of chaos? Batting her eyelashes at him and still hoping to render something out of the motion, the secret would remain safe, for now, as she billowed out a low breath. “Like you wouldn’t do the same,” she granted – tucking hers away now that she has it firmly memorized.
All she needed was one diaper explosion, a gigantic flying creature, or a parent having a meltdown…and she could probably steer the latter. Humming a little under her breath and snaking along the path, she threaded her arm around his, contemplating the dining choices. “One of us needs to win in order to choose though.” Maybe he’d concede in lieu of hunger; Melita could hold out – she was fairly confident.
Her question doesn’t really need an answer, it’s already buried in the stress she puts on me, woven between the flutter of her lashes. He offers one anyway around a scoff. ”Absolutely not.” Not with game rules anyway, just things far more important than that, although maybe there’d be chaos finding it’s way to those portions too.
His answering grin cleanly suggests he would completely do the same, and like knows like, it seems. ”That’s besides the point,” he trills, head lifting proudly as they march along, head on a constant swivel for potential. She seems far too content in their travel though, and he can guess based off that alone that she’s equally as close as he is, the race nearing a neck and neck status.
”Oh, I intend to,” he shoots back over a devious grin, suddenly reaching out to clap his hand over her eyes. He keeps it snug, going with her as she moves, while he continues to search. Sweeping over the diaper explosion, he settles with an ”Aha!” on the overly drunk father. Nothing says family bonding on an outing like a dad going ham on the day drinking and being an additional child to care for.
That’d be Iskra’s bingo, though he fumbles to get his sticker out for his board one handed.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
Mock-offended at his admission, she gasped and then placed her hand over her mouth, caught in such a depraved notion to her ridiculous mind. Then she laughed, aiming her elbow for his ribcage with a gentle love tap for fun, and then their attentions were scattered to winning and prizes and the choice of food. Her own head was spinning back and forth, reeling from person to person, or hoping another massive bird flickered across the sky, when his hand bridged over her eyes.
“Hey!” she shouted, scattering a few pigeons and turning heads in their direction. But by then she was already laughing, ducking below his reach, reaching her hand up to snag at his, and slithering around to see what he’d spotted without her opportunity to survey the scene. When it was a father, day drunk and ridiculous, she wondered if that still played a part on a parent having a meltdown…
Well, sure. It was her rules after all.
Then she was dancing away from him, trying to snag at her own board and stickers quickly and efficiently too. A pile of them dropped on the ground in her feverish attempts, and she was diving for them across the light, errant breeze.
She proves entirely too much to contain with only one palm, and he always suspected that’d be the case, he just hoped it’d buy him enough of a head start. In his haste to keep ahead of her though, he fumbles what would ordinarily have been simple, his fingers catching repeatedly in his pocket until a curse is hissing between his teeth at it (at himself).
Not having known what’d been on her board, he can only lift his gaze in a slowly expanding horror to realize it’s the same thing (or close enough), because she’s now hurrying to win as well. ”Oh no you don’t!” he calls out, forgoing his own stickers and sprinting into a dive on hers. He blows out forcefully, wishing suddenly that he had wind magic but settling for his lungs and swiping at them with his hands as well.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
“Oh yes, I do!” she shouted, running, rampaging through several onlookers and children as they either hastened out of her way or were bombarded; plunging headlong in her wake of snagging the errant stickers. For some reason, she hadn’t anticipated this turn of events – and her motions were bewildered, stumbling and bumbling at the fractious pace. Even then, it wouldn’t be enough, and she’d trampled over many individuals for no advantage at all, in the end.
So when his hands were on them, she huffed indignantly, looking like all sorts of demonic considerations and combinations when she narrowed her eyes, hair wild and wholly out of place. “I see. That’s how it’s going to be.” Coming down to the wire on stickers, rather than the actual bingo board itself. Lifting her chin in rapid defiance and considering some alternatives (her magic; but none of which would be able to snag the portions back without probably decimating his hands, prying his fingers along but that might be a slow process), her head tilted, full calculations brimming and seething. “All right. What do you want for them?” She could make a deal, put the sticker on, board completed in record time. Maybe.
He’s breathing heavily, which seems less out of exertion than sheer panic, as if lives are on the line for Bingo rather than mere pride and boasting. ”I’m glad you understand,” he huffs back, aware in that moment that he doesn’t understand shit, is only reacting and chasing a rope before it runs away simply because it is going. He’ll take this brief standoff as a chance to recover a touch.
The notion of a deal however, has him perking up. Although he sincerely doubts there’s any way to ensure she maintains a damn thing they agree to in this moment, utterly suspicious of this sudden refusal to continue to up the ante, he is still curious. ”I want you to stay with me for a week,” he blurts out, rather by accident as he tries to consider just what is it he wants. He could have gone for something cute, like a kiss, or silly, like a dare, but instead his inner thoughts found their window and promptly vaulted out of it.
Woke up drunk at 10 a.m.—we gon' do this shit again Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy
The Honeybee awaited the verdict with her usual air of impatience, eyes narrowed, head tilting, speculation at the forefront of her mind. It came around just as wild as his own inner considerations; from the simplistic to the overly complicated (and what would be permitted in front of a large crowd of people; most of whom were already tossing them looks from running over their toddlers – whatever). Defensively, her arms twisted in front of her chest, on guard and ready for some armor and ammunition over a hoard of stickers.
His actual response, however, no matter how much she weighed and spun along her mind, wasn’t something anticipated. Her gaze widened slightly, the mild bewilderment there, before righting the ship as if she belonged on it all along. A message to the challenge like it was a battle cry and all she knew was how to up the ante. “Done,” without a beat of hesitation. Thereafter she might weigh out the reason for said statement, given that she often only spent a day or two at a time. Too much to do. Too many antics to unfurl. Perhaps it was a test to see if they wouldn’t kill each other. Maybe that was what he’d wanted all along and now he simply took the opportunity. Or there was nothing deeper for it, and she was staring at the well of self-reflection and searching for dubious ripples. If her pulse had quickened and her heart had begun a new crescendo, she didn't mention it.
Then she reached out her hand, as if to grant him a shake or snag the stickers back and claim victory.
