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!
And when that sky rains fire on you And you're persona non grata
Nina had gone all out in planning her storytelling festival, the first of its kind to be held since her grandmother passed and Nina was named the new Keeper. The immediate area surrounding the First Flame had been meticulously cleaned, with benches and chairs dragged in from gods-knew-where to create a seating area for those attending the festivities. Food carts were set up along the edges, along with vendors selling various odds and ends that seemed thematically appropriate. There were even some merchants selling things like colored sparklers and fireworks - hopefully not to be set off here, but to be taken home for later. Or at least that's what Nina prayed will happen.
Nina hovered by the Flame, Ember at her heels, crackling merrily as folk began to arrive. There was music playing nearby, and the little fire sprite hopped in place, bouncing in time with the beat. Nina wished that she was as carefree as her companion; instead, she had to force herself to stay calm, hiding away what anxiety had surfaced in the deep, dark recesses of her soul.
It was her first real event as Keeper. She would do it justice.
"Welcome," she called to the milling crowd. "We will begin in a few moments. Please make yourselves comfortable." And then she waited for some invisible signal known only to her, which would indicate that it was time for her to start.
---
Welcome to the Convocation of the First Flame for Leafchange, 320 PC! This is a small festival held around the First Flame, where the Keeper of the First Flame tells local legends and myths through moving pictures made of fire. There is food, music, and merchandise scattered about - join in the merriment as you see fit!
I'll tell you how I've been there too And that none of it matters
It might be Nina's first real event as Keeper, but it's also Amhran's first time attending such an event, so if it helps her nerves any, he has no expectations other than a good time. The Raeling is bundled in a deep auburn coat with a forest green scarf as he arrives, raising his hand in a brief wave towards Nina before realising she's likely trying to get in the zone with all things First Flame related and promptly making himself busy. Luckily there's plenty to enjoy already, Amhran meandering towards the food and the fireworks instantly.
With the music warbling in accompaniment to his milling about, he grabs up some ginger cake and a cup of hot apple cider, as well as purchasing a small paper parcel of sparklers (for later). Fuelled up for some storytelling, he tries to pick a seat close enough to hear and see but without potentially blocking anyone's view. Time and socialising have made Amhran painfully aware of his own height these days, and he doesn't want to take away any enjoyment from other attendees.
The excitement and thrill of his first first fire flame event had the youth buzzing – more so than normal – in any regard. He ran around his father’s long limbs as Deimos’ strides were careful and measured, his newfound companion following suit, so while the Warden might have wanted a quiet entrance, his son did anything but.
“Look! Fireworks!” as he grabbed hold of the ends of Deimos’ jacket and tugged in the direction of said rocketing appeals, before his attention went straight to the Keeper herself. “Hi Nina!” came on a rather enthusiastic wave, and by the time he’d spotted Amhran, Deimos had taken his hand firmly in his grasp. “Amham! What did you get?”
The Sword might have had infinite patience, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world did. Before Erebos could entangle himself in some miserable tripping hazard or race off and around the festivities, Deimos grabbed hold of his son’s hand and the walk towards the terrain became less deranged and more of the excited variety. Nodding towards Nina, in perhaps a show of solidarity for introverted souls being up front and taking on more roles, he winked at Amhran and glanced at the demigod’s wares – a grin forming at the potentials. “We can get those after,” at least by way of fireworks – the itch to set them off would likely be too great for either Ignatius.
Tugging Erebos over to where the food and drinks were laden, together they decided upon cider, tea, and several baked goods to keep themselves occupied; more so for the youth, before heading back towards the Raeling.
Having a particular fondness for this role, perhaps due to the copious amounts of fire involved, Iskra does not delay in arriving. Goose, is another matter, the dog too busy trying to entice a game of chase outside where the much cooler snow awaits. After several rounds of arguing, which includes Goose talking back in what sounds suspiciously like a mocking cadence of Iskra’s own words, he leaves the damn dog to his own devices with a huff as he enters the space.
”Hey!” he calls out in greeting to everyone, proferring a wave and a smile before slipping into lines for all the different vendors. He stocks up on candied nuts and popcorn, a tall cup of cocoa, and does indeed grab a bag of sparklers to terrorize Goose with later. Ordinarily he might have slipped them to the small child to help secure some joy (read chaos), but not when said child is Deimos’. Instead, he settles in on the other side of Amham, readying for the stories.
Glancing up at the sound of his name, Amhran offers a wave to both Deimos and Erebos, holding up his treats (but wisely not mentioning the pack of sparklers in his coat pocket). "Ginger cake," he calls. "It's really good!" And he'll be more than willing to share once they take their seats, and he's quite certain that between he and Erebos, they will be entertained with snacks and stories aplenty for the duration of the event. (There might also be a sugar high to contend with, but that seems more like a Deimos problem).
He has just settled when Iskra moves to sit beside him, the Raeling offering him a companionable smile and raising his cup of mulled cider in greeting. "Have you ever attended one of these before?" he asks, his voice pitched a little lower just in case he misses it when Nina begins the proceedings. "I haven't, but it seems like a good way to celebrate staying warm, right?"
The mere thought of ginger cake had the boy’s mind in rapture – so once Deimos had him settled on a seat surrounded by Amhran and his father – the youth was eager to lean in towards his older sibling’s shared partakings. “Oooh, I got some pop rocks and those little volcano cakes!” Of which he’d be happy to extend and split too, in a varied allocation and bestowal of a variety of foods to keep them occupied before any true festivities occurred.
When Iskra called out, mostly to Amhran, the youth responded anyway. “Hi!” around a mouth-full of warm chocolate and a wave of his fork, friendly and amiable; relatively corralled until the festivities began.
With their plates piled, the seating arrangements ensured Erebos would be essentially corralled and occupied, so the Sword snorted around a bite of his own ginger cake. Ensuring more than once that the child wasn’t about to spill his cider, the Sword half-listened to conversations, granting Iskra nod, before his attention meandered around the festivity itself – watching people (ever a wartime habit), pulling up a chair beside him if Evie intended to join as she said she might (depending on how she was feeling, and the infirmary’s current status). “Could be like Tanau’s,” he added mildly, figuring Nina had been there with them, and might’ve come up with some ideas of her own, or would stick to tradition.
Leaning over to wave just as eagerly back at Erebos, Iskra flashes him a wide smile. ”Erebos! Wanna trade a handful of poprocks for 5 candied nuts?” he wonders, gaze giving the offer an impressive weight as his expression widens in proper awe at the potential. He’s seen kids trade actual rocks, and sticks, so surely some nuts would buy him something.
Glancing back at Amhran , Iskra nods and pops a few of said nuts in his gob. ”Yeah, it’s my favorite. Very cool to see what they can do. Much more inventive than I am with their fire and the way they tell their stories.” Nina might be new, but he’s no doubt she’d live up to the potential. ”My favorite one I’ve heard is the tale of the first Ursur.”
04-08-2026, 02:16 PM (This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 06:06 AM by Nina.)
And when that sky rains fire on you And you're persona non grata
As folk began to filter in, Nina observed it all with a small smile on her lips. She'd been afraid that no one would come, but there seemed to be a good many people interested in keeping tradition alive. She saw Deimos and Erebos, offering a small wave in their direction; Iskra and Amhran were also granted waves and welcoming smiles.
But now was not the time for socialization. Ember flickered at her feet as Nina raised her arms, calling to her fire magic and coaxing the First Flame higher. "It is time," she called over the proceedings. And then, suddenly, the Flame dimmed. It was not extinguished, but coaxed lower, casting dramatic shadows over the crowd.
A single figure rose from the Flame. "Once," said Nina, "Long ago, when Halo was young and the cold had not yet shown mercy, there lived a hunter named Aven. He was strong and skilled, revered as a master hunter upon the tundra. But he did not believe in the First Flame." As if in response, the Flame flickered, a sharp, defiant movement that drew Nina's eye. "When others gathered to take blessing before the hunt, Aven stood apart. When they marked their skin with ash, he laughed. When they carried embers into the tundra, he went empty-handed. 'The cold does not listen,' he said. 'Fire does not choose. Only the strong survive.'"
The Flame split, forming new figures, turning away from the singular lick of flame representing the hunter. "One LongNight, when the winds howled like starving things, Aven went out alone: no blessing. No ember. No witness." The Flame flared white-hot, flurrying around Aven's figure like a storm. "The storm came quickly, as it always does. The cold bit through his furs. The dark swallowed the path. And when he reached for the strength he trusted… it was not enough.
"Hours passed. Or days. In the end, even Aven could not tell. But in the silence between the wind, he saw it: a single flame." A tiny, steady light appeared within the picture Nina painted, her hands tugging at the tendril as though to show it floating out in the tundra. "It did not flicker. It did not waver. It simply was." The light glowed brighter and brighter still as the hunter's figure began to crawl towards it. "Aven crawled toward it, hands frozen, breath gone, pride broken. And as he reached, he understood—too late—that the Flame had always been there, waiting: not for the strong, but for the willing.
"In the morning, they found him, curled around a patch of blackened snow, his hands outstretched, as if reaching for something that had already gone." The Flame guttered, then steadied, as Aven's figure began to fade, blending into the fire. "Some say the Flame came to him in his final moments. Some say it did not. But all agree on this: he walked without fire, and the cold remembered."
And with that, Nina lowered her hands. The First Flame returned to its usual crackling, and a silence fell over the gathering.
—-
Post your response to Nina’s story, and share a story of your own if you are so inclined!
I'll tell you how I've been there too And that none of it matters
Amhran's eyes widen to hear of Iskra favourite tale, and he's in the middle of splitting some ginger cake for Erebos and about to ask what it's all about when Nina's voice carries over the proceedings. Immediately drawing quiet instead, the Raeling settles in to listen with steady attention, his fascinated gaze drawn almost inevitably back to the First Flame every few moments. The way it warps and changes to accompany the lilt and timbre of Nina's storytelling is as impressive as the tale itself, wonder written plain in Amhran's expression as he listens.
The moral of Nina's tale might be a warning against the faithless, might be a little stern or a little spooky, even, but it seems to warm the Raeling rather than chilling him. And as the First Flame returns to its regular broadcast of steady flickering and crackling, he blinks himself back into the here and now and glances around to see how the others are feeling. "Wow," he mumbles. He feels suddenly inadequate - he hasn't seen nor experienced nearly enough to contribute something of his own, so instead he raises his eyebrows towards Iskra, as if to ask if he wants to tell about the first Ursur now that the opportunity is here.
Content with his array of snacks, Erebos hadn’t thought about trading segments away. At Iskra’s suggestion, he glanced back and forth, staring at the candied nuts, then back at his pop rocks, as if the notions were being weighed into heavy decision making. Were the delicacies worth the same? Was the value up to him? Were candied figments just as good as the ones that made little snap and crackle noises against one’s mouth? “No thanks,” he shook his head at Iskra eventually, a stain of chocolate already adorning the tip of his nose and the bottom of his chin. “But I have some extra molten drops if you want ‘em.” He'd already stung his tongue and felt all his sinuses cleansed.
By the time he’d polished off the cake though (and Deimos had swiped some when the youth wasn’t looking), Nina had begun to grant and gain their attention away from conversations and back into the main focus and topic of the day. Bright eyed, he fixated his attention on the Keeper of the First Flame, but not for long, as she’d begun to unfurl the embers and coax the cinders into elaborate images. He was familiar with these notions – his father could conduct them all the time – so the semblances didn’t make his jaw drop, but certainly held his focus as they swerved to the beat of the story.
Some semblance of the tale might’ve gotten through to him, and he whispered towards Deimos. “So does that mean if you don’t have a blessing you’ll just die?”
Deimos had been wondering how Nina would make these traditions her own, and so while everyone mingled or exchanged snacks (and he could snag at a piece of cake when Erebos was bartering something with Iskra), he glanced towards said first flame and its bright constituents. Fire had always been a natural tendency in his lineage; his father bore it well, and then he’d taken up the mantle, blending it fluidly with so many other elements. It had to be contorted and controlled to a certain extent, before letting it unfurl in so many possibilities and ranges – a welcome liberation and freedom of power and might.
He let his own incantations ripple along his hands once Nina started speaking, coaxed figures that didn’t quite match hers; kept tucked neatly in his palms and occasionally drifting over to show off to Erebos. He’d heard this tale before – a well-known fixture amongst warnings and blessings. Aven’s illustrious journey of arrogance and stupidity, from ignoring proportions to going out amongst LongNight and its blackened storms. So at Erebos’ inquiry he grinned, leaning over to address the youth in a low murmur. “Something about recognizing and honoring power. Just like we do for the gods. Foolish people are often the first punished.” For many reasons and iterations.
But he’d heard Iskra too, and granted a small grin tucked at the edges of his mouth, purposefully teasing. “You should tell it.”
He can't say he's surprised the child won't trade with him. Poprocks are pretty great, and candied nuts are still nuts, a bit too healthy seeming for a six-year-old at a festival. Worth a short. Iskra shrugs, pulling his hand with his offered nuts back to his mouth and tossing them all in with a crunchy smile. "Kind of you, but no, I'm good." The molten drops are not as likeable as the poprocks, alas.
Giving no hint of seeing Deimos swipe some cake, Iskra's attention soon swings towards Nina as she calls them to order. His grin settles into a line of focus, his voice dying out, the only noise his slow, quiet rustle and cronch of popcorn being wrestled out of the bag and into his gullet. A few times he misses, when his head has accidentally swiveled with the fire figures that weave the tale at Nina's hands. He has also heard this story before, being a fan of these flame tellings, and it's one that he's always understood to mean rather literally that one should not think themselves above the tools and help at their disposal. No one here could survive without fire, least of all at Longnight.
Clapping around his popcorn bag as the tale concludes, Iskra cheers for Nina. As some attention shifts towards him and his big mouth though, Iskra only holds up a quiet hand of refusal and shakes his head. "Oh, by no means am I well equipped to tell the tale of the first ursur. That right belongs to Nina and her kin." Her right, and he hopes, desire, because he's got none when it comes to clambering up on that stage and telling it. He's not even sure he'd remember it all. He's happy to stay among the benches and watch, content to nibble and be amused for a time before heading back into the chill and the hard labor.
