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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!
His father seemed to be more on edge than usual, but maybe that was a given what with the general surroundings and his mother back at home, yet to deliver his impending sibling. For that, the youth could understand the fixation with swiftness and a lack of ease; but he wasn’t about to let apprehension guide him along. Instead, he prospered his own assignment as Deimos tended to more regional contributions, something about trading, which, inevitably, was skipping over to the table full of food.
He could still feel Deimos’ eyes on him – which was comforting, in a way, of knowing one was always sheltered and secure – so he opted for ensuring both of them would be fed well, and then he could pocket and save some for Evie and Amham. Festival delicacies brought out a certain kind of avarice in him, as if he could yearn and dream of tasting every single thing. For starters, he beelined towards an array of meats that seemed to have been laden with an array of sauces, and the aromas hit his nose on a lure, his little features barely making it to the surface of the table.
Not to be deterred, he grabbed some tongs and a plate, giggling all the while while he smacked the metallic edges together in biting gestures, before noticing someone else was nearby. The older girl he’d noticed earlier – one of the few children seeming to be lurking around. “Hi!” he waved with his free hand. “Have you tried any of this yet?”
A short laugh bubbles free as Erebos briefly transforms the tongs into a beast. Fern has crept up little by little, drifting from stations of chairs and tables, each one affording her a period to grow emboldened enough to take another couple of steps forward. The pacifier of her father's fur is behind her, the dark dog sitting quite still on the edge of the party, his eyes a welcome weight on her back. "Do that again!" she exclaims, eyes wide with a newfound enthusiasm for the potentials of utensils.
When he fully turns and notices her, the humor fades abruptly, her body straightening into something taller, feigning a certainty that isn't there. Bluffing is an important factor of survival. He merely chirps out a greeting, waving again, her own hand rising to return the gesture without thought. "Hiiii," she greets back, softer, head ducking to the side a bit where the curtain of her hair could serve as some manner of shield. His question draws her gaze though, and easily swept into answers and the wonder of things, Fern swiftly forgets her nerves and sternly shakes her head, bright gold hair flapping back and forth. "No, is it good? What is it? I am hungry."
The laughter suddenly nearby was a motivator, and the youth grinned, wide and unassuming, as he clicked the tongs back into place. This time he let them spring back and forth in slower, wider bites, then fast, frenzied ones, making noises that sounded like growling, then ripping, and tearing, just for emphasis.
But then he watched as she drew herself taller; clearly older. This didn’t deter him much. Everyone he met was older, broader, and towering; even though he was gangly and long-legged, there was no getting around the age gaps surrounding him. Nor was he very bothered by her shyer approach; his only experiences in trepidation had been ursurs. And there weren’t any of those bears around here (yet). So at her greeting he gave a wide, charming grin. “I don’t know yet!” But by the smile, it was apparent he was willing to give any of them a try.
Glancing back at the table, his eyes narrowed, trying to find a label to read. He knew most of the words on this particular card though. “Ho-knee ham,” he boasted proudly, and then he used the tongs to put two pieces on his plate. “Smells good, and that’s good enough for me.” Then he took another step, trying to sound out and decipher the next. “Wood smocked raammm…ire.”
The immediate dash back into play and imagination draws Fern the rest of the way forward, diving into the idea readily with another series of giggles and grins. She picks up her own set of tongs, whining and growling back in response to his. Hers at times, lunges forward to take ground that his gives up, and in response when he surges towards her, her metallic beast shrinks back and cowers, whimpering with the momentary defeat that is traded back and forth where possible.
When the play dwindled down, spent through the routine of possibilities, and nearby guests adding outwards pressure with presence alone, Fern's laughter died out into a fond sigh and she settled her creature into something slumbering back by the plate. "Sometimes things that smell good can kill you," she warns, eyes widening slightly at his lack of greater lines of control for consumption. "In fact, some things specifically try to smell tempting in order to trick you and eat you."
Her gaze shifts suspiciously to the buffet laid out, as if poison could be lurking among the succulent pile of delights. "My mom even told me that apples have cyanide in them, and tomatoes come from nightshade, which is deadly!" The horror of fruits and vegetables is endless, truly. His reading is spot on though, and despite the warped and drug out names, they are familiar. Fern instantly relaxes, all her conspiracies fading in an instant. "Oh, honey ham is delicious." Her tongs resume life and pluck up a piece for her own plate.
The tongs were well and good miniature weapons; he liked to listen to the clanging back and forth before they ultimately had to put them to proper use. But his brow arched as her voice took on another quality, glancing upwards as the laughter faded, died off, and then it was a bunch of statements meant to delude or terrify.
It occurred to the youth, very briefly, how odd it was that two individuals had now shown him strange, aggressive notions when he’d done nothing except for exhibiting kindness and amiability. First Marcus, and now this one – though the hybrid had goaded, and the older girl just seemed either intent on scaring or warning him, and he wasn’t sure which. Alas, she wouldn’t be getting any rise out of him; intertwining his father’s mask of indifference and his mother’s, and Amham’s, knowledge of plants long since instilled within. Not that he was wholly experienced like them (at all), but certainly had heard enough of the way vegetation could maim or tame. “And sometimes you can use them to heal,” he shrugged, recalling various lessons on levels of certain balms and herbs. He’d be asking for further insight after this conversation though. “I doubt they’d put stuff out to poison everyone,” came along his lines of innocence.
The sway of her personality was befuddling, and he gave her a one more confused glance before shaking his head, moving onwards and further down the table, slightly, purposefully, away from her. Deciding now that he was filling this plate, he would need a second one to divide and conquer for both his dad and himself, he began rearranging portions, then went towards the bread area.
Harm and cruelty can often come accidentally, and there is perhaps little worse than the quality of meaning to do good only to manage the opposite. Countless attempts at rescue often result in demise, either for the rescuer, or the rescued, who sometimes didn't need any assistance at all. Fern has encountered this firsthand, trying to save a jellyfish that'd washed up on shore only to be promptly stung by it. She'd hefted it out to sea regardless, but it just washed back ashore. She later learned that's normal for that species, and its end in that state serves as a food source for creatures on land.
She doesn't realize she's just done it again. At the silver lining he extends instead to her storm clouds, Fern neither minds the bright quality of the sunlit edges nor the dim shadow of the gathered density of moisture, so she eagerly pounces on this potential of discussion as readily as the last. "Yes, aloe vera is very good for treating burns," she agrees with a grin, pleased that he knows as much. "It doesn't try to trick you by smelling good. In fact, it'd rather be left alone, that's why it has those little thorns and all."
Humming faintly to herself as she peruses their options and begins to load more onto her plate, mindful of gathering some for Ever too, she glances over at Erebos' rational assertion of expected potencies at a gathering. "No, why would they?" she agrees swiftly, if a touch confused at the notion. "Unless you mean, the apples? You have to eat a buncha the seeds for that to work."
Taking his departure as little more than the process of foraging, the buffet an efficient line and series of stations to boot, Fern pursues him. "I'm Fern, by the way," she announces as she reaches for a bread roll with her hand and stuffs that in one of her pockets for later. A second one that she fists goes straight to her mouth with an eager bite. "Whaf yor ame?"
He grew more cautious and inward now, uncertain after being stung once already. Drawn to the bread and other baked goods, he snagged a few different rolls, some savory and some sweet, for his family to share, and then eyed the desserts towards the opposing end, wondering if that was too much or not enough. But then the girl was talking again, and she seemed to be in agreement as far as his other statement. He glanced at her, smiling back at him instead of traipsing around in some un-earned warning, and he took a long, slow breath, grabbing at a fork.
It seemed there was a misunderstanding over his other response though, and he opened his mouth, then shut it promptly, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort beyond furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes in confusion. Eventually there was a name to go with the omens though, and he thought Fern was fitting – given how much she seemed oriented around plants. “I’m Erebos,” he managed after a quick bite of a bread lined with cheese. “Where are you from?”
Erebos' name is one she repeats silently to herself, trying to cement it in as she swallows her bite of bread. It definitely needs butter, and she reaches out for one of the little balls of it next, mashing it into the remainder of her roll like it's a secret she's tucking into the baked dough. "I'm from Torchline," she pips easily, taking a fresh bite of the much more lubricated and tasty buttered bread now. She proffers him a smile through the chewing, shuffling further down the lane of the buffet to the drinks. The hibiscus tea calls her name, and she fills a cup.
"What about you, Erebos?" She uses his name intentionally, the act of saying it further helping lock it in. The need less from faulty memory as it is aligning facts together with certainty. She doesn't want to misplace who he is. "Have you ever been to this, festival before? I was told Mort will release someone to visit us, based on the lanterns." The idea widens her eyes a touch, although the true weight of it is lost on her. Not because she hasn't already seen some of the natural deaths in the world, watching the sear cat hunt and eat birds by her house, but because the deaths don't touch her yet in a meaningful way. She doesn't know any of the names behind the lanterns strung up, or what it is to wish someone had never been taken.
Torchline. A lot of people seemed to be from there, in his humble experience. He’d only been there a handful of times, and most often as an infant, fallen asleep while his father won in a battle tournament or passing by a Frey shrine and aging himself up to where he stood now. None of them were regretful aspects; just something in the back of his mind, rainbow hot springs and the seemingly endless sea.
He still eyed her warily, those first impressions wearing, as she granted him a smile – giving her a small one in return. “Cool. I’ve only been there a couple times. What’s your favorite place?” A question he asked many; in hopes he’d be able to explore there too. Picking at another piece of the cheese bread, its warmth made pulling it apart an amusing venture, and he giggled as the portions threatened not to separate at all.
At her own inquiry though, his grin became far more proud. “I’m from Halo!” Of the cold and harsh valleys and everything else mixed within. The other question gave him pause, however, sweeping his gaze away from foods, because he knew that wasn’t what this place was supposed to be about. It might have been a lure for him, but not everyone else. His family had made lanterns too – hung them in the off-seasons so there were places of honor around the house, grabbed and took them here in hopes of seeing those loved ones again. Individuals he’d never met. People he probably never would. But they represented something to someone; legacies and heartaches and melancholies, chiseled right into his own heritage. But he, much like Fern, didn’t have those wounds to bear or angst-riddled moments to spare. “No. I was too young, but that’s what I heard too. My dad got to see his friend once.”
05-04-2026, 10:27 PM (This post was last modified: 05-04-2026, 10:27 PM by Fern.)
Got the dreamer's disease
Favorite place is a demanding question. He asks it so simply, like there's an answer just waiting to be plucked up, but Fern is momentarily struck by the idea. It's truly impossible to gauge favorites when things can't be equally compared. The sand is not the same as the sea, and she doesn't want it to be. Sometimes, when the sun is just right, sliding her legs into the sand is the best feeling in the world and she could lay there all day. Other times, the rush of the water over her toes and the way seaweed adorns her while sea shells tumble by in the tide is the most refreshing and delightful experience. Other days, it's the colorful shine on rainbow road's smooth stones, gysers hissing behind her. Then of course there's the way the sunset blazes violet and pink before winking out in green on the sea's horizon, or the way the moon shines high and bright overtop the docks, but the bright blue of cloud-strewn days in town...
"I don't have one," she whispers after what surely is a far too-long pause. She's reluctant again, aware that her answer is wrong. Her gaze tilts away from him, not bearing to see the disappointment there, and she sighs wistfully before folding some ham into her mouth to act as a momentary salve (and excuse for staying quiet).
At talk of Halo, and the strong way in which he says it, she shyly glances back. "I've never been," she admits, one corner of her mouth tugging to the side as she chews. "Mom would turn to stone if she went, and it's a far way to go with just dad." These facts do not bother her, they simply are, and she is not discontented by them. "What's it like, Halo?" She has seen drawings and maps and read a few things, but nothing that's sure to compare to his take.
Relaxing back in small degrees, Fern takes her plate and drink and moves marginally away from him, not wanting to leave his side just yet but done creating her plate, so she naturally moves with the flow of the crowd towards tables and seats, some of which are benches. "I wonder what Mort's halls are like," she hums, imagining it must not be so bad if all your friends are there waiting.
Ignorant to the overwhelming notions of the question, he glanced up at her, noticing the silent pondering. He opened his mouth a couple of times, figuring he could ease up the line of inquiries or find something else to say, but the words didn’t flow as naturally as usual, and he felt like he was on the wrong foot the entire time. Shifting restlessly, he ended up gathering some drinks in the interim, glancing back at his dad as he seemed to be formalizing trades with the leader of King’s End, when she finally answered.
Though it was with some quiet trepidation, and he arched his brow when she didn’t have one. “Oh. Okay,” and he shrugged, wondering if it’d simply been too much or there were too many to list. His mind pried for anything else, but then she was offering more than just the other response, and he tilted his head. Her mother turning to stone…though maybe that meant she was an Ancient?
But then that note of pride entered his voice again, bright beam of a smile sparking once more. “It’s great! It’s cold, but you bundle up and it’s fine. We have a lot of snow, some icy beaches, forests…but my favorite is the Greenwing! I got my companion there!” Not partial to taking the hint of moving away from the tables, because now he’s talking and animated, he gestured with his free hand. “And we have some hot springs that heal! Dad made some barracks…we’ve got big walls for defenses…,” that he’d missed the notions of Mort’s Halls entirely as well.
The lack of shame or confusion makes it easier to return to the flow of their talk. He is surprisingly accepting, whereas she has found most others prone to a nervous laugh or a return to prodding her. Favorites come up far too often for her liking, and eventually, she'll need to nail how to swiftly sidestep them without upsetting the entire balancing act of a conversation. Add to this the easy way he smiles, the action mirroring easily on her own features, and how he delves into his home, and she is swept back into the tide of his confidence.
"Oh, I would love to see an icy beach!" Only having the non-icy kind at home. "That sounds very different from Torchline's coast. I wonder how the temperature changes the sorts of plants and animals that normally depend on a shoreline." This thought doesn't linger as long as it might, not when he drops companion. Her eyes flare wide and blue, hair shifting abruptly around her as she leans back towards him, plate set aside on the table. "Your what?" She begs him to repeat, although she's heard it perfectly fine. "You have a companion?" All the buildings are promptly ignored, as are, sorry, Mort's abilities.
"What's its name? What kind is it? How did it happen? How did it feel? Do you feed it?" All shyness gone Fern now becomes a bit of a motor mouth.
He shrugged, picking at the utensils. He was at most familiar with his homeland’s animals; the ursurs, dragons, luxere, and the like. “Well, we have things that survive the cold. Lots of fur.” Sometimes ornery. Though it seemed she wasn’t waiting for an explanation, as the inquiries churned into excitement – he echoed and shared it much the same, given his experience with the proportions. “Yeah! His name is Orsino and he’s a frost fox.”
As for how it happened, well. He’d had his own ploys and his father had seen through the ruses and off they’d gone anyway. “So Dad and I were watching for frost foxes and we waited a really long time by one of the streams, and out they came!” His hands went upwards as if they could describe the scene all on their own – animated, one bread roll to puncture the air. “And one decided to bond with me. He’s really neat. It kinda scared me at first, because I didn’t know how it’d feel to share your soul and stuff, but it’s been awesome ever since.” His head tilted, mildly curious on her last question but letting it go. “Yeah, I feed him. And he gets water and a nice bed and eventually we’ll go on adventures together.”
She'll have to go home and read about blubber and fat after this day, to learn more about the characteristics that permit animals for the cold and those animals for the heat. People can tolerate both, clearly, and she imagines they aren't the only ones. For now though, his answer of fur earns a swift agreement, the logic of layering on more hair aligned with the extra coat she bore for the trip here.
A very specific frosty critter has wholly stolen her focus now though, and vibrating with the competing desire top hear his answer and yet ask more at the same time leaves her hanging on his every word. "Orsino the frost fox!" she gasps, utterly delighted by the introduction, however distant. Her gaze glitters with the glory of his tale as he explains it all, fragments of images dancing before her eyes as she imagines it. "That sounds so magical," she sighs, wistful.
"You're so luuucky." She tilts her head back, theatrical about the unfairness of the world. "We have a sear cat near our house we feed him chicken on our porch. He almost let me pet him one time, and then maybe when he does I'm gonna teach him how to play fetch!" She at least has that, and offers it out to him for equal approval. "He isn't bonded though," she says, smaller now, a wrinkle seating on her brow. Perhaps she's done it all wrong.
"How did you know he wanted to? What'd it feel like, when he bonded?" Her brows lift, and she glances towards the expert with minimal patience.
