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Character of the Season
Once known as the Butcher of Whitebrim, he's now The Butcher of Dygra, stepping forward as the first created demigod of the Ancients. There is no question that Astaroth casts an intimidating silhouette. Tall, domineering and dangerous, if looks could kill you'd be dead already, but to get up close and personal with the Grounds' resident cannibal tells a much different story. Dripping with charm and clad in only the finest attire, Asta is a gentleman monster, as polite as they come and committed to his role as security for the Dusklight and those who have earned his loyalty. Be careful of that smile, though - those teeth are sharp.
Congratulations, Asta!
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!
Erebos didn’t know Iskra well, but that didn’t stop him from chattering on and on as they began to hunt down necessary materials for eventual snowman guards – even if he was momentarily distracted by canines and his own frost fox companion, as Orsino couldn’t quite fathom how to maneuver around the other beast, and ended up spitting and shrieking from behind the youth’s long, gangly legs. This didn’t quite bother the boy in the slightest though, used to the reel of companion antics from the Ignatius household. Like Belial hovering overhead. “What’s your dog’s name?” he started with rapt enthusiasm and bright eyes, before reaching down for a couple sticks laden beneath an old pine, and shoving them into his bag.
Then came the rest of the questions and minor stories, spilling out from his mouth as easy as breathing. “Have you ever made snowmen before? I have! Glas and I even made some with cool poses at the festival. You went skijoring there, right? I did with Amham on a pony!” If Iskra could afford to get a word in edgewise, it’d be when Erebos ran underneath a very snow-laden set of branches and boughs, retrieving a few stray sticks from the ground, then bounding out again in equal fervor. “What’s woodcutting like? Does it get boring?”
It isn't often that Goose finds himself braver than another. Size is part of the struggle, but aura is the majority of it, innate with most species that need only throw him a look and he's granting them a wider berth. In a world of magic and fantastic things, a dog is much more ordinary than most, and Goose is not oblivious to his place in the world.
Frost foxes though, oh, those he enjoys chasing through the tundra, frozen risks be damned, So he absolutely lords his confidence over the young, wary, crackling fox. All of which is accomplished by taking a grand amount of time to sniff at Erebos' shoes and pantlegs, the curl of his tail flipping up over his back as Goose makes a real casual show of it, completely ignoring Orsino, or so he makes it seem.
"Goose," Iskra answers with a warm smile, ever happy to talk about his dear friend and biggest pain the ass. Speaking of which, he snaps pointedly at his side, but it earns only the faintest twitch of one ear from the husky. A sign that he heard, and then promptly chose to ignore. Two can play asshole, and with litlte more than a thought a little wisp of fire nips at the husky's front feet until he's forced to back up with a snort and a pounce. "Give the boy and his fox some space," Iskra hisses, the flame snapping back into place, but Goose sneezes and shakes his head at it, a high-pitched, complaint of a bark offered up as he lunges and nips at the side of the fire.
Leaving the dog be before he has a complete meltdown, Iskra's attention slips back to Erebos, which is no difficult task when he crowds his breath with all the questions he can. "I'm probably not nearly as skilled as you are," he confesses of his snowmen skills. "But, yes, I've built several over the years." The bright, eager attitude of the boy draws an easy shape of joy to Iskra's features. Reaching up to snag at taller, brittle branches as they wander, his axe at times employed to make the task faster, he gathers several sticks as well and deposits them in the sled he's dutifully pulling for all their supplies.
"That's right, and yes, I saw your run! Very impressive." There isn't even exaggeration to it, it had been quite the show. "Hmm, well I don't get bored, but I suppose some would find it dull. You have to be good at sitting with silence, and have a strong enough body to handle the vibrations that go up the axe all day,"
Singing under string lights, sipping 'til the sunrise Living like we only got today Swearing off the dark times, cursing at the moonlight Yeah, we might be lost, but we'll find our way
Erebos giggled with delight as the husky wheeled around his feet, but couldn’t be immune to Orsino’s concern once it was laden through the bond enough. “Sorry bud,” he whispered, picking the frost fox up and prospering him along his shoulders, fluffy tail now in his face, as the dog was called to heel. “How come you named him Goose?” A funny name – because the furry fiend wasn’t even close to the waterfowl – but maybe that had been the point of it.
When the woodcutter didn’t seem perturbed by the endless slog of inquiries, the youth continued his sporting grin, ambling over to another pile of branches and brambles long since tossed about by the wind, shoving them into his bag or breaking off portions so they were easier to handle. Orsino struck a careful balance of glaring at Goose or maintaining his foothold on the child’s jacket, claws dug in. “Well that’s good! Did you make them have funny faces?” Half the time anything occurred around the youth was out of a source of amusement, a pattern he’d inherited from both parents.
His eyes swept up when Iskra employed his tools though, a little mixture of awe wrapped in his signature smile. “Oooh – do you like using your ax in battle too? I’ve seen some do it in the barracks. Dad won’t let me have a sharp weapon yet,” and he sighed, rolling his eyes, as if not granting a seven-year-old leave of many serrated armaments was a harsh decree. “Just the wooden ones.” But even then they were fun to swing around and practice with, and he had many dreams of hitting Marcus with one in the back of his knees.
Being told his run was impressive earned significant merit and credence towards Iskra, and the boy was suddenly carrying himself much taller, reaching for higher branches and breaking off ends. For one who’d rarely sat in silence, the notions of lumberjacking were swiftly cut from the list of potential, future employment endeavors. “Oh. It’s really hard to be quiet sometimes.”
07-18-2026, 05:33 PM (This post was last modified: 07-18-2026, 05:34 PM by Iskra.)
Iskra
Driven back by the bite of fire and its annoying vanishing act, Goose feigns to be on the lookout for more interesting options than the rescued fox. Eventually, he trots off ahead of them, seeming to take up the mantle of leader. "Because he always gooses me," Iskra says with a slanted grin, demonstrating with a tuck of his ass, hips pulled forward in a sharp motion, his hand awkwardly angling behind him to spear his bottom cheeks.
Keeping hold of the sled in his other hand, it slips along on the snow with them as they wander, gradually acquiring more and more burden of supplies as Iskra loads more stripped sticks for snowmen appendages into it. "Sometimes," he offers back with a tilt of his head, a conspirator's grin slowly creeping into place. "I prefer to make mine look angry or scary. Like they're waging snow wars with each other. Pine needle strips make excellent eyebrows." A bit like what they'd be building.
It's no surprise that the lad is already arming himself and practicing, but Iskra can't help the faint laugh at the mild indignation over not being granted steel yet. "I still use wood sometimes," he offers, hopefully helpfully to the Ignatius household. "When I want to focus on something specific, or trial things first, or if I'm trying something new. Although, yes, axe is my preference." He spins the tool in his hand, the small, cutting edge no battle tool, meant to be small enough for his belt. "I do have a greataxe I use in battle sometimes, named Ampere."
Shucking more branches, a delighted chuckle rolls deep and long from him. "I was not fond of quiet when I was young," he agrees, glancing back at Erebos with an avant-garde wave of a stick. "It does help you find things sometimes though." Peace, or in this case, the knowledge of the woods who have been his company, stopping short. He crouches next to their sled, pointing out acorns on the ground to Erebos. "Look, acorns. Those could make good eyes, don't y'think?" Of course, he is not authorized to make this decision. "I need someone with your snowman skills to decide."
Singing under string lights, sipping 'til the sunrise Living like we only got today Swearing off the dark times, cursing at the moonlight Yeah, we might be lost, but we'll find our way
At Iskra’s demonstration, the boy laughed, rather loudly, at the display. “Oh okay! That’s perfect then!” His glance back towards the dog, naughty and nefarious, spoke volumes of his sudden approval.
Finding a few more sticks to qualify for the highly lauded and impending snowmen, his eyes widened at the thought of scary or angry pedestals, coming to life on wings of imagination and debauchery. “Oooooh,” he tapped his chin, as if he’d never thought about these possibilities before – including the pine needle strips, bending down to pick up a few from nearby, in case others felt inclined to do the same. “Sometimes I like to make them look like people around here too,” he admitted, though one could probably never be able to presume or identify the impersonation attempts.
Not threatened by Iskra’s own chuckles, he inclined his head instead, little mouth rounding into another ‘o’ on the potential of adults still using the training tools. He supposed he’d seen his dad and many soldiers do the same, but it had often been in the semblance of learning and not mauling one another. Which, given a modicum of thought, was probably around the same lines. “Are you still learning about things then? I feel like that never stops. It’s like always being at school.” If there was a huff or puff about that, he didn’t go into more detail, curiosity already inclined towards the naming of said greataxes. “Ampere,” he repeated. “What’s it mean?”
Deciding Iskra was quite all right for an adult, he nodded, listening but not taking in the information readily – too distracted by the appearance and idea of acorns. “Eyes and buttons!” he declared, immediately going to snatch them up while Orsino protested at being swung around. “I think we should go to the greenhouse for carrots. For the noses.”
The nod he offers up is long and sage as his eyes briefly shut into the motion and the depth of the agreement. "Absolutely," he says, glancing back at Erebos with all the fondness of recounting a time when knowledge had seemed more burden than tool to him too. "I think you only ever stop learning once you die," and even then he supposes parts of him would learn to rot. "It's one of the greatest tools you can take with you to a fight, too," he adds with a lighter option, winking. "Better than wood or steel is the mind." The exact sort of bullshit adults seem to say to get youths to study, although he means it, more well-read and curious than he might outright appear.
Softening a bit more as he hears her name repeated back to him, Iskra does not buckle under it as he once would have. "It was the name of my mother," he murmurs. "She died, when I was young. I made it in her honor, because she was a fierce warrior and I knew she would want to guide me in battle." Humming throughtfully, he adds on. "I have a shield, too. It's named Gaucho, after my father. He passed just before I was born, but he protects me still in this way."
The acorns offer a helpful distraction away from the tragedy of loss and the personalities he's folded into his armaments. With Erebos' grand approval, Iskra chuckles and works alongside him to collect as many acorns as he can find, plunking them into Erebos' bag instead of letting them roll loose and on his sled. "That's a grand idea," Iskra adds as he rises from his kneel, brushing frost from his knees. He had considered the stables, expecting the horses to have plenty of carrots in stock, but the greenhouse would be a more direct route. "We could get different sorts of vegetables for noses if we wanted," he suggests with a wry turn to his lips. "I like when they have a radish instead."
Singing under string lights, sipping 'til the sunrise Living like we only got today Swearing off the dark times, cursing at the moonlight Yeah, we might be lost, but we'll find our way
