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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!
Even as Ronin’s grip tightens, even as the golden pulse of his conviction surges through their bond, steady and unwavering—even as Remi feels the thread of violet beneath it, curling, twisting, something quiet but insidious, something waiting—he doesn’t pull away. Instead, the Bastion absorbs the emotions pouring through him as he was literally made to do; Ronin's quiet insult at being questioned, the genuine belief that he’d never hurt Remi—except, except—not unless...The not unless coils deep in Remi’s chest, slipping between his ribs like a second heartbeat.
A muscle feathers in his jaw, his fingers flexing briefly over Ronin’s hand before he forces his grip to stay loose. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Remi chuckles, attempting levity and falling far, far short of the mark.
Taking a breath Remi steadies himself, and looks back toward Mort, his expression pinched but determined. "Then tell me what I can do," he says, and though his voice is quiet, there’s no mistaking the iron at the center of it. "If the springs are gone...and if searching the Greatwood would leave Torchline vulnerable to Starfall, then..." Swallowing, Remi can only hope that what he asks next of the god will be balanced by the fact that once upon a time it was Vi himself who said that Remi and Ronin needed each other, just as Vi and Mort didl; hopefully the god of death would hear the Bastion's plea as being one of desperation rather than entitlement.
"...would Vi give us a rose?"
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Mort’s expression grew thoughtful, his boyish features smoothing into something older, something more ancient than his youthful form would ever suggest. He was quiet for a long time, considering, weighing, though the warmth in his presence never wavered. He and Vi did not interfere, not as the heralds did. And yet… Vi had spoken once of the Bastion and the Knight, of what they were to one another, of the balance they carried, as essential and inevitable as life and death themselves.
Mort exhaled softly, the breath more like the rustling of golden leaves than anything truly tangible. His fingers curled at his sides, then relaxed again. Finally, he nodded. "I will ask him." The words were simple, but they carried weight, carried meaning. A rare bending of the rules, a ripple through the stillness that defined Vi and Mort’s existence.
"But," Mort murmured, his voice as soft as the shifting tides beyond the window, "-until you have an answer, Remi, you must live in Vi’s image. Breathe life where you can, steady the world instead of shaking it. Be still. Be patient. Give, rather than take." His dark eyes lingered on the Bastion, knowing full well the fire that burned in Remi’s bones, the restless, endless more of him. "It is not in your nature," Mort said gently, as if he could already feel the struggle forming, "-but neither is it Vi’s to grant such things lightly."
And with that, the god of death faded, golden light bleeding away like the last rays of the setting sun.
Remi has been given a quest! He must act in Vi's image until such time as his quest is completed by:
1. Doing a selfless deed
2. Tending a grave
3. Protecting something/someone
4. Collecting soil from the Greatwood
Expressive eyebrows flinch together at the joke that would normally hit its mark, Ronin searching seaglass eyes for the missing piece of this puzzle, which falls into place like the lid of a tomb when his husband finally utters the words: Would Vi give us a rose?
"Remi, leave it be," he says, his tone one of stern insistence, the same sort that would come from a soldier used to giving orders - and having them followed. "Nothing has changed, or needs to change. Dahlia is still a heinous bitch who threatened our children if we didn't back off from this."
Never had he ever thought he'd be able to level a glare at Mort, but the expression is as close as it gets when the god of death continues as if he hasn't spoken, to go so far as to tell Remi what to do. "Don't--" he almost begs as Mort disappears. "Remi, I'm fine. Don't do this."
For all the emotions flooding through their touch, for all the certainty that pours from Ronin like sunlight, Remi doesn’t let go. Doesn’t pull away, even as his husband’s words press between them like iron bars, even as the command settles into his bones.
The breath Remi exhales is slow, measured, but the weight in his chest is anything but. Ronin is looking at him like he should just understand, should just accept the way things are, but of course that isn't something the Bastion is capable of doing. Not when every fiber of his being is screaming at him that this isn’t right, that the man sitting in front of him, gripping his hand, looking at him with a mixture of frustration and conviction, has a noose around his neck that he can't even see.
Remi’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice steady, gentle. "When you were with Dahlia...did she touch you?" His fingers flex against Ronin’s as he recalls what it was Sunjata had said; that it feels nice, that it makes sense, that it doesn’t feel like anything is wrong. "Were you..." intimate?
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"I... what?" Ronin blurts the words out in the wake of Mort's departure; he had half expected Remi to completely disregard his remarks, but he hadn't counted on a sudden departure from the subject entirely. "I mean, she half ripped my guts out, if you recall. It requires a good deal of touching to do that much damage." Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he lets out a long sigh before his hand drops to cover Remi's, so that he's cradling it between both of his own.
"I think she kissed me, maybe?" he says with a shrug. "Not that I kissed her back," he adds quickly. "And that was it. Nothing else happened. I was in a bit of a rush to get home after that, to be honest. Why?" Shaking his head, he gives Remi's fingers a squeeze and bites back his fruitless sense of frustration. "I love you," he tells him earnestly. "Things are the same as they always were."
Remi sighs softly as Ronin's hand brackets his own, even as the weight of his husband’s frustration presses into the space between them. He doesn’t react to the mention of the kiss in any way Ronin might expect—not with jealousy, not with anger—but his fingers twitch in his husband’s grasp all the same, his seaglass eyes sharpening with something troubled, something thoughtful.
Remi exhales, slow, steady, even as his stomach knots itself tighter. "It is not like you to leave a detail like that out," he points out gently. Not mentioning it in the immediacy of needing to be healed was one thing, and while their marriage wouldn't be upset by something so comparibly small, it was still a flag as red as all the others were.
Forcing himself to laugh and hating the way that being anything less than honest with the Knight felt like a soul-deep stain he'd never be able to rid himself of, Remi just shrugs. "Nothing is ever the same for long." Glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen, the Bastion sighs. "Are you sure I can't tempt you to eat something?"
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Mm, well. I was a little busy as soon as I got home, you'll remember," Ronin points out dryly, his lips twitching in a weak smile. "Sorry for not mentioning it afterwards, though. I'd almost forgotten about it until you said something." All true sentiments, but no less troubling for those who don't have the benefit of knowing everything will be alright like the Knight does.
Furrowing his brow as his I love you, for perhaps one of the first time, goes unreciprocated, Ronin nevertheless gives his husband's hand another squeeze before letting him go. Groaning as he follows his gaze over his shoulder to the kitchen, the Knight slumps back against the headboard and rubs his eyes tiredly. "For you, I'll try," he says softly. "As long as you promise not to invite Mort into our bedroom again."
That, in his opinion, is just as weird as being kissed by the Family.
Remi huffs out a quiet laugh, letting the weight of their conversation settle into something lighter, something easier, if only for now. "You say that like I rang a little bell and asked him to come tuck us in," he quips, his mouth tilting into a crooked smile as he finally lets go of Ronin’s hand and rises to his feet. "You should be flattered, really. Not every couple gets house calls from the god of death himself."
He stretches, rolling his shoulders as he moves toward the kitchen. If Ronin was going to dig his heels in and insist that everything was fine, then Remi would too, and not least of all because infection aside, Ronin was still grieving.
Pausing at the counter, Remi glances over his shoulder with a raised brow. "Alright then, what’s it going to be? Soup? Sandwich? Or should I really impress you and put in the effort to burn something beyond recognition?" He leans against the counter watching Ronin with an expression that’s teasing, fond, and affectionate; normal. If he can’t fix this yet, then he’ll at least make everything feel okay until he can.
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Yes, I'm very flattered. This is how I look when I'm flattered to have death next to my bed, you see," Ronin says, deadpan. And if nothing else, at least Mort's sudden appearance and the weird (weird) conversation they'd all had has given him enough of a reprieve from his grief to surface and gasp in a breath away from it. Enough to watch with an almost habitual appreciation as he watches Remi stretch and pad away from the bed towards the kitchen, leaving the Knight in his mess of blankets and pillows.
"I'd like a sandwich to dunk into my soup," he informs him. His haughty amusement is a bare fraction of its usual energy, but it's there, at least. And perhaps most insidious of all about Dahlia's kiss is that, truly, other than the nasty little caveat that comes with curing him and not wanting to stand in the way of the void, Ronin is normal.
Peeling himself out of bed with the blanket around his shoulders, he shuffles after Remi given a few more minutes, moving to embrace him from behind and tuck his head into the crook of his neck. "Here. I will supervise, so you don't burn anything more than it needs."
Remi snorts softly, shaking his head as he turns to rummage through the kitchen. "Ah, yes. My mistake. I should have known that was your flattered face," he murmurs, his voice light, his hands steady as they move through the motions of preparing something that might pass as edible. It’s a relief, in some small way, to have Ronin engaged in this. If this is what normal looks like for now, then he’ll take it. "Besides, you've had death next to your bed, in your bed, and lots of other ways for several years now," Remi adds with a crooked smile.
"Are you sure you would not prefer wine?" Really, what was the difference between soup and wine, when you got right down to it, and why was Ronin so affronted about one and not the other? It's a question for the ages, one the Bastion is considering when warmth settles against his back, as the familiar weight of Ronin curls around him like a tether. "Hmm, supervise?" he echoes, his voice taking on a playful edge as he resumes his work, slicing through the bread. "How is it my fault when things get too hot when you're around, mm?" His lips curve into a smirk, that Ronin will feel through their bond more than see.
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"Yes, that might be true," Ronin says with the barest hint of a drawl, because he has to concede that Remi has been as good as the grim reaper for a number of years now. "But there's a difference between death and capital D Death, you know?" Huffing out a sigh as if to say he knows the Bastion will never get it and he forgives him, Ronin turns his focus towards affectionately getting in his husband's way as much as humanly possible.
Snorting softly into his neck, he shakes his head. "No, I would not prefer wine," he says, "and I would thank you not to speak such blasphemy again." Looping his arms - and some of his blanket - around Remi's waist, the Bastion will find him easily moved, allowing him to potter about the kitchen to burn cook unhindered. "It isn't, I guess. I am a phoenix, after all," he smirks, pressing a kiss against his neck.
"...Thanks," he adds a moment later. "I'm not ready yet, to accept what Mort had to say about Seren, but... I will be, one day. I hope. So thank you."
Remi huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he continues slicing the bread. "Ah, well. I had no idea you put so much emphasis emPHAsis on the size of the D," he muses, his voice dry but teasing as he nudges Ronin softly.
"I suppose I should be grateful you still consider wine sacred," he sighs in mock defeat, setting the sliced bread aside and moving to assemble the sandwich. "And here I thought we had no real boundaries anymore." Ronin’s kiss at his neck is enough to make Remi pause for a fraction of a second as he grins. He keeps his focus on the sandwich, though, on the motion of his hands, on the steps of preparing food, because if he lingers too long on the feeling of his husband pressed against him, he might forget himself. Might forget that as easy as it would be to allow himself to become distracted, that Ronin very much does actually need to eat.
So instead, he lets out a soft hum in response to Ronin’s gratitude. "That's okay," he says simply, his voice softer now. "Take whatever time you need." He doesn’t say that it will get easier because he knows from experience that grief is never so kind. So the Bastion offers no platitudes but merely places the sandwich on a plate and slides it toward Ronin with an expectant raise of his brows. "Now. Be impressed by my culinary mastery while I heat up your soup."
Table by sky!
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
"You didn't? I'm not sure I believe that, husband, not after all this time." Ronin - and Remi, for that matter - have spent a great deal of time emphasising the size of their respective D's, after all. And admiring them, as befits the largesse of such a letter. "I find having a boundary or two left creates some semblance of mystique in a marriage. We wouldn't want things to get stale, would we?" Watching the Bastion as he goes about sandwich assembly, and probably being a little bit of a nuisance at the same time, Ronin does soften a little to hear the expression of patience given with the sort of grace that leaves him breathless.
Pressing a kiss to Remi's cheek in lieu of further needless thanks, Ronin peels himself away rather than munching on his sandwich directly in his husband's ear (there's that mystique in action), leaning on the counter and watching with unabashed interest as he goes about the fine art of heating soup. And, for the first time since the middle of Longnight, perhaps, the Knight finishes the meal set before him. How could he not, when it has been prepared by such loving hands?
