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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!
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones try to forget all them enemies and debts
Damien’s eyes followed Theea’s energetic bounce, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gave a short nod, appreciating her eagerness. His gaze flicked upward as Calypso wriggled onto the roof, and something about her made a flutter of recognition stir in the back of his mind (could it be a familial resemblance to Nova I wonder?). He couldn’t place it, but it was enough to keep him watching for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
When Theea grinned at him and called him the teacher, he allowed a small chuckle. “Alright,” he replied in mock resignation, leaning over to grab her a hammer slightly shorter and lighter than the others; more appropriately sized for her nimble hands. “Lesson one: always bring the right tools for the job. You can keep that one.”
Without further ado he went and knelt beside the first post, testing its weight with a sharp grunt. “We’ll start on the corner,” he said, tapping the post with his fist. “Diagonal braces first—keeps the corners from twisting when wind hits. Then cross braces along the length, spaced a bit under the beams. You want the whole frame tight before anything else goes on.” He lifted another piece of wood to show her the angle. “If we’ve got extra short planks, we can double up where the beams meet the house—although it won’t look fancy, it’ll hold steady.”
Damien set to work, hands moving with steady precision, hammering a brace into place. “Your turn,” he said to her, nodding toward the next post. “Keep your angle steady, and don’t rush. Push too hard, and the wood splits.” A curse cut through the salty air and he glanced up to try and glimpse Calypso on the roof. He shook his head slightly, amused. “And don’t get distracted by flying broomsticks,” he muttered, smirking.
dw, Mr. Damien brought extra hammers! He even has one that's Theea sized.
I cross my arms at Damien ’s smirk, trying on my best haughty look. Still, when he hands me the smaller hammer, I can’t help but toss it once and catch it with a grin. “I definitely thought I’d need something more heavy-duty.” Truth is, the last time I helped build anything I was small enough that “helping” meant holding nails for Dad and trying not to drop them in the sand.
I crouch beside Damien, balancing on my toes, heels braced, my whole body bent toward movement like I might spring up at any second. But when he starts explaining, my brain shifts gears. This is my house. If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right. I listen carefully, watching the way his hands move as much as the words he says.
When he shakes his head at Caly’s antics on the roof, I flick a glance up too, a small stab of worry catching me until I notice he doesn’t look concerned at all. I set to hammering at my corner—slower than Damien’s easy precision, but steady. I only whack my thumb once, and it’s definitely not because I got distracted staring at his hands trying to figure out how he goes so steadily.
My head shoots up at the sound of wild commotion inside and cringe. "Flora!" I shout, unsure if she can hear me. "You good?"
At the window, Remi’s extra limbs hoist Ronin up easily, the crowbar biting into wood and splintered frame as he works. The glass gives way without much of a fight, but not without mess—shards spill like glittering rain, catching in the sand... and his husband's curls. Sharp, inconvenient, and annoying to pick out. And then of course, there's no missing the commotion that clatters to life in the house.
On the roof, Calypso 's broomshake earns her an ear-splitting squawk as the hel flaps away in dramatic offense. Her brandishing seems to confuse the flock; they fluff and caw louder, as though personally insulted, a chorus of squawking sea-chickens putting on a show of wounded pride. They fly up to the surrounding palm trees, heads cocked in almost comical curiosity. Pal? Pest? They don’t seem to know either. A two squawk in surprise and flap away when chaotic noise breaks out below.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Flora proves herself brilliant. Spice’s icy breath spills into the oven, stunning the creature inside long enough for invisible hands to seize a fistful of thick fur. Theea’s oven squatter is revealed as a snarling, furious raccoon thrashed into the waiting cage. (Apparently they can be tropical. Who knew? Not me!)
Victory is short-lived—with a screech, three smaller raccoons explode out after it, scattering chaos through the house. One bolts into the living room and dives beneath the sagging couch. Another tears laps around the walls until it finds a gap where the window used to be—ignoring whoever’s working there as it flings itself out into open air. The third scrambles around the kitchen, climbing everything knocking things down, hissing at the dragon. What cute little adolescent raccoons! Maybe there should have been a bigger cage.
Round 4
TLDR:
Damien and Theea run into little trouble, other than a bruised thumb on Theea’s part. And what is going on inside?
Remi and Ronin are able to get the window out, but with a rain of glass into Remi’s hair and… oh shit. A raccoon just came flying out the window, toward Ronin’s head before he can take the window.
Calypso scared off the hels, but may have offended the single braincell things. Only a few palm fronds left! And a whole lot of commotion inside.
Flora successfully caught a raccoon! Only now there are three more young ones raising hell in the house.
It all seemed to be going far too easy, didn't it?
"Fuck, sorry," he apologises to Remi as the window all but comes apart in his hands as he removes it, showering his husband in shards of glass. "Let me put this down and we'll--"
At that very moment, something small and furry comes launching out of the empty space where the window had once been, attaching itself firmly to Ronin's face and head. For a second the Knight genuinely thinks it's somehow Remi (given that the Bastion also has such a shift) but seeing as they're all toppling to the ground, apparently not.
It's with a very manly noise that Ronin finds himself flat on his back, also covered in glass and with the adolescent raccoon skittering away into the undergrowth, his duplicate standing by with the stained glass replacement looking thoroughly bewildered.
Ronin gets a face full of raccoon and falls on his ass. Give him a second to get up and get rid of all the glass and he'll be right back to it! (He's a little busy to help Flora right now, sorry).
The cage hits the floor with a metallic rattle as Flora all but shoves it away from her, the larger raccoon inside hurling itself against the bars with indignant fury. She crouches just long enough to snap the latch tight, then rocks back on her heels with a breathless laugh that sounds more like a squeal. "I’M GOOD!" she yells over her shoulder toward Theea, the words punctuated by the crash of a mug toppling from the counter as the kitchen dissolves into bedlam.
Spice is a flurry of white wings overhead, zipping after the adolescent menace that’s leaping from shelves to cupboards, each breath of frost missing by inches as flour and dust rain down instead. The little dragon huffs, indignant, looping wildly as her quarry chitters defiance.
Flora, meanwhile, twists her ring, vanishing from sight in a shimmer of air. A flick of her wrist and the signet ring slides free of her hand, clattering against the wooden floorboards with a sharp little ting. At once, shadow and saltwater swell together, coalescing into the sleek, powerful form of a tide jaguar. Muscles ripple under the shimmer of its coat, and it prowls to her invisible heel with liquid grace, ears pricked and nostrils flaring at the scent of prey.
She pads into the living room, unseen but not alone, the jaguar’s low growl vibrating through the sagging couch. Dust motes dance in the sun slicing through the cracked panes as the raccoon hisses from underneath, little claws scrabbling against the wood. Flora gestures with an invisible hand, coaxing the great cat forward to flush the squatter into open ground—where she waits, crouched and ready, invisible fingers spread to snatch the creature the instant it makes a break for freedom.
Flora becomes invisible and uses her signet ring, hoping that the tide jaguar will scare the third raccoon into her waiting (invisible) arms, while Spice tries to catch the one in the kitchen.
Signet Ring | A signet ring with the insignia of a Tide Jaguar When thrown, becomes a full-grown Tide Jaguar with the same HP as the user. The animal cannot do physical damage to others, and lasts 3 rounds or until it is killed. Can only be used once per thread.
Type: Grey | Style: Offensive | Level: Mastered | Cost: Action
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
lately i've been leaning on what she swears is a feeling
Ducking only a little when the hel shrieks loud enough to make her ears ring, she watches with quiet sown pride as the hel flaps away. It sparks the next few sets of avians on the roof to take to the sky, hopping up onto the palms above. “Yeah, y’better run!” She calls after them, shaking the broom again when the noise cuts out from down below. She can hear Theea call to Flora inside, then the muffled yell of Flora’s own, before she’s shrugging a little and eyeing the remaining hels briefly.
Returning to her work, the young attuned continues to sweep off the palm fronds, hoping to get the remaining bits off so that she can go back down from the roof to rake up the mess she’s making in the yard.
Caly yells at the Hels a little bit more before she’s trying to finish up getting the rest of the fronds off the roof so she can clean up her mess in the yard!
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones try to forget all them enemies and debts
Damien straightened at the sudden racket from inside, dusting his hands on his trousers as he stepped away from the brace. The noise had an ugly edge—metal clanging, wood scraping, something alive screeching—and it was enough to pull him toward the door. He leaned in just far enough to catch the chaos: splintered furniture, little raccoons running around wildly, a dragon the size of a housecat loosing frost into the kitchen, and a cat the size of a... bigass cat prowling around. No Flora in sight.
His brows drew together for a moment, then he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. Nope! Not going in there!
“She’s fine,” he said flatly, turning back to Theea before she could get any ideas about abandoning their station. “If raccoons are what finally get her, then Torchline’s in worse shape than I thought.”
He crouched beside the next post, pressing it into alignment with the line they’d set. “Come on. Brace tight against the corner before you nail it—don’t leave a gap, or the whole thing will shift. Oh, and try not to smash your fingers,” His tone was steady, meant more to keep her focused and guide than to scold. Another screech rattled out of the house, followed by a crash, and the faintest tug of a smile pulled at his mouth. “See? Sounds like she’s winning.”
Damien checks on Flora, nopes out, and tries to keep Theea on task.
Flora’s voice carries out, shouting that she’s good, and I let out the breath I’d been holding—only for another crash to shake the house, making me wince.
I glance gratefully at Damien when he rises to check. I don’t move, waiting, shoulders tense until he steps back out and tells me it’s fine. His words pull a smile from me before I can help it—he’s right, Flora’s a total badass—and I relax before I can even try to argue about running in after her.
When he refocuses me, I nod and crouch down again. I follow his instructions carefully, glancing up at his face every few moments to make sure I’m doing it right. His steady tone grounds me, and when I catch the faint tug of a smile at his mouth, I can’t help but grin back.
“Yeah, those raccoons really don’t know who they’re messing with,” I murmur, pressing the brace tight against the post before I set another nail. This time, I keep my attention steady—no more distractions. Just me, the hammer, and the brace.
Calypso gets the upper hand over the hels at last; their squawking complaints trail off toward the ocean as they scatter. One, however, veers low enough to peck her head and tug her hair, flapping away with the most obnoxious cry a sea chicken has ever made. With them gone, the roof is hers alone again, palm fronds easy pickings.
Ronin and Remi are no longer troubled by the raccoon—it’s vanished into palms and seagrass with no intention of coming back. The real trouble is the rain of glass left behind. Shards glitter across the sand, tangled in curls and clothing, though mercifully not breaking skin. The stained glass window is intact, at least, and still waiting to take its place.
Inside with Flora, chaos reigns. The raccoon in the kitchen runs frenzied circles, hissing and chattering as Spice harries it from above. When claws strike scales, the little beast finds no purchase, and in a final frantic dash, it collides with the dragon’s hold. At the same time, Flora’s jaguar flushes its quarry from under the couch, driving it straight into her waiting, invisible arms. The adolescent screeches, thrashing and scratching as it’s caught, but the tide jaguar prowls behind like a shadow, silent and unyielding.
Round 4:
TLDR:
Calypso successfully chases off the hels, though one gives her a peck and a tug of her hair. Otherwise, she’s able to get the rest of the palm fronds off the roof.
Remi and Ronin are able to take care of the glass, and now should not have any trouble installing the new window.
Flora, Spice, and the jaguar badasses they are, successfully catch the two raccoons! They can release the rest of the family into the trees.
Damien is able to successfully refocus ADHD Theea enough for them both to get the porch reinforced.
Everyone report back to the porch when you’re done for your final tasks!
The front door creaks open on Flora’s hip as she shoulders it aside, the grin on her lips bright and unbothered despite the armful of writhing fur currently attempting to claw its way down her torso. "Excuse me, pardon me—coming through," she lilts cheerfully, sidestepping around Theea and Damien as if she weren’t hauling a raccoon that’s actively auditioning for an escape act. Spice flutters beside her, tiny claws hooked around another squirming bundle, the dragon’s wings beating furiously to keep her catch pinned.
Flora’s curls bounce as she cranes her head toward the yard, eyes narrowing in search of her dad. “"Remi!" she calls over the racket, her voice cutting through the morning air with the precision of a dagger. "This should have been your job!" The complaint is half-tease, half-accusation, carried on a huff as she trudges toward the line of trees. The jaguar pads silently at her heel, low and regal as a tide rolling in, its presence enough to send smaller creatures scuttling from their path.
Once under the canopy, Flora crouches, muscles tightening as she lowers her struggling prize. She gives Spice a quick nod, and the little dragon releases her own captive in a flurry of frost and feathers. The two raccoons tumble together into the underbrush, hissing in indignation but free. "Keep them from doubling back," she instructs briskly, flicking her hand toward both companions. Spice takes to the air with a determined trill, and the jaguar prowls forward, golden eyes sharp on the shadows.
Only then does Flora spin on her heel, invisible once more as she dashes back inside. She reappears a moment later with the rattling cage, the mother snarling ferociously behind the bars. Carrying it out with exaggerated care, she unlatches the door at the forest’s edge, stepping back as the raccoon bolts free, reuniting with her chattering brood. Spice herds them farther from the house until they vanish into green, the only trace a rustle of leaves and a last indignant screech.
Flora exhales, brushing invisible dust from her hands before plucking the signet from the ground. The jaguar melts away as it slides back onto her finger, the shimmer of its power coiling silent once more. Spice circles down to perch daintily on her shoulder, smug as anything. And Flora? She strolls back toward the deck with her grin wide and unrepentant, curls haloed gold in the morning light. "Kitchen’s all yours now," she declares to Theea, as if she’d only gone out to fetch an armful of flowers rather than wrangle a family of raccoons.
Flora releases the raccoons into the trees and has Spice herd them away before returning to Theea!
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones try to forget all them enemies and debts
Damien drove the last nail in with a measured strike, then leaned back on his heels to inspect their work. The lines were square, the frame steady beneath his hand when he gave it a sharp shove. “That’ll hold,” he said, satisfaction threading through his otherwise even tone. He dusted his palms against his trousers, then glanced sidelong at Theea. “Not bad,” he added, quieter, as though offering her a verdict. “Corners are tight. You’ve got a steadier hand than you think.”
He gave the brace one final push for good measure before he rested his hammer on the rail and motioned with his chin toward the boards above. “That’s the worst of it done. Let’s get back up there before someone decides the porch would make a good stable.”
Straightening, he caught sight of Flora approaching, sunlight flashing against her curls and the easy grin she carried. His brows ticked up. “Just another day in Torchline, huh?” he quipped, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “Suppose if I’d tried to help with your end of it, I’d only have been in the way.”
With that, he fell in step behind Theea, ready to follow her back up onto the porch and for whatever task came next.
Damien makes sure the porch is solid before he follows Theea to the porch for the next order of business!
Managing, eventually, to get everyone upright, Ronin is brushing glass off his clothes and out of Remi's hair and away from any other sensitive flesh when Flora's call hits the air, and he raises his eyebrows as he spots her strong-arming some other raccoons out into the underbrush. Huh. Opting not to ask - he's already got a very good idea based on the raccoon to the face earlier - he instead gets back to his own task.
With Remi's tentacled help once again, and with some tools procured from the crate he'd brought, Ronin's projection hands him the new window, which he's careful not to break as it sets it into the frame. Working dilligently to get it secure, while he dabbles and fusses over it, the projection grabs a broom to sweep the glass into a pile to dispose of it safely.
With Remi giving him a boost, Ronin sets the stained glass window safely into place! He also makes sure to get the glass out of everyone's hair and off their clothes, and then his projection sweeps it into a pile and disposes of it.
lately i've been leaning on what she swears is a feeling
She can’t help the grin she shoots towards the avians when she sees the majority of them take off. But one drifts low enough to snatch up some of her golden hair and flaps away with a call that has Caly calling after it herself. “You just wait for me t’get a flyin’ shift!” It’s as best the shaking your fist at the sky gif, but Caly spends a few moments trying to get her hair back into place and her temper under control. Collecting the broom again and she works to get the rest of the palm fronds off the roof.
And when she’s done with that, she leans over the edge of the roof to makes sure it’s clear before she’s dropping the broom and hopping down herself, wiping her hands together then on her thighs to rid them of any dirt. “Got the fronds off the roof!” She chimes, flashing them an easier smile to hide the frustration of the birds that had tried to ruin her day.
Caly curses at the hels some more but gets the rest of the fronds off the roof and then hops down to meet them at the porch!
Damien ’s verdict makes something bright and unexpected fizz up in my chest. I’ve always had praise, always—Mom never let me doubt that I was clever, capable, good. But from him? From Damien, who’s all stone edges and steady hands and not a man you impress easily? It lands heavier. Means more. It makes my smile curve, and it sends a flush creeping warm across my face. “Thanks for showing me,” I say.
I lead us back up onto the porch, boots knocking against weathered boards, Damien’s measured tread just behind me. And then the door bangs wide, Flora breezing through it with curls bouncing and arms full of thrashing raccoon. Spice flutters beside her with another squirming ball of fur, wings pumping like a banner in a storm.
I laugh openly, and my brows arch high, shooting Damien a look, my smile crooked with and unspoken: this is chaos.
When everyone finally drifts together—Flora disappearing toward the trees, Ronin carefully pulling glass from Remi’s curls, Calypso hopping off the roof with palm fronds in her wake—I can only stand there, smiling like I’ve swallowed sunlight whole. Gratitude swells inside me, too big for my ribs, too big for words.
I clap my hands, the sound snapping sharp in the salt-heavy air. “Okay!” My voice rings too bright, too eager, but I don’t care. “You guys are amazing. Seriously. Look at what we’ve already done.” My heart is in my throat, and all I can do is keep smiling.
I start ticking off fingers as I point out the next tasks. “One: the couch has gotta go.” I jerk my thumb toward the living room, where it slumps like something half-dead. “Definitely a two-person job.”
“Two: stocking the kitchen with what I brought.” I nod to the crates and sacks by the door, heavy with jars and dried meat, and baking goods. “Stuff to make this place actually feel like a home again.”
“Three: hanging the paintings.” My eyes linger on the bundle of frames propped against the porch wall. All mom’s, naturally. The colors still sing, even faded—a forest, a stormy ocean, an unfamiliar skyline with a large wall, and . “They should go back where they belong.”
“And four: windchimes.” I gesture upward to the rafters of the porch roof, where the breeze already whistles through. Always driftwood, shells, hagstones, seaglass. My mom taught me, and said Vai always made them too. ”They should be singing on this porch again.”
"Then of course, there's dusting and sweeping. Then, I think I've got everything handled from there!" I drop my hands, giving them all a crooked smile. “Take your pick. Let’s keep making her shine.”
Round 5:
TLDR:
New tasks! Take your pick.
Get rid of the couch - another two person job.
Stocking the kitchen (that a raccoon made a mess of)
Flora tips her head at Damien, a smirk curving her mouth as one brow arches high. "What do you mean? Didn’t it look like I had it all under control?" she teases, voice warm and bright as if she hadn’t just wrestled a family of raccoons out the door. Spice chitters smug agreement from her shoulder, little chest puffed like she’d done all the work.
Her attention swings back to Theea, and the grin softens into something more adoring as her nose wrinkles. "Windchimes," she announces without hesitation, already moving to the bundle of driftwood and shells. Her hands linger over the pieces with reverence, as if they hum with old memory. "I remember Vai teaching me how to make these," she murmurs, almost to herself, but loud enough for Theea to hear, a thread of shared history woven into her tone.
She gathers the chimes with careful fingers, gold glinting at her wrists and ears as she enlists Spice’s help, the little dragon darting up to steady and hold while Flora ties the cords in place. Together they string the porch with song—seaglass and shell catching the sunlight, driftwood clacking gently as the breeze slips through. She chooses each spot with care, high enough to avoid curious hands or careless shoulders, but low enough that the wind will always find them. When the first soft notes stir, Flora leans back against the railing, curls lifting in the salt air, and grins at her cousin as if to say: see? Home already.
Flora picks windchimes!
We need love, But all we want is danger We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones try to forget all them enemies and debts
Damien caught the flush that rose in Theea’s cheeks, the way her grin bent just a little wider than usual at his words. It was a small thing, gone as quick as it came, but it stuck with him all the same—like a snapshot tucked away. He wasn’t sure why it landed the way it did, only that it sat heavier than it should, lingering in the back of his mind as they climbed back up to the porch.
When Flora ’s smirk turned on him, her quip quick and easy, Damien answered with a low grunt of amusement. “Oh, I could tell you had it under control,” he drawled, eyeing the dragon perched proud on her shoulder. “Well, wasn’t sure if you did, but Spice looked confident enough.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward.
As Flora turned back to Theea, already stringing shells and glass with a certain reverence, Damien’s gaze lingered on the bundle of paintings propped against the wall. The colors, faded but still bold, tugged at something familiar. His fingers itched to straighten the frames, to see them where they were meant to hang instead of gathering dust in a corner. Still, the couch sat slumped in the house, half-collapsed and stubborn as a mule.
He shifted his weight, considering. Alone, the paintings would be quicker, cleaner work. But the couch was a two-person job, and Theea’s bright eagerness still hovered at the edge of his thoughts. He found himself tipping his chin toward her instead. “Couch first,” he said, voice even but decisive.
Already he was setting his shoulder to one end, testing the weight. “Come on, teacher’s assistant,” he added dryly, enough of a flicker in his tone to turn the tease back on her.
Damien is once again volunteering Theea to help him with his 2-person task
