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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!
Jack ’s boots are halfway undone before Vesper realises what he’s watching. His brow lifts, slow and skeptical, the expression so dry it could timber. But when Jack actually commits—marching straight toward the bonfire with both boots in hand like he’s about to baptize them—Vesper goes still in a way that reads as concern, or at least the closest thing he ever shows in public.
The fuck are you doin’, stays unspoken, but it’s carved across the angles of his face as he watches Jack yeet the boots directly into immortal flame. The shadows at his feet cinch tight, a reflexive knot, as if bracing for whatever fresh chaos the captain is about to spiral into next. Then Calypso slips in beside him like a streak of warm breeze cutting through cold rain. Her grin is bright enough to soften the edges he hadn’t realised were sharpening, and he loops an arm around her shoulders in a gesture so casual it almost hides the steadiness behind it. "Helluva somethin’," he agrees, voice low, the drawl threaded through with a humour that doesn’t quite reach the tension creeping down his spine. The warmth of her shoulder under his hand is grounding, for the split second he still has the mental space to appreciate it.
Because Nova—the living firework—flashes into focus through the crowd, and with her, the unmistakable spark of recognition in another mind. Colt. The shift in her thoughts cuts to him like a blade’s edge through fabric. He tracks the movement without meaning to, the easy swagger of her step, the heat rolling through her focus as she turns toward...his fingers tighten on Caly’s shoulder before he can stop himself. Thalassa.
And Colt is walking right up to her like every doubt she’d been carrying all season has crystallized into certainty. Vesper’s breath thickens in his chest as Colt grabs the stick out of Thal’s hand, shoves it aside, and steps in with that fierce, surefooted confidence—not hesitating, not second-guessing, not wondering if she should—and kisses her. Fully, deliberately, heat meeting heat in a way that sends a jagged, uninvited spike of something sharp and ugly tightening beneath Vesper’s ribs. His jaw feathers hard enough that the motion almost clicks through his teeth.
It isn’t possessiveness—he knows that. He doesn’t own Colt, has never tried to. But jealousy is a quieter beast, born in the way her thoughts flare with clarity against his senses, how familiar her cadence has become, how reflexively he’s been listening for her all night. Seeing that focus redirected—claimed—hits like a shadow punched clean out of him. He forces a swallow, steadying the static rolling under his skin, smoothing his expression back into something cool enough to pass as unbothered.
"Next round’s on me," he mutters, already turning toward the liquor stall even though his drink is still half-full.
Vesp sees Colt/Thal and offers to get everyone (Jack/Aithne/Caly) a drink.
the stars are pulling at my hair, and every part of me and you don't understand how I bleed
Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
Her eyes are set on Colt, the prospect of a duel sending heat through her blood, muscles bunching as she prepares to strike, to win. It would only be right to start the night off with some violence, especially considering how much fun she had knocking the woman around last time. Maybe she'll let her get a hit in this time. Or maybe they'll shed blood on this red-hued night.
As she stalks forward - a predator on the hunt - Thal notes the confident prop in Colt's hips, the way she steps forward to meet her with a grin that matches the mood of mischief and chaos. She can't help the smirk she sends back, all fangs and eager energy. It doesn't bother her that Colt doesn't pick up a stick, figuring if the woman wants to be defeated unarmed, she's more than happy to oblige.
But Colt has her own method of attack, and the stick doesn't make it close enough to hit, shoved aside in obvious dismissal. Fixated on the victory she plans to claim, Thal is already planning to twist away, to try another method, to dart or kick or find some way to plant Colt in the mud like a daisy. Until the woman is landing the first blow, pushing past all her schemes and plots to plant her lips against hers in a disorienting kiss.
Thal stiffens, surprise crashing through her like a flame through dry tinder, sparking gunpowder along the way. It immediately shatters the foundational thoughts of wounds, violence, and stick duels, flaring the lust that's always simmering just beneath the surface. She softens visibly into the kiss, but her muscles are just as tense, coiled with the burning adrenaline of the blood moon and excitement. Colt isn't her type - she's missing a few parts that Thal thoroughly enjoys - but a kiss is a kiss, and she doesn't mind basking in the heat that rises between them, the fire it stokes amidst heightened emotions.
Laughing through the shock and slight annoyance at being caught off guard, she breaks away, tilting her head in a manner that's all challenge. "Oh? You'd prefer that kind of game?" Grinning, she drops the stick and reaches up to clasp both hands around the back of Colt's neck. Thal pulls her forward in a searing and passionate kiss, one that implies they've done more than that behind closed doors, one that threatens to burn like a wildfire, hotter and longer than a single spark. It's claiming and possessive, daring people to look away, daring Colt to break first.
Aithne watches the various goings-on with delight clear on her face. Dark eyes dance over people fighting, kissing, throwing shoes in the fire (although that one earns a confused tilt of her head). She sips at a drink - something deliciously fruity - and is suddenly overcome with a strange urge to knock someone else's drink out of their hand. Vesper is standing closest to her, and as he turns towards the liquor stall, the Ancient steps in, tapping at the glass in an effort to send it teetering to the ground. "Oops," she says, though there's a certain self-satisfied smugness that radiates from the girl. She's not quite sure what to make of all this, but if she can add to the chaos? Well, why the hell not.
She drains her glass, grabs a new drink from the round Vesper had offered, and shoots him a wink that might have been flirtatious if not for who was giving it. Then she spots Soren through the crowd and squeals with excitement. "Later!" she says to Vesper, grinning at the two strangers nearby (Jack and Calypso) as she darts through the crowd to get to her best friend's side.
---
Aithne knocks Vesper's drink out of his hand, then runs to stand with Soren.
Aithne
Minor powerplay allowed without permission.
Feel free to use force/magic on Aithne.
Flora barely registers the cold splash of her drink as Kai yanks her back—it hits her corset, her stomach, her thighs, streaking leather with sticky amber, but none of it matters because Kaisel’s panic is radiating off him like he’s running a fever made of fear and madness.
The bonfire’s glow stutters strangely against the blood moon overhead, and every instinct in Flora screams something is wrong, something is worse than wrong, as Kai stumbles backward with her in tow. Someone must have spiked his drink, something must have happened to explain why he was being like this.
Behind them, Asta’s voice drops like an abyss sliding open under the bed. It crawls up her spine, makes her skin prickle, makes her muscles twitch with the urge to bolt—but she twists toward him anyway, because she refuses to leave this disaster without trying. "I’m so sorry, Asta—!" she calls, the words pitched high with guilt and desperation, her wide stare flitting from his skeletal grin to the spilled drink on his shirt to the scorched shadows licking the ground beneath his feet.
But then everything shifts at once: Danta is retreating, shaking, trying not to flee as Asta’s monstrous form collapses back toward something closer to a man, and while Flora would normally try and explain, the fact that Kai didn't immediately yield entirely at the word Rupert keeps her right where she is. Her breath is tight and thin as she spins back toward Kai, her cup dropping from her hand and clattering unnoticed into the mud. Her heart is racing too fast, pounding in her ears as she steps into his space and catches his face between both palms.
"Kai—hey, hey—look at me," she urges, her aqua eyes locking onto his with fierce, trembling focus. Rain patters into her lashes; the bonfire paints her skin gold and blood-red in equal measure; terror flickers through her but she refuses to let it turn into distance. Her thumbs sweep just under his eyes, guiding him down, trying to pull him out of whatever moon-drenched hysteria or spiked-drink delirium has its claws in him.
11-20-2025, 10:47 PM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2025, 10:52 PM by Colt.)
On an all night high off a midnight kiss
Some joke about making love not war is fitting here, especially because her efforts cause Thalassa to discard her weapon, meager and playful as it had been. When they first part, where Thal laughs with the ripple of nerves, the sort built from surprise more than anything, that's where fresh clarity starts to seep back in for Colt. It's just a slow trickle, but it doesn't have a chance to fully soak her through. She's only got time enough to lift her lashes in a blink, still half-sultry, lips pursing with an attempt to answer even when all she's got is more questions.
Thal sweeps her back in, the brace of her hands and the press of her mouth erasing anything else for a brief time. There's only the blaze of breath and the heat of a skipping pulse, a familiar comfort even if it's not the same shape or taste she's hoping for. It's easy to relent to being taken, to letting the distraction of skin hide away the cold rain and the rough wear of thoughts too sharp to hold without hurting. It's being wanted instead of wondering, being met instead of left, but it's also—wrong.
It's not who's lips these are, it's who's they aren't. The one thing she had been certain of, the one that made her travel up here at all, had been him. That previous stream roars in through the heat like a tidal wave now, the realization dampening the hum of the blood moon as she jerks out of Thal's grip. Her eyes flutter open and she inhales so sharp and sudden the breath sets like a blade in her ribs. Reeling back as if stung, she quickly abandons the drink in her hand to the ground, seeming to think it the poisonous offender here. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" she stammers, another step taken back as she recoils further, though she can't withdraw enough from herself.
She knows she's the one who initiated, but gods she can't find a reason why. Sohalia's kiss had been a surge of triumph, something fun and brief and liquor-fed. This...it'd been something longer, rich with passion, returned and lacking any thrill of victory or series of shots to blame anyone but herself. Had it just been a flash of blue eyes through the dark—is that really all it takes for her these days? She's not even wound up tonight, which is all thanks to him, and one of the major reasons she'd come at all, finally making up some part of her mind. Now though, to find she's so desperate not just for him, but for anyone? "I don't—"
She glances between the gathered, from Nova to Thal to Hawthorn and back, hand trembling as she lifts the side of it to her lips, pressing in where the heat of the unexpected kiss still lingers as a reminder. Has she lost her grip so badly that she's truly this lost? "I can't—" she whispers, words shaky around the edge of her fingers as they push in tighter to her mouth, unsteadily smearing the touch away. There's an apology in the glance she spares Thorn before she surrenders entirely to the welling force of this confusion, turning away and fucking running like hell.
Colt is out!
Colt
Got turned around in that setting sun and it turned into missing you
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Chat, what do you do when a scary fire and shadow monster is nicely asking for your apology? Keep in mind, it looks like it needs to harvest your organs or chomp a little bit on your soul for the sorry to really stick. It also sounds like it's trying to hum a pitch that'll make your bones explode into dust—just your bones—so that you end up like a meatloaf with poorly stirred-in seasonings flaking around the middle.
What Kaisel does is continue to nope the fuck out. If even Dantalion is getting out, he's taking a page from the Maverick's book, because that man apparently loves Astaroth and even he is skeddadling. So whether this monstrous entity is actually Asta, or just the thing that ate Asta when no one was watching and is making a mockery of his voice to try an eat the rest of them, well Kai would like a lot of distance between them to figure that out.
He's about halfway through channeling Ronin to come and smite this abomination when the man begins to melt out of nightmare. Kaisel's eyes remain wide with worry, watching darkness and flame bleed away into nothing more than figments and sparks, little better than the dance of a candle in the breeze. Flora reclaims him. She's been staggering along with him, something too precious for him to leave behind no matter how terrified he is, but his movements are rigid as they go, whole body stiff with fear. It clings to him like smoke in fabric, rooting and remaining even when the embers have cooled. "Flora," he breathes, the sound shaky as he sends it out like gospel in the face of the demonic.
He stills in the urgent and firm lock of her grip, the sight of her blocking out the remnants of Astaroth's fading haunt as the butcher chases a man already too far gone to catch. Kai's working not to be the same, and Flora's got him, every word and each sweep of her thumb a reassurance that seeps in deep. She tugs on a steadiness she's built into him with every golden moment they've shared, because if he can't trust anything else right now, he knows he can trust her, and she—fuck, she looks scared too, but not of Asta. "Ro—I don't—I know I did that, but—" He licks his lips, nervousness and wariness creeping into place as adrenaline begins to slacken throughout him. "I don't know why," he whispers, a new kind of horror settling. He has never been afraid to own his actions, but he has always been sure of them. This though, gods he wanted to get along with her friends.
Or did. His gaze redirects over her shoulder for a moment, distrusting the tall shape of Asta beyond her. "What the actual fuck was that—what did he become?" He keeps his voice low, and much as he hates to hear it, the sound shakes with uncertainty. His grip around her shifts then. It doesn't soften, but changes from dragging her with him for safety's sake, to keeping her with him so he's got something sure and stable.
Kaisel
It'll all make sense when we arrive
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
Flora feels the moment his gaze truly lands on her again, like a string pulled taut inside that's released, and her chest finally slackens. Her relief slips out in a trembling sigh, soft as the rain settling into her curls, though she doesn’t pull back even an inch. Her hands glide from his cheeks into the damp lilac edges of his dragon-hoodie hair, fingers threading through the strands beneath before she loops her arms slowly, carefully, around his neck. It should sound impossible—I don’t know why—something that should ring false or evasive or panicked. But the cold metal on her finger stays calm against her skin, unmoved by the panic in his voice. Truth, every word. Even without it, she’d believe him. Kai could absolutely get in someone’s face. He could throw a drink, he could posture, but not like that. Not with that sharp, wrong edge, not with that vacant determination, not with fear carving shadows under his eyes like that.
Something else touched him tonight. She can feel it in the way his muscles remain coiled beneath her palms, in the way his breath still comes uneven, in the way he checks over her shoulder at Asta like he’s expecting the wendigo-shape to snap back into place. So she angles his face back toward her with the gentlest pressure of her thumbs, making sure his attention stays anchored in the cool blue of her gaze rather than the leftover dread behind her.
"It's an ancient thing," she murmurs gently. "Asta’s haunt. It’s...intense, but it’s him. Just...a very big, very dramatic, scary version."
She doesn’t fully let go of him, but she loosens her hold enough to slide one arm around his waist, tugging him into the curve of her side. "Come on," she whispers, tilting her forehead against his shoulder. "Let’s go back to the Sugartide. We can apologize to Charlie later," she adds, soft but sure, because right now all she wants is to be away from the bonfire and away from the blood moon.
Ignoring Kaisel and Flora for the most part as he heads toward Danta – reaching out carefully as though he might be able to stop Danta from leaving. The hope dies the second that he spies the overbright smile, the roughened voice that to others might signify he’s drank a bit too much. Asta knows better, though, and when he lets him go, muscles feather in the butcher’s jaw, his hand closing in the space his lover has left before he draws it back into his shadows.
“It’s… alright.” He mutters into the space after Danta’s disappeared, the hand that had stretched for the Maverick curls around his bicep over pale scar tissue hidden beneath a damp shirt sleeve. “Fuck.” He whispers, drawing himself back together enough to straighten his posture, to pretend like things were okay, before he turns and stalks off toward the drink stall to snag another shot of absinthe to down before he’s stalking out of the Blood Moon festival to give Danta space and to see whether or not he’ll eventually head home.
Asta out!
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
“Yeah, exactly.” Thorn says, waggling his brows to Colt with a grin, one that softens as they drift through the stalls only to spy Dantalion hop through the bonfire much to the courtesan’s equal surprise and huff of awkward laughter to see that he came out the other side completely unscathed. But the party goes on, and when Nova arrives, Thorn flashes her a bright smile and a nod.
“Hey Nova!” He calls out to her, casting a glance toward Colt to see if they want to go watch the fireworks or shoot some off, only to find a stranger – raven haired and horned, Ancient by the looks and his estimation, is challenging Colt to a dual. He hears the name, though, and perks up briefly before the two women are kissing and Thorn sits there absolutely frog-blinking because holy shit??
Holy shit?!
And then Colt’s losing her shit, which Thorn can’t really blame her for – spotting the apology in Colt’s look before she essentially flees and he steps toward her before she vanishes only for his shoulders to slump slightly in his surprise. “Well, what the hell just happened?” He mutters, glancing toward Thalassa and Nova as if in quiet question, if one of them could answer.
Her brother’s arm slips around her shoulders with ease and warmth that she soaks up to ward away the chill trying to find a foothold. It’s difficult, because she’s feeling as though she’s on cloud nine – especially as her gaze drifts over to watch some fiery behemoth of a creature scare the fuck out of Kaisel, and with some quiet hidden cocky appreciation, the young attuned only pulls her attention away when she feels her brother’s hand tighten on her shoulder.
Looking up at him in confusion, she follows his gaze to see Colt and Thalassa kissing – something she realizes a half second later that shocks her and recoils within her in her own fiery protectiveness. There’s the sharp blade of jealousy that she’s held buried from the Flora Kaisel reveal, one that she keeps hidden even if she’s confident that her brother is feeling the sting. It’s buried further with fire, protective despite being a foot shorter than him, staring after the two women as if she might storm over there to ask them what the fuck they’re thinking.
She’s sure her sister might have something to say about it, though, so when her brother’s voice drops to that quiet mutter, she presses into his side to try and inject some more warmth and light into whatever dark spiral of thoughts might be trying to find a hold, casting a brief glance toward Jack before she’s peeling away to the liquor store. “I got it, V.” She hums, flashing Vesper a smile as she leans toward the liquor stall to make some kind of concoction that she knows her brother would like and would be stronger than the one he’s got in his hand right now in the form of a shot to down that would make his head a little less stressed out.
Handing it to him and one for her father, she takes the third and leans forward to clink it against each one of theirs. “To the burned?” She suggests a little quieter, because wow it really seemed like they were all in the same boat these days, and if they needed a little bit of a blackout potion? She’s happy to join them.
Caly is with Jack and Vesper and has shots for all three of them!
It won't surprise anyone that Jack has no good answer for what the fuck are you doing, but he's well past the point of no return before he's forced to go back - shoeless - to the little huddled group. With his mind pleasantly buzzing from the hard liquor just a few moments earlier, he at least spends a bit of time folding up his pant legs before reaching for another drink. One he finds handily supplied by Calypso, the Captain offering her a lopsided smile and raising the shot glass in a toast.
"I'll drink to that," he mutters (he'll drink to anything right now), sinking back the shot and, now that whatever grip the blood moon had on him is fading, managing to lift the developing situation from Caly's mind. And given that Vesper has already had a drink knocked out of his hand(???) and is apparently in a similar mindset to the two of them now, Jack gives the young demigod a casual bump with his shoulder.
"Ain't gonna help you much, but look - drama," he drawls, gesturing for the two Marins to enjoy the chaos unravelling towards where Kai and Flora are hurrying out of the proceedings.
There was chaos unfolding in all of the moving bodies and gathered masses, and the young Ancient thrived in it. He stood and watched it all, tail lashing with amused delight. The electric feeling that had prickled against his skin turned into a blaze, flames licking up his spine.
When Aithne finally found him, her squeal filled the air. Soren chuckled and took another swig of his drink. When she closed the distance between them, he opened his arms and tucked her in against him. She was nearly vibrating with pure delight, and it made the grin he held climb higher up his cheeks. “What was that about?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the demigod man, brow lifting. Why had she knocked the drink out of his hand? Did he need to say something, or was it just Aithne having fun?
There's a jerk of muscles that Thal doesn't fight, letting Colt escape her grasp with a single raised eyebrow. That's it? They'd barely started the competition and the woman is already backing down. She opened her mouth to protest the lack of entertainment - and she definitely laughed at the initial shock of it all - but even in the glow of reddish moonlight, she can see the panic and regret painting Colt's features. If she had less alcohol or adrenaline running through her system, Thal might have thought it her fault - and yet, it's clear that it's not her that's surprised the rancher.
She watches the drink fall like a vial of poison, the hand raising to traitorous lips, the fleeing into the night. It all happens so fast that she can only blink, her head tilting so that dark horns catch the light, a blackened halo of innocence as she shrugs her shoulders to the others she's finally noticing. A cocky grin spreads across her face, eyes sparking with amusement. "Hell if I know. Guess I was a little more than she bargained for." Perhaps she'd check on Colt later. After all, she likes the woman, but the night is still young, and there is plenty more chaos for her to wreak enjoy. Another time they might laugh about it all.
So Thal looks at the two people remaining, eyes catching on the fireworks held aloft between them, mischief coiling through her from slender fingertips where fire slowly reappears to the tip of her tail that flicks behind her. "What are you guys up to?"
There's a lot going on - and Nova notices about fifteen percent of it. She's very invested in Colt and Thorn agreeing to blow things up with her, completely oblivious to the giant man turning into a giant beast, or Jack throwing his shoes in the fire, or Vesper losing his drink, or Flora and Kaisel on the run. In the morning, she'll be heartbroken to know she missed so much, but for now, she has her own strange happenings, watching as the beginnings of a fight turn into Colt kissing another woman.
Nova sips on the drink she'd snagged, figuring if she looked from another angle, it might make sense. "Hm. I thought she liked Vespy?" And she didn't think people kissed people they didn't like. It's said more to herself than Thorn, but she still shrugs her shoulders, dismissing the confusion like she'll only worry about it if he tells her to.
Plus, it doesn't last long before Colt is booking it out of the party faster than Nova can pout her disappointment.
But then her attention is being diverted back to the real excitement, the explosives still clutched in her fingers, just begging to be lit with or without the rancher.
Bouncing, she beams at the newcomer, eyes brighter than a fleet of shooting stars. "We're gonna shoot fireworks! Wanna come?!"
