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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!
His eyes went from searching for a floating baby to gaping wide in surprise, flitting between the Remi and Ronin. When the second confirmed the news rather than refute it, Zavien's smile widened for the pair when he spotted the happiness amidst the wary glances. If he had a drink, he would raise it in toast, but alas, all he could do was nod his head in joyful acknowledgement. "Wow! Congratulations!"
With the new information, Zavien looked around with the parents, trying to catch sight of two identical boys who would be significantly larger than infants. "They sound like a handful already," he laughed, certain they would find all manners of excitement in the bustling party. "Maybe I'll get to meet them now that Soh and I moved to Torch-"
He was cut off by a rough jostle to his shoulder that nearly knocked him into the couple. Training and instinct alone kept his balance, but a hand reached out to steady him regardless, his eyes falling on a wiry man who appeared more than apologetic for the disturbance. Zavien smiled and raised his hands placatingly, doing his best to dismiss the embarrassment coloring the pale skin of the young man. "No no. I'm sorry. I'm blocking the path." Which was true enough considering how many people were milling about.
Unaware that the forgotten Void Ring in his pocket was being slipped away, Zavien turned back to the couple that he'd stopped, chuckling lightly. "Well, I just paused to say hi, but I look forward to seeing more of you both and I'll keep my eyes peeled for the boys." Completely oblivious that they were closer than any of them thought.
Finch has stolen Zavien's Void Ring (and a handful of jerky)!
Void Ring | A ring that pulses with heat when in the presence of void-infected characters within 20ft. (Gets warmer the closer they are). **Cannot identify members of the Family.
Type: Grey | Style: Other | Level: Upgraded | Cost: Passive
It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.
Standing there, killing time, Can't commit to anything but a crime
Just as she'd hoped, chaos does begin to stir. She's barely into her second petit four when a man wanders through the crowd in a supposedly 'aimless' manner that she recognizes all too well. He's got talent, managing to make the path look almost natural when he bumps into a face she recognizes, one of the people Colt had been talking about. Zavien had been his name.
It looks like the Sharpshot managed to dodge his ineptitude in more than one way. He doesn't even flinch when the pickpocket slips his hand into the thick jacket he wears, appearing to do quite the opposite by apologizing to the man, as if he's the one who bumped into him to begin with. Someone so naive probably wouldn't have made a good addition to Hak Etme's cabinet.
Thal hides a wicked smile behind the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, plotting to tell Colt the next time they meet.
Finch's smile curves into one of good-natured relief as his target apologizes to him for being in the way (oh, if only they were all like that), and he walks away with a hearty chuckle and a murmured platitude for the man to have a nice night. His treasure sits palmed in his hand, like a magician with a coin, and from the touch of it, it's a smooth, cool ring that is hopefully both extremely expensive and not likely to be missed. He's not amateur to stop and examine it where he is, but he does flash his palm at the twins just quickly enough for the light to catch his pilfered prize and twinkle tantalizingly before disappearing into the depths of his inner pocket. The demonstration could very easily stop here, but he came here tonight to make an honest living out of dipping his fingers into pockets and by Gods he was going to complete that tonight. So, he gives a jaunty little salute to the twins before his eyes begin his ritual once more of scanning the gathering for anyone who seemed too trusting to pay attention to their surroundings in this particular moment.
Aha. She's pretty, slender like a tree whipping in the wind, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight and dainty mouth caught in a genuine grin. In the middle of a few others, she seems lively and enraptured in conversation, and very, very unawares of her pockets.
Under the pretense of browsing the dessert table, he passes her, muttering a polite "excuse me," as he squeezes past. As he dips past her, body weaving in careful, calculated clumsiness, he jostles her just a little as he reaches for a tart.
"Oh, sorry, my bad!" He beams, holding up a redirecting tart with one hand and snaking his callused fingers into her pocket with the other. "These are my favorite. I didn't mean for you to be a casualty," His grin is wide and carefree, eyes sparkling with mirth; just another attendee of the festival, riding high on a wave of wine and sugar.
--
(Finch is trying to pickpocket Aithne while showing off for Carlo and Calan !)
In the midst of conversing with Knell, Aithne is distracted enough that she doesn't notice the man approaching - or if she does, he's just another face in the crowd, presumably on his way to gather some food or drink or good company. It isn't until he is perusing the desserts table, pressing in close enough to jostle her, that Aithne looks up to notice Finch.
He's about her age, slender and lithe, with a mop of dark hair contrasting his light skin. She smiles, revealing sharp fangs, and flutters her lashes playfully as she leans into his space. "Oh, don't worry," she simpers. "I'm happy to share." As if the tarts are all hers, and she's doing him a favor by allowing him one. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, almost instinctively shielding Knell from the goings-on, she flicks her gaze towards the hand in her pocket and adds playfully, "You're not going to find anything in there."
---
Aithne catches Finch trying to pickpocket her empty pocket!
Aithne
Minor powerplay allowed without permission.
Feel free to use force/magic on Aithne.
Finch is too good at what he does to falter as Aithne clocks his fingers in her pocket. Her tone is light, eyes still twinkling, and she doesn't seem to be reaching for any kind of knife or other sharp nasty things that are meant for lopping off fingers. He does keep a careful eye on her fangs, though. Still, if she's willing to play, he's willing to play too; running would only make him look both a fool and utterly suspicious. The joke always lands if you make yourself the punchline.
"Apologies," He says, a wide grin spreading across his face as if his fingers in her pocket are nothing more than a firm handshake between soon-to-be friends. "I have no idea how that ended up in there. It must've missed while reaching for a tart." Shrugging as if it really were an honest mistake, he presents the tart from the table to her with a grandiose flourish. "Though, of course, I see now it's nowhere near the sweetest thing here," His eyes gleam with something playful. Finch unfortunately does not swing in the direction that would land him towards Aithne, but to flirt was just as much of the game as the dipped hand in the pocket was. His tone, light and teasing, is enough to make anything roll their eyes from the audacity, and he doubts this sharp-eyed, sparkling girl will take the words seriously. Still, he offers them anyway, gauze over a paper cut sting. It's a gamble, but Finch's luck has held thus far. Mostly.
Piling plenty of pastry and dessert options, she's not overly concerned about Aithne's uncertainty about which ones have coffee. If they do, she'll pass them off to the adults in the group and save the other sweet treats for herself. The colorful cookie sandwich looking things appear especially delicious.
She brightens when the woman asks after her book, eager to share the knowledge she's found while adding a few more pieces to the pile on her plate. "There are too many names to remember them all but foxglove and - "
Before she can launch into the other intriguing plants she's read about in the illustrated book, Finch presses in on the ancient's other side, drawing her attention away from their conversation. Knell tilts her head, suspicion tickling at her thoughts without reason. It feels like a strange interaction, the contact too casual and the words too playful for strangers, but she can't put her finger on what it is. Perhaps they know each other, or maybe people outside of the Grounds act differently. She doesn't have enough clues to figure it out yet.
Knell glances down at her overflowing plate then back up to the pair that doesn't appear to notice her. She should just take her spoils to her mom and their friends, trying all the delicious bites at her fingertips; but she lingers, trying to observe the exchange so she might piece together the puzzle she's found.
"Then a glamping we shall go," he decrees without much further thought given to the differences between the two. One had already been deemed non-negotiable and that seemed fairly iron-clad. He knows how seriously Flora takes her pillows.
There is no immediate sense of what is about to occur, not entirely. The wickedness that glistens amid the thrum of want between them feels only additive rather than consuming, like edible gold flecks in a liquor that elevates it to something more. Mischief is not an indicator with Flora, it's practically default.
He finds out in short order that the shimmer isn't merely decorative. "Hey!" His voice is startled to action by the abrupt loss of her. He sits up quickly, arms casting about suddenly for balance, one brushing past her departing figure, which leaves him with nothing more than a bewildered sway of netting and a very obvious boner. "Fl0ruh!" He hisses her name with a quiet and sharp haste. His gaze narrows and swings about, attempting to locate any subtle shift that might give her away, while the rest of him works towards the edge of the hammock and tries not to be reintroduced to the ground in the process. "Flura," he softly shouts, catching a nearby hammock pair (hammockers?) staring directly at him. He smiles and waves before turning away, features at once dropping the put on nicities for the tactical battle he knows he's now embroiled in.
Getting to his feet, one arm awkwardly held across his crotch, Kaisel starts to slink about, his other hand sometimes wildly swinging out in an attempt to grab hold of her. Flooooooorah, he sings in her mind, the sound pairing well with the grin that's creeping in despite the focus. I'm going to assume you're eaded to the ship! He orients himself to head that way as well, trying not to catch the eye of anyone he knows as he does whatever pace the step below speed walking is.
It's not the devil at your door It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
