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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!
10-17-2024, 03:26 PM (This post was last modified: 10-22-2024, 12:52 PM by Hadama.)
He followed the lyvern's flight through the swamp, his progress slow but steady as the muddy waters parted reluctantly before his brute strength. For once he didn't take his mer form, wary of lingering Void corruption in the environment, and having no desire to breathe the silty sludge that passed for streams in the Feverlands. His trident helped him steady himself when he had to pass over boggy islands and sections of land held together by rambling roots of half-dead trees.
Thalassa had been badly hurt when he had last seen her, and concern twisted through his chest, driving him on as he ascended out of the bog and onto drier ground. 'Dry' was a relative term here, but the passage was easier... at least until the ground dropped away ahead of him, the stink of hot tar and decaying vegetation - and meat - rose to overpower the usual stench of ripe decay in the area. Finally the Tidebreaker wrinkled his nose, pausing to look out over the Tar Pits with a grim set to his jaw and his breath coming shallowly, reluctantly, though his mouth rather than his nose.
"Thalassa?" he called into the thick blanket of fog that lay over the treacherous black pools that stretched out before him. "Where are you?"
After getting her butt absolutely walloped, Thal wasn't able to fly very far. Her lyvern form carried her tiredly through the sky, sinking in altitude as her eyes flicked between darkness and red-hued pain, until she suddenly found herself face first in a pit of tar. The lapse in focus had forced her back into her Ancient form, curling to protect her vital organs as she rolled through the thick liquid, coating her aching body. The heat that often devoured unfortunate victims attempted to warm the cold gripping her heart.
She didn't know how long she laid there, barely moving other than to free her airway from the suffocating black substance. Thoughts swirled through the pain. Thoughts of embarrassment. Thoughts of shame. Thoughts of helplessness. She'd done literally nothing. Who knew if the others would be able to succeed with her departure, but she hadn't had time to think. She was nearly on the brink of death. She could feel it lingering at the edge of her vision, a familiar presence that she momentarily considered embracing. It was a similar progression of her time in the dark waters with Tal and Maea, but Maea was gone, and it made it more difficult for her to inch her way towards the desire to live.
Thal felt broken, physically and mentally.
A small, choked sob released from her throat. It was an unfamiliar sensation to her. For too long she'd had to be 'strong' and 'confident' to protect herself, to make a name for herself, to belong. Yet, there was no one here to lie to, and she was too tired of pretending. She'd lost a friend, and she'd gotten beaten so badly that there was no denying her insignificance. It hurt. The ache of grief for a friendship, and the realization of her failures. Between the hiccupped sniffles that echoed up from her pit, Thal didn't hear the distant call of Hadama, too lost in her own suffering.
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
After calling for the younger Ancient Hadama returned to silence, ears straining to hear a reply - if there was one. It was not his name that he heard; not words or responses to his question, but given the recent corruption at the heart of the swamp he did not think it was a coincidence that the muffled sounds of misery were coming from nearby.
He was aware of the captain's pride, and so he did not call out again. He stayed quiet as he slowly paced the edge of the Tar Pits, following the sound of hiccups and sniffles until he thought that he had found the pit that contained the source of grief and unhappiness. He had to test each step carefully, given that he lacked Thalassa's protection from the heat. He was aware of the danger the tar posed to him, and as much as he would have liked to have healed the captain as swiftly as possible, he would not do her any good if he fell into the dark, sticky tar and became wounded himself.
Once he was as close as he could safely get to where he thought she was he drew a deep, slow breath and then let the magic flow out from his soul. A soothing mist mixed with the steam of the hot tar as, for a moment, moonlight filled that small corner of the Feverlands with its gentle, healing light.
Magic: Turn the Tide | Can cause a moonlit mist to rise in a 15 ft radius that heals allies while causing enemies to roll with disadvantage for one round. May be used 1 times per thread with a 3 post cooldown.
The appearance of twinkling moonlight amongst the darkness made Thal's sobs hitch, pausing in surprise at the gentle presence that washed over her. Her immediate instinct was to react with fear or suspicion, yet the pale white light reminded her of someone enough to convince her to embrace the gift. She didn't say anything for some time, letting the magic soothe her body and emotions. The crying slowed to a silent flow of tears that she let fall, not even bothering to wipe them away. It didn't cure the ache in her chest despite the lifting of her physical discomfort. The thoughts continued to swirl in her brain. Loneliness. Inadequacy. Frustration. However, they all seemed to stem from the same realization.
In a soft, barely audible whisper, Thal's voice filtered out of the pit. "She's gone."
It wasn't a question or wish for absolution from the part she played in her friend's disappearance. It wasn't a cry for help. It was just a quiet air of acceptance for herself, a finality in the truth of what she'd lost. Maea was gone. And she'd taken a part of Thal with her.
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
10-20-2024, 08:54 PM (This post was last modified: 10-21-2024, 08:58 AM by Hadama.)
The sounds of grief faded but Hadama remained quiet, content to wait as long as Thalassa needed him to, patient and enduring. In time her voice filtered up from the darkness, but the words were not what he had expected to hear and without context he could only shake his head in silent confusion. Silent, because before he could speak to ask who was missing (not another friend. Not again, though he thought he knew...) a strain of music carried through the fog and steam of the swamp.
The voice was a rich, complex baritone that shaded into a low tenor, and the song it sang...
It was not a song in the human language. Although it should not have been possible in the open air the sounds that drifted through the shadowed decay of the Feverlands was slow and deep and sonorous, with the quality of underwater song that landwalkers often found haunting. It was a song of the Merfolk, in their own language.
And no denizen of the swamp should have known it.
Emerald eyes rose to seek the source of light in the fog, finding it as the strange fish swam nearer and then moved off to the right, as if beckoning...
Beckoning, with a voice he had once known... Not a fish, but a Mer...
He shook his head, raising a hand to press a palm to his eyes. His jaw tightened and he took a step back, his voice lower than its usual bass rumble as he grated out a single word:
"Stop."
Lamplighters (uncommon): Giant fish that swim through the spectral fog, lamplighters sing songs from the memories of those around them and lure them into the deep and darkest places of the swamp with promises of a way out. With hallucinogens in the light they emit, many a wanderer has found themselves hopelessly lost in the swamp. The Lamplighters wait until their prey has died of exhaustion before eating their bones.
Wallowing in her own pain, Thal originally welcomed the music. It was a pleasant distraction to numb the pain. Unbeknownst to her, the melody that she heard complimented the merfolk song that filtered through Hadama's brain, although she didn't recognize it's origin. To her, it sounded unnaturally clear, like it came from within rather than an external source. The notes reverberated softly in her chest, calling to something deeply ingrained. It was so comforting and familiar that she immediately became alert and panicked. Something about it wasn't right.
Her survival instincts kicked in once again as she pushed up from the tar that tried to hold her down. After the healing, her lyvern had returned to full strength, its hard scaled form pushing out from her skin like a shield. Flapping her wings hard, she lifted from the darkness to see the encroaching fog echoing that beautiful song, and Hadama standing within it.
A few powerful push of her wings gave her enough visibility to dive down towards the Mer King. She wouldn't leave him here alone, even if he hadn't just seen her so vulnerable, or healed her. He might be one of her only 'friends' now, and he'd shown her nothing but kindness. He didn't deserve whatever emotions might be affecting her. So she dove. She reached out her large clawed legs, careful to not snag him as she attempted to take him in her grasp and carry them to safety.
The rush of wings brought his head up, eyes snapping open to focus through the wavering haze of the incipient hallucinations. He had just enough clarity to recognize the fiery lizard that he had followed through the swamp to this place. Instead of resisting he forced himself to relax, allowing careful claws to close around his chest. A fractured thought activated the armor he wore around his bicep so that the owlbear down cascaded over his torso; both to protect him and to give Thalassa something to grip.
And then he closed his eyes, trusting to the captain as the song lingered in his ears and heart even after they had left the Lamplighter's glow and its music grew attenuated by distance.
When they landed once more his head was clearer and he took a deep breath of the putrid air of the swamp, using its stench to finish chasing away the hallucinations he had begun to see. He inclined his head deeply to Thalassa, whether she remained in lyvern form or returned to her Ancient body, a murmured. "Thank you," breaking the silence between them. And then: "Are you still injured?"
The flight was short, but far enough to take them from the misty clutches of the Lamplighter. Its haunting song faded from her mind, leaving an echo on her heart of things forgotten and lives past, like a world just out of reach. However, as she landed, shifting back into her Ancient form, the sensation dissipated somewhat, allowing her to remember why she was here.
As if crushed by the thoughts and emotions, Thal's knees sank into the more solid ground, shoulders slumping. She felt so small and insignificant. Her body urged to collapse into a ball again, trying to push out the dangers of her own mind. The presence of a particular Mer King kept her from doing just that. Although she couldn't lift her head to meet his gaze, she shook her head. The physical wounds had mostly healed and she couldn't feel any that may remain. "Thank you." Her weak voice whispered up towards Hadama, little emotion behind the words.
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
Though she had never been a tall woman, Thalassa had always seemed so much larger than her mere height. Her personality was normally so sharp and vibrant that the Tidebreaker barely recognized the Ancient now, crushed beneath a weight that he could only guess at.
At the very least, he would not do her the disservice of looming over her. Especially not when she had just saved him from the lamplighter's dangerous light and song, and the seductive dreams it used to lure travelers to their deaths. The Mer King lowered himself to kneel beside the captain, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently in response to her thanks though he remained silent. He hesitated a moment and then let his hand remain, a gentle warmth and a point of connection. "You made the right choice," he rumbled quietly. "During the fight. To live." A breath, slow and deep, before he spoke again. "The cost of cleansing the Feverlands would have been too high, if you had been lost." After losing Enzo and then Ray, he had seen too much death far too close at hand in recent years. He did not want to add another to the list of those he had been unable to protect.
If it had been anyone else, Thal probably would have growled and slapped their hand away, trying to preserve some semblance of power. But this was Hadama. He had never made her feel less than or insignificant. He'd taken time to help her with menial tasks, to freely give compliments on her abilities, and to follow her to the depths of the Tar Pits, just to heal her. She didn't want to push him away.
"I -" She tried to find the words. I know? I failed? I deserved it? Nothing seemed to fit. The man was right, but it still felt wrong to agree. It may have been the correct decision, but all it did was highlight the fact that she was weak. That she couldn't even take a single hit without nearly losing her life. That her confidence and strength were all a facade, and she couldn't even keep up the illusion. She wanted to tell him that her life wasn't worth anything, so how could the 'cost' have been too high? But the fact that he was kneeled before her in the blackness of the Feverlands said enough about his opinion on the matter to keep her mouth shut. He obviously saw something worth the time and effort.
So Thal sat in silence for some time, letting her thoughts flit between one topic or another. Yet every time they came back to Maea. She'd been so close to feeling like she could embrace who she really was with her, but then everything had slipped between her fingers. The words came through the haze, like Hadama's calming presence was enough to coax them forward. "Maea is gone. Dead or not, I can't find her. She was one of the only people willing to help me look into my past, and I pushed her away." Her hands squeezed together subconsciously, turning them white then red as she manipulated the blood flow. "After Starfall, I was lost, but she was like an anchor. So certain. So honest." The words were soft like a eulogy for no one but herself. "I thought we could really be friends." It sounded pitiful coming from her lips. Her head shook and a choked laugh escaped with her next words. "But then I went and screwed it up, letting my greed compromise her safety. And then she - she -" Thal's eyes squinted closed, trying to deny the truth.
After another moment of numbness, she finally looked up at Hadama, tears lining the vibrant blue of her eyes, despair evident in them. "I don't know what to do now."
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
After he had spoken he lapsed back into silence. Stillness. His hand remained on the captain's shoulder, resting lightly like a tether to keep her from drifting away on the tides of her distress. He was patient, willing to wait while she came to terms with what they had been through, or at least had a chance to begin processing it. There was nowhere else that he needed to be, and now that the Void Guardian was dead the swamp was slightly less inimical than it had been before. They had as much time as Thalassa needed, and the King was comfortable in the quiet that fell between them.
And when she did speak her first word froze him so that he could not have spoken even if he had wanted to.
Maea.
Dead.
Or if not dead, then missing. Lost.
His fingers closed more firmly on Thalassa's shoulder, a flexing of shock. Of dismay. But he kept both from his face, his expression unmoving as the mask held steady even in the face of nightmare. And he listened as she continued, laying her own heart down between them, naked and vulnerable in the mud of the swamp. All he could do was stay beside her while the words scraped against his ribs, hollowing his chest.
He did not know Thalassa well enough to hug her; was not certain what she needed. Or what he needed, in the harsh light of her revelation.
But Maea had trusted her. And she had come close to dying in defense of Torchline, fighting against the Void that had corrupted their neighbors. Regardless of what she thought she had done... "Maea made her own choices. Always." Quiet words, spoken around the weight in his throat that threatened to drown him. "Whatever happened... remember that." He could not say it was not Thalassa's fault when he did not know what had happened, but he could take a deep breath, mastering the wave of grief that might yet prove premature. The pale Ancient had come back from the dead before, after all.
Twice.
His eyes focused on the woman before him, Maea's fellow Ancient and perhaps friend, and this time the flex of his fingers on her shoulder was deliberate. Comforting. But also commanding. "Survive."
The steady hand kept her present in the moment. Although she felt no magic, Hadama somehow pushed away the encroaching darkness enough for her to grasp at what little comfort she could find in the world. The warmth of his hand. The shared emotions. The kindness in his voice. The clear breath being pulled into her lungs. The beat of her heart. She clutched them like pearls, hoping to make them worth something. Like their value might somehow transfer to her.
His final commanding word captivated her attention, the tears in her eyes tipping to fall down her cheek as she asked softly, "To what end?" Deep down, she knew that he had no more of an answer than she did. That was the point of life, right? You never knew where it would take you? Yet the question still plagued her. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? Who was she supposed to be? She felt lost in both life and purpose.
It all seemed to stem from the pain of losing her friend and the guilt that came with it. She thought she'd made it to the 'acceptance' stage of grief, but apparently she'd just buried the emotions, letting them fester and ignoring the effect they were having on her thoughts. Now they left her flailing in the chaos. Like a compass with no needle, drifting in a storm. It seemed like Hadama was the only one who could weather the tempest.
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
10-23-2024, 09:28 PM (This post was last modified: 10-23-2024, 09:32 PM by Hadama.)
He let her tears fall without judgment or calling attention to them, unmentioned but not unnoticed. There was healing to be found in saltwater, as all Mer knew. Life and rebirth that fell in glittering fragments from wounded eyes. Her question did not, as she knew, have an easy answer, but Hadama turned his thoughts to it with the solemnity it was due.
And the Tidebreaker - called because he broke the storms that threatened his people and turned the destructive currents aside - met her eyes with quiet compassion. "To find your purpose," he said simply. "A person or a place to protect... or to destroy." An acknowledgment of the task that had brought them to the fetid swamp in the first place. "A challenge to overcome. Or a task to complete. And when it is done, to find a new purpose." Or perhaps before it was finished. Life, like the tides, changed across days and seasons and years, and the purpose of one season might no longer fit by the end of the next as the world moved forward. Hadama knew that intimately, as one who had once been a smith, certain of his path and purpose carrying on the traditions and skills of his mother's family.
Until he accepted a new purpose, leading first the Mer and then Torchline. And then a third change, when he had been called to Safrin's service and his world had shifted again.
The words sounded familiar, like an echo of Maea standing beside her. 'Purpose'.
Hanging her head, guilt washed over her. Had that been her purpose? To protect Maea? Is that why her loss hit so deeply? Or was there another reason?
For the first time in a while, she looked inward, the place she most feared to go. It was filled with self-loathing and loneliness, anxiety and hatred, sadness and pain. Then there was the familiar black void of her memory, her call to the sea consuming the entirety of its existence. It reminded her of the task she'd given her friend, how they'd bonded over Thal's vulnerability and a common goal. In that moment, they'd given each other purpose when they'd needed it most. They'd inadvertently become reliant on each other for direction, and now she'd lost the person whom she'd leaned on most, sending her tumbling back into the abyss of meaningless turmoil.
Could she find her way back?
Did she have another choice?
Thal became calm with a silent decision, a realization that had been calling to her through the haze of grief, that she was only now able to hear.
Taking a deep, shaky breath to strengthen her resolve, she looked again to Hadama. More firm with purpose, her voice didn't waiver, "I want to uncover my past." If not for herself, for Maea. To complete her final mission. There was no telling if there was anything to find, what terrifying deepwater skeletons she may uncover, or what her purpose would be when it was done, but it was something. And it helped fan some of the stubborn flame she still felt smoldering within.
The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.
