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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!
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
It is the first time Astaroth has invited someone to come with him in manners that weren’t solely for his job as security, and so he can only imagine as Thal makes her playful claim that a few of the patrons do get the idea. And who is the Dusklight staff to tell them otherwise, even if they knew the truth? It was far more fun to let everyone believe the stories they came up with anyway.
But they reach the office space and the heat of the fireplace begins to grow, cozying it up quickly as she gets comfortable and Astaroth does the same once he’s poured the glasses – sliding hers to her side before he cradles his in his hand and leans back, head tilting as his dark gaze focuses on her as she begins to explain. “Hmm.” Comes the low hum as he thinks and considers.
“I am under the impression that the more often you do it, the better it will result in over time. However, I would like you to start by saying a few words and perhaps a different tongue twister?” He suggests, pausing to nurse the whiskey in his glass and humming his quiet approval before he clears his throat and speaks again, his accent growing a touch deeper. “Start with say, sun, sat, see, zoo.. Then try messy, classy, dressy, fizzy.” Waiting long enough for her to test these words out on the tongue of hers that doesn’t appear to work, he’s masterful at keeping himself neutral despite the obvious attempts that would very likely go south as soon as the S leaves her lips.
Accepting the drink, she takes a whiff of the liquid as she listens to Asta. It gives her a strange sense of a woodsy fire fighting against an icy chill. She takes a small sip, savoring the rich whiskey that tastes like a flaring bonfire on her tongue. Thal could get used to this kind of alcohol, the kind that's meant to be drunk in swishes rather than gulps.
Asta's explanation pulls her from the pleasant feeling in her mouth. She isn't sure how more tongue twisters is supposed to help, but she controls her expressions enough not to roll her eyes as she starts to work through the words, "Thay, thun, that, thee, th - th - zth -" The 'Z' makes a strange buzzing sound against her teeth, not even closely resembling the consonant. Thal clenches her jaw against the noise, grasping her glass more tightly. At least Asta doesn't seem to laugh at her, giving her the motivation to let out a strained sigh before continuing, "Zthoo. Mesthy, clasthy, dresthy, fizssy." Surprisingly, the last word comes out much easier than the others, her tongue staying trapped behind her teeth. Her eyebrows raise and she takes another sip of the whiskey to reward herself. The set of double 'S's are sounding much better than the singles. Maybe it's the prolonged noise that's helping?
She doesn't have time to linger on it as the Butcher suggests the next task. Her laughter echoes around the cozy office, further warming the atmosphere. "Now it jutht feelth like you're playing with me." He may not have said it like a joke, but it certainly feels that way. She couldn't have said that sober with a fully functioning tongue, let alone one that refuses to cooperate. Thal shakes her head. "Nope. Different one." Despite her refusal, her face has a humorous smile, finding the tongue twister funny coming from Asta's lips.
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
He watches as she settles and sips from the whiskey, tasting the notes which were exactly how he preferred to sip it. He takes his time, of course, nursing it as she starts on the words he’s offered for her to try. His face is very easily neutral, likely in part thanks to his own ability to put a mask into place to not put her off of trying, and also in part due to the pain radiating from his collarbone and shoulder.
Perking up a little to see how she does better with prolonged S sounds, the butcher waits for her to try the tongue twister when she tells him no. It’s enough to rock him out of his thoughts, a hum of a laugh escaping him finally before he sets the glass down and keeps the edge of a smile twisting up on the corners of his lips. “I most certainly am not.” He says honestly, before he snorts and settles back in his chair a little, twisting a touch to prop a long leg up on the edge of his desk away from her, subconsciously mirroring her position.
“Alright, try six socks sit in a sink, soaking up soap suds.” His pronunciation of it all is unwavering, horned head tilting toward her as he lets the smile creep onto his face, wondering if she’d avoid that one, too.
His denial doesn't convince her, but she shares in his smile until he offers the next tongue twister. She raises an eyebrow encompassing every level of 'Are you serious?' she can muster, but Asta's smile feels like a challenge, and Thal never turns down a challenge. She just might need some extra alcohol to do so.
Once she's taken another few sips of whiskey, the Captain shifts in her seat to prepare for the effort. Lifting her chin with a resigned sigh, she attempts to replicate the slithering consonants without much luck. "Thik - thikth thockth thit in a think, thoaking up thoap thudth." The flicking of her tongue makes it feel useless and rubbery, stumbling over the sounds to the point that the Ps pop clumsily. If anything, she sounds worse.
Thal groans, draping her head back in a way that might have enticed another man. Her hair hung in a loose curtain that parted around her curved horns, like wet ink that glistens in the firelight. She runs a hand through it as she says, "If you're not playing with me, you mutht be thowing off." Especially with his thick accent easily maneuvering around the syllables, she feels less and less confident that she's going to be able to conquer this obnoxious lisp, and more and more jealous of his voice.
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
It’s their curse – it has been since they’d met, it seems. That a challenge was certainly one thing that the butcher couldn’t simply let lie and neither could she. But he can make it a little bit more fair, and he picks the tongue twisters that come to mind that he could master. So perhaps… It’s only fair if he makes an attempt on one he isn’t so practiced with, if only to make her feel a smidge less bad about the difficulties she has speaking at this precise moment.
“I was, for a moment. It is not often I get to enjoy tongue twisters without boring the person I am speaking with.” He teases, the alcohol breaking through any of the pain felt and leaving him far more open and playful than he was out on the Dusklight floor just moments prior (the proof of the Halo whiskey was much stronger, too), and he eyes her as she twists in her display, her hair like beautiful ink curtains draping around her pale skin.
It has him leaning forward again, his open shirt shifting to reveal more bruising and those centuries old scars, his fingertips tapping on the desk as he considers. “Here, I will tell you one that is still difficult for me.” It likely wouldn’t help her with her lisp, but when he was trying to get his accent less thick, it had been one he’d repeated over and over again without success. As such, he goes relatively slow. “Brisk brrrave brrrrrigadiers… brandished brroad brrrright blades… blunderbusses, and bludgeons.. Balancing them badly.” His nose wrinkles further, a soft hiss escaping him as he leans back in his seat, snatching up his glass to take a sip. Each of the subsequent r’s after beginning the statement have a particular roll to them that gets worse with each passing repetition until he stills and tries again.
So, he waves her off as he pours more into his glass and leans forward to pour more into her own. “Perhaps stick with the long SSs like in class and dress and sleepless.” He murmurs, letting his dark gaze focus on her to see how she takes that suggestion.
The admission makes her eyes narrow playfully, half-tempted to stick her tongue out or give him a vulgar gesture, but she settles for a disbelieving shake of her head, releasing her hand from her hair to let the waves fall. Her smile is beginning to loosen with the alcohol, her clear mind only slightly fuzzy at the edges, pushing pride and inhibition aside for humor. It would take another glass or two to get her drunk, not that she cares much at this point.
She listens to Asta's accent rolling through the R's in a way that has her turning to fully face him, unconsciously leaning forward to mirror his pose. The curling of the consonant is like music to her ears, entrancing her to watch the movement of his lips and tongue. If he chooses to keep talking like this all night, she will be content to listen, drinking it in like this Halovian whiskey. The bite of her lip against her smile says as much, but she adds, "You sthould talk like that more often." His obvious frustration reminds her of her own (although she can't agree with his), laughter bubbling from her chest. She leans back to raise her glass to him as her soft laughter transitions to a sing-song hum, like a siren call to match her fanged grin. "Mine thoundth juvenile, but yourth jutht thoundth hot." Because who isn't a sucker for a good accent? In fact, as intended, the display alleviates her hesitations to continue.
Thal accepts the top off, rotating the glass languidly between her two fingers as she assesses the proposed words. Her tongue slides over her fangs, getting a lay of the land before she attempts them, "Clasth. Dresth. Sthleeplesth." She's surprised to hear how the last word comes out; although still slurred, it's more pronounced than before. Maybe she'd been too quick to dismiss practice as a means for improvement.
Glancing proudly at Asta, she takes another well-deserved sip of the whiskey before asking, "What elthe you got for me?"
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
Watching as he captivates her with his own misfortune for words, it’s with the tilt of his horned head to hear her lisped compliment – the raised glass and the yours just sounds hot sparking a deep laugh from the butcher’s throat – rolling his eyes. It’s amusing to hear that, given how much of it he despised, incapable of saying so many r’s in a row without his tongue wishing to add extras in between. “Ah, that explains it.” He says with an air of mystery and mischief to her comment, before he’s lifting his glass to his lips, watching as she continues.
And so far? It’s getting better. “Alright, try just the S sound. Try making it long. Take a deep inhale and let it go as if you are a snake hissing.” Nursing his glass as he watches her, awaiting to see how it goes. It’ll probably be difficult at first, but given a few extra attempts it might get easier for her to work with it around the uselessness of her tongue in the present moment.
As he returns to speaking regular words, Thal settles back in the chair, looking down to adjust her feet. She hooks one of her boot heels on the arm of the chair, letting the other one stay draped while she turns back to Asta. Her eyes sparkle, a little bit of suspicion to his meaning, but wanting to hear him say it. "Ekthplainth what?" Plus, it's more of a chance to hear his accent.
Nodding her head at his suggestion, she takes another sip of the whiskey, relaxing into the experiment more. The heat of alcohol and the warmth of the room is starting to bring a slight flush to her cheeks, an uncommon experience for the alcohol-resistant captain, but she hasn't eaten much today and the drink is more potent than usual. Thal ignores it, placing the glass against the side of her neck while she started the exercise. Her tongue quickly on the initial attempt. "Thhhhhhhhhsh - " At first, she worries that she might be spitting everywhere, but she doesn't let it discourage her, starting again as she stares up at the ceiling. "Thhhssh - " Thal feels the soft beginning of the sound starting to emerge, taking a deep breath to give it more power as she tries again. "Thshsssshsssssshsssssssssssss." Her tongue sticks in place, the hiss like music to her ears. She continues the sound, excitement making her sit up to look at Asta, eyes bright.
When she finally runs out of breath, she devolves into laughter that twinkles around the room. "It worked!" Her arms come up dramatically, although luckily her glass is empty enough not to slosh across her face. Once her arms are settled back against her chair, Thal gives Asta a sharp, beaming grin. "You're pretty good at thisth."
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
Snorting as he responds, the butcher flashes her an amused yet still sharp smile, shrugging his good shoulder effortlessly as if he were being dramatic for the sake of it (which he is, don’t let him lie to you). “Why the Dusklight’s clients are so obsessed with me. Ah, and here I was thinking it might be the scarrrs.” He playfully rolls the r at the end, letting his grin twist a touch wider before he chuckles into the glass he lifts, downing the sound with nothing but full amusement.
He’s silent and watchful as she makes her attempts, the lisp vanishing for a few moments in between the times she attempts to keep the sound aloft instead of letting her tongue get the better of her. And when she finally finishes it and her laughter rings out, Asta’s leaning forward a touch with his hand propping up his horned head, that grin still very much on display. “Very good, dar—” He cuts himself off before he can finish one of his favorite terms to tack on in regular conversation, recalling how she despised being called darling.
Clearing his throat, he leans back and spins the glass a little. “I have a tendency of learning about a variety of random facts that may or may not come in handy.” He tilts his head a little as he looks back at her. “I am glad it is helping. I’d suggest that you keep practicing it over and over again until the lisp has disappeared.” Or, more accurately, the curse lifts. “Toss in your tongue twister now and again to test your progress, as well.”
Smiling around the rim of her own glass, her eyes flit over his exposed skin again before lifting to meet his gaze with obvious amusement and appreciation. "Hmmm... I thought it might be the teeth." She assumes most would find the sharp row of teeth unsettling, but there are all sorts of people out there. The Dusklight, especially, seems like the kind of place Asta would find a multitude of admirers. Not that she cares one way or another as long as he saves the drinks for her.
Her laughter slowly fades as she lets the achievement go straight to her head along with the whiskey. It seems small, but she's bordering on that tired delirious stage that makes anything a big deal. Propping her cheek on the glass she holds, she watches him with a cheshire grin of pointy fangs, noticing the catch. If Asta had chosen to finish his statement, he might have found her less uptight about the term, too lulled by the alcohol and banter to feel the usual defensive pride. It helps that she's come to like the Ancient.
Thal accepts the suggestion of 'practice' with a little less excitement, although she nods in acknowledgement. If one session has already helped this much, she can't deny that it will only get better. So she gathers her breath again to try the tongue twister.
"If a dog chewsh shoesth, whose shoesth doesth he chooshe?" It may not be perfect, but it's already a thousand times better than before, and Thal can feel the curse shift slightly.
Her smile brightens even more, the flush of her cheeks contrasting the way her dark hair frames her sapphire eyes. An idea flashes over her face, and she reaches into a pocket to grasp a round piece of cold metal. A small clink sounds as she tosses it gently on the desk before Asta. "Asth a token of my gratithude." She finishes off her whiskey as she leaves him to figure out what the mirror does, trying not to make a big deal out of the gesture.
Thalassa gives Asta a mirror.
Type: Grey | Style: Defensive | Level: Upgraded
A pocket mirror that when placed on the ground duplicates the user's appearance exactly. Duplicate cannot speak or leave their place and appears as if the user is simply standing still. Lasts 2 rounds in combat. Must be picked up to be re-activated.
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
Snorting to hear her assumption, he shrugs his good shoulder and concedes the point, dramatic as always with the way his head tilts and his less kempt hair than usual sways with the movement, hanging over the tines of his horns. “The teeth are intriguing, however, in my experience thus far it is quite rare to find someone truly invested in the idea of it.” He admits – and it’s honestly the alcohol speaking when he tacks on the last bit, a closeness between friends that he would otherwise keep to himself but is incapable of doing in this very moment. “It makes it difficult, given my penchant to bite.” He drifts his gaze away from her to pour a touch more liquor into his glass, picking it up after to swirl it in the glass as he watches the amber hue of it spin with the dancing shadows of the fire behind him.
But he offers his advice on what she can do for the lisp, and hearing her attempt at the tongue twister this time, it has improved, and his grin broadens with it as he perks up. “Ah, that sounds far better than it had, darling!” Comes the easy praise, lifting his glass in a small toast to her, sipping the reward of it as she reaches into her pocket. He isn’t quite sure why, until he’s lowered the glass and spots the round piece of metal and the clink it makes against his desk. Setting the glass down and cocking his head at it, his honey gaze lifts toward her curiously.
“Oh?” Confusion flares for a moment before he picks it up, popping it open to see that it was a pocket mirror. Yet the longer he holds it the more confused he seems to be, drunkenly snorting before his gaze drifts from his flushed reflection from the alcohol they’ve drank, to peer up at Thalassa with a raised brow. “Are you insinuating that I am vain?” He teases her (because, oh yes, he absolutely 10000% is vain), his playfulness at an all time high – likely, because while the butcher was quite fond of giving gifts out, he wasn’t so great at receiving them.
Listening closely, Thal flashes her own sharp fanged grin as she shrugs her shoulders. "I don't sthee why that would be a turn off." Because - when done correctly - she's found that pain can be a very sexy prelude to pleasure. A little nip here, a tight pull there. She can't see why people don't embrace it more, but she's rarely understood people. The red of her cheeks and glint of her eyes says as much, daring Asta to disagree.
His words make her smile brighten to something more innocent, pride radiating from her in waves. The endearing term somehow flares the emotion, and she laughs lightly. "I agree. I think I destherve more whisthkey for that." Tilting her head mischievously, she offers her glass for him to refill.
Thal tries to diminish the gift, playfully raising an eyebrow. "Maybe." Knowing what little she does about the Butcher, she can confidently say that he puts a lot of time and effort into his appearance, making it even more intriguing to see him in such total disarray. Winking, she adds, "Or that you need a comb." Especially as his own hair falls untamed over his head.
However, maybe it's also because she has nothing else of value on her person, and she has no clue how it works. Shrugging again, she leans back in her chair to watch him mess with the mirror. "I think it doesth sthomething, but I haven't figured out what. I thought you might be able to find a usthe for it."
i tried to start caring like you and like them when you said that i was killing myself
Snorting, because the butcher is in complete agreement, he grows a touch thoughtful as he thinks about it, before shaking his head. “Perhaps it is because these teeth are sharper than the average.” And, if he wanted to, he could put his glamour up so she could see the way his sharper fangs vanish, leaving equally still just as sharp teeth behind in lieu of it. Things he’d long had before becoming Ancient.
But instead, he smiles as she agrees with his boast of compliments, and as she offers her glass for him to fill, he does before the bottle sets down between them as the gift is revealed and he turns it over a few times to inspect it. His jest is met with her own, letting the low accented laugh rumble from his chest as his dark gaze flits up toward her. “It is difficult to manage it when I have one working arm.” He informs her as if she didn’t already know (which, somehow he thinks she did understand one way or another).
But he inspects it, cocking his head a little to peer back at the mirror, seeing the disarray in his appearance and the way the movement has his long hair falling across his face. “Shall we test it?” He asks, looking up at her. “Perhaps it reveals a race… If I put my glamour up perhaps it will signify in the reflection that I am still Ancient?” Curious, yet not realizing subconsciously he’s still putting up his glamour as he previously thought (blaming the alcohol, of course), the butcher slips up the glamour and allows himself to look particularly normal with the way his hair falls limply without the horns, lowering his height by a few inches even with the way he's sitting, and no tail and fangs in sight.
“Mm, no, that is not it.” He hums as he twists to hold the mirror up so that she can see his reflection in it to see him perfectly reflected.
Thal leans forward to prop her head on her hand. "Their lossth." The sincerity in her gaze is for the people who wouldn't get a chance to feel the prick of his teeth against their heated skin, to toe that line between pleasure and pain. She feels the sharpness of her own fangs in a mischievous grin, knowing that she's seduced more than a handful of men with a well-placed bite on their earlobe, along their neck, the palm of their hand. It's a wonderful tool that's served her well in her few years as an Ancient. People just had to be open to embracing the possibilities.
As she fills her glass, she watches Asta transform before her eyes to test the mirror. He still feels intimidating, but without the same edge as before. He almost looks... normal, in a way that unsettles her. She shivers, letting out a laugh that says more than her words. "Definitely not." Her head shakes, letting her own glamour fall into place so he might know what it feels like to see such an uncanny shift in appearance. The waves of her hair settle voluminously against her head, somehow looking wilder and more elegant without the juxtaposition of her curving horns. As the fangs vanish, her face softens to something more 'innocent' and 'pretty,' a glimpse into the mermaid that had once held her name. Even her blue eyes trade their fiery depths for crashing waves, swirling playfully. A completely different person sits in the chair across from Astaroth, a different life.
Just as quickly, the glamour falls away, the steely sharpness of her features returning as she nonchalantly sips from her glass. "Doesth it sthow you anything? Like a memory? Or the future? Or a desthire?" Honestly, anything seems possible when it comes to magical items, and she doesn't have enough experience with them to have any clue what it might do. For all the knows, it could just be a regular mirror.
