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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!
After discussions with Jack and Hadama, and a thousand other machinations beginning to contort through his mind, a walk through portions of the Greatwood seemed to be in order. At least to settle the restless edges brimming over and under his skin – and the market would be enough to ensure his long strides could sweep along without too much distraction or fanfare, though his glances were swift, narrowed, and calculating, still in the habit of hoping to catch a crimson edge of a petal nearby.
Eventually, he made some purchases from the stalls to bring home to his family, and found a free bench nearby, beginning to unfurl parchments from his pocket to write down the various ideas, speculations, and decisions they eventually had to make across the paper. He found it easier than having to hold everything by memory – and though the way he harbored calculations and recollections well – there’d been so many by the day that it was wiser to ensure naught was forgotten.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Returning from another long morning of training, Zavien was coated in sweat, exhaustion pulling at his limbs and dirt coating his clothes; however, it didn't dampen the returning glint of hope in his green eyes, the determination in his steps as he made his way through the village. Sol still trailed at his side, diligently scanning for threats, although his own efforts had become more practice than paranoia. Because of this, the dragon was the first to spot the Warden on a nearby bench, giving a low chirp of notice.
Pausing, Zavien looked to where Sol indicated, eyes widening as he took in the large, hunched form writing over a pile of papers. He changed course to approach, a smile forming on his face. "Deimos? I wasn't expecting to see you out here." Although he couldn't necessarily say he was surprised. Everyone and their mother had decided to come search for the flowers, so why wouldn't the leader of a region who might (arguably) need them the most?
The Dragoon came to a stop before Deimos, hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. His smile turned more somber as her said, "I was sorry to hear about the Springs. How is Halo fairing?"
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
Expectations of familiar faces hadn’t been on the Warden’s mind either – and as he scrawled across the parchments quickly, his brow arched, and he glanced over to see Zavien. “I would say the same to you.” Neither letter he’d sent to either Dragoon had elicited a response, and he’d presumed the information had simply been logged away – springs destroyed, fallen to ruin in the space of LongNight’s threshold. And though he had plans to ensure the same results wouldn’t occur again (at least, not without a fight), the damage had been done presently. “I had meetings to attend,” he offered with a shrug and explanation, as had seemingly been the course of his entire season.
Folding up one of the papers and placing it within his pocket, his face tried to resemble something amiable, but the way his brows furrowed as discussions of Halo cropped up, the frown flickered back much faster than anything else he could dredge up. “Likewise. It has been quiet though. We are finishing up with some things,” and making plans for Starfall, “and then hopefully we can start on rebuilding.” With his free hand he indicated the bench, free for Zavien’s taking should he feel so inclined. “How is Stormbreak?”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
It didn't strike him as strange for the leader to have meetings throughout all of Caido - even as it probably should have - so he just gave an understanding nod of his head. And if Deimos's presence here and words meant anything, things in Halo must not be too much worse. He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "I see. Well, if you need assistance, please reach out. I'm feeling a little useless out here." His smile was a little more bitter, but there was genuine humor in it as he continued to carve out plans to help - even if that meant he'd have to travel back to the place of his recent death.
Accepting the seat with a grateful huff, Zavien winced to think of Stormbreak. "I haven't heard anything of note." At least, Lena hadn't told him anything. He supposed no news was better than bad news, but his heart still ached to see how the people were fairing. Part of him wanted to know how much farther the infection had spread, while the tender, fresh wound dreaded what it may do to him.
Eager to escape the topic, he ran a hand through his hair, looking out to the small crowd of people perusing the shops. "Have you heard anything about this 'poem' we're supposed to be writing? Do you think it's a trick of some kind?" His voice was soft, laced with suspicion as he tried not to draw attention from whatever might be listening.
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
Given how the Sword had been pulled in all directions, and barely at home, it did give him pause and more trepidation, though he didn’t deign to show or converse about it. His brow did arch slightly at Zavien’s reluctance amidst the Greatwood, as he would’ve thought the man would be at home in Stormbreak too, or the lack of knowledge. Perhaps nothing had happened, and Dahlia sat amidst her Tower, concocting other schemes and things for the void nonsense ahead. But he wasn’t going to ask either – not any further. Not with all the concoctions riddled and rankled up their sleeves over the past few weeks.
Taking a long breath and snagging at a piece of peppermint bark he’d acquired from the market, his head tilted, listening to the Dragoon’s inquiries. “I had," and by the mulish wrinkle to his nose, he had no taste for it. Ravenna had talked about it, and he’d begrudgingly agreed that they should, but it didn’t mean that was on his very long to-do list. If anything, it’d be at the very bottom. “I would not be surprised at this point.” Hence why he hadn’t intended to put much effort into it. “Do you want to try one?” He offered one of the papers and some slab of charcoal upon the bench’s table – sighing through the wake of it.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
The Warden's own dislike of the task wasn't surprising, and Zavien considered the question. It wasn't really that he wanted to, yet he thought it might be an opportunity if nothing else. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he accepted the paper and charcoal with a low chuckle. "I guess, but you can't judge whatever you read." Either the poetry skill or writing ability, he knew it wouldn't be anything worthy of praise. Lena might be working to help him with the reading part, but that didn't really translate in the other direction. He also wasn't the most 'creative' of individuals and he shrugged a shoulder as he wrote the first thing that came to mind:
Life was so simqle
Vauqs, you complekated things
Please, leeve us ulone
Zavien offered the paper back to Deimos, the writing near-illegible and the letters improperly spaced and lined, making it look like he'd been on a horse while writing it, or in the dark, or blindfolded. Feeling the anxiety rising in his chest, Sol leaned against his leg, immediately alert. Meanwhile, the Dragoon tried to give the Warden a small smile to dismiss any suspicion that something might happen.
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
Deimos was a great many things, but poet-laureate he was not. His mother might’ve ensured her son was of scholarly minds and curious pursuits, but that had never translated into refined talents in stanzas and musings. He’d much preferred the art of blades and scheming, to the ramparts of the written word. So when Zavien said not to judge, he merely snorted, shaking his head. “Only if you do not judge mine,” to which he wondered if he should be angling cutthroat jibes or merely striving for the simplest of rhymes, not endeavoring to truly grant anything to the toxic little parasite.
If he seemed perplexed by the jotted scrawl, he didn’t let on; features nonchalant as he read through the backwards letters and nearly-illegible dictation. “Concise and straight to the point,” and he nodded in approval, handing the parchment back over to Zavien.
Sighing, he snagged at another piece for himself and tapped the charcoal against it, beginning to make jagged little obsidian lines from where the writing instrument hit. “I prefer fighting,” he muttered, scowling back down at the empty surface, before he began to whittle something together.
Deliberate, vexing,
Broadcasting for all to hear,
Far too close and near.
Shrugging at the lack of complexity, he maneuvered it over for the Dragoon to read, should he want to or could.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
The softest crackle brushed the air—so faint it might have been chalk against stone, or a poorly grounded wire sighing somewhere nearby. The peppermint bark in Deimos’s hand sparked faintly at the corner before settling again, quiet as a secret.
And then—
"Boys!" Vox’s voice slipped through the stillness like a smile with far too many teeth. "How touching! And here I thought poetry was dead. Or at least sleeping. Or buried beneath paperwork and ice."
A gentle fizz, like radio static tickling the edge of a forgotten thought.
"Zavien, sweet Zavien, I felt that one." A beat—static, static, hum. "I love your way with letters. Très mysterious, very continental."
Then, the hum sharpened slightly.
"Deimos. Ever deliberate. So brooding, so sharp, so close to saying you care. But not too close. Just enough for me to want more."
A lingering crackle wound around the paper like a curious vine then receded with a final, satisfied buzz.
"Your offerings are accepted. Your styles... intriguing."
And just like that, he was gone—leaving behind the faint smell of ozone and the quiet impression that the ink had rearranged itself ever so slightly when no one was looking.
Appreciating the approval rather than any questions or biting comments, Zavien let out a low chuckle. He read Deimos's in return, although the words were a little 'complekated' for his eyes to pin down. Just as he got the gist, an electric crackle sounded through the air, startling him. Despite his attempt to prepare for whatever might happen, his heart raced, thudding against his chest as Sol let out a low growling threat to the disembodied voice.
The strange static buzzed in his ears, nearly ringing as he heard Vox speak their names. At least he didn't seem surprised by Zavien being alive, but it still made him pale, fists clenching against the panic that rose in his chest. When the buzz finally vanished, it took a moment for him to relax his jaw, feeling the way it ached from the effort. He rubbed absently at the stubble, his other hand resting on Sol's head, the paper long discarded for fear it may vibrate with sentience. His breathing was deep but controlled as he found the strength to speak. "That was.... very... unpleasant." An understatement, although he wondered how much he should say if Vox might still be listening. It was different than the 'broadcasts,' somehow feeling more violating to know that the thing didn't just hear their words, but read them. Who knew what else it could see/hear/know?
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
He probably should’ve expected it – in hindsight – given how other things had gone with Vox in the past. Still, he had figured it was all a vague exercise and nothing more; save for when the crackle started. His body went unyielding immediately, spine ramrod straight and tight with tension as the words phrased and slipped amidst the stillness; jaw muscles tightening, eyes narrowing into slits. Hadn’t he and Jack just discussed how to get ahold of the –
But it wouldn’t have mattered. Gone within an instant. All that was left was the tension from the moment, and his all-enduring irritation and abhorrence. “Well, I lost my appetite,” he managed to grumble outwards, turning over the paper and immediately setting it ablaze in the palm of his hand. The peppermint bark soon followed, nose wrinkling in disgust. “And that answers my questions about letters.” Vox could read those too – meaning any and all attempts at their measures towards safeguarding against the Family had to be done either through Attuned bonds, or something else altogether.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
Zavien nodded along with Deimos's words, watching as the man incinerated the papers, followed by the peppermint bark. At least the second left a pleasant scent in the air, but - contrary to its purpose - it did little to calm the anxieties in his chest. Sol did a better job, the heat of his breath warm against the Dragoon's palm as the little dragon rubbed his snout along his hand.
Looking to the Warden, some of the strategic soldier returned, warring with the growing dread that weighed down at his hope. "Are there any safe forms of communication left?" Not being able to access the Attuned bond, it hadn't really occurred to Zavien, although it wouldn't be much help to him either way. He might consider asked a god for something that might protect him against such spying, but it didn't seem as important compared to the flowers.
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
He did what he did best – brooded. Eyes narrowed, he tapped the charcoal against the table while his mind surged with another round of calculations, knowing the answer had been in recent conversations, but the how much more difficult to hold. “The Attuned bond, thus far,” he noted – glancing back at Zavien with half a frown embedded in the corner of his mouth. Until, of course, the Family found some way to read minds, which he wouldn’t put past them at this juncture.
Taking a long breath and funneling away all the avid frustrations warring across his shoulders, he leaned back in the chair, pocketing the charcoal instead of making a further mess. “There have been discussions lately about finding a refuge from -,” he waved his hand in the air to indicate the staticky cretin, but the same could be said for any Family member. “But it would require a piece of the intended to work.” Easier said than done.
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
The realization was both comforting and not. At least they had some kind of means to communicate without spying, but it wasn't something everyone could utilize, himself included. "Great," he grumbled under his breath, a bittersweet smile on his face. Zavien didn't say anything more, suddenly very conscious that every word was being overheard.
Running his hand over Sol's head, he listened to Deimos's words, doing his best to read between the lines. 'Protection.' 'Piece of the intended.' It wasn't that hard to figure out (even for him), although he was absolutely picturing a gory finger or ear in place of a few drops of blood. Sighing, he tried not to let his shoulders slump against the new weight of information. "I see. That sounds... difficult to obtain." He wanted to say 'impossible,' but if anything, he had to believe that Caido still had people strong enough to succeed. Only time would tell.
Zavien pushed aside the trepidation that still coiled in his chest around the topic of the Void, looking to Deimos with a renewed determination as he asked, "Do you have any recommendations on ways to help?" Whether something new had arisen, or some task that needed finishing, he found himself wanting to do something in spite of any lingering apprehension.
Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
Deimos was welcome to ideas – he couldn’t be one of the few concocting everything all the time. Spread thin as it was, the minor grumble from the Dragoon made his brows furrow, briefly irritated, before trying to alleviate all the past few moments from his mind. Likely Zavien was just as frustrated; and his jaw clenched again, deeply wishing for the sanctity and shelter of home, rather than rampaging around and trying to find clarity in something that didn’t offer it readily.
Nor did he want to say too much further in the wake of Vox’s appearance. “You probably will not like to hear it, but flowers are a necessity.” And though there’d been a maddening hunt lately, it still didn’t hurt to constantly veer back and look again. The Dragoon also didn’t benefit from a region completing quests – in fact, it seemed to the Warden, that Dahlia didn’t value any of those at all, and rather preferred to do nothing but agitate and infect. “King’s End may need assistance with something soon,” if plans and plots came to fruition. “Otherwise we are sending ready teams to -,” and he jutted his jawline in the direction of Starfall, kingdoms across. “Deal with other problems, once lilies or roses are obtained.”
think about this you have the ability to survive anything
