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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!
A letter had been sent, and the butcher still seems to drift through the Climb like a wraith. A shadow of his usual self, despite the more casual attire worn. He’s very clearly on edge (when wasn’t he these days?) and he holds the threaded cane in his hand that he leans heavily against, blinking through the brightening sun of the morning as it warms into an otherwise lovely afternoon.
They’re far enough away from Angels End, from those memories, but close enough that he knows there would be gore crows nearby. Waiting for Isla’s arrival, he goes over what he’d sent in the letter to his friend. I need your assistance in the Climb if you have time, I promise to give you something in return for this favor. Without giving too much away before she arrives. He figures it would be better to tell her in person, at least.
"Asta!" Isla calls the butcher's name as she spies him among the crags and boulders surrounding the ghoulish lava-light, the Remedy hopping over the uneven stone on sandaled feet until she can reach him. Seeming subdued in her own right - her life isn't easy right now, and it isn't getting any easier despite an abundance of mythical flowers that seem to be floating around - she's nevertheless still cheerful to see her friend. And given that the butcher hasn't given her any gory (pun intended?) details, she's none the wiser until she gets closer to him.
"Gods, is everything alright? What's happened?" she asks as she draws to a halt before him, the hot breeze stirring a few loose curls around her face that have escaped the high tail she's drawn them into. She'd thought his letter had sounded a little formal - especially given that Isla would have never asked for anything, let alone expected it, for the opportunity to spend time with the tall Ancient even if it was for a favour - and this only confirms things further.
He perks up immediately upon seeing her arrival, straightening up and letting the smile grace his features. He should know she can see right through it, though he pretends not to as she arrives and stops short, immediately shifting the air into is everything alright? and worry. Hoping to alleviate some of it, he drifts closer to her, invading her space to hug her.
It’s a strange shift for the butcher, he’s sure, but it’s alleviating anyway. “I am alright.” He confirms as he hugs her, withdrawing slightly to let his dark gaze scan her face. “I am on a quest from Dygra to help with my nightmares. I hope you do not mind, but I am tasked with hunting and eating a gore crow and I was hoping you may be able to help me with that?” He releases her fully, hands returning to the cane as he leans against it, something dark and hesitant in his gaze.
Eyes widening a fraction at the sudden hug, Isla's arms wrap around Asta in return automatically, the Remedy offering him a warm smile as she glances up at him. "If you're sure," she begins slowly, only for understanding to dawn in her expression as he explains. "Ah," she says, wincing sympathetically. "That sounds... character-building for you." And probably a lot of other things that Asta doesn't want to talk about.
And so, sticking to the task at hand as she steps back, Isla nods encouragingly. "Of course, so long as I don't have to play the part of the crow," she says, hazarding a softly playful smile towards him. "Do you know how active a participant you have to be? Because as a molten tiger I could probably catch one and pin it down for you..." And then he might be able to avoid having the creatures swoop and soar overhead.
“That is one way to put it, yes.” He agrees with a soft huff of a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Straightening his shirt, his gaze focuses on her shortly after as he regards her curiously and with a small amount of amusement. “No, no requirement to be the crow.” He confirms. “Just.. A companion to keep me on track.” Because he couldn’t trust himself entirely to get it done on his own.
When it comes to how active to be, the cane clicks against the lava rock as his smile turns a touch sad. “I must hunt, kill, and devour.” So, very active, if he has to guess. “But perhaps if we hunt together we might both be able to attain one for ourselves.” He suggests, head tilting curiously, before he shakes his head a little and then his shoulders, trying to loosen himself up.
“I imagine if you are a tiger and I am a fyrhund that we should not have too much of an issue.” Glancing over toward the nooks and crannies in the lava rock, he already seems to have an idea in mind.
"Well if that's the case, of course I'll be your companion for the day," Isla says with a little mock curtsey for Asta's trouble. "And I'll also make sure you aren't bothered by anything once you've made your kill." Not that she imagines any flock of gore crows will want to come within half a mile of a fyrhund eating one of their brethren, but you never know with corvids. (And yes, that's a fancy way of saying they can be both very smart and very dumb at the same time, Danta).
Hunt, kill and devour it is, then, and Isla follows the butcher's gaze over to a few nooks and crannies in the stone where she imagines some of those very crows might be hiding. "I'll follow your lead, then," she decides with a soft smile in his direction. "If you need to drop back, we'll take a breather. And when you're ready to push forward, I'll be right there with you. With any luck we'll catch some pretty quickly." Not only that - perhaps Asta's bloodlust will take over and it might be something of a cathartic experience for him.
It shouldn’t be as relieving as it is, and yet as the words leave Isla’s lips, the tension in Astaroth’s shoulders lessen. He dips his chin a little in a nod, his smile softening with his gratitude as he twists on a heel to start heading in the direction he imagined they would be trying to hunt around. “Thank you, darling. I really do appreciate it.” He has to get it out before he shifts into his fyrhund shift, ensuring she knew how grateful he was for it.
He’s held off on his bloodlust a touch too long, admittedly, and perhaps that would make it easier. For now, though, fear burns alongside anticipation, mixing into an awkward burning sensation in the pit of his gut. “Well, I suppose we shall get started, then.” The sooner it began the sooner it would end, and with the cane secured in a space it couldn’t be stolen, the butcher becomes volcanic hound, dropping his perfect posture and attire for a very much on edge smoldering fyrhund.
Orange eyes glance back toward Isla to see if she’s shifted, before his paws scrape against the ground and he lowers himself in a relatively stealthy maneuver toward a particular crag, reminiscent of the same that had been beside where he’d been kept. Smoke pours from his nostrils as he searches, huffing a little blip of flame into the crack of volcanic rock. A few seconds pass and from it, five gore crows rise out of the ground with caws and croaks of meat! and eyes! gliding over the ground to try and get away.
A sharp whine escapes the butcher, a clear panic set in his chest that makes him hesitate for a moment before he pushes through it with his ears flat against his skull and he forces himself to chase after them.
"Any time," Isla says, reaching out to give Asta's forearm a quick squeeze, before she's following on heel towards where they might begin their hunt. "I suppose we should. I'll be right here, remember. This is a team game today." Dropping back just enough to give him space to shift, once man becomes fyrhund, Isla also exchanges flesh for fur, the hulking shape of a tiger flattening low to the ground to prowl in Asta's wake.
Slow enough that little puddles of gold have begun to gather beneath her from her molten stripes, she waits for him to peep around the cracks in the rock until, with a burst of feathers and raspy croaks, their prey takes to the air. And unlike the fyrhund forcing himself through it, Isla's feline instincts and the prickle of her bloodlust already have her making chase, springing into action as lithe as a coiled spring.
Swiping lazily at a couple of the low flying corvids, their movement manages to spook more from the surrounding nests, and soon there are plenty to pick from.
It’s a large mental battle as more take to the skies and he’s reminded of the vortex from the night not too long ago. It’s also reminiscent of when he’d been their buffet. And much to his surprise, or perhaps disassociation, he gives into his fittings instincts as he had with Maea when he’d had his moment of crisis.
The hound knows what to do, as does the ancient’s bloodlust, and his orange eyes take note of the way Isla swats at them to drag them lower and avert their course. As more rise, the butcher both flinches and snarls, angling himself in a more defensive position as one soars toward him. Tail curling, ears pinned, the butcher snarls a smoky warning before expelling fire out at the gore crow. It singes its feathers, causing the bird to lose the ability to gain some height — forcing it to glide low. And while the butcher tries his best to compartmentalize it, he focuses on it, targeting it as he gives chase.
The corvid begins to panic, its glide almost janky as it comes down to the ground, searching for a cranny to slide into. But the fyrhund is too fast, pouncing on it beneath his fiery paws, and he hesitates as it croaks and screeches. A whine of near pain escapes him despite the corvid having no ability to bite him from how he’s pinned it by its wings.
Doing her best to keep an eye on Asta if only to ensure he remains on the hunt, Isla ends up quite enjoying herself as she plays with the crows, chasing them from their nooks and crannies and sending them on their way. Pouncing at one and clamping her jaws around it to turn it into little more than a spray of feathers and blood, she's already feasted and is licking her scarlet maw when she notices that the fyrhund has also gotten a tasty morsel - only to hesitate at the point of the kill.
Letting out a roar that sends the rest of the corvids rightly scattering, Isla pads over to Asta on light paws, her tail flicking as she affectionately headbutts one of the hound's rocky flanks, as if encouraging him to make his move and to slake his bloodlust on the creature. It isn't as if it can escape even if he releases it out from beneath his paws at this point, after all.
The corvid writhes beneath his paws, enough so that he’s so focused on half being there and half tempering his bloodlust despite how he’d told himself to just give in, that he flinches and digs his claws into the crow when Isla headbutts his flank. A snarl leaves him before it breaks into a whine, but the sentiment is there even if they can’t talk about it.
His heartbeat thunders beneath the volcanic plates, shaking his head sharply before his smoky maw parts and he finally makes his strike. The small body of the corvid is no match for his bite strength. His jaw remains around the body as blood splatters and feathers fall out, but the iron tang takes over him mentally.
The bloodlust in full effect begins to tear into the corvid, stripping meat from bones not unlike how the gore crows had done to him, and when he’s finally done devouring as much of it as he can, his tail tucks and his ears remain flat, blood dripping from his maw as he seems almost frozen.
Asta finally tears into the crow and Isla is there to patrol the area and make sure the rest of the birds have well and truly fled - which they absolutely have, given the presence of the two larger predators in their midst. Even so, she makes sure, hopping up onto a larger stone to survey the area and only returning to the butcher when she's convinced that the corvids won't be returning until after they are long gone, and probably even some time after that.
Isla knows what had happened out here in The Climb, of course - Asta had told her himself - but she doesn't pretend to know what it must be like for him to do this. The fear, the anxiety, the catharsis of killing one of the creatures that had tormented him; it's likely to be a mixed bag, and she moves to flop down on her side against one of the large slabs of stone, watching him quietly and stretching out, as if to invite him to come and sit or lay with her. As man or hound - either way.
He stays like that for a little while, before he shifts back into himself, still knelt in the mess of blood and feathers and bones. Hands pressed flat to the warm rock, the. Butcher slowly sinks back and takes a deep inhale, exhaling it slowly through his nose as he faces the sky. A few more moments pass before he swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, blood lingering on his skin that he stares at before he shakes himself out of it and forces himself to stand.
Snagging the threaded cane as he makes his way toward the tigress, he sits on the slab beside her and peers out over the expanse of the lava pits. “Thank you.” He says softly, tail curling around his leg as he draws it up and presses his forehead against it. “Did you get one?” He asks, seeking the distraction, having been so focused on staying in his own hunt he hadn’t even looked to see if she’d succeeded, even if the tinge of red around her fuzzy molten maw suggested otherwise.
Having stretched out further while she waits for Asta, Isla has rolled onto her back by the time the butcher approaches on two legs instead of four, and there's a moment where it's just a man and a hulking feline belly up on the warm stone. As he speaks, of course, the Remedy joins him in shifting herself back, sitting up and tugging her hair loose since it has already mostly fallen out of its ponytail already. "I did," she assures him, smoothing out her dress as she gets settled beside the butcher.
"You're welcome," she adds belatedly. "Are you alright?" She knows he'll likely brush her off and say that he's fine, but she finds herself asking nevertheless. "Can I walk you back to the portal, maybe? I imagine the sooner you get back home the better after something like this, right?" She'll even accompany him through it into the Grounds if he needs, just to make sure there aren't any other gore crows flitting about.
