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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!
First, the Castaway Exchange gets very, very dark on a night where the moon is new and the skies are overcast, no matter how many lanterns are lit or how many stalls keep peddling their wares late.
Second, there are some who, whilst knowing well the name of Torchline's smuggling kingpin, believe him to have gone a bit soft over the past few seasons. Love blooms, minds get distracted, items tumble further down the priority list. Items like business agreements, like the right sort of cut for looking the other way, like passing a fraction of stock in exchange for the monopoly on any customers.
Third, but perhaps most important - you do not need to carry a knife with you when you can make one out of ice.
The sound of the scuffle between two floating market stalls is muffled by the slap of water against hulls, and muffled again by the way large hands clamp saltwater-soaked rags into any mouth that tries to open to scream. Jack lets Bassian do his work without interruption, partly because he's good at it but also because he's been on his best behaviour as of late, and the captain waits idly by until the men they've come to see are good and roughed up.
Their ringleader is still alive and conscious, at least, though his associate looks like he might have drowned in the puddle of water he's laying in, courtesy of Jack's boot on the back of his neck. With frost-rimed hands, the captain smooths his fingers across the blade of clear ice he's conjured, heedless of the way the digits are growing numb and wrinkling his nose at the sudden stench of urine in the air from the man in Bassian's grip soiling himself.
Jack takes that as a cue to keep their conversation brief. And it is brief - a whispered, one-sided thing against the man's ear while the stiletto of ice presses wickedly against the hollow of his throat, until he feels as if they have understood each other. He doesn't just think it either - he knows it - and so Jack straightens with a smile.
"Here's hopin' we don't have to fall out like this again," he says, his voice rough and quiet. The man sags in Bassian's grip, nodding furiously, and Jack turns away - but not before plunging the ice knife viciously into his side as a parting gift. Blood flecks up and across his cheek, and the man's screams are gagged behind the fabric balled in his mouth, only to be cut off by a splash as Bassian drops him into the water.
What can he say? Sometimes it's better in business to simply cut one's losses.
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
03-29-2025, 04:58 PM (This post was last modified: 03-29-2025, 08:17 PM by Flora.)
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora slips through the pathways of the Castaway Exchange like a quiet sigh, her gaze sharp as she navigates the maze of makeshift stalls and shadowed hulls. Lanterns bob unevenly on ropes, their flickering glow reflected back in fragments on the dark water, but tonight their wavering warmth feels more eerie than comforting. Each creak of timber, each muffled splash from distant boats rings louder than it should in her ears.
The queen's usually buoyant thoughts are subdued, drifting uncertainly, caught like kelp tangled around her heart. Her mind is an uneasy ocean tonight—wave after wave rising, dark and restless. Anxiety sits like a coral reef just below the surface, scraping her consciousness raw whenever thoughts of Jack float too close. She anticipated his frustration with her, but never imagined this suffocating silence that stretched between them like miles of cold ocean floor.
Tonight the queen has dressed intentionally—not the usual bold colours and loud accessories of Torchline royalty, but something quieter, subtler, though no less striking. A sleek, dark blouse skims her figure, cut just low enough at the neckline to suggest careful intention, while fitted black pants hug her curves perfectly, practical enough to move freely but flattering enough to remind Jack exactly what he's been ignoring. A delicate ocean garden of vibrant coral and blooms emerges slowly in her mind, fragile but determined, inviting but carefully guarded—a mental landscape Jack would recognize, layered in the familiar perfume of wildflowers and sea spray.
Flora tilts her head up slightly as Spice dips closer, her wings slicing silently through the humid night air. Their connection thrums briefly as Spice confirms the intel that the queen had been given: the Ark is here, nestled quietly among the ships, hidden in plain sight.
Well, wherever Jack was, he'd have to come home eventually. So, despite knowing that he'd sense her regardless, the queen twists her invisibility ring before spinning a dagger lazily in one hand.
Jack emerges from wherever with Bassian in tow, spending a few moments at the mouth of the strange, floating alleyway to light a cigarette in the gloom, his face briefly illuminated - cold eyes framed by freckles of dark blood - before the match dies between his fingers. Drawing deep on the smoke, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling and rolling the tension from his shoulders, he glances to the larger man expectantly, and Bassian strolls on ahead.
"That was the last order of business for the night," he rumbles as they walk, single file by necessity rather than choice given the sometimes perilously skinny walkways between boats and stalls and tiny, barely there docks. "You're off watch, so fuck off to bed when we get back." And it's as they turn towards the staggered silhouettes of larger ships that Jack first feels it, the flare of thought like dipping one's toes into a familiar tidepool, but tonight he feels no joy in it.
Flicking the ash from his cigarette, he heaves a long sigh. "When you get back," he corrects. "Go on ahead. I got somethin' extra to do out here." Knowing better to question, Bassian merely nods and sets off on his way, leaving Jack by himself in a lonely jumble of stalls long shut for the night.
Only once the large man has left the range of his telepathy does Jack slip the smoke back between his lips, resting his hands in the pockets of his Kingmaker coat. "A'right," he says, almost casually, to the darkness all around. "Let's have it, then."
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora’s breath catches in her throat as Jack emerges, and for a heartbeat, all her swirling thoughts freeze in place. Anxiety and relief crash into each other in waves, flooding the carefully tended gardens of her mind with a dizzying surge. She holds perfectly still, eyes riveted on his face in the fleeting glow of the match—taking in the cold cut of his gaze, the blood speckling his skin, the easy confidence of his movements. That he's safe is a relief; that he's fine, seemingly unbothered, sends a bright spike of fury slicing through the tangled greenery of her thoughts, sharp and thorned.
She barely breathes as Bassian strolls past, and only once Jack is truly alone does she ease from the shadows. Her fingers curl slowly around the hilt of her dagger, twirling it once—a restless, silent whirl—before his voice drifts towards her.
Her lips twist into a sharp smirk, dangerous and entirely unseen. "Oh, you want it?" she murmurs under her breath, before her arm snaps forward and the blade slices cleanly through the darkness, landing with a firm thunk in the wooden planks right between Jack's boots.
A heartbeat later she twists her ring, reappearing as the invisibility slips away like water off her skin, one brow arched sharply, aqua eyes flashing as she levels him with a stare. "Y'know, I could've sworn we just had a fight about the whole 'not fucking off when we're mad' thing? You remember that?"
Stepping closer, Flora pulls a folded slip of paper from her pocket, holding it up between them. She unfolds it, thrusting it toward him, forcing him to look at his own scrawled handwriting. "'Flora, I love you, Jack,' she quotes, her voice sharp at the edges, pain and anger layered like tangled sea-grass beneath a deceptively smooth surface. "Remember this? Because, you know, ignoring me for almost two weeks kinda gives off mixed signals."
Feeling Flora's thoughts freeze over, only to crack beneath the surge of thorny indignance that ripples through them, it's all Jack can do not to scoff around his cigarette. If anything about this situation screams seemingly unbothered then these past few seasons really have been little more than an exercise in talking past one another. Either way, his feet remain planted firmly on the docks as the dagger buries itself between his boots.
Drawing deeply on his cigarette, the light from its tip flaring on his inhale, he tilts his head down to look at the blade, opting to leave it right where it is as Flora appears like a shadow with curves in all the right places and a temper to rival her fathers'. Blue eyes drop to the paper she thrusts beneath his gaze, a dark eyebrow raising, and he exhales a slow stream of smoke and flicks ash over the side of the dock and into the black water.
"Is it really ignorin' you if I didn't know you were writin'?" he drawls. "I put the parchment away in a drawer after your first fucked up message. Haven't looked at it since. Congrats on the cure, by the way. Heard about your success from that little broadcast."
Stepping back, the captain flicks the toe of his boot up to catch the hilt of the dagger, sending it sailing high enough into the air for him to snatch it in his free hand, offering it back out to Flora.
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora’s mouth opens, then closes again sharply, surprise painting across her features as his words sink in. Her thoughts spiral into momentary disarray, scattered petals on rough waves, fragmented and confused by the revelation he'd simply shut her out entirely. She'd expected anger, irritation, something—anything other than quiet dismissal.
"Wh—?" Her voice cuts off abruptly, softer now, strained around the edges. A frustrated breath escapes through her lips, curling visibly into the chill night air. "Yes it's still ignoring. I was worried you were dead, Jack." Her gaze washes over him, eyes narrowing, vibrant with hurt.
The heat in her chest shifts from anger to embarrassment, cheeks flaming despite the darkness, eyes flashing brighter with renewed hurt and confusion. She watches him flick her dagger into the air and catch it easily, smoothly, as if it’s nothing—nothing like how precariously she feels she's been balancing all of this. Rather than reaching for it, Flora recalls the dagger with a flick of her wrist.
"Don't mistake me, Flora," Jack says quietly, his fingers going loose to let her recall her dagger with ease without splitting the skin on his fingertips. "I'm angrier than I've been in a long, long time. And I've been angry for so long that it just looks like indifference, 'cause now it's the default. But if you really wanna see my temper, I'll happily show it to you." Pausing to take a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it underfoot, Jack absently shakes away the frost on his fingertips as if it's a newly formed habit.
"Good," he adds to her admission of worry, the word as sharp as her dagger had been. "Maybe you felt a tiny fraction of what I did when you sent Sohalia to shove a letter into my fuckin' hands." There's no sidestepping her in the skinny jumble of boards and floatng stalls, no brushing past her without one of them ending up in the water, so Jack merely gestures for her to either start walking or to back up and get out of his way.
"If you really don't know why, this conversation is happenin' far too late for me to try'n explain it to you."
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora's jaw sets stubbornly at Jack’s challenge, aqua eyes sparking with defiance, and for half a heartbeat she nearly tells him yes—that yes, she would rather see his temper than feel the icy sting of indifference slicing through her chest. But she bites her tongue, feeling the sharp taste of regret pooling beneath it, because she knows exactly how that scene would play out—and for all her stubbornness, she isn’t eager to watch their already tenuous bond snap beneath the weight of his anger.
Instead, she just exhales sharply through her nose, breath misting faintly in the chilly night air as Jack gestures for her to move or let him by. For a second she holds her ground, watching his eyes, searching for a glimmer of something other than cold fury or resignation. But when all she sees is that same crisp indifference, something panicked surges within her, washing over her carefully cultivated walls like a rising tide, threatening to sweep everything away.
"No—wait," she blurts out, hurriedly sliding her dagger back into its sheath, fingers trembling slightly from the tension crackling between them. Flora’s hand reaches out instinctively, her fingers brushing over his coat sleeve, trying to snag him, to anchor him before he drifts beyond her reach.
"Jack," she breathes, softer now, raw and unguarded. "You were right, okay? That sitting by and letting the Family walk all over us wasn't something we should let happen, and I thought.." The words come out strained, barely above a whisper, her eyes wide and earnest, fear flickering behind her lashes.
She'd done all this for Torchline, for him; to keep everyone safe. Even if it was potentially at the expense of her own life or safety, but surely that's what he'd been proposing when he said he wanted to be an unmovable thorn in the Family's path? "Please just talk to me."
Jack's hand snatches away as her fingers brush towards his sleeve, the captain stepping past with the full intention of cutting a smooth path towards The Ark, the ice forming at his heels making every step crunch audibly. But her wait halts him, however briefly, and the slow inhale he takes isn't one of empathy or love - it's a measured thing, snapping the locks down on his self control to keep him watertight and float. Talk to me, Flora continues, and he nearly doesn't bother, wanting to give her nothing and feeling as though he owes her even less.
"You never think," he says slowly, turning back towards her. "Never consider beyond what's right now, or how what you do alters the course of everythin' else. I told you what it was like in Dahlia's mind, and how it scared the shit outta me, and you did what you did anyway." His already cold eyes seem dark as the sea lapping beneath their feet.
"She could've asked you anythin' and you'd have told her whatever she wanted. Any secret you hold could've been hers in a whisper, even the secrets that aren't yours. And no, I don't care that it didn't happen. My future was a risk you decided was worth takin' - and you didn't even make me part of the choice."
Jack spits at her feet, though it's ice before it ever hits the wooden boards.
"And for what?" He growls. "A noose around my neck? Was dyin' once because you loved me not enough? Now you've gotten yourself out from under Dahlia's feet, I'm right back in the firin' line for them to take it out on you. And before you start, I know what that poxy vial of blood will be used for. Providin' I live long enough to see it used, I can't wait to sit in a prison you made for us, all so you could feel bigger and cleverer than anyone else. If I ask nice, will you make sure the little safe zone is somewhere I can put down anchor for the next few years?"
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
03-30-2025, 09:44 AM (This post was last modified: 03-30-2025, 09:51 AM by Flora.)
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora feels Jack’s words like a slap, sharp and bitter-cold, each syllable stinging more fiercely than the frost that splinters on the boards between them. She flinches, barely—just a tightening around her eyes, a flicker of pain crossing her face like sunlight fractured through troubled water—but it hurts far deeper than she'd ever admit. Her pulse races unsteadily, blood roaring in her ears as her heart struggles to stay afloat beneath the deluge of his accusations.
"And you were ready to do exactly the same thing!" she fires back. "What, did you forget the part where you told me you wanted to be the unmovable thorn in their side? Did you think that would magically leave me safe?" Her eyes are glassy, but she refuses to let the tears fall, blinking furiously as she lifts her chin, meeting his gaze squarely despite the ache lodged tight behind her ribs. "You’re a fool if you think you weren’t already a target, Jack," she says, voice low but sharp-edged, frustration and desperation churning through her words like waves battering against rocks. "The minute you decided to stand up and fight back, you put us both at risk."
She takes another breath, softer now, eyes fierce yet pleading, the ocean inside her mind roiling—storm waves breaking against tender blooms, petals scattering in foam. "And I tried to talk to you about my plans. You’re the one who told me it was a conversation better suited for Hadama. You’re the one who said there was no future if we all ended up brainwashed by the Family anyway. So don’t you dare call what I've done a prison, not when the alternative is watching everyone we love—watching Torchline—fall to that fucking plague."
Flora’s voice trembles, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she holds his stare, daring him to deny her words. Her anger is bright, blistering, but beneath it all swirls a current of fear—fear of losing him, fear of having already lost him—anchored only by her determination not to back down.
"More at risk than playing turncoat with the woman who calls herself the fucking Reaper?" Jack snaps. "I made us no more of a target than anyone else out there tryin' not to fall to the void. You drew a bead directly on our foreheads, and we've already been murdered once, so it's not like you don't know the fuckin' consequences, Flora!"
Ice splinters out around the captain's feet and he hisses in a sharp inhale of breath, pinching hard at the bridge of his nose as if to contain whatever other magic tries to leak out, to crush the static starting to flicker between his fingers. "And did you go to Hadama?" he asks, forcibly making his voice lower and quieter, his exhale shaky with the attempt to quell his rising temper. "'Cause he came to me after he got your fun little letter, and he didn't seem at all confident that he could cure you."
Hence why he'd left, thinking it better not to stick around while the world was so turbulent. And now that Flora is cured - public knowledge to everyone including The Family, thanks Vox - he's trying his best to tie up every bit of business before he either dies or he's forced like a wild animal into a cage of magic and protection.
"Don't insult us both by pretendin' you thought I was gonna be anythin' but mildly pissed off at you, then eternally grateful at how sneaky and ballsy you'd been," he mutters. "And put that away - it ain't nothin' to do with this." Jack gestures at the paper with his proclamation of love scrawled on it. "Doesn't matter how much love is between us now. I don't trust you, Flora. And that's a helluva thing, given what I can do. I'd be impressed if I wasn't so damn disappointed."
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora’s lips part slightly, her expression stricken, the fury in her chest flickering and wavering like a candle caught in a sudden gust. Her mind ripples with shock and confusion, the once-clear sea turning cloudy and turbulent beneath Jack’s words, and it takes her a second longer than it should to find her voice again.
"I waited until Ronin was healed," she says quietly, voice edged with stubborn pride and carefully masked hurt, her fingers twisting the edge of the letter before she slips it back into her pocket. "So that if anything went wrong—if anything happened to me, or to you—there'd be someone strong enough to help. To pull you back if you needed it." Because, contrary to Jack's opinions of her, she had thought her plan through.
Her words grow sharper as she addresses his accusations about Hadama, her shoulders straightening with an indignant huff. "Gods, he’s always like that. He’s a champion at under-promising and over-delivering—you of all people should know better than to mistake his caution for incompetence." And he'd healed her no problem, more or less.
She pauses, forcing herself to breathe, her chest tight, eyes glistening despite her best effort to keep them clear. "And yes, fine—I knew you'd be pissed. But this?" His final words pierce deeper than she expected, leaving her floundering, breathless and aching. Her aqua eyes soften, searching his face as confusion flickers openly across hers. "You told me that the alternative was being enslaved by the Family. But now you're disappointed in me for following through? For agreeing that mine or your life means anything at all if we let the Family win?"
"Jack," she murmurs, barely audible now, vulnerable and confused, voice almost pleading as she searches his face. Once more she stretches out a hand, tentative and stiff, waiting for the slap of ice against her fingers.
"So that makes it okay?" Jack barks, the emotion in his voice undoubtedly a surprise to the both of them. "Are you that fuckin' privileged, Flora? You know that not everyone has the advantage of a flock of fuckin' demigods at their heels, right? That dyin' still hurts, still leaves its mark, even if you can magically spring back to life less than a day later? Who the fuck are you to play god with my life and how many times I get to have it back because of the decisions you make?"
Waving off Hadama - because yes, whatever, the Tidebreaker is and always will be just that, a stoic wall for events to crash against - the captain raises his eyebrows, his own confusion evident in his expression, but more so because Flora still can't see the consequences of shutting him out of her plan. For him - a man like him, a control freak like him - to be left floundering in the wake of her actions, actions that involved both of their lives and their safety.
"I am disappointed that you kept me in the dark. Me. Anyone else I get - leavin' any evidence is dangerous, but I don't leave evidence. I'm disappointed that you decided you knew better, and that I got no say in what happens next." And as she reaches out, there isn't any ice to sting at her fingertips. Jack merely shoves his hands deep into his pockets.
"You can't fix this by gettin' angry at me, or feelin' hurt that I'm not kissin' your feet in thanks. You can't fix it with threats or bribes or blackmail. Tell the world what I can do for all I care any more, if it means you can't keep danglin' it over my head. Ain't like I'll be doin' much business for the foreseeable future." He shrugs. "I need space, and time - probably a lot of it - and to be on the water as much as I can before that's gone too."
no more than I was or than I want to be when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora recoils visibly as Jack’s anger washes over her, the harsh edge of his words carving deeper with each breath, deeper than any dagger ever could. The pain is etched across her face, her thoughts scattering like petals tossed carelessly onto storm-churned waves. The chaos is loud in her mind—an ocean heaving, pulling at roots she’d thought were anchored deeply enough to withstand even his harshest storms.
But she gathers herself, holding onto the last ragged pieces of her composure, forcing herself to look at him directly. "And what, your plan to stand against the Family without the backing of Ronin didn't come with the possibility of death?" Her voice trembles. "Yes, Jack, dying hurts—I know exactly how much it hurts—but it's still better than living under the Family’s heel. You were the one who said it was better than being a puppet in their fucked-up game."
Her hands tighten into fists, then relax helplessly, fingers reaching out as though she wants to pull him back even now, despite the accusations, despite the chasm between them. "I didn’t tell you because I was trying to keep you safe." Her voice softens, cracks beneath the strain of honesty, and though she's sure he'll scoff at that given everything he's said so far, gods, she really did think she was doing it the best way.
Flora's gaze searches his face desperately, her voice hitching with quiet panic when he speaks of needing space and time. Her thoughts scatter again, grasping at fragile blooms ripped loose by the tide, drifting far out of her reach. Something in her finally crumples then, shoulders sagging, head dropping briefly as she draws in a shaking breath. When she looks back up, her eyes are bright with unshed tears, her voice reduced to a raw whisper. "I don't want you to go."
