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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!
The sun hasn’t even cleared the horizon, but the sky is already streaked with rose-gold and soft lavender, the air thick with salt and the hush of early waves rolling in. Sand clings cool and damp beneath their feet, just firm enough to run on without stealing all their speed, and the only sound besides the tide is the rhythm of their footfalls.
Flora runs like she lives—chic, energetic, and a little more competitive than is necessary. She’s barefoot, curls tied high in a messy braid that swings with every stride, and her leggings are rolled to the knee, already damp from the surf that kisses their path every few beats. She doesn’t lag behind Ronin, not even a little; she’s not about to be shown up on her own beach, demigod or not.
"Okay, so." Her voice cuts into the wind between them, not breathless but certainly warmed up. "I’ve been working on the daggers again. Recall’s easy when it’s just—" She mimics a flicking motion with her fingers, the gesture familiar and fluid, "—but I want more precision. I want to hit something on the way back."
She glances sideways at him and flashes a quick, conspiratorial grin. "Think you can help me out with your duplicate? Just enough for me to try and land a few hits mid-recall?" A wave crashes higher up the shore, and Flora leaps instinctively over the froth, not missing a step.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
Ronin bumps into - and joins - Flora on her runs on more occasions to be mere coincidence, but he's wisely chosen not to question it lest she realise he's started to look forward to their 'impromptu' meet-ups. Having declined to roll up the legs of his sweatpants so he can run with the resistance and try not to let it break his stride or affect his agility, the Knight seems younger like this; almost carefree in the pre-dawn light.
"I get the feeling that these next few minutes are gonna involve me dodging out of the way of something sharp," he says with a sideways glance towards her, amusement writ across his face. Rather than jumping over the crash of surf as Flora does, Ronin amps up his pace to dart around it before dropping back in time with her.
Inclining his head in a nod before glancing pointedly ahead of them, it's with a brief gathering of willpower that a second Ronin appears a few paces in front, splashing through the surf and perhaps not focusing quite so much on running in a straight line. That wouldn't be any fun, would it?
"Oh definitely," Flora chirps, delighted by his lack of protest. "But hey, you’ve survived worse. Like parenting me, for example." Her grin is all teeth, her tone light as they race the tide.
She doesn't miss the way his projection appears, already splashing through the surf like some overachieving training dummy with good hair. With a flick of her fingers, a feather dagger slips into her palm, the metal warm from its perch against her thigh. Flora's throw is clean and fast, slicing through the air with a familiar hum. It whistles past the projection’s shoulder by a hair, and Flora snaps back her wrist to recall it. The blade reverses course in a blink, tugged back toward her waiting hand.
Except this time, instead of letting it fly clean and keeping her hand still, she angles her fingers low with a twist of intent. The dagger arcs as it returns, veering to the side, but still missing the projection.
"Damn it," she breathes, already reaching for a second feather.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
"Now, come on. I can't take full credit for the trauma of parenting you," Ronin says, and had they not been so focused on running (and now throwing and dodging) he might have even turned to blow her a kiss. Jogging out a few paces to the side so Flora has a little more room to manoeuvre getting her daggers back into her hands, he keeps his focus on the run and on his projection, trying to keep its movements organic.
It flinches as her feather flies past, missing it by a hair, and is already preparing a dodge as it sails back the other way. Not a hit, but that's hardly a slight on Flora's skills. He knows damn well if she'd just been trying to stab him straight on, the projection would already be full of holes. "It's fine," he pants, his tone encouraging. "This is why we're practicing. Try again."
Flora huffs a laugh, not quite winded, but breathless in a way that feels more like momentum than fatigue. "Ugh, fine, I’ll save some credit for Remi, and Mom."
The projection flinching makes her grin. "Okay, that was almost satisfying," she chuckles. This time she waits for it—watches the illusion flicker forward, the rhythm of its steps just enough out of sync to make it slippery. Another throw, a sharper one this time, angled low before she twists her wrist with more intention. The dagger hits the sand, rebounds hard, and she recalls it mid-turn, sending it spiralling in an arcing slice for the projection’s side.
"I wanna be able to carve my name in him on the return flight," Flora offers, just in case Ronin was wondering what level of accuracy and precision the Doubletake was aiming for.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
"Thank you. I'm sure they'll appreciate that," Ronin grins, before turning his focus back to the projection. He might have kept an eye on Flora as well, but given that someone actually running from the Doubletake wouldn't see her throw coming, he's aiming to make his reactions as organic as possible. (Hence the random weaving and dodging). Again her dagger flies out and misses, thocking into the sand and rebounding, only to lance back with dangerous speed.
Ronin's projection really has to twist to get out of the way of it this time, such is the elegant curve of her blade, but it does manage it - just about. The concentration on the Knight's face is telling enough, though, and the smile he flashes at her is tinged with pride. "Initials or a full signature?" he pants, before nodding ahead and letting his projection turn as if to run up the beach and onto the softer sand.
"It'll make it more difficult for everyone. Why keep things easy, if you're aiming for perfection?"
Flora lets out a bark of laughter, sun-slick and sharp-edged as her braid whips behind her with the motion. "Full signature, obviously," she calls back, cocky and golden in the rising light. "With flourishes. Maybe a little heart over the 'i's' if I’m feeling cute." They were lucky Remi and Hotaru hadn't given her a middle name, with how long her signature already was.
Her next blade is already in hand, and as the projection veers up the softer incline, and she adjusts her stride to match. She doesn’t pause to gauge the terrain—just shifts her weight, skirts a patch of driftwood, and launches the dagger with a clean, fluid motion. The catch isn't perfect—she recalls it a fraction too early and it sails wide—but it still hums close enough to part the air by the projection’s ear. "That would've gotten him to duck, at least," she mutters, more to herself than to Ronin.
She casts a look his way, flushed but grinning, exhilarated in a way that’s different from battle or politics or grief. "Again," she demands. "If this is going to be my only form of therapy, I want to leave with results."
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
"Foolish of me to ask, really," Ronin says with a quick flash of teeth and a chuckle, and he follows Flora's lead as she heads up the incline to the softer and more difficult terrain. The sun is at their backs at least, the fingers of light catching on the dagger she unleashes. His projection doesn't really duck so much as strategically stumble as it comes sailing back, and Ronin slows it a fraction, just so they maintain the same distance between them.
"I don't think it needs to be your only form of therapy," he says with a breathless laugh, "but I take your point. One more - you've got this." Perhaps intentionally, the projection is racing across the beach now towards the water fountain they set up together some seasons before. So whether or not Flora gets her hit, at least they'll be able to get a drink once they're done.
"Mm, how generous," Flora drawls, though her focus sharpens the moment she clocks where the projection’s headed. Her smile twitches, just slightly—fond and fleeting at the sight of the fountain—before narrowing into something more precise.
This time she doesn’t throw immediately. She adjusts her pace to match the projection’s arc, keeping it in her peripheral until the moment is right—until the wind shifts just enough to brush the sweat from her temple, until the distance closes by a crucial foot and a half. Then she throws. The dagger flashes in a tight, efficient spin, and this time she calls it back early, banking on the angle and the arc to carry it into the projection’s side. It’s a risk. The kind she shouldn’t take; the kind she always does.
Whether it hits or not, she’ll still jog to catch up, steps slowing as the fountain looms. "Sooooo?" she pants, flushed and breathless. "Did I kill him or just give him a cool scar?"
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
It is a risk, and no one can ever say that Flora's aren't calculated. Not previously, and certainly not now. No one can ever say that Ronin pulls his punches for her either - visibly flinching (the real thing, not the projection) as her dagger spins back earlier than the others, one might almost think that both Ronins attempt to get out of the way of its trajectory. Only one of them is actually in range, however, and it absolutely doesn't make it.
Struck in the side in a deep slice, it staggers from the force of the cut as well as the strike itself, only to tumble (yes, dramatically) to the sand where Ronin promptly dismisses it. "Oh, I think you killed him with that. His pride at the very least," he says through a grin, panting hard and finally slowing his steps to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"Sorry it wasn't your full name, though," he says, gesturing to the sandy imprint where the projection had fallen. "You can always write it for the beach to remember."
Flora slows with him, chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths that only just keep from tipping into a smug pant. Sweat curls at the nape of her neck and glistens at her temples, but her grin is sharper than the dagger that felled his projection. "I told you I had it that time," she declares, striding over to nudge the sandy grave of the projection with her bare foot. "May he rest in pieces."
She leans down and swipes the blade from the sand, flicking it once to clear the grit before tucking it away with a flourish. As for the beach remembering—her gaze sweeps out toward the wide stretch of surf-lapped sand, thoughtful now. "You joke, but I’m actually kinda tempted. Maybe I should spray paint my name inside of the city, instead," she muses, turning to walk backward as they move toward the water fountain. "The full name, maybe even the date and time for dramatic flair. " Her smirk curves as she adds, "Not that I’d want to overdo it or anything."
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
"I never doubted you for a second. That last recall was savage," Ronin says, the tone of his voice indicating that this is very much a compliment and she ought to take it as one. Tilting his head down at the disturbed sand where his projection had fallen, he scoffs out a laugh and shrugs. "I think the city would be better than out here," he agrees as they head for the fountain. "The tide might wash it away otherwise."
Stepping up to the pool beneath the elegant cascades of water, Ronin cups some in his hands to splash over his face and through his hair, sweeping it back out of his face. "You? Overdo it? Flora, that doesn't sound like you at all," he tells her with an exaggerated shake of his head that threatens to spray her with water. "Whatever you decide you know Haulani won't forget you, right? Torchline isn't that fickle."
04-16-2025, 07:42 PM (This post was last modified: 04-16-2025, 07:43 PM by Flora.)
Flora
Flora snorts, sidestepping just in time to dodge the spray of water from Ronin’s theatrics. "Keep flinging water at me and I will start throwing knives again," she warns, though the grin on her face makes it clear she’s mostly bluffing. Mostly.
Bending to splash her own face, she lingers for a moment over the coolness, cupping her hands again and letting the water run down the back of her neck. The ocean breeze catches the drops and sends a chill chasing down her spine, but it’s grounding in a way she needs. "I know it won’t forget me," she says, not looking at him just yet. "But remembering me and waiting for me are two different things."
With a roll of her shoulders and a deeper breath, she shakes off the thought, straightening again. "C’mon. If I let you rest any longer you’re going to cramp up old man. Race me home?"
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'
"I was not flinging, I was cooling you down," Ronin tells her with a haughty smile as he straightens back up, sweeping his wet hair back from his face where it won't fall into his eyes. "Noted, though. I feel as though you've gotten some good practice with those knives today, and I don't want to push my luck." Leaning casually against the side of the fountain to enjoy the rich splash of water and the cool spray it sends against his back and shoulders, he opts not to look at Flora either, instinctively seeming to sense her awkwardness.
"Oh, it'll wait," he says softly, rolling his shoulders and stepping away from the fountain at last. "It knows a good thing when it sees it, and you've been an asset to it for longer than a lot of its leaders. Remi included, but don't tell." He winks. At the suggestion of cramping up and of a race, Ronin raises his eyebrows and gives her a nod of acquiescence. "Alright. I'm pretty fast though, y'know."
With that, the Knight promptly disappears. Except of course he doesn't, but the ol' bait and switch with his projection is a trick he's practiced often indeed, and she'll spy him sprinting off halfway down the beach in the distance.
