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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!
That was a good look, but Thal didn't much like the tone he used. His hand dropped - or rather, recoiled - from her arm, drawing a laugh from her lips - a true laugh. She shook her head, pushing away the hood like it was the source of her girlish act. There was something darker about her, in the coiled movements of her body and the smirk she wore. It warned of the path he was already treading.
Humming a deeper, threatening tone, she said, "I think someone else tried to call me that, but I don't much like the label. I don't feel 'infected.'" If anything, she felt better, stronger. Shrugging her shoulders, she tilted her head, no longer endearing in the way she pinned him with her gaze. "They're just not as bad as everyone makes them out to be. You'll see." Not a question, a promise.
She stepped a little closer, her footfalls measured and assessing. "Now, are you going to come willingly?" A sharp grin spread across her face, her fangs slowly reappearing as the glamour fell away. Her horns looked extra devilish, the obsidian glinting red in the light while her tail flicked like a hunting cat behind her, slow and predatory. "Or do I get to have some fun?"
So maybe, in retrospect, calling someone infected to their face wasn't the best idea, but we all know by now that, at times, Liam was not the brightest crayon in the box.
The soldier watched warily, his guard now thoroughly up, as the girlish facade dropped and the woman's movements became more threatening. When she stepped closer, he stepped back, his hand going to the place where his sword should have been - and realizing too late that he'd left it at home. Still, he wasn't going to submit to whatever the woman had planned without a fight -
Her glamour fell, revealing fangs, and horns, and a flicking tail - and Liam blinked, faltering at the sudden shift in appearance. Suddenly, and with a vengeance, the innocent girl he'd been determined to shelter and protect was gone, replaced by a bloodthirsty huntress who, if she was anything like Maea, could probably rip his throat out if she had the inclination to do so.
But he'd rather die than submit, so his lips pressed into a thin line as he prepared for a fight. "Do your worst."
She watched gleefully as he moved to grab his nonexistent weapon. It was almost too easy, especially as he seemed to think fighting her was still the answer. That suited her just fine.
Thal liked to play.
Every step Liam took back, she moved forward, relaxed and easy as she smiled at him. His invitation only elicited a laugh like the knell of a bell tower, mourning what was to come. "Oh no. I won't do that." She cocked her head, feline and dangerous as the fangs that glinted from her lips. "You should be alive when you meet them." And her 'worst' would certainly leave him very much not alive. She didn't think that would make Dahlia very happy. And wasn't that the whole point of this?
Without warning, she darted behind him, blinking in and out of existence before his eyes with only a whisper of shadow to hint at where she'd been. Her foot came down on the back of his leg, determined to knock him to his knees as she moved to wrap her arms around his neck.
He was an idiot, on so many levels. One, for not having his weapon on him at all times. Two, for being lured in like a moth to a flame by a pretty song and an innocent demeanor. Three, for thinking that he had any ability to fight back against someone who so clearly outmatched him.
One minute, the Ancient was in front of him, grinning devilishly. The next, she was behind him. Before Liam could turn to face her, she'd kicked at the back of his knee; unprepared, he stumbled to one knee. She was on him in a blink, her arms wrapping around his neck. Gods, but she was fast - and, as he quickly realized, strong. Stronger than she looked, by far.
Stronger than him, for certain.
Liam reached up, grasping the woman's arm where it encircled his throat, leaning forward - and cutting off his air supply - in an attempt to get enough space between them that he could slam the back of his head into her nose. Maybe if he could surprise her, she'd let go, and he could flee.
Her arms came around in a head lock, tight and practiced after years of wrestling her sailors. She could feel his pulse racing against her arm, hear his short gasps coming through the constriction of his airway, feel his arms reaching for purchase, hoping desperately to make room. As his hands fumbled at her, she heated the outside angle of her arms, just enough to make it painful for him to touch while she slowed his blood flow enough to sedate him.
There was no mercy in the way she held him, no room for error.
When his head attempted to strike, Thal barely had to move, a thick tendril of laughter coiling around him. Her mouth came down to hover over his ear like a lover in a smokey room, gentle in its dark temptation. "Come now. Just relax. Everything will be better when you wake up." And she held him tight in her embrace, a huntress with her prey - a woman with her lover, waiting patiently for the darkness to claim him.
He fought. That was about all he could say. It wasn't particularly good fighting, and later - if there was a later - he would look back on all of his mistakes and wince. But for now, there was only her arm around his throat, the restriction of air to his rapidly panicking brain, and the heat of her outer arm when he scrambled for purchase. Ignoring the pain, he tried to grab her arm anyway, searing his palms until he jerked them away, blisters already rising even as his vision dimmed.
He couldn't breathe. And without air, he was going to pass out. And when he passed out, the woman was going to be able to do whatever she wanted - kill him, or take him to Stormbreak, or gods only knew what else - and he'd be able to do absolutely nothing to stop her.
His last thought, before he succumbed, was of Maea.
