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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.
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06-07-2025, 10:27 PM (This post was last modified: 06-07-2025, 10:32 PM by Elizabeth.)
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Her eyes shimmer with the intensity of her interest, curious to hear his answer as she drifts through the water. The depth of his consideration flatters her, the answer ringing true in most sense. Iskra may seem like a muscly meat head when he flexes his arms to prop them against the side of the spring, but Elizabeth can appreciate that he puts a lot more thought into things than people might originally suspect.
Humming, she hovers just out of reach, the distance testing the waters the stir around her. "Hmm. I'd say that's pretty accurate - especially the part about 'balance' - although I might add confidence and intelligence among the attractive qualities." She smiles, bright and flushed in the heat that caresses her cheeks. "And what about you? What's your favorite animal?" Glancing at the dog still gnawing at his stick, she adds with a light tease, "Other than Goose, of course." Because she's already aware of that particular connection.
"Yeah, that intelligence is why I prefer unicorn mules for the logging carts. Stronger, but smart enough to work themselves in and out of the brush without getting caught." Regular horses tended to panic at times, and normal mules, while still passable, weren't as capable. That said, there's a certain quality that's nice to having a stupid animal. Less opinions to argue against in a language neither spoke.
At her query, and ban, he gives a mock-offended scoff, tilting his head toward Goose who’s still whittling the stick down between his teeth like it's an elk leg he's found and treasures. “So dogs are off the table completely?” His tone is playful, but the fondness in his gaze as he watches the dog is unmistakable.
He stretches his arms again, folding them behind his head as he considers her question more seriously than he means to. “I dunno if I’ve got one. Never really thought about it. Not unless I’m allowed to say ‘drunken beaver’ after seeing some of the logging site disasters.” He smirks faintly, then shrugs, water rippling at the movement. “I like bears, I guess. Big, strong, not a lot gets in their way.” Everything he feels like he's not.
“Or birds. They remind me of my mom. They feel...free. Like nothing ever pins them down.” That doesn’t sit quite right, and he shakes his head, water dripping from his hair. “Nah, actually...squirrels.” He glances back over at her with a smile. “They get into everything, always got something to say, make me laugh on the daily. I see them all the time out in the woods.” They're bold despite their size, and he envies them a bit. He tilts his head, squinting at her through the rising steam. “So, what’s that say about me doc?”
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Surprised, she pauses in her slowly shifting movements. "You use unicorns for your carts?" There's a childish wonder in her eyes that implies she would very much like to accompany him some time just to see the regal creatures. If she could always be in their presence, she would, calming and secure.
Elizabeth glances to Goose again, equally as playful when she says, "Not necessarily, but I already know you'd be obligated to say dogs. Otherwise, you might get smothered in your sleep." After all, cats aren't the only ones who find their owner's face to be a comfortable bed to sleep on, and she gets the sense that Goose knows enough to make it intentional should Iskra offend him.
Ignoring the subtle flex (literally), she listens to his variety of creatures, large and small, predator and prey, all so unrelated and random that she can't help but laugh. "Might as well be a hybrid with all those choices." Although the words are teasing, she doesn't pick at him for long, sinking a little lower in the water so that the tips of her hair float around her shoulders. "You know, with the exception of bears, the animals you listed are pretty social - and most of them involve more than a little chaos." Her smirk is brief but suggestive.
"However, the most interesting thing about all the ones you mentioned is that in some capacity, they collect various items: wood, food, twigs, acorns." Elizabeth dives fully into the analytical aspect of it, tucking that stubborn strand of hair while she figures out the meaning of his various picks. "I'd guess that you have a habit of collecting things - although I'd venture to say it's more likely to be facts than physical objects." Considering how interested he'd been in learning, and how much he seems to remember little details. Tilting her head, she adds, "Along with a strong inclination for action and change that can sometimes be mistaken as spastic energy - like squirrels." The smile on her lips is mischievous and a tad smug with her own assessment, willing him to contradict her.
He laughs in response to her explanation, "Luckily I don't think Goose understands much that we say, at least it doesn't seem that way when I'm asking him to wait, not not eat my food." Maybe he just employs selective listening.
"Hmmm," he muses, hands making eddies in the water as they drift through it while he sways and sinks in thought. "I suppose most of them are social," it's a quiet realization, that suggests he's wondering what he's done to himself all these years hiding out. Tried to become a bear perhaps, when he's actually a squirrel raised by a bird.
He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with interest as she details out the rest of her decree on his symbolism. The more she speaks, the broader his lips stretch, something like a quiet laugh beginning to form. Not at her, just the effect of happiness budding in his chest, something she seems especially capable at growing in him. There's something roguish too though, a subtle rebuttal, a boyish nuh uh, you.
"Have you fallen into the very trap I expected you to dispute?" he asks cryptically, splashing idly towards her like a threat that she ought to do better than that or risk an honest wetting. "You say something so broad and sweeping it can't help but fit, right? I'd say most every creature collects things, especially if we're going to include knowledge. How else do you survive?" He shakes his head, much like a dog, droplets flinging from the soaked ends. "It's what I expected you to to bring up when I first talked about symbolism studies. It's too interpretive, don't you think? Too much theory, not enough science. Though it is nice to think I'm as chaotic as a squirrel."
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
His splash is met with open-mouthed surprise, a small gasp of playful indignation at his words. "Really? So you get away with a single descriptor from my favorite animal being unicorns, but when I give you multiple from your list of animals, you think I'm taking the predictable line of thought? Wow. What is science except the interpretation of the world and what we perceive?" Even the 'facts' of the world can be proven wrong with a new discovery, leaving them to base their beliefs on current knowledge and understanding, no matter how close to 'theory' it may fall.
Laughing, she splashes him back. "Okay, Mr. Complicated, your choices mean that you haven't figured out who you are yet. Despite that - no matter who you are - there will always be that desire to be social, because you like learning things about people, collecting little facts and tidbits about who they are and what they like. Maybe it's because you're looking for answers in others, and because you haven't settled yet, that uncertainty can feel chaotic." There's a gleam in her eyes, nothing accusing or hinting that he should be ashamed, just a teasing smugness as she asks, "Is that 'specific' enough for you?" She's subconsciously moved closer during her psychoanalysis of Iskra, now only a few breaths away, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the steam curling around them.
He laughs freely at the sudden tirade of words, light enough not to worry, but still a strike aimed to land. "Yes," is all he says back in gleeful response, grin shaped wicked with the promise of her playful ire rising further. As for what science is? He'll have to take her word, he hasn't the faintest. He does know learning new things is prone to changing old thoughts, and sometimes what you thought you understood, well you realize more and more you don't understand shit.
He ducks his head to the side at her return fire, peering back as the water settles, a steady trail dripping from his nose, lashes, and hair. This array of words hits a bit deeper, and features drawing into something still happy, but thoughtful now too as he considers. Haven't figured out who you are yet—yeah, that one rings true in a way he doesn't want to admit. As does most the rest of it. Consider him humbled.
His hands are still waving underwater, and each of them has pushed in closer with the conversation, bobbing in the heated pool like oversized fishing gear. So he doesn't realize as he lifts one of his hands to fire something back with extra emphasis, just how close they are. The back of it grazes her left tit from bottom to top, the tiniest of flap jacks. Enough to register and horrify him.
His mouth, already open to argue, just stays there as a blush creeps in sudden and violent. "S-sorry!"
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
She can see that he takes these new words more seriously than the last, a thoughtfulness softening the sharp laugh lines. Her brown eyes scan his approaching features to ensure he doesn't find offense in her analysis, especially since there's nothing wrong with still figuring out who he is. That's the point of life after all. Even those who claim to know who they are discover new things about themselves over time.
Interested to see how he might respond, Elizabeth leans forward slightly as his mouth opens - only to have her attention ripped away by the slap of a hand against her chest. It's too solid to go unnoticed and the brush against the thin fabric over her nipple couldn't have been ignored if she tried. A jolt shoots up her spine, equal parts shock and unexpected pleasure as she lets out a sharp gasp. It'd been so long that her body flares like a stove with the gas left on, sharp and sudden enough to overwhelm every thought in the vicinity with an explosion of sensation.
Only the abundance of logic in her system and the very loud fact that she knows Iskra wouldn't mean it in such a way has her crossing her arms and moving a fraction of a millimeter away, but the vibrant maroon spreading across her cheeks and blood pumping in her ears are unmistakable facts of her volatile reaction. His own embarrassment makes it easier to begin damage mitigation, although the slick water caressing every curve isn't helping. Still, she gathers enough wit to take a deep breath squeezing herself one more time before releasing the hold on her chest in an attempt to also release the tension taking hold in every muscle.
Elizabeth bites at her lip unintentionally, doing her best to contain the natural desire nipping at her thoughts. Glancing up at Iskra with her wide, brown eyes, she moves threateningly closer, resigned in what she has to do. Her voice is soft and almost apologetic as she says, "I'm not angry, but for the sake of principle..." She socks him in the upper arm, hard enough to be a warning but lacking the ire to be truly painful - not that her meager strength would allow such a thing anyways. More than anything, there's a resulting splash that follows her movement and a resolutely playful smile through the tingling that still reverberates down her nerves.
He thinks he might die on the spot with the way she sucks in a breath like he's just kicked her new little puppy. He doesn't recognize the pert rise of it straining for more attention through her bikini top, doesn't attribute the streak of red across her features as anything other than the same embarrassment echoing through him like a fever he might not recover from. That she covers herself, as if her top has fallen instead of been brushed, is the icing on top for him. He tugs on the back of his neck nervously, glancing away in shame.
He expects she'd yell and fling accusations. He figures she'd depart, doing her best to stalk out of a hot tub (not the most graceful scene), or perhaps demand he be the one to leave (and he would) so she could enjoy her warm waters without the risk of harassment, accidental or not. So he's surprised when instead she gathers herself, the way even a rabbit will stand down with a hawk, and comes in closer. He glances back at her, wary as she begins to speak because he's got entirely no idea what she's about to do next. Tap his balls, maybe? Subconsciously one hand moves to shield them beneath the water.
Instead she swings and connects with his arm, hitting harder than he expects her to be able to, or maybe half of it's the shock, but he reels a bit in the water as splashes strike up like cannon fire and he leans against the edge like a shipwrecked crewmember. "Ow!" he cries out, more stunned than actually in pain. His ball shield abandons its post to rub at the impending bruise forming on his arm. "I mean, I deserve it," he admits with a shake of his head. "But dang, you can pack a punch Elizabeth." He'll be sure to stay on her good side moving forward.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Iskra can rest assured knowing that none of Elizabeth's thoughts regarding his privates had anything to do with pain. It also helps that she can't see through the water that far, and that she's not enough of a sadist to do such a thing anyways.
She rolls her eyes playful at his complaint, knowing that she hadn't hit him hard enough to feel like anything but a bro-tap from a friend. "You should be grateful. If we weren't in a giant pool of water, a shock of lightning probably would have been a more fitting punishment." More like a spark or a gentle zap - not that she would have done that either. Elizabeth knows that the only reason she'd 'punished' him about the unintentional offense was to negate any possible awkwardness for either of them.
Even now, she can feel it working, the blush of her cheeks beginning to dissipate as she smiles, a mischievous speck of amber in her eyes. "And if you wanted to get away from my deep analysis of your inner psyche, you didn't have to result to such underhanded tactics. Words would have worked just fine."
Theatrics are important for softening any pain, physical or otherwise. Laughter and cussing too, but he'll stick with just the chuckle that lingers after her warning, hands held up from the water in surrender. "Well, let it be known that you are merciful," he says with a broad grin, one hand sweeping wide as if the truth of it is grand and far reaching. Given that the world could use a bit more kindness and mercy, maybe it actually is.
"I promise it was an accident!" he groans, pulling a hand down his face with a laugh. "I can take your analysis, and I will say that last one was rather spot on and specific, so bravo." Some of the humor dies down, leaving just an honest stare that lingers on her, an appreciation softening his gaze. Something that's quietly thankfully for her friendship, her words, the way she makes it easy to talk. It's her job, he supposes, but all the same.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Dipping her head like a princess being coronated in the kingdom of Mercy, Elizabeth gives him a playfully regal smile and a noble tilt of her nose. "Just don't take that as an invitation." In truth, she wouldn't mind if he did such things without asking, but she has to set boundaries if she's going to respect his intentions to pursue the woman he'd mentioned, and if only to give him a little hint for when he does decide to make a move, Elizabeth adds, "Consent can be very attractive." Her grin turns more mischievous, a teasing wink fluttering her dark lashes.
She swims to his side, perching on the edge of the rocks with her arm as she listens to him with a suspiciously raised eyebrow like she doesn't quite believe that it was an accident. Still, she lets him escape the topic, settling her head on her hand as she clasps them together, a light quirk to her lips as a soft hum filters through. "Hmm. So you admit you're still figuring out who you are?" Her voice is gentle and open, giving him a low-stress opportunity to talk about it if he wanted.
He settles into a wide grin as she dips her head like royalty, her dramatics enough to soothe the last of his fluster. That she plays along and leans into the joke loosens his shoulders with quiet relief. As for the consent, he huffs a faint laugh, shaking his head, "noted." He'll be sure to ask next time if someone wants an accidental nip touch.
The wink, though? That stalls him out a bit. He blinks, unsure what to do with that—A joke? A secret message, implying consent is in fact... not attractive? Something else entirely? He isn’t sure, but he offers back a half-smile and a glance over towards Goose, who has fallen asleep on top of his stick.
When she swims over and settles in beside him, he offers a nervous little laugh at her question. “Isn’t everyone still figuring that out?” he hedges, eyes finding her's, still light with the ease of being with her, but there's an edge of worry now. If she says no, it just might hit deeper than he'd like, another notch of his failure to keep track of.
He exhales slowly, the heat of the water and the soft intensity of her gaze both working to loosen something in his chest, to give her an actual answer. “I think…” He frowns a little with the effort of honesty. “I think I spent a long time digging this pit. Grief, guilt, fear... and I kept digging, thinking I’d hit some bottom where I could put it all.”
He shrugs, eyes scanning the rising steam. “But there’s no bottom." A pause, then he adds a bit quieter, head tilting against the edge. "Might still be digging if an old friend and some new ones didn't yell down the pit and finally make me look up again. So now I'm trying to climb out, but it's a long way to go still, and I think who I am is at the top.” At least he hopes so, hopes that the happiness he once knew is still up there, waiting.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Her voice is softer now, the teasing left behind as something genuine falls between them. "If they say they aren't then they're lying." No one is ever happy with who they are, and everyone is always working to take that next step, to become better in one way or another.
Elizabeth glances at Goose cuddling with his stick then out at the glittering expanse of water that begins to settle from the rippling of their movements, a low hum easing through her throat. "Hmm. I wonder if a 'pit' is the right analogy..." she tilts her head with a gentle smile when she turns to look at him again, willing him not to take her words as harsh or belittling of his view, "because I don't think who you are is at the top."
There's still warmth in her eyes, but a deep wisdom and analytical nature darkens the brown, an understanding there that most might find surprising in her young age. "Putting who you want to be at the 'top' implies that there is an end, but there will always be a new goal, a new you to strive for." And in his analogy: a new pit to climb out of. It wouldn't be healthy to think of his past actions as 'mistakes' or 'opposite progress' in the way that digging down might be perceived. His choices weren't things that needed to be fixed or left below with the rest of the darkness. It's just a moment in his journey.
Tapping a finger against the knuckle of her clasped hand, she does her best to readjust his perception of it. "I guess you could think of it more as a maze or a series of tunneled paths through your soul." Elizabeth lets a whisper of a smile grace her lips, something akin to a soothing breeze on a summer day, reassuring that the pain of heat won't last. "In your grief, you might have been trying to dig a new path that doesn't lead anywhere, shoveling away in the dark and hoping to strike gold - or better yet, purpose." Her hands move to prop her head on her fist. "But when you finally choose to step away from the guilt and grief, to move forward on what trails lie ahead, you have a chance to find new paths, new yous and grow as a person."
Her smile is a little more somber, not wanting him to think it's easy to travel through life or traverse the path of self-discovery. "The path might not always be flat, maybe it slopes up and you grow tired, or maybe your lantern dies and you're reminded of those days spent chipping away at an empty wall, but you don't have to let that darkness consume you. You can sit in it, acknowledge it, perhaps even wallow in the memories for a time, but then you find the light again, and you keep moving forward towards who you want to be." She lets her voice fade, the soft lapping of water replacing what she hopes were helpful words as she watches his expression for signs of understanding.
Her reassurance that everyone is finding themselves, not just him, removes a curl of tension from his gut. He'd thought as much, but hearing her say it did more than his thoughts ever could. He listens as she goes on, quiet in a way that lets the weight of her words settle, tracing them into thought and understanding. “A maze instead of a pit…” he echoes, liking that better. A maze had options and directions, and it didn't remind him so much of shoveling out this hot spring.
A faint groan escapes him, half-joking, half-exhausted just imagining it, as she explains there's really no release from the maze, other than death he supposes. “No top, no end, just... emotional cardio forever? That kinda sounds awful.” He’s still smiling when he says it, and there’s something gentler to his tone now, like the pressure has shifted from something crushing to something—maybe—not so hopeless. Not an admittance of all his lost time and poor choices, just the reality that they are part of the journey, however twisted it might be.
“That's the hard part, huh? Learning how to sit in the dark. Learning how to gather the light again.” Not running from either, not if you could help it. His hand plays with the surface of the water a bit, distracting himself with the heat and the feeling of the surface breaking under touch, something that's easier to handle than all the shades and routes of existence. "You figured that part out yet?" he asks he, glancing back up to her face, studying for a moment, as if he might see some of her maze corners.
