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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!
I wouldn't paint me as a heartbreaker But I've said a few goodbyes I'd make a promise but I know later I'm bound to change my mind
Beans plods along beside her, his reins draped loosely against the saddlehorn. Something about walking along next to him felt a bit better, for this stretch anyway, at least while there's still light in the sky and no hurry to get back to an empty house. She stretches against the wear of the day, rolling her shoulder twice to ease the ache from all the back-and-forth town runs and the long day spent helping the Dragoons move. The flurry of activity around here lately has been a nice distraction from her own head, but her steps slow a bit when the old wishing well comes into view. She's never tried the trick it supposedly has, but it seems harmless enough, and she could use some good dreams for once.
She stops, attention drifting from the well to the last sip in her beer bottle. She swirls it, squinting at the dregs, contemplating whether to savor it or just finish it off. Beans stills beside her without hesitation, and she pats his neck affectionately. "C'mon, you deserve some," she murmurs, tipping the bottle toward him. He lifts his head, curious—and maybe a little familiar. She pours the last of it down, and he licks it up noisily.
"Alright, now got any shiny pebbles bud?" she asks softly as she slides the empty bottle into her pack on the saddle, glancing around the ground for something that would glint adequately.
Depending on the weather, I'm goin' And hell, baby, nobody knows when Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again If it weren't for the wind
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
A rustle—not loud enough to startle, but enough to be not nothing—slips through the trees near the edge of the grove. A breath later, a soft voice carries on the dusk air:
"You’re not alone, but don’t panic—" The voice comes from nowhere at first, then flickers into existence: a flash of golden bangles and a faint shimmer as Flora turns the ring on her finger, just long enough to offer a quick wave. Her outline is slight, perched atop one of the crumbling stone benches beside the well, one leg drawn up to rest beneath her and her curls catching the light like pale coral reef.
Then she’s gone again, the invisibility slipping back into place like a tide retreating over glass.
"Trying to keep a low profile," she adds lightly. There’s something gentler in her tone than usual. Less Queen of Chaos, more tired girl in hiding.
There’s a pause as she watches Beans lick the inside of the beer bottle like it’s nectar from the gods. "Didn’t know horses liked beer," she murmurs, amusement threading through her words.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
I wouldn't paint me as a heartbreaker But I've said a few goodbyes I'd make a promise but I know later I'm bound to change my mind
Both of them go rigid at the noise, and though the voice that comes soon after ought to be some reassurance that it's not something worse, people are no less monstrous than beasts—often worse. The abrupt appearance of a woman makes both Colt and Beans startle in place, the horse actually seeming calmer than her.
She reins herself in after the jolt, settling some at the flicker of familiarity and that easy, non-threatening wave. "Flora?" she tests the name out with some uncertainty, especially as she vanishes again. They'd met, briefly. If she'd been a horse, her name would be like a steel trap in Colt's memory, but people—they usually had to leave an impression. Flora had, at least in the broadcasts from the Family, so it's little wonder to Colt on the why she's laying low. She'd been at the pool party too, and while the blond queen hadn't captured much of her attention, she knew Flora had started the whole mess.
"That's handy," Colt mutters with a touch of envy, imagining any number of scenarios she'd appreciate being able to vanish from, or mischief she could manage, some light haunting of Sunjata perhaps since he's not so easy to catch a toe in a lasso like she'd promised him she'd do (and like he'd promised her she couldn't).
She glances back at Beans, who's tongue has remained out in a 'blep' after his drink and his spook. His head is still up, nostrils wide, ears spinning like mad as he hears Flora but can't see her. "Who doesn't like beer?" she shrugs. "I'd offer you one, but I'm fresh out I'm afraid." A sigh follows, equally sad for herself as her lack of hospitality.
Depending on the weather, I'm goin' And hell, baby, nobody knows when Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again If it weren't for the wind
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
"Yeah, it’s me," Flora confirms, voice warm with the soft sort of smile that doesn’t need a face to carry it.
At the muttered that’s handy, there’s a ghost of a shrug, barely a shift of air from where she still perches—though invisibly—on the mossy bench. "It is," she allows, "especially right now that I'm a bit of a target." Her tone is dry, but there’s no real edge to it. Just weary humour, the kind that comes from too many weeks spent looking over her shoulder. "I'm trying to keep a low profile after what happened," she adds with another shrug that Colt won't be able to see.
A pause, then a quiet chuckle. "Mmmm, good point." Another moment of silence where her body rocks just slightly, kicking one foot out into the air and disturbing the grasses beneath the bench. "Makes me sleepy, though," she admits. "Last time I had one, I dozed off in the sun and woke up with a tan line in the shape of a dagger." There’s a grin in her voice now, playful again, like the water’s gone still long enough for some of the shimmer to return.
She lets a breath slip out, then asks, more curious than anything, "You ever try making a wish in the dreaming well?" Her voice gentles around the word wish, like it’s something delicate that could dissolve if spoken too loud, the same way you couldn't reveal a wish once it had been made.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
I wouldn't paint me as a heartbreaker But I've said a few goodbyes I'd make a promise but I know later I'm bound to change my mind
One of Colt's boots scuffs the ground a bit with a toe, sliding over the dirt and gravel as she listens to the talking wind. "Mm, you strike me as the sort who's rather used to being that though," Colt confesses, glancing up towards where she last saw Flora with a tilted smile to match the bitter humor. It's not funny, not really, but if you don't poke at your bruises how else will you know how much they really hurt. If one needs ice, grab the ice. For the rest, a drink and some concealer does the trick.
The more genuine smile she hears this time strikes a quiet laugh in Colt, a head shake soon following. "Not sure if that says so much about beer or just you. Though, wine isn't usually my choice for similar reasons." A thoughtful pause as Colt's head tilts up a bit, answers always seeming to be in the clouds. "Or maybe just a sign we need more sleep?" A beat, before she shakes her head, rejecting that idea.
One rein slips free from the saddle as Colt tugs on it, letting it slap to the dirt. "Ho," she tells him, one finger raised by his soft nose. He cocks a back leg lazily in response, which seems to satisfy her enough that the 50/50 shot she had of him respecting a ground tie would work today. Making him tired seems to be the trick. She leaves his side and edges closer to the well as Flora's question drifts over, Colt's eyes resuming their prior search along the dirt. "No, was just about to, figured it can't hurt to try." Many things hurt to try, and wishing can definitely be one of them. There's something a little bit extra magical about whispering your wants into some all powerful void and holding your breath to see if anything will change. A hope you know not to get up, but that sails away all the same.
Depending on the weather, I'm goin' And hell, baby, nobody knows when Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again If it weren't for the wind
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
A laugh tumbles from Flora, low and warm, sparked as much by the honesty as the bitter humour. "Yeahhhhhh," she agrees, a quiet lilt of amusement in her voice as she tips her head back against the bench, letting her gaze wander skyward. "Though more in the last few seasons than ever before."
The weight of being something—someone—to everyone had crept up slowly, threaded into her life like sea salt in the air: imperceptible until it left her dry, stinging, and a little raw.
"Mmh. We probably do all need more sleep," she murmurs instead, a lazy, sun-heavy concession to the truth of it. Then, shifting with a sigh, she slips from the bench, her sandals whispering through the grass in an effort to make it easier for Colt to pinpoint where she was, as she steps toward the well. "Don’t stop on my account," she calls gently, making sure her voice carries. "Unless you think I'm bad luck for wish-making."
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
I wouldn't paint me as a heartbreaker But I've said a few goodbyes I'd make a promise but I know later I'm bound to change my mind
Might be an odd thing, speaking to the air like this, Flora as liable to be invisible as imagined. Might have been, at least, were it not for Colt speaking to all manner of creature and inanimate objects each day, just an attempt at comforting herself when the silence of being alone gets a little to heavy to bear. Something grateful for the dogs, something cursed to the corner of the wall that knocks her shoulder when she's in a rush, something to steady the filly she's starting under saddle. So this really just feels like any ordinary day.
"I wasn't, but now I am," she says with a humored edge, a sidelong glance thrown towards the direction of the whispering grass. Something had glimmered at the edge of her vision before she turned, tucked near a shrub, and she reaches for it as she calls out, "you have a history of being bad luck?" It's as her fingers grab the shiny pebble that the shrubbery near it rustles too strong for breeze. Colt's gaze snaps back to it just in time to recoil from a vantablack viper, it's strike hitting the ground where she'd been. "Shit!" Colt bites out, stepping back as the void-infected serpent slithers forth with intent.
"Got a knife on you?" she calls to Flora as her gaze flashes at the movement of the viper, baiting it for another strike before striking out with a boot to the back of its head, holding it down, body twisting up against the leather of her shoe with hate.
Depending on the weather, I'm goin' And hell, baby, nobody knows when Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again If it weren't for the wind
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
The laugh is already spilling from her, dry and sunlit and just starting to say, “Well I have had a certain kind of bad luck—” when the rustle becomes a lunge.
Flora sucks in a breath through her teeth, sharp as the serpent’s strike. The air shifts as Colt calls for a knife, but the queen’s already moving—silent and invisible but all precision and purpose. The dagger slides free from wherever she’d tucked it, its feathery edge a blur of grace and lethality as she closes the gap.
Colt’s boot pins the viper down, thrashing with venomous rage, and Flora strikes just behind the head with the sort of practiced certainty that leaves no room for second chances. The blade plunges deep. A final twitch coils up through the thing’s body before it goes still. Only then does the dagger shimmer into view—its curved edge slick with the glisten of poison, light catching on the iridescence as if mocking the dark thing it’s just ended. Flora huffs out a breath that’s half annoyance, half relief, and flicks the blood off the blade before it vanishes again with a whisper of air.
“Gonna guess,” she murmurs dryly into the open dark, “a snake from the shadows wasn’t what you wished for.”
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
I wouldn't paint me as a heartbreaker But I've said a few goodbyes I'd make a promise but I know later I'm bound to change my mind
It's one thing to talk to the air, it's another to watch it take a life, however deserved. Colt's looses a breath she's been holding since she first darted away from the shaking brush, but it quickly rattles into a laugh, the kind you can only make after something bad makes you feel that much lighter. "I might not always make smart choices, but I definitely didn't wish for that." Hasn't spent her wish yet, in fact, as the pebble rolls between her fingers.
"Can't say I'm fond of snakes even when they're the regular ol' ones," Colt admits, not exactly afraid, but definitely no room for fondness there for the overgrown worms. She can appreciate they keep the mice down and they have a role and all that shit, but sometimes it's ok to just want something to be other than it is, to hate it, regardless of any good. Mosquitos and wasps are on that list too. "Bet nature Frey would be disappointed," Colt says with a wry smile as she leans over the well and drops her pebble in. She loses sight of it quick enough to the gloom, and though she knows the tale, she still strains for a splash as she starts to crank the wheel to draw the bucket up.
Depending on the weather, I'm goin' And hell, baby, nobody knows when Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again If it weren't for the wind
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
06-26-2025, 09:28 AM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2025, 11:03 AM by Odd.)
flora
A chuckle slips from the empty air, trailing after Colt’s laughter like seafoam curling beneath a stronger current. "Well, good to know that wasn’t your wish," Flora says, her voice light despite the blood still warm on her invisible blade. "But honestly? Nature Frey always gave me more survival-of-the-fittest vibes than harmony-and-honeybee energy. That snake could’ve stayed curled up in its hole, but noooo, it had to yeet itself out of the dark like it wanted a dramatic entrance." The queen huffs under her breath, offering another invisible shrug. "They really are just a go with the flow kinda deity though, y'know what I mean? If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't even have been born." Colt could take that how she liked it. "Of all of them, they're definitely the least likely to get rattled, anyway."
There’s the soft hiss of steel sliding against cloth as Flora wipes the blade clean, her tone still airy even as she works with quiet, practiced efficiency. "Anyway, probably best I don’t stick around long enough to curse your horse too. I’ve had more than enough uninvited guests for one evening."
She doesn’t say goodbye aloud. Instead, a wave—pointless, invisible—flutters through the air between them before she turns and slips away into the shadows. Her footsteps are soft, vanishing before they ever quite begin, leaving only the faint scent of salt and violets lingering behind as the Dreaming Well swallows Colt’s wish whole.
~FIN
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22? Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
