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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!
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
It seems that her words are received well, and Elizabeth nods encouragingly as he works his way through the idea. Smiling, she shrugs her shoulders, a ripple of water spreading out from her movement. "Life is exhausting." So what's a little mental cardio if it'll make things easier? Although she doesn't dare diminish the daunting task, letting him dampen the idea with humor and a soft laugh.
Her head shifts in a small nod at Iskra's question, like any sudden movements might break the fragile glass of the moment. "It can be." Many people choose to torture themselves in the dark or never choose to see the signs for what they are: depression. That's why it's her job to not only help them spark a new lantern, but to see why they should - how it can make their life easier.
Not having any grief to pull from herself, Elizabeth refers to her vast references as she explains, "It's different for everyone. Some people can find the match on their own through practice, but everyone needs help sometimes, and turning to friends or family" she smiles at where Goose lays with his stick still wedged under his jaw, "or companions can help guide you to a light source." Her feet move lazily beneath the water, watching Iskra as she says, "You just have to be willing to seek the assistance, to be honest about your feelings and recognize when you're sitting in that darkness." Which can sometimes be the hardest part.
A long sigh answers her back and he tilts further against the ledge, the back of his arms setting upon it. "Ain't that the fucking truth," he admits. He'd perhaps forgotten, figuring all the difficulty to be his own doing, especially since it'd all started when he was still young. Hard to say if life was just easier when he was younger, or if he just remembered it that way. Foolish boy he was hoping to get here as soon as possible and not bothering to soak up all those golden and easy days for what they were.
He watches her while she talks, quietly attentive as the weight of it all sits with them. The confidence in how she says it, the way she breaks it up into something he can reference from—all indicators she's thought about this often, or studied it at least. Maybe lived beside it, even if she hasn’t walked through it the same way. “Yeah,” he says with a quiet agreement as he follows her gaze to Goose. The mutt still has the stick pinned like a trophy, and it makes Iskra’s chest warm in that faint, stupid way dogs, especially Goose, always managed. “Honestly, don’t know if I ever would’ve struck a match without him.” The admission comes out softer than expected, a little raw, but without shame. Put simply, he owes his life to that dog. He probably would have choked on the darkness long ago and been with Mort otherwise.
He looks back to her, a faint frown of thought tugging between his 'brows. “That’s the hardest part though, isn't it? Admitting it. That you’re not alright. That you need help.” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’s easier to pretend you're just... tired. Or busy. Or fine.” Or the town drunk, or the town hermit. He's aware he hadn't been doing the best, but he didn't admit it in a way that was helpful. Maybe, finally, to Sunjata and Melita, at their prodding.
A pause, then, a rough half-smile as he regards her. “At least until someone punches you in a hot spring and starts giving you the emotional equivalent of a map.” There’s just a light tease, gratitude disguised behind the grin.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Goose is obviously an important piece of Iskra's story, and Elizabeth gives him the proper recognition in the weight of her gaze, an understanding and quiet approval of the strong bond between the two. The smile on her face is a blanket of security, a desire to protect such emotions and support. "It's a good thing you found each other then." If they weren't so otherwise entangled in another discussion, she might have asked about their beginning and what events seem to have saved the man before her.
However, Elizabeth allows the conversation to flow, a small hum of agreeance vibrating against her throat and into her propped hand. "That's true. I don't think anyone is ever 'alright,' but recognition is sometimes the hardest part. That takes time and practice." Time spent in self-analysis and self-discovery, time understanding what that looks like and when it becomes more than just a shadow in their path. Her eyes scan him gently, a brush of warm reassurance without needing to touch him. "Even then, sometimes we need an outside perspective to identify when our light has gone out." When the darkness is too comfortable or the denial is too strong.
A smile quirks at the edge of her lips, noticing the humor that arises again to lighten the topic and letting him redirect them to something brighter and less weighted by grief. "Better than lightning and an impossible maze." It's an unspoken acceptance of his thanks, along with a willingness to do it again should he ask (punch included).
One edge of his lips quirks up higher, "I wouldn't put it past you," he confesses, though he hardly means it. She's far too kind, reminding him of all the things he once hoped to be, maybe still could be, though never quite like her. He's committed himself to becoming the warrior that his bloodline calls for, his pacifist days left behind somewhere in the maze—buried at some pit level. Maybe she's no less edged with war, in her own ways, but her battles seem better waged on a couch than a field.
"Y'know," he drawls a bit, head turning her sideways as he tilts it against his hand. "I envy you a bit." It's said gently, raw with a certain honesty that doesn't try to be anything but real. "I always wanted to bring joy to people. To find ways to battle darkness without bloodshed Never once thought to do what you do.” He shrugs slightly, water shifting with him, like this isn't something with weight, because for him it isn't. While many things might drag him down, admitting when he's been blind or wrong, recognizing the strengths in others, those have always been simple. “But I think you manage both things rather well.”
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Elizabeth is starting to get Iskra's humor, so she doesn't take his words personally, a mock offended expression mixing with her grin as she splashes him lightly with her free hand. Her teasing laughter only starts to die down when his words slow and a seriousness that's raw and tender.
Turning so that her chest is against the edge of the pool, she crosses her arms and rests her head so that she's looking at him sideways. Elizabeth doesn't diminish his experience or his desires, letting them float into the water around them like delicate bubbles that she adds her own to. A softness falls across her face, even as the words suggest humor or jokes, there's an honesty to them that suggests there might have once been wounds where the puckered skin now sits. "I didn't really have any other options. My parents say I'm too nosey to do anything else - not even a library would satisfy me. I have to be talking to people, interrogating them so I might find the secrets to the world." Stubborn, abrasive, and invasive. The words don't hurt like the used to, not now that she's taken time to find who she is.
Her legs swing lazily beneath the water, doing her best to make sure he doesn't see her profession in some rosy idealized light. "But it's not as glamorous as you might think. Not all patients are as willing to take advice or seek help. Some people see talking to me as a weakness or something to be embarrassed of." There have been plenty of times where people have turned away from her because they don't want others to think that they've stooped to such a level, or where people have pretended not to know her in public. It took time for those things not to sting, to let the compassion outweigh any selfish desire for recognition - not that she always succeeds in respecting those boundaries.
"And not everyone likes when my therapist side butts into regular conversations..." Her smile is a little more somber, a self-awareness that can occasionally dampen her personality. Because as much as she tries to separate the role from who she is, there's a reason she became a therapist, and she can't always help herself from investigating or offering assistance to those in need.
The moment breathes, silent in the steamy air as she gives the thoughts space before saying, "You know, there are other ways to help people and fight darkness without bloodshed. Healing others, training others, fueling others, inspiring others." She shrugs her shoulders, letting the warmth of her gaze fall to him again. "You just have to find what works for you."
She's softer than he remembers her ever being. She's always had a way of settling in gentle, lacking the sharper edges he's grown accustomed to with most, just the outcome of surviving. This is something else though, something other than just her steady calm, sustained with playful curiosity and shy joy. This is her peering into a pond and trying not let her breath ripple the top, avoiding an invitation to whatever lurks beneath.
"What would you do with them?" he asks quietly, doing his best not to disturb the pond either. He mirrors her, resting along the edge on his arms, glancing sidelong at her as his head tilts into the fold of his hands. "The secrets of the world." He smiles, imagining her a small girl talking off the ear of any who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.
He listens to her without interruption, tracking the changing expressions on her face. She makes it sound like a confession—like she’s afraid of how it might sound in his ears—but all he hears is someone trying to do good with what she’s got. When she finishes, he exhales slowly, the heat of the water rising around them like it would help carry some of this weight too. “I don’t think any job’s glamorous,” he says honestly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If it looks that way, someone’s either faking it or not doing the hard parts.”
“What you’re doing is important." He's certain she knows it, but sometimes hearing it lands a little different. "So it's good you convince people to try, most wouldn't." She is unnaturally kind, he's realized, and that's rare.
He exhales a bit at her suggestions, lips pressing into a thin smile. "No, none of that's for me." He shrugs, the movement barely more than a ripple in the water. “I’ve made peace with carrying what my parents left behind. The weight, the legacy. Their strength, if I can ever find it.”
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
The question might seem broad to most, an idealistic wondering about unrealistic possibilities, but Elizabeth doesn't even hesitate, smiling softly like it should be obvious. "Share them with people." Her eyes shimmer with something akin to amusement, the reflection of sunlight off the mirrored pool they strive not to disturb. "Knowledge should be free to everyone. I wouldn't want to keep it to myself." Information and books and every other form of knowledge is something she's always shared with people - something she wants to share with people. Everyone should have all the tools necessary to live happy and meaningful lives, and what is knowledge if not the most versatile of tools - a veritable key to the world?
Elizabeth knows that people don't share her more radical opinion on information, believing that covert operations and secrets should be excluded - and in some cases she might agree - however, she stands by her beliefs, and not even the 'secrets of the world' would be tempting enough to keep to herself. Still, she spins the question back on him. "And what would you do? With the secrets of the world?"
Iskra's words bring a subtle smile to her face, the mix of humor and praise renewing some of the tired energy that occasionally builds in her chest - never enough to crush or burn, but enough to dampen and drag at the motivation she carries. Elizabeth doesn't need outside validation to give her purpose - having always found the work itself to be fascinating - but knowing that someone else values what she does reminds her that not everyone would label her actions as obnoxious or meddling. It calms the old wounds that sometimes ache. A quiet, barely recognized tension eases from her shoulders, like a constant hum that goes silent or the brightening of a slowly darkening room that hadn't yet begun to bother her.
She relaxes in such a small fraction that the water doesn't shift, only the slightest release from her features any indication of the effect his words have, how they bring about a peace. "Thanks. I certainly try." Even if she doesn't always succeed. After all, she's one person, and Caido can sometimes be larger than people think.
Maybe that's why she doesn't know exactly what 'legacy' Iskra has been left with. She listens attentively, watching his gaze as she pieces together what emotions he may be feeling. There's a grief there that he disguises with the tilt of his smile, perhaps an ounce of regret or disappointment that she doesn't know the source of, and maybe even a fear of failing in this task, one that he describes with a level of gravitas - something legendary and unattainable.
Her gaze is a pile of softened autumn leaves, encouraging him to dive into the cushion of security she provides - the opportunity to be honest with her, and himself as she says, "That sounds heavy, but is it something you want to carry?" Or is it a burden that they've shackled him with? Or a grave they've left him to dig alone? One he'll eventually be forced to die in, unhappy and exhausted by the weight of it all.
06-26-2025, 11:15 PM (This post was last modified: 06-26-2025, 11:16 PM by Iskra.)
He shouldn't be surprised by her answer, it's what she already does—cracks things open to help people understand, help them breathe easier. “I think I’d bury them,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, not bitter or hard. “Not to keep them from people. Just… to keep them safe.” A small shrug ripples the water around him, like suggesting keeping the world's truths hidden is no major weight—and maybe it's not, because he doesn't think he'll ever really have that burden. “Not everything’s ready to be known, some things need time, or the right heads.” He isn't sure he wants them, whether he finds them, or she gives them. Sometimes there's a valuable peace in not knowing. He’s not trying to be profound, it’s just how he thinks. Maybe it’s the lumberjack in him, always cautious with what gets cut and what gets left standing.
Her thank you softens his smile a bit, and while he can't know fully the way it lands, he can see something shift enough between them that he's glad it mattered. Glad maybe he could offer some help to her too.
The question she asks lands in an interesting way, because the answer seems to keep changing on him whenever he asks it of himself. He glances from the water to her, that leaf pile tempting to sink into. He smiles without anything but reflex and carefully managed sadness, leaning a bit closer to her as he thinks through the heat. “I didn't used to,” he admits slowly, carefully. “I think… I don’t want to be the reason it dies. My mother. My father. Whatever hope they had when they named me.” There’s a beat of silence. His next words come quieter, edged with something more fragile.
“If I let it go, it’s like saying they didn’t matter, and I’m not ready to believe that." It's not just for the sake of their memory though, it's what they meant when they stood by that ideal, what they tried to impart into him. "I didn't used to agree with them, but as I've gotten older, I can see that there's a need for fighting, especially if you have something to protect. I just think maybe I didn't have that for a long time, but I finally do.”
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
It's the complete opposite of her own instincts, but Elizabeth wouldn't be a therapist if she couldn't understand other people's points of view. She nods her head, accepting his reasoning without judgement or debate. "I get that. Knowledge can sometimes be a burden, whether we recognize it or not at the time." Secrets or important information can drag and dampen, the responsibility too heavy to go unnoticed for long. It's why she adds quietly, a more gentle playfulness in her tone as she tilts her head. "But, if you do ever find the secrets to the world, do you promise to tell someone just so you don't have to carry it alone?" She raises a nagging brow, promising that he'll get an earful if he doesn't.
Elizabeth listens quietly as the topic turns to his parents, to the carrying of histories that weren't his to begin with. There's a calm peace she offers, a warmth that curls through the autumn leaves still piled high in her eyes. "Just because you don't follow in their footsteps doesn't mean they didn't matter. You're proof of the impact they had." Him sharing their memories, his character, his willingness to continue their legacy.
She doesn't ask or think too long on what he might have found to protect, not wanting to spark any of those lingering feelings. Instead, Elizabeth focuses on the general application of it, a soft smile across her lips. "And that's really all that matters, isn't it?" She shifts her arms enough to tuck her hair then fold her arm against the side of her head like a pillow. "If you have something you care about - something that gives your life meaning - you have an obligation to protect it, for yourself as much as them."
06-27-2025, 10:40 AM (This post was last modified: 06-27-2025, 10:40 AM by Iskra.)
Leave it to her to worry about the burden of knowing that, rather than the one of sharing it. He smiles, wide and bright because in all these hypotheticals she is always kind and thoughtful like few he knows. "Don't worry, I would definitely tell you, pinky promise." He unfurls one of his arms, pinky held aloft for her to claim. He pulls it back slightly though, seeming to remember, "BUT, you'll then be bound the sanctity of your client confidentiality, so no spilling them to the world, got it?" He's got not doubt of her ability to keep a secret, given he couldn't even get her to tell him the most vague hints at her favorite drama, which he's still sad about.
As for the rest? He hears what she's saying, but he can't help feeling for the first time like maybe she doesn't understand something, although likely it's still just him failing to. He can't blame her though, how could she know? She never met them. Him existing isn't enough to be a testament to Ampere and Gaucho, least of all when he's half-dunk in the woods every day. They had both been magnificent, powerful, and completely confident in all their decisions. Their memories have already begun to wane among the world, but they're still alive in his mind, and he wants to manage to rise up to the shadow they have cast.
"I think I always was afraid to try, because I knew my feet would be smaller than theirs, but I've decided the only way to know is to start following." He doesn't feel forced, never had even when they existed (not that he'd even known Gaucho for that reason). It's a weight he placed on himself, and no one he's taking off. His mind, his perceptions, his understanding have all changed from the brilliant boy who once so boldly refused to imagine pain. Now he's held it close for so long, he knows it fully, and he'll do whatever he can to hold it back from the rest.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
Grinning, she takes it as a compliment he'd pick her to tell, even knowing her inclination towards sharing the information. Her hand raises to seal the promise but pauses when his teasing comments draw a light bout of laughter. "I would never even consider it." She reaches forward to chase his finger, wrapping her own around his like the links of a chain that would never break - the trust that he and all her clients place in her. There's a determination and stubbornness in her gaze, the only hill she'd be willing to die on as she smiles. "Pinky promise."
When her hand falls away, Elizabeth tucks it under her chin and pieces together the new bits of information he offers. He seems set on walking the same path, but she'd perhaps misunderstood his hesitancy to do so. Letting out a hum, she studies Iskra a little closer. "Hmm. I see. So it's not necessarily that you don't want to continue their legacy..." Instead, it's a fear of not living up to it, nervous about not being enough in comparison, scared that the work they spent their lives on won't withstand time.
Elizabeth is tempted to remind him again that it's not his job to do that, to fill the shoes that may have already served their purpose. Memories fade with time, no matter how much we fight it, like messages written in the rocks of the shore, water and wind and sand and sun slowly eat away at the words until they're nothing but faded indents. People who remember those messages might etch them deeper, but it doesn't change the fact that time will still win in the end.
But she doesn't say anything this time, making the decision to let him figure out how to achieve whatever it is he's looking for. She'll caution him when necessary, but nothing Iskra says makes her think he's on the path to self-destruction, so she determines to do what she sometimes struggles with as a therapist: wait. Wait for him to grow, wait for him to discover things on his own, wait for him to seek her again.
Smiling gently, she asks, "What do you plan to do?"
06-28-2025, 11:25 AM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2025, 02:44 PM by Iskra.)
He shakes his head again at her, aware he's the one being difficult and confusing. "No, well I mean yes, but..." he sighs loudly, because it's all a lot to try and put to word when he barely knows what the feelings are. "It's both. On the one hand, I didn't agree with their belief that battle had to be the way forward... I didn't like the idea of fighting." Part of him truthfully still doesn't, but that part has become much smaller in time, when before it had been large and blustering in response to all his mother's attempts at training him right.
"On the other hand, now that they're both gone, I don't have any direct pressure, just old lectures and stories... but I think I believe in them more now? It's the same story, but it's like the hero has changed, I guess." Sometimes you don't like a song the first time you hear it, because you can't connect with it, not until you're in a different mood. That's how it's been for Iskra. "I mean I'm not disagreeing with you, I know there's other methods, I wish you'd been around to tell that to them too." A half-smile, like he appreciates having some back up finally after all his wasted breath arguing with his mother. "I just think I finally understand what they meant better now, and I would like to try their way now." Because it's familiar, because it feels like he'll have them with him again in some small way, because maybe after all, they had a point.
He shifts in the water, starting to turn pruny, and hauls himself up onto the ledge, just letting his feet dangle in the warmth now as he considers her last question. The immediate release of the warm water makes the air prickle against his skin, colder than it actually is given all the steam still trapped and billowing around them. "I've nearly finished a quest for Ludo to get a greataxe. Going to have some qualities of my mother in it. Next, I'll make something after my father. Get better at fighting, at my magic, and start to carve away the void and the monsters of this world." If he wanted anyone at his side in battle, it'd be his parents.
Water is a mirror, reflecting our strengths and weaknesses, our hopes and fears.
She can tell Iskra doesn't really know how to explain his reasoning, but luckily he doesn't have to; Elizabeth gets the gist, and she's willing to walk alongside him as he figures it out. Her smile stays ever-present on her lips, encouraging as he describes the uncomfortable natural progression of almost every child: admitting when your parents were right. As maturity grows, so does the recognition that they might have actually known what they were talking about sometimes. But that also comes with the realization that they were human and had faults of their own.
When he finally finishes, Elizabeth offers a reassuring smile that strives to steady his wavering uncertainty. "There's nothing wrong with that. There's plenty of time to figure out your own thoughts and how you want to live out their legacy."
Her eyes instinctually follow the lines of his body as he lifts out, catching herself in time to turn her gaze to Goose and his own attractive form. Similarly pruned (and trying to distract herself), Elizabeth follows Iskra's example; she places her palms flat and pushes herself from the water, having forgotten any embarrassment in the relaxing heat and conversation. With a twist, she sits next to him, leaning back on her hands and kicking her feet against the spring as the cooler air begins to chill the moisture on her skin in tiny rivulets of steam.
Talk of weapons and magic aren't something she's as skilled in, but she grants him an approving nod. "That sounds like a good place to start, although remember to take time to relax every once in a while." Letting her eyes fall to him again, there's a teasing smirk on her lips, knowing that her nagging therapist hat is on full display.
Goose also seems to stir with them, padding over to Iskra's side with a hot yawn against his thigh as the dog lazily licks his elbow. He stands, a bit melted and panting, and Iskra pats his head gently in understanding. Goose is hot, it's time to go. "Luckily we've got these hot springs just for that now," Iskra says with a wink towards her, and no lack of invitation hinted that maybe they do this again some time.
Rousing to his feet, Iskra groans, "I think it's about time to head home now though." He reaches for his towel and hers, passing hers off before running his against his hair thoroughly. "Thanks," he says more gently, "for listening, and being easy to talk to." His smile breaks a bit with a laugh then as he heads towards the door, waiting for her so they can walk back together. "Gotta go see about getting in touch with my inner squirrel now."
