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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!
See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Very content with the way the majority of the worshippers get gone in order for them to drop their shells, Jack takes the moment of peace to drain the last of his flask of liquor, pointedly keeping his eyes pinned on the tiny figure of the old woman as she prays (curses?) up at The Ark. The sketching acolyte, at least, is more or less left alone - and both are out of range of any dropped shells, so the captain considers that a job considerably well done.
"Aight, let's drop what we got and swing back 'round to the meetin' point," he calls to the crew, leaning breezily against the rail and accepting any shells brought to him to drop over the side, but not bothering to go and fetch any himself any longer. Murphy, for his part, is all too glad to be out of siren-infested mist and away from Apopo, and the galleon turns gracefully in the sky to catch a cross-breeze and make her way back.
The Ark turns to make her way back and finishes dropping her shells!
sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)
"Thanks, Mel," Flora calls as the final shell vanishes into the tangled dockline below. She leans out from the Sugartide’s helm, wind teasing her curls into soft chaos, her expression warm despite the frayed edges of the day. "I’ve got some snacks, drinks—actual food that isn’t salted or pickled, if you’re into that—set up back on the beach. But no pressure." A shrug lifts one shoulder, casual and honest. "If you’re over it, I get it."
She gives a sharp whistle to call Spice back, the little white dragon veering into a corkscrew that leaves feathers tumbling through the air. Sila can follow or not.
The Sugartide banks inland, catching a thermal as they arc away from the harbour’s snarled tangle of shouting and salt. Below, the sweep of Torchline’s beach glows with the last gold light of the day, and Flora angles the ship to skim low. There’s a makeshift base nestled in the dunes: crates stacked with gear, a cooler tucked into the shade, a few worn cushions tossed lazily in a half-circle near a firepit that hasn’t been lit yet. Nothing official. Just a place to sit and bitch about having to deposit shells around the coastline again, should anyone care to.
If Jack or Hadama opt simply to appear and call out that their baskets are empty, she'll be fine with it. It isn't the first time she's roped them into this task, but gods willing, it'll be the last. 8/8
Report back to Flora and either stick around for some food or fuck off!
The Honeybee whipped a thumbs-up in Flora’s direction at the final call – content that they’d fucked over the little asshole who thought he owned the dock and successfully laid out all their shells. Sila came along the demigod’s shoulders, resting there while she piloted the skyship of her own accord, following after the Doubletake’s. Fangorn rustled around by her ankles, clearly enticed by the idea. “Yeah, we can join you.” It was something after all this nonsense, and had nothing to do with placing shit anywhere. Besides, she was easily lured by food.
The Ark arrives back in good time, sloping low in the air before gracefully kissing the surf, the starlight in her sails wisping out to allow wind and water to take over. Murphy sails her into her berth without complaint or difficulty, and whilst Jack might ordinarily have taken himself to his cabin, a flask of liquor and having to make yet another tour of the coastline has him wanting a change of scenery.
All of that is to say that he arrives with a few of the crew in tow, armed with bottles of booze, meat to roast over the fire and tales of flying fish and sirens and vehement old women. The captain doesn't have to do anything to fill the silence with their antics already unfolding, and he plops down onto one of the cushions to listen in comfortable silence.
sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)
Hadama was the last to arrive, having taken the slow route back to ensure the shells beneath the waves remained where he had placed them. He pulled himself from the water at the appointed place on the beach and walked, dripping, to the little gathering spot that Flora had set aside for her volunteers. Setting his empty basket down beside the fire, he nodded to Jack and his crew in gratitude for the extra food and gave Melita a small, weary, but satisfied smile at a job not only well done, but hopefully never to be repeated.
The Tidebreaker settled himself near to his co-ruler, claiming a drink and a plate of food to make his slow, methodical way through while he listened to the stories of Jack's crew. They had, it seemed, had a far more eventful time of it above the waves, and he enjoyed the well-told tales while the fire crackled and the night spun onward.
