Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
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!
With Deepfrost coming to claim Halo just as strong as before, Deimos insisted on their traditional route of merriment, mirth, and amusement, rather than being tucked indoors and hibernating the season away. Long since used to his antics though, the merchants and himself had collaborated and come together on several aspects, and when he started on the incantation portions, the others unfurled the work they’d put together on stalls.
The Sword started in one of the larger pockets and corners of the Citadel; wholly unoccupied by much except the ever-present snow. Mastered portions of earth and water rose and fell, sweeping over the area until it became something like a makeshift arena, low-level snow walls permitting anyone outside to watch and witness, but hopefully understand the borderlines of impending battlements – for he’d also scattered multitudes of modest snow fortifications. Each were different; some tall and narrow, some short and broad, some half-finished and left for others to decide how they’d like to alter the specifics and arrangements. Regardless, all were available for use during an impending snow fight – it all hinged on who would throw the first and escalate the opportunities.
While he worked on the ramparts, the other organizers settled into their forefront. Benches were placed near the snowball fight area, while kiosks and awnings were constructed, placed, or maneuvered, angled for entertainment and observation without being in the line of fire. Rich aromas began to unfurl nearby, drifting in an out of streets, routes, and paths: the overpowering lure of pies, pastries, and warm, baked goods, hot cocoa stands with a variety of flavors to mix in and try, and kindled, incensed braziers laden throughout the portions, so anyone feeling the chill could immediately thaw out next to one.
It wouldn’t take long for the word of the festivities to get out – and hopefully a multitude would join.
--
Welcome to Halo’s annual Deepfrost Mini Event! This year we have many food stands, hot cocoa, braziers, and areas for snowball fights (or to watch, if your character is here for entertainment alone.). Feel free to participate and grab a premade snow fort, make your own, etc.!
In order to count as an ME for your leveling, your character must post at least three times. This ME will be up until LongNight, so you have plenty of time!
I’m bundled so well I could nap in a snowbank and call it cozy. The braziers glow like pocket-suns along the edges of Deimos’s makeshift arena, and the air smells like cocoa and sugar and a little bit of trouble. There’s a bounce in my step I can’t hide; I’ve had plenty of snowball fights in my day—most of them against my merciless parents—and this year I’m ready to go up against everyone else. Absolute snowball destruction.
I hop up beside Deimos, grinning, my breath a quick puff of white. My eyes stay hooked on the field of forts and half-finished walls as I rub my gloved fingers together to warm them. “This is gonna be a blast,” I declare, bright as the braziers. “You’ve outdone yourself, Warden.”
I peel away and jog for a curved fortification that’s exactly my size. I duck behind it and disappear like a stone into drifted snow, already scooping and packing. The rhythm comes back easy—palms, roll, compress; palms, roll, compress—until a satisfying pile grows at my side like a little white arsenal. I bite my lip to keep a giggle from escaping and risk a quick glance over the curve: clear lanes, plenty of cover, a perfect corner to funnel the bold straight into my range.
Could I form a team? Probably. Maybe people will drift toward my fortress for an alliance. Or maybe I’ll get the pleasure of nailing the very first brave soul to peek around a wall. I sink lower, shoulders coiled, fingers itching, eyes bright.
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
Not completely sure if he'll be joining the snowball fray this year, Iskra contents himself to a steaming mug of cocoa for now. "Yeah, more cream," he says as he leans in over the cup the worker is making. "More," he urges, catching an annoyed glance up from the whipped cream police, apparently. "Yeeeeeeah, that's it," Iskra praises, reaching for the warm mug and huddling into the heat of it against his gloved hands.
He inhales the steaming sugar with a smile, resisting the urge to already start sipping what he knows is piping hot. At his heel, Goose trots, occasionally diving nose first into a snowbank and flouncing around along its edges. Hopefully none are part of the battlegrounds, otherwise consider the dog's intrusion an act of God or something similar—as liable to tear down an enemy's fort as an ally's, like some four-legged Godzilla set loose.
Iskra nods and waves at some people he passes by, by for now settles near the stalls, waiting for his cocoa to cool to drinking temperatures. The whipped cream at last he can slurp up as it begins to melt, catching whiffs of heat and chocolate with it.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
Finishing off the last part of the wall, he wasn’t surprised to find Theea bounding up beside him. He snorted at the compliment and the excitement, the amusement and impending chaos already peeling its way into his usually nonchalant layers. “Thank you.” From there though, he watched as she dispersed into the fortifications, and he glanced elsewhere, surveying the rest of the participants beginning to wander into the rampart’s threshold, or meander towards the safer options of hot cocoa.
Not one to be left behind when there was mayhem to stir, the Sword stepped over the wall, then made for a fort he’d already partially constructed. Crouching down so no one would aim for him from the front, presently at least, he began utilizing the earth and water components in his magic, intending to make the barricades that much larger, greater, and stronger – for he had little intention of being mauled in the upcoming melee.
Then, just to start things, he worked a snowball into his gloved palms, modest, small, hardly threatening, to test some portions – then launched it towards any newcomer nearby.
09-03-2025, 10:05 AM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2025, 10:18 AM by Damien.)
Damien
the woods have remembered you
Damien’s boots crunched against the packed snow as he stepped up to the edge of the wider arena, the scent of cocoa and pastry tugging at the edges of his awareness. He didn’t move fast, didn’t rush—never did—but each footfall carried him deliberately, like he was measuring the space, the angles, the potential threats. Not that anyone here posed one. Or didn't they..?
Theea was easy to spot, a flash of bright energy darting behind her half-finished fort, the rhythm of her hands packing snow as precise as any hunter’s. He let himself watch for a moment, the faintest crease at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement. There was something about her that made him want to step closer, not because he needed to, but because it felt… natural.
“Looks like you’ve claimed the perfect fortress,” he said, voice low, carrying the weight of ice and timber, as he crouched just beyond her line of sight. Not a threat, nor an intrusion—just acknowledgment.
He’d barely crossed the threshold when a small, firm snowball struck his shoulder. Damien froze just long enough to register the hit, a dry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Deimos ? "Ey, I wasn't ready!" He protested, but he already understood that the rules of snowball fights clearly state that you should throw snowballs when your enemy is least expecting. He bent slightly, scooping up a handful of snow, compressing it with careful pressure, then lobbed it toward one of the nearest half-built ramparts in answer.
He stepped fully into the open now. His eyes flicked past her to the other familiar faces scattered around. Iskra was already nursing a mug of cocoa, Goose darting around, nose first into a draped snowbank. Damien gave the dog a casual greeting—which it ignored.
He let himself drift toward the small cluster of warmth, crouching near a modest fort that wasn’t Theea’s but close enough for cover. “ Iskra,” he called over to the lumberjack, “don’t tell me you’re just here for the cocoa!” His glance softened, faintly amused at the picture of Iskra hunched over the steaming mug.
"Damien !" It pops out of me before I can rein it in, bright as sunlight off fresh snow. I grin so wide my cheeks ache and my hands forget their rhythm, a half-formed snowball cradled between my mittens. I duck again behind my little fortress and peek over the curve, narrowing my eyes in the most fearsome way a five-foot-four menace can manage. Under my breath with a smile: "You're going down, Ulfsen."
I settle into the work, packing a few more snowballs with quick, neat motions. The excitement makes me wiggle in place like a wind-up toy; I have to clamp my lips together to keep from giggling. Focus, Theea. Professional snow warfare. I track him the way he’d track prints in fresh powder—measured steps, shoulders loose, eyes taking in every angle. Deimos dings him with a small shot and Damien calls back something casual enough to turn my grin soft for a heartbeat. It’s a good look on him, that easy play.
He veers toward a nearby fort, shouting out to a man with a mountain-of-a-name — Iskra, I commit to memory — and a cocoa mug, and he starts to duck behind a fort—
I pop up smooth as a fox from a drift and let fly, a perfect, palm-packed sphere arcing for the back of his head. Hitting it's mark or not, I drop right back down behind my wall, biting back a grin as I try to feign innocence.
The Honeybee had intended to surprise Iskra by just showing up on impulsive notions alone – but upon discovering there was a little chaotic mess of Halo’s own there...well, she got distracted.
Rather than appearing in all her sweater-laden finery, the demigod relished her invisible tendencies, crossing amidst the terrain without leaving a trace behind. It made the people watching that much more amusing, eyes scanning as snowballs began flying left and right in the makeshift arena – and then the enticing aroma of the hot cocoa pulled her around those portions and kiosks, taking in the sights and smells with relish.
But then she spotted him – and Melita wasn’t one to waste an opportunity of mischief - so with a grin no one else could see, she bounded along, taking a fistful of snow as she went. Rolling it within her mittens, she darted behind Iskra as she sipped away, before trying to pull at the back of his jacket, and stuff the snow down the portions of fabric and along his back.
09-04-2025, 06:21 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2025, 06:22 PM by Iskra.)
Iskra
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
Chuckles loosen as he watch Theea and Deimos both settle properly into the snowball mayhem. It'd been an odd sight once to witness the Sword seemingly strip himself of the weight of titles and stoic imagery in order to dive into chaos with a boyish glee, but it's one Iskra's grown well accustomed to over the years here, especially now with the Family departed.
"Just giving you a head start!" Iskra shouts over his sugary steam to Damien, grin bright with the taunt. A laugh strikes up as he watches Theea attempt to pelt the fellow logger, but he doesn't see the outcome because just then his jacket is hoisted back and all of winter's dressing slithers down his back. Iskra seizes. A yelp bursts from his chest into a gasp as he lurches up to his tiptoes, the bow of his spine so strong that half is cocoa is jostled onto the ground while his skin attempts to crawl away from the chill. Now, the opposite temperature, nips red and harsh on his hand, and Iskra hisses curses through his teeth.
He wheels around, using the sleeve of his other hand to rub off the spilled cocoa and to flap his jacket away from his back. "Who the fu—" he starts, but there's no one there. Goose had danced away from all the prancing around Iskra did, though he's swooped in to lick up the now chocolate coated snow, so he's no current help in locating the offender. Not expecting Melita to be here, she doesn't even cross his mind as a potential source the way she normally would whenever absurdity has been found, especially as there's no duck in sight.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
He heard Damien’s protest but didn’t particularly care – snickering from behind the fort, ducking down to prepare for another siege. When no one seemed to be lobbing anything toward him, he took his time to ensure his makeshift battle grounds were ready for any fervent fray, guarded astutely and carefully, bringing up more walls and towers, strengthening the threshold with hardened snow and ice pinnacles. If he were to be really meticulous, he might have even prepared a thin shield, but figured he’d have time later.
Thereafter, he snagged at more snow, piling and melding it together with ease, into a much larger component than he’d previously contorted. Peeking out over his ramparts, he watched as Theea seemed to be occupied with launching another bout at Damien – so he fixed his sights on her chosen sanctum. Then he launched, sending it flying towards her fort, with every intention of breaking it apart or snagging at her.
The ensuing yelp and chaos thereafter was music to her ears; especially as Iskra wheeled around and simply couldn’t see her. She saved her delight for when she’d already taken a yard or so away from him, knowing he was prone to tackling, before the laughter burst out from her, probably an eerie thing with her invisibility. It echoed against the throng of the kiosks, puzzling several other passersby, and then, figuring he was going to ponder through things, she was running.
Feeling particularly giddy and irritating after her latest assault, she opted to play devil’s advocate again, launching and tiptoeing on the edge of the snowball fight. From her vantage point, she could see the Warden, and several others participating – and not knowing too many well enough (and let’s be honest, it wouldn’t have mattered), she snagged at some of the snow with her thick gloves, and tossed it towards Damien.
Damien hadn’t taken more than two steps from his cover when the first one caught him. Not Deimos this time, but smaller, sharper, and aimed with intent. It clipped the back of his head, snow bursting against his collar and slipping cold down the nape of his neck. He winced, shoulders hunching as the ice slid beneath his shirt.
He didn’t need to look to know the culprit. The sudden cheer of his name from before, the fox-quick movements behind that little fortress, the way she disappeared right after throwing.
“Is that how it’s gonna be?” he called, rough amusement lining his voice, already crouching low to scoop another handful of snow. This one he worked slower, packing it tight, shaping it firm, testing the weight. Behind him, another impact hit—smaller, less expected, as if the snow itself had reached out to cuff him in the back of the shoulder. He jerked a glance around, brows drawing together. No one. No footprints. Just Goose, happily lapping up snow like the fool beast he was. And Iskra, who was apparently another victim of the sneaky assault.
Damien huffed, shaking his head, the faint crease of suspicion never quite leaving his brow. Fine. Let the ghosts have their fun.
He rose halfway from his crouch, eyes tracking the curve of the fort Theea made or chose. Forts were good lines of defense, but traps if you stayed put. She was watching him, no doubt. Waiting.
His arm cocked back. He didn’t aim for her directly. Not yet. He lobbed the snowball in a clean arc, fast and tight, to slam into the top of her wall. Snow burst in a soft spray, showering down over her hidden arsenal.
“Consider that a warning shot,” he said, voice carrying with a thread of a grin.
Not ten seconds later, another of Deimos’s massive projectiles thundered across the field, and Damien ducked reflexively back behind his makeshift barricade, snow exploding somewhere in the periphery. He pressed his shoulder to the wall, laughing under his breath, dry and low.
“Gods help me,” he muttered, brushing stray flakes from his collar. “I should’ve went for the drinks.”
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
Goose's tail gives a slow, familiar wag as Melita's laughter loosens up further down the way. His head turns, momentarily leaving his chocolate snowcone, to peer into the distance where nothing is visible. Iskra, still peering around, catches his dog's sightline and follows it, 'brow furrowing. Stalking forward, since his cocoa is half spilled everywhere anyway, he sets it down on the stand and continues forward, his stride full of intent.
Snowballs continue to lob back and forth, but he's watching for something else. There, snow lifting as if from nothing, seemingly haunted. He knows better. Should have known from the start. "Mel," he mutters under his breath, fondness overwhelmed with a thirst for revenge. His lips quirk up in a devious slant, and he stoops down to gather a few snowballs up quickly.
With a yell, Iskra charged forward towards the last spot he could tell Melita had been, and hucks all his snowballs in a rapid fire scatter. Once empty, his hands work his scarf out from around his neck and he flails it around like a whip, searching for her.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
Yup, there it was, the ol’ Iskra glare – Melita already bounding the moment she saw it. Her laughter became a little higher pitched and no less tangible, weaving its way through the snowball arena. She ducked on some of the initial throws, but one hit her squarely in the shoulder. There was certainly enough padding of clothing there for it not to maim or harm, but left its own little mark, an impact.
Brushing it off, she had one moment to glance back and see him charge, hear him yell (giving himself away in the process); before stepping entirely off to the side, watching as the scarf was flung around. Heading back to the wall instead of being wrapped or caught in the fabric, she intentionally ducked down behind one of the smaller fortresses and remained wholly silent – careful not to throw anything else in the interim. She’d need another strategy now.
I yelp loud enough to spook a raven when a chunk of my wall explodes and the follow-through nails me square in the chest. Snow sprays everywhere, a glittering halo; thank the gods for layers, because none of it snakes down my shirt. “You’ll pay for that!” I bark toward Deimos , already grinning because, frankly, he deserves it.
Damien fires something back and I whip around, beam at him like sunshine even as his shot slaps into what’s left of my fort and showers me again. I can’t help it—I laugh, big and bright, bells over the braziers. “Cheap shot!” (It absolutely wasn’t. Mine was.)
I snatch one of my ready-mades, weigh it quick, and let it fly at Damien. I lead the throw just a hair for his movement—same instinct as knives, only friendlier.
Then I drop, knees in powder, arms scooping like a determined little plow as I haul loose snow back into my battered rampart. Pack, pack, smooth; I tuck my shoulder in and rebuild the curve to my height. A quick peek over the lip—there’s my culprit. I suck in a sharp breath, set my stance, and arc a high, hopeful lob toward Deimos’s position, trying to drop it right over his cover like a blessing from above.
