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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!
The chaos persisted – and he kept a watchful eye on the scene, gaze narrowing slightly and he tilted his head curiously as some stray snowballs seemed to come from nowhere at all, and then Iskra was whipping his scarf around the periphery. “You all right?” he called to the other man – uncertain if there was an unseen threat, or something they needed to be concerned with.
But then there were reactions and assaults flying – he couldn’t help but laugh, another deep rumbling accord, as Theea sought to respond. Tricky and crafty to be certain, as the lob went flying over the portions of his fortress. Were he a lesser prepared individual, it might’ve descended and scattered all around him in some dusty display. Instead, he snickered, then unfurled his Air magic, to send it in a volley of directions, but hopefully flickering right back towards anyone nearby – including Theea, Damien, and Iskra in turn.
09-11-2025, 02:36 PM (This post was last modified: 09-11-2025, 02:37 PM by Damien.)
Damien
the woods have remembered you
Theea’s shot cracked against his shoulder this time, spraying powder up into his jaw. Damien grunted, half laughing as he shook the sting from his coat. “Alright,” he muttered, voice dry but threaded with warmth, “guess I deserved that one.”
But then the battlefield shifted. Deimos’s volley didn’t come one snowball at a time—it came on the wind itself, a scattershot flurry carried like sleet through the arena. Damien swore under his breath, ducking low as the air erupted around him, snow bursting across his barricade and spraying against his back. One stray caught his ribs and left him wheezing out a laugh despite himself.
“You see that?” he called over toward Theea, peering around his cover with a sharp grin. “That’s not a fair fight anymore.” His hand scooped quick, packing snow rougher this time, more urgent, as if he was truly on a hunt and not in some winter game.
He leaned just far enough to catch her across the field, eyes glinting beneath his lashes. “You and me,” he called, low but carrying, “we put him down first. Then we settle our own scores.” As if that was even possible. A more likely ending was death via magical snowballs, or flying pigs.
Without waiting for an answer, Damien rose half out of his crouch and let fly—arm snapping with a practiced arc. The snowball whistled across the arena toward Deimos, aimed not to break the Warden’s defenses but to rattle them, to keep him occupied.
He ducked back down as another stray blast of snow broke against his wall.
He detonates snow in every direction, swatting my next throw out of the air. I yelp and duck—no use. The weak side of my fortress caves over me; snow slides into my hair, down my neck, and a laughing curse slips out.
I’m brushing myself off when Damien calls. I sit up straight, knees buried in the drift, and dig through the collapse for my little arsenal. Fingers find the packed spheres; I grab one and roll it bigger as my friend calls again—
"We get him," I agree, cutting a side-eye toward where our powerful foe hides, then flash him a vulpine grin. "And then you’re done for."
While Damien starts lobbing snowballs, I take it as a natural cue. I dart to the next barricade—closer to the Warden’s. Then the next, and the next, skirting the edge of the makeshift arena, counting on his barrage to keep Deimos busy while I creep closer.
Truth be told, it wasn’t never going to be a fair fight; and it amused Deimos nonetheless. Here was a man who’d gone to war countless times, and going down in a snowball fight wasn’t on his agenda for the day’s amusements and festivities. So while they could boast and plan and conjure all sorts of attempts, his focus would always be to counteract, duel, and win.
Waiting for the reactions, his brow arched, snorting as some whispers and shouts flickered through the horizon. Distraction was all fine and fair, but he had multitudes up his sleeve, and years more of calculations. He could be occupied by far more than one mere snowball – and wheeled Damien ’s subsequent launch immediately back to the forefront of the Accepted’s threshold, intending to send it volleying into a top spire on the mere breath of his Air magic.
Theea ’s movements could be that as well – so he answered in turn, unfurling earthen magic through the frozen loam to echo and widen in a crescendo; undulating beneath anyone nearby, including the fortresses they utilized as shields.
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
His gaze sharpens on the area of air that detonates the snowball. "Gotcha," he mutters under his breath, utterly smug that he caught Melita's invisible ass. Well...hadn't caught, yet, but found at least, which is better than he just was. Although the unfortunate thing of the distance between them remains, and the snow is not so effective a marker as paint, or his arms, so by the time he rushes to there he can neither grasp her with snow, scarf, or hand.
"Oh, alright, I see how it is," he huffs out into the air, a chuckle edging in. "Extreme hide and seek then," with the added threat of a snowball to the face, or down his pants. Looking very much like one of the people muttering to themselves on the street, the sort you cross to the other side for and avoid eye contact with, Iskra sets about to gathering up more ammunition in packed snowballs.
A bit oblivious to the war happening around him, Iskra settles beside the nearest fortress, the very same Mel chose, albeit on the opposite side. Only when Deimos' earth magic ripples out and upsets Iskra's balance, shoulder driving into the barrier and breaking off some of the top of it, does his head whip around to the other fray. "Hey!" he barks out, utterly unbothered except for his broken concentration, where he's straining with every sense to detect someone who is, essentially entirely untraceable (who gave her so much power, and gods, why?). For good measure he lobs one of his gathered balls towards Damien.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
Tucked behind the fortress, quiet, invisible, stealthy, beholding the unfurling pandemonium was glorious. Iskra looked ridiculous out there, spouting off to no one in particular (besides her, obviously), and she had to muffle her laughter amidst the half-finished barricade. But the Honeybee had never been someone to be idle, sit by while the mayhem persisted, and so she found herself balling up another portion of snow, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.
Except then came the earth magic beneath her crouch, evoking the slightest hiss as portions of her snagged defense crumbled around her – and upon her – and she shook off the powder that lingered its way down her spine.
And Iskra was suddenly there - and she’d have to come up with something fast. Anyone else might've taken the time to admire their incoming victim - alas, her heart pounded with the sort of haphazard, impulsive adrenaline that sent more moronic individuals scurrying. Instead, she was swift, and while he turned to bother someone else, she heaved the snowball in direct, close contact, towards his shoulder.
Then ran, striving to vault over the next snow fort nearby.
09-16-2025, 10:29 AM (This post was last modified: 09-16-2025, 10:30 AM by Damien.)
Damien
the woods have remembered you
The ground shuddered beneath him before Damien even had time to act or speak. His barricade groaned, sagged, then split apart like a rotten log under an axe. Snow poured over his shoulder, down his collar, and into his boots. He spat out a mouthful of powder and tried to shake himself free, but the earth was still moving under him, treacherous as thaw-ice.
“Son of a—” He didn’t get to finish. Something smacked hard into the side of his head, bursting across his ear in a cold slap.
Blinking snow out of his lashes, Damien twisted, just in time to see Iskra standing there, looking pleased with himself and entirely oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of a warzone. For a beat Damien just stared at him, deadpan, jaw tight against the chill trickling down his neck.
“…Really?” he drawled, voice flat as the tundra.
There wasn’t time to chew him out. Deimos was still dropping the field out from under them, Theea was already sprinting ahead, and Damien had a choice—either waste his breath on Iskra, or drag him into the fight.
He scooped up a fresh ball, the snow packed hard and fast between his palms. With a sharp flick, he lobbed it point-blank at Iskra’s chest. “Congratulations! You’re drafted! Warden first, then you can get back to your ghost hunt cocoa.”
And without waiting to see if the man agreed—or even noticed—Damien shoved up out of the ruin of his barricade and bolted after Theea, snow crunching under his boots. His coat streamed powder, his hair dripped meltwater into his eyes, but his grin was quick and wolfish all the same. He threw a few more shots toward Deimos and ducked out of the way of the retaliation that would surely follow.
a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
Marcus hadn’t expected to arrive on time, and he wasn’t surprised to find himself late. What caught him off guard was that he wasn’t the only one. For all of Halo, the crowd gathered was small, scattered among the booths Deimos had arranged.
High above them, the eagle wheeled in slow circles, the sharp edge of blood still dark along his beak from the morning’s hunt. His gaze swept over the gathering—steam rising from drinks, stalls offering small comforts against the cold—and he banked lower, wings tucking slightly as he angled in. A hot cocoa stand drew his eye, and he dropped down onto the roof, talons scraping the wood as his beak clicked once against the air.
From his perch he looked beyond the bustle to the field, head canting in the quick, sharp way of a bird. The snowball fight was already underway. Deimos stood as the powerhouse of it, methodical and merciless, striking down anyone foolish enough to challenge him. Marcus picked out Theea and Damien among the chaos, their shouts carrying faintly, though the rest of the players he didn’t know. He wondered where Amhran was, recalling the conversation they had before about how the demigod needed to experience a true and proper snowball fight.
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
Iskra scoffs at Damien's drawl and targeting choice. "He's hardly the dangerous one," Iskra mutters, mostly to himself. Deimos' power is immediately recognizable, but it's Melita's inventive and ferocious nature that really makes her the terrifying one.
The sudden crash of snow over his shoulder, revealing no one when he whips his head around, is evidence of such. "MEL!" he thunders, moving fast, although to where he doesn't know but his chance to keep her in close proximity is fleeting. He lobs more of his gathered snowballs in a spread around him as he runs out from behind the bank, half mad in his frantic and aimless approach which riles up Goose into a barking fit at his side.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
Deimos might beg to differ on Iskra’s muttering, but given that he couldn’t quite catch the words and was currently emitting deep, rumbling laughter, perhaps it was best to let it slide. Equally unaware of the other man’s ghostly pursuit, he remained watching, waiting, peering from his steepled snow fort, before opting for another angle of amusement.
For, they could duck all the way wanted, but it might not save them from the impending onslaught.
Listening as Damien’s snowballs landed directly into his fort, he shrugged his shoulders, snagging at the tethers of magic immediately at his beck and call. Snagging at portions of snow with his Air, Earth, and Water formations, he concocted a thick sheet of snow, and rolled it overhead, much like a large, threatening cloud, before striving to dump it over the heads of Damien and Theea.
09-27-2025, 04:19 PM (This post was last modified: 09-27-2025, 04:20 PM by Theea.)
Theea
and let the words fall out
I’m determined to slip past the Warden’s defenses. There’s no chance of reaching him head-on, so I dart from cover to cover, breath sharp in the cold. I peek over the top of a drift just in time to hear Damien holler at Iskra, and I can’t help the little smirk that answers that grin of his, even if he can't see it. The moment he starts running after me, I’m off again, legs pumping toward the next bit of shelter.
Snow gathers heavy in my gloves as I crouch low, waiting for Damien to catch up. I flash him a quick, vulpine grin—like we’re conspirators in some grand heist—and then—
A shadow passes overhead.
I glance up and yelp, diving aside, but too late. A massive sheet of snow comes crashing down, burying Damien and me alike. I shriek when the icy weight slithers down my jacket, cold searing through my thick hair to my neck.
I shake myself off, sputtering, and then laugh despite myself. As irritating as it is, it’s funny.
"Cheating!" I call, voice bright with mock indignation—because when is a snowball fight ever fair? Catching Damien’s eye, I give him a sharp little nod, trying to school my grin into something ridiculously serious. "If we hit him from both sides, maybe we land one. That’s all I need. Just one hit." I bite my lip, glancing toward Deimos where he makes his stand. "Go!"
I break into a sprint, heart pounding, pushing past the fortress the Sword has built. One snowball sails from my hand—then, gods help me, I dive for the fortress itself, hoping my weight is enough to topple a portion of it onto him.
Unless he pulls another magic trick. Which he probably will. Wish me luck.
Melita thought she had it all in the bag – hovering from one fort to the next, beginning to find a safer distance between her, Iskra, and anyone else, when the shadow suddenly loomed overhead. She had half a moment to furrow her brows and look upwards, before all the powder descended – and though she hadn’t been the target, it wouldn’t much matter. “Shit,” she uttered, quiet and to herself, but the damage had been done – the cold nuances clinging to her cheeks and down her neck where she hadn’t tied the scarf properly.
And unbeknownst to her, a very intriguing outline over her shoulders and head that the invisibility hadn’t quite snagged yet. Ducking low behind another fortification, she glanced towards the wall, wondering if she could possibly launch over it, and then really rankle Iskra ’s edges by disappearing over by the cocoa – opting to heave a moderate snowball his way, then keep moving.
Damien had just enough time to look up before the weight of it slammed down—snow in his hair, snow down his coat, snow packed into the tops of his boots. It knocked him half to his knees, and for a long second he stayed there, buried to the shoulders, spitting powder and dragging in air that stung cold in his lungs.
When he finally shook free, he caught Theea sputtering and laughing beside him. Despite the freeze working its way down his back, he barked a laugh too, low and rough. “That’s not snowball fighting. That’s war crimes!”
He shoved up, boots breaking through the drift, hair plastered wet against his temple. Deimos was a mountain behind his fortress, unshaken, untouchable. Damien knew better than to think they could take him down—but then Theea’s grin found him, fox-sharp and conspiratorial, and he was already moving.
“You’re mad,” he said, almost admiring, almost resigned. “Fine. Let’s die mad together.”
Another snowball packed quick in his palm, another arc thrown hard and fast toward the Warden’s fort, aiming high to keep the man’s attention. Then he lunged after Theea, boots hammering against the churned snow. If she was going to throw herself at Deimos’s barricade, he wasn’t about to leave her to it alone.
He reached her flank just as she dove, and without slowing he braced a shoulder and hurled himself at the wall too. Maybe it would topple, maybe it wouldn’t—but if nothing else, they’d make the Warden feel the impact.
Wonder why I tear myself down just to get built back up again
The sheet of snow that falls over them all barely registers for Iskra, too focused on trying to see what can't be seen. The abrupt cold and muffled strike of it falling against his knit hat and jacket- bundled shoulders does register, but it's little more than a blink, because in that same moment what he's straining to see is finally there.
"GOT YOU NOW MEL!" he laughs with a maniacal edge as his aimless run suddenly locks onto target. He grabs out a match as he fights to close the distance between them, sending his fire magic to life towards her feet. Specifically, he's aiming to melt the snow around her, turning it to a plane of ice that should slow her down long enough for him to catch up and wrestle her to the ground.
I fill the void up with polished doubt fake sentiment
