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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!
LongNight was still a ways off, but her crew was getting antsy, restless, and reckless. So she did what any seasoned captain does when their sailors are being rowdy: she put them to work. It wasn't anything particularly taxing or strenuous, just enough to keep them busy and out of trouble for the next few days. They were excited for the two week break, the time they would spend drinking and partying through the underbelly of the Grounds until the sun rose again. However, that 'break' meant there would be little opportunity to attain loot, let along food for the time they were stuck in port. That meant stocking the ship to the brim with non-perishable foods, oil and matches, and various other items that would be unavailable; and that meant loading the goods with pure manpower.
A few mumbled and grumbled about the work, but the sharp blue dagger of Thal's glare had the sounds silencing, a quiet resignation forming in the rhythm of their onload. It helped that she was right there next to them, black horns catching the sunlight like glass as she carried the weight of someone larger and stronger. The gruff men always stepped out of her way despite her shorter stature, dark hair flicking behind her to wave off any considered offers of assistance - but they knew better at this point.
After placing another crate onboard, she walked down the brow, adjusting her long dark sleeves against the biting cold of the ocean. Her tail flicked slowly behind her as she surveyed the docks, watching for trouble or slacking figures.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
The riverboat groaned against the landing, ropes thrown and tied, and Zairah was among the first to step off. The ride had been miserable—Deepfrost’s cold always was—but she’d endured it swaddled in a borrowed coat a size too big, its hems frayed and its sleeves swallowing her hands. Thick trousers and worn boots completed the makeshift armor, practical if not flattering. She still looked out of place, like someone playing dress-up in other people’s clothes.
Her hair had come loose in the wind, long and dark, tugged across her face until she shoved it back with quick fingers. That revealed the horns: two black nubs, about an inch long and a few inches thick now, jutting from just above her temples. They caught the light like onyx, gleaming faintly, and the skin around them looked tight, tender, as if more bone had forced its way through not long ago.
She paused on the dock or moreso tried to get out of the way, taking in the noise and movement: crates thudding, people shouting, gulls wheeling overhead. Her gaze snagged on the woman at the center of it all, horns glinting, tail snapping, sleeves rolled as she worked alongside her crew.
Zairah’s breath clouded in the cold air. She stared openly and without shame, the thought rising and spilling from her lips before she even considered it.
“You’re like me.” The words were edged with curiosity more than anything else.
Spook carefully interrupted her assessment with a soft clearing of his throat. The first mate's pale complexion nearly glowed in the overcast Deepfrost air, his tall, lanky form standing stark against the salt-worn docks. She gave a subtle nod of her head, and he began to speak in a low voice no one else might hear, confirming that the excess supplies were being stowed in the warehouse nearby for any in need. Her sharp eyes followed the movements of her crew, noting how a handful drifted discretely towards the darkened building. They carried crates and boxes, setting them amongst the shadows in a silent willingness to fulfill her orders without questions.
Granted another nod of her head, Thal moved to join them, only pausing when her scrutinizing gaze snagged on a petite form buried in a pile of baggy fabric, the woman's eyes gaping wide as she made no efforts to hide her gawking. Although used to the frequent appreciating look, it had been quite some time since someone had stared at her. Having missed the muttered words, Thal returned the look with a glare and a snap of her voice. "What are you looking at?" Her lips pursed in disapproval when the sailors were forced to move around the woman. "Unless you're planning to pick up a pallet, get out of the way."
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
Zairah blinked at the sharp voice, the words clipping across the dock like thrown stones. For a moment she just stood there, coat sleeves hanging past her knuckles, watching the other woman like she might watch fire flare in a hearth—sudden, biting, alive.
“What am I looking at?” she echoed, tone blunt, unbothered. “You. Obviously.” Her head tipped a fraction, dark hair falling loose again as she studied the horns, the tail, the sharpness carved into every line of Thalassa’s posture. "I—" she didn't get the chance to say her next words before the order was barked at her.
The sailors muttered as they skirted around her, but Zairah didn’t move, didn’t apologize. She shifted only enough to glance at the crates and ropes and crew. “I don’t know how to pick up a pallet,” she admitted, honest to the point of rudeness, before her gaze flicked back to Thalassa. “But I could learn. If you wanted me to.”
Her curiosity was raw enough to cut through the cold. “What are you doing with all this? Why do they listen to you?”
The audacity was shocking, Thal's tail flicking so sharp that it caught the attention of a passing sailor, his eyes widening like he knew what might be coming next. He scurried away in a practiced departure meant to avoid attention. Her lips began to part like she might bare her fangs in a clear threat, but the woman wasn't looking at her anymore, baffling Thal with her lack of awareness and blatant naivety that bordered on abrasive.
She couldn't help the incredulous snap of her voice when she answered, obviously growing increasingly irritated that she was even entertaining the answer to her rhetorical question. "You just pick it up. Move it from the dock to the ship. Set it down. Simple." The fact that she'd even asked had Thal questioning her ability to do even that much, especially as the men around her did just that. They squatted, lifting pallets, crates, and barrels before walking them up the brow and depositing them on the deck or in the stores below.
Gritting her teeth against the annoyance, she didn't honor the first question with a response, crossing her arms over her chest as she tilted her head. "Because I'm the captain, and they know I'll beat their asses if they don't." Her arms crossed over her chest, staring the woman down in a manner that suggested she might give her the same treatment if she didn't start moving soon - whether that was to assist or get the hell out of the way.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
Zairah flinched at the snap of the captain’s voice, but it wasn’t fear that did it. It was interest. Like a spark landing too close to tinder. The air between them smelled of salt, sweat, and something metallic, and it set her nerves ringing in the best way.
“You just pick it up,” Thalassa said, voice sharp as a blade scraping stone. Zairah blinked at the obviousness of it, then followed the captain’s gaze toward the men hefting crates with the same rhythm and resignation as the tide. The simplicity of it almost offended her—no ceremony, no purpose beyond doing the motions. Still, she crouched beside the nearest one, pressing her gloved fingers against the rough wood, testing the edges like it might try to fight her back.
"Simple," she echoed, "Okay.."
Her boots scraped as she straightened, hugging the crate to her chest. It was heavier than she expected. Muscles she didn’t know she had protested immediately, but she liked the burn—it made her feel sharper. The cold didn’t bite quite as hard when her blood was moving.
When Thalassa said she was the captain, Zairah paused to look at her again. Captain. The word held weight, not unlike the word 'priestess'. The kind of title that made sense in a world still too big for her to understand. Her eyes flicked up, studying the woman’s stance, the command in the angle of her jaw, the easy threat in her voice.
“You don’t seem like someone who has to remind them twice,” she said, matter-of-fact, with the faintest edge of admiration. “I think they listen because they like you.”
She said it too casually, too bluntly, but didn’t bother correcting herself. Instead, she started hauling the crate toward the ship in an awkward, half-staggering shuffle. “I can help,” she added over her shoulder. “You don’t have to beat my ass, unless I drop it.”
The grin she threw back at Thalassa was quick and crooked—half challenge, half gratitude.
It was baffling to watch the young woman. Like a lanky deer learning to handle her twig legs, she balanced and angled in ways that proved she'd never done anything physically laboring in her life. Thal was worried she might be crushed under the weight, or trip on the ends of her jacket, tipping into the waters of the pier. But she seemed to get enough of a handle to make outlandish remarks.
Thal scoffed, loud enough for some of the crew to hide the grins that had been peeking out, summoned by the apt description of their captain. It was a mixed bag with her crew. They'd seen her in all the moods: pissed, pleased, angry, annoyed, hangry, happy, ruthless, resolved, snappish, and sad. They knew it didn't matter, that it didn't change how harsh and unforgiving she could be, but she only ever asked them to do things she was willing to do herself, and she gave them plenty of time and space to enjoy the life of a pirate. Between beach days and drinking games and pillaging vessels, most of them agreed that their quality of life was pretty lax.
Still, they knew she wouldn't let them slack and they shuffled on without pause, eager to finish the work so they might get on with the festivities. A few cared enough to make a small space for the woman who decided to randomly join their working party, curiosity drawing their fleeting eyes between her and Thal, noticing the similarities and wondering how the interaction might play out.
She paid them no mind, narrowing her eyes at the challenge, fully prepared to introduce her to the brutal realities of the world. "Then don't drop it." The threat was thrown as the woman stumbled her way up the brow to the ship, the captain's searing gaze suspicious of the odd behavior.
Grabbing her own crate, Thal followed her onto the deck. It clinked in her arms, obviously filled with bottles that were presumably full based on the weight - most likely alcohol. She carried it a little more gently, unwilling to damage the goods in her path to reach the woman's side and set it amongst the other stores.
The stormy blue of her eyes cut to her before she twisted to walk away. "Don't expect to get anything out of this."
10-10-2025, 02:43 PM (This post was last modified: 10-10-2025, 02:47 PM by Zairah.)
Zairah
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
Zairah grunted under the weight of the crate, every muscle in her arms screaming their protest, but she didn’t let go. Not even when the dock tilted under her boots or when the cold wind shoved her sideways. Her balance wasn’t grace—it was sheer stubbornness. The kind you learned from fire, not finesse.
She made it halfway up the ramp before the box slipped against her chest. Her tail lashed out in reflex, trying to steady her, and cracked against someone’s back instead. The sailor yelped, spinning around, and Zairah blurted, “Sorry!” between panting breaths, her face flushed with the kind of mortified amusement that never lasted long. “Didn’t mean to hit you. It’s got a mind of its own.”
That earned her a few muffled snickers from the crew, but she didn’t look away, didn’t shrink from it. If anything, she grinned only half out of embarrassment. It felt good to be part of the noise, even if she didn’t understand the rhythm yet.
By the time she reached the deck, her arms were shaking. She set the crate down too fast, wincing at the dull thud it made, then straightened and glanced over just in time to catch Thalassa setting hers with a kind of casual precision that made the whole thing look effortless. Zairah watched the motion like someone studying a ritual.
Zairah flexed her sore fingers and muttered under her breath, “Didn’t drop it.” Then louder, because she didn’t want it mistaken for sulking: “Didn’t drop it!” And for a moment she beamed at the captain, reminiscent of a dog that knows it's just done a good job.
Thalassa’s final remark landed like a slap of cold air. Don’t expect to get anything out of this.
Zairah blinked, then nodded once, slow and serious. “Uhm. Okay then, you either!” She retorted simply, though she didn’t sound particularly bothered. If anything, she sounded a little confused. What would I get out of this? She turned to leave, but curiosity snagged her like a hook.
Her gaze dropped to the crate Thalassa had carried, the faint clink of bottles whispering inside. She crouched, pried the lid open with her nails, and plucked one out, holding it up to the light. The glass was cold against her palm, amber liquid sloshing thickly inside.
She glanced around, then popped the cork with a soft thup and took a sniff. The scent hit her like a punch—sweet, heavy, burning. She jerked back, coughing. “Woah, ugh!” she blurted, eyes watering as she blinked at the bottle like it had personally offended her. “You drink this?”
Her voice was half disbelief, half admiration, as if Thalassa had just confirmed she regularly swallowed fire.
She peered back at the captain as she straightened up, still holding the bottle like a piece of alien tech she was trying to understand. “Does it make you stronger, or do you just like suffering?”
The crew seemed content to let the woman work, their curious gazes lingering on her until Thal caught them. They otherwise gave her a larger berthing, making room for the stumbling feet and flicking tail. She didn't bother to make space, almost staying closer to ensure the inexperience didn't cost her something.
Her eyes landed flat, not quite sure what to make of the unnecessary announcement of her menial success and even more thrown by the befuddled look accompanying the woman's dismissal of any compensation for her work. Each response placed a new piece into the puzzle, revealing the image of someone naive and vulnerable to the world, but she didn't say anything yet, watching and waiting out of morbid curiosity.
Despite everything she'd begun to understand, Thal was still thrown by the gall it took to go rummaging through a crate of supplies that weren't hers. It took a lot of self-control to keep from throttling the woman. "Yes, we drink it, it's rum." She gave the woman an incredulous look, quite certain everyone knew what alcohol was. Shaking her head, she took the bottle from her, recorked it, and set it back amongst the others. "I'd venture to say it makes you suffer less."
Narrowing her eyes, she squared herself against the woman, arms crossed like she might reprimand her. There was a hardness to her expression, disapproving of her disruption as much as the display of utter incompetence. "You really don't know anything. Did you just wake up or something?"
10-20-2025, 12:14 PM (This post was last modified: 10-20-2025, 12:15 PM by Zairah.)
Zairah
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
Zairah blinked at the bottle being snatched away, the motion so fast it left her hand hanging stupidly in the air. Her fingers curled slow, like she was trying to hold onto the shape of the heat it left behind.
“Rum,” she repeated, testing the word. It sat awkward on her tongue, bitter and warm even without drinking it. “Makes you suffer less,” she echoed, softer, eyes flicking up to Thalassa. “Huh! Who would have thought?”
When Thalassa squared up to her, arms crossed and gaze like a knife meant for cutting fools down to size, Zairah once again didn’t flinch. She tilted her head up and down a little instead, studying her like one predator meeting another at a watering hole. Not challenged, not threatened, but highly intrigued.
Then came the question. Did you just wake up or something?
Zairah’s lips parted, and for a heartbeat she almost laughed. The sound came out rough, half-breath, half-heat. “Yeah,” she said finally, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “A few weeks ago or so.” It was actually longer than that, but to Zairah it only felt like weeks.
She shrugged, a small, helpless motion, but her voice carried an unbothered truth. “Stone one day. Not stone the next. Danta woke me and I've been in the Grounds ever since.”
Her gaze darted past Thalassa to the water stretching out beyond the docks, gray and restless under the Deepfrost sky. “If I had a life before I woke up, I don't remember it,” she said, quieter now, thoughtful. Her eyes slid back to the captain, a small grin tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I bet you've been awake for a while, though. You act like it. You're a natural.”
She didn’t elaborate on what that really meant, and probably couldn't if she was asked. Maybe it was the sharpness, or the confidence, or the way Thalassa didn’t tiptoe around anything. Maybe it was just that she burned brighter and hotter than the rest.
Zairah’s grin widened a little, crooked and unguarded. “So.. what else do you do to suffer less?” She asked.
Even the way she said words made her inexperience evident, the language rolling through her lips like she'd never said them before, and as she continued to explain, Thal began to understand why. Weeks had passed and the woman had no memories or experiences to pull from. It made her cold heart ache a little, reminding her of when she'd awoken on the beach, no memories to guide her beyond a name and a call for the ocean. It wasn't something she liked to think on, especially now that she knew the truth about her transition. At least the young woman had someone with her when she'd been dropped unprepared into the world - even if it seemed like Danta hadn't done more than open her eyes.
Shrugging her shoulders, Thal glanced around to make sure the crew was still working as she corrected bluntly, "I wasn't woken up. I was turned." Reassured that the extra stores were still being placed in the warehouse, she turned back to the woman, choosing to take the comment as a compliment of her competence rather than a dig at her age. It was the only reason she bothered to confirm the suspicion, ignoring the fact that it might give the woman hope. "That was a few years ago now."
On the topic of 'suffering less,' Thal huffed a breath, her eyes running down as she gave an assessing look. She didn't quite share in the grin, but there was sharp amusement in her eyes as she said, "Shed blood." Hunting, fighting, and other general chaos usually did the trick for her, although she'd had to learn the hard way. The learning curve had been steep and the bruises dark, but she'd managed. The thought of someone else having to suffer the same...
"Why don't I show you a few moves?" The offer was out before she had a chance to stop it, something annoyingly soft worming into her. She straightened her spine, tail flicking sharply behind her as she tried to dismiss the weak sense of concern threatening to take hold. It sharpened her features, banishing any suspicions of kindness or compassion that might have formed. "Before you get yourself killed." The look in her eyes seemed to suggest she didn't care either way, even though she didn't retract her offer.
10-28-2025, 11:59 AM (This post was last modified: 10-28-2025, 12:01 PM by Zairah.)
Zairah
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
“Turned?” Zairah echoed softly, the word landing strange. It sounded heavy. Sharp. Something that left marks when you said it too often or too loud. Her brows knit, not quite in pity but in curiosity, that bone-deep hunger for meaning that still hadn't quieted. “That sounds worse,” she said bluntly. “Was it painful? Do you remember life before you turned?”
The words came out flat, not cruel — just matter-of-fact. She looked Thalassa over again, like she was trying to see what years looked like. What they did to a person.
The captain didn’t look old, not in the way Zairah imagined “years” should. Her skin was smooth, her body still coiled tight like a spring — but something about her face told a different story. Not wrinkles. Weight. A heaviness that had settled behind the eyes and never left. Her blue gaze was the kind of color the ocean turns when it stops being calm.
Her horns gleamed like polished stone, darker than her hair, blue caught deep inside the black the way fire hides in coal. Zairah wondered if they’d hurt, pushing through skin like that. Absently, she rubbed at the tender skin around her own horns. As Thalassa's scaled tail flicked with that quiet authority, Zairah thought — not for the first time — that some people carried their power like a secret, and others like a blade. Thalassa did both.
If this was what years did to a person, maybe she didn’t mind the idea.
So when Thalassa said, Shed blood, Zairah didn’t blink, didn’t question it. Instead, her grin curved sharp and her eyes brightened. “Oh, definitely,” she smiled, “Nothing else is quite the same. The smell. The heat.. You start to feel like you could burn the whole world down if you wanted to..” Her tongue darted against the back of her teeth, a restless tic of memory. The words felt true in her mouth, the way Charlie’s laughter had felt true in her ear when the bowl was empty and the world had smelled of smoke and ruin.
And then the captain’s next words landed, the offer dressed up as a threat. Before you get yourself killed.
Zairah’s grin flashed back, wide and white and entirely unbothered. “You think I’d die easy?” she asked, not defiant, not joking — just genuinely curious. Her tone carried that same innocent danger she always had, the kind that didn’t yet know what it should be afraid of.
She stepped away from the crates and shook the numbness from her fingers, stepping closer with a kind of eager focus. “Show me then,” she said.
The air between them seemed to tighten, the sound of the docks fading into a distant hum. Her tail flicked once behind her, deliberate this time. “But if I hit you,” she added, her grin fading into a ghost of a smile, “I’m not saying sorry.”
Perhaps it was surprising to have someone who turned when most Ancients had come from a different time when Dygra had a firmer hold on the world. It wasn't something that bothered her, not when she couldn't change the past or when she was born, but the transition itself had taken more than she might have thought, and it left the topic sore, the memories blank.
"No." Narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, she didn't bother to explain, she couldn't explain. Beyond a tired awkwardness in her own body, she didn't remember the transition or anything before. Some days she was grateful for having lost it, while others had her wondering...
Preferring the topic of blood over her complicated lack of history, Thal raised a brow at the woman's apparent confidence. At least it sounded like she'd fed since awakening, although she had no idea how when she had the physical awareness of a stumbling foal. But the bloodlust was unmistakable, something every Ancient would recognize - along with its dangers.
"Just don't let it go to your head." She offered the flat advice, having failed in the task herself on many occasions, but not letting herself care if the idiot didn't want to listen. The woman had already proven to have a skewed perception of risk, having approached a dangerous predator without a single care or consideration. And now, she leveled her with a blunt, merciless gaze, not hesitating in her answer. "Yes." The woman would die very easily.
Glancing at the men to make sure they kept the work going, she gave a gesture of her head to follow before walking off to an opening on the deck. Her body slowly rolled and adjusted, preparing for the flight as she observed the cockiness flooding from the young woman. Thal scoffed, the shake of her head rustling dark hair down her back. "If you hit me, you can be the captain." Thick with sarcasm, she didn't bother to keep the words quiet, fully believing that if the inexperienced woman did manage to hit her, she didn't deserve to call herself a captain.
Without warning or preamble, Thal stepped forward in a quick lunge, her foot snagging out to hook behind the younger woman's and disrupt the horrendous balance she was trying to keep. It might have been harsh, but she never took things lightly, especially when it came to survival, and it would be better for the naivety to be broken by being flattened on her backside than stabbed in the gut.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream... The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless..
Zairah didn’t even see the foot until the deck tilted out from under her. One heartbeat she was standing, the next she was a blur of coat and limbs and air before she hit the planks with a flat, shocking thud.
The sound knocked the wind out of her, but what escaped wasn’t a groan. It was a laugh — sharp, breathless, bubbling up from somewhere too deep to be sensible. She lay there for a second, staring up at the washed-out Deepfrost sky, the cold biting through her clothes, and grinned like someone who’d just learned gravity was real and couldn’t wait to test it again.
“Okay,” she managed, voice rasped raw from the fall. “You hit harder than I thought.”
Her tail twitched against the boards, an unconscious lash of something between irritation and thrill. She pushed herself up with her palms, hair falling wild around her face, cheeks flushed from cold and contact. When her eyes found Thalassa again, they were bright — too bright — with the same dangerous excitement that had burned through her when she first smelled blood in the temple.
Standing now, she rolled her shoulders, testing the sore spot in her back. It hurt, but it was the kind of pain that made her feel real. Like the world had finally pressed back.
Zairah dropped into a sloppy imitation of Thalassa’s stance — knees bent, weight too far forward, tail flicking behind her like a faulty metronome. “Alright, captain,” she said, half-breathless, half-amused. “Your turn to try not to fall.”
There was no mockery in it. Just challenge; honest and raw and maybe a little reckless, the way everything in her was. No sooner had the words passed her lips when she went for it, striking out with her own foot. The motion felt forced and unnatural, but she tried anyway.
