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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 lack of rain on this particular afternoon does not, unfortunately, correlate to a lack of mud. It does, however, improve Callum's mood, which has been decidedly less than happy ever since departing Torchline for the quaint nature of the Greatwood. The mercenary was contracted to assist with mud cleanup, and that's what he's been doing since he got here, but today is just too pretty to spend shoveling muck.
So he plays with it instead.
He's discovered, you see, that the mud will occasionally play a little game of fetch with you, if you coax it with something interesting. Callum has a bottlecap that the mud seems to have taken a liking to, and he tosses it a few feet from the tree he's sitting under, only to watch the mud wander over and bring it back. He's been at it for a few minutes now, and it's almost entertaining enough to make him feel sorry for trying to remove the mud from its Greatwood home. Almost.
Maybe he can lure the mud out of the village with bottlecaps. But then he supposes that he'd be polluting the Greatwood, and the seemingly sentient forest might not take too kindly to that. Ah well. It was an idea.
Between some back and forth errands and promises to bring back essential items, Deimos had opted to be nosey amidst the Greatwood. News had traveled of everyone’s weather dilemmas, but Halo certainly hadn’t fared to the extent that the great range of a forest had. The muck was a stark reminder of many things, including the doomed Fiat Lux festival years and years ago, but like a multitude of other moments, he placed those notions back in the notches of his spine, and carried on.
His hellhound shift made quick work with massive strides and emblazoned paws – amused, really, once he’d made a few leaps and the memory mud had caught aflame. It choked, sputtered, then faded into oblivion or burnt edges, and he’d purposefully stomped on a few portions of it as he wandered through, nose in the air.
Eventually he rounded another area, though he saw an individual nearby. His canine ears flicked back and forth, head raised, not recognizing the stranger at all. Eyes narrowing, his head tilted, striving to decipher his next move. Purposeful, he opted for a chance to call out over the Attuned bond, figuring that would be an initial step – besides shifting altogether. Hello he called out, a deep rumble through the wood, but otherwise still, assessing the situation.
Callum bores of his game just as a voice calls out over the Attuned bond. The mercenary goes rigid, glancing up to find a hellhound staring at him from a few trees down. He curses silently to himself, having been so wrapped up in his idiotic game that he's been caught unawares. He's lucky that whoever this is doesn't seem inclined to attack him - yet.
Still, he can't speak through the Attuned bond unless he's shifted, so he quickly gets to his feet and eyes the hellhound warily. "Hello," he says back, gaze flicking towards the treetops. Mentally, he's calculating if he has time to shift if the hellhound makes a move towards him - but surely, if the other Attuned had meant him harm, they would not have called out to him? Forcing himself to relax, Callum leans casually against the trunk of the tree next to him. "Tell me," he says conversationally. "Does the mud bother you as much in that form, with the whole flaming paws thing, or do you just destroy it as you walk by?"
Keenly observant, had to always be that way, considering the way he’d grown up and simply seemed to march to war drums every couple of years, he watched as the other man went rigid. That could’ve been for any reason – a hellhound’s appearance didn’t often signal good omens. But it was Deimos’s turn to be mildly surprised, a widening of his eyes, when he received an answer – fortunate enough to have stumbled upon a fellow Attuned, even if they weren’t shifted.
Withholding a snort, because that flicker of amusement rumbled through, he tilted his head a fraction instead, ears twitching back and forth as the stranger responded not through the bond, but out loud. The question seemed understandable, but merely five paces ahead of where the Warden might have wandered down. Perhaps these were normal circumstances for the stranger. I destroy it. Fun, really. He gave half a grin, fangs and all, and then promptly stomped on another bout of mud threatening to bound towards his front legs. The crisp, flaring embers bursting from his paws launched themselves upon the grime, and it bubbled, melted, scarred back into the ground. Have you been impairing it too? Or maybe he was one of those that remained unbothered by the whole thing.
Perhaps one day Callum would be able to speak through the bond when unshifted, but for now, he opts to speak aloud, gazing curiously at the hellhound as he does so. When the beast lifts a front leg to stomp down on some mud creeping towards its feet, causing the murk to bubble and melt, eventually drying into cracked ground, Cal snorts. "Looks like it." There's only a hint of envy in the back of his mind. He loves his peregrine falcon shift, but to be able to do something like this... well, that would be enjoyable, indeed.
As for his own notions, Cal shrugs. "I was helping in the Village to clean up the mud," he says. "But out here, I figured it wasn't hurting anybody." So he's left it largely alone, only tossing his bottlecap to the puddle closest to him for a momentary amusement. Of course, he'll have to get back to his task soon enough, and that will mean either destroying the mud or coaxing it out of the way. But for now...
If the envy peeked through, Deimos didn’t say anything about it. He’d been in that position before anyway – though he couldn’t recall ever being covetous over others; grateful, perhaps, that he’d had any at all. Circumstances were different for everyone, so he merely gave a snort at the response, before taking another leap at some more mud, feeling it shift between his claws, punctured, pierced, before following through on another bout of flames. They engulfed, swallowed, burnt, and consumed, and before long he’d unleashed a scarred bout of melted muck and grime around him.
Helping the Village was probably better than what he was doing now – antagonizing then destroying – but he shifted his shoulders into what could’ve been a canine-like shrug. We always think that, until it forms into something giant, and then ruined an entire festival or area, became a monster…lots of options for amalgamations in Caido.
Though before he could become sidetracked with those potentials, the greeting came forth, and he didn’t recognize the name. Deimos, he granted in response, ears flicking again. Do you live in the Greatwood? was on curiosity, but then he spotted some parts of the mire that seemed to be combining with one another and forming what could only be described as a miniature mudman.
The thought of the mud forming into something giant and foreboding gives Callum pause; his earlier game of fetch with the muck doesn't seem quite so entertaining in retrospect. In small amounts, the memory mud seems harmless enough, but given that it seems to have at least somewhat of a mind of its own, the idea that it could become sentient enough to cause harm doesn't seem so far-fetched. "Fair enough," Callum says, shrugging off the sudden urge to set fire to the patch of mud that lingers at his feet. Not that he has the means with which to do so, but still.
Deimos is a name that the mercenary recognizes (assuming, at least, that this is the Deimos and that there aren't many other Deimoses running around Caido). The Resurrected Sword is legendary across Caido, and interest immediately sparks in Callum's mind. "No, I'm just visiting. I'm from Torchline."
Nearby, some of the muck and mire begins to move, and Callum's gaze sharpens on the miniature mudman that appears. Clenching his jaw, he watches and waits; if it is a threat, it will need to be dealt with, but he has little in the way of ability to fight it at present. Some mercenary he's turning out to be.
12-04-2025, 03:34 PM (This post was last modified: 12-29-2025, 05:51 AM by Deimos.)
this is the reckoning
Unaware of the other man’s inward sentiments and thoughts, he figured Callum didn’t appear to be the least bit bothered. Deimos remained wholly determined to render the muck and grime obsolete, however, relishing the impact of some infernal demolition and destruction . He took in the information and details; Torchline, and clearly the man had some power to shift, if he could hear and listen through the bond.
Pondering these particulars over, his ears twitched back and forth again, piercing eyes settling on the mudman as it seemed to be slowly making its way over, acquiring smaller bits and pieces as it went. For now, it was nothing, and the Sword intended for it to stay that way. I can toss some over to you, if you want to destroy it in your shift. he inquired and offered, the subtle hint of amusement hastening through. There was always the opportunity to maul it with his bare hands too, if he considered that a better option. Plus, the potential for upheaval, chaos, and practice combined seemed a formidable enterprise. On that designation, he notched another set of fire-infused paw meddling, watching as some other distinctions immediately dried up or diminished altogether, before enacting on his previous conviction, chucking some bits to Callum to decide how he'd like to destroy and discard, for however long it took.
