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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 moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three
Flowerbirth has thus far been rainy and muddy, but today is a remarkably clear day. Set on the heels of a week straight of rain, the blue, sunny sky is a welcome reprieve. Callum strolls idly through Kaiholo Port, his hands in his pockets, blue eyes flicking this way and that. He's always on the lookout for trouble, and today is no exception. He's seen two pickpockets already, and though neither managed to grab a purse or lift a wallet under his watch, he's under no illusions that they won't keep trying.
Gulls reel overhead; merchants shout out their prices. It all blends together in a cacophony unique to the Port - and it's always been oddly comforting to Callum. Some people prefer the peace and quiet of nature, but give Cal a city any day.
Besides, it's easier to buy and sell in a city than in the country, and today, Callum needs to do the latter. He carries a tote bag filled with old clothes. Some are in pristine condition. Those he can sell to secondhand shops along the Port or in Haulani. Others are a little more threadbare, but they're still in good enough condition to donate. It's something he does every new year: cleaning out his closet, getting rid of the old to make room for the new.
The mercenary pauses beside one stall that looks promising, then spends a few moments haggling. When he turns away, there's a victorious sheen in his eyes, a few more coins in his pocket, and a few less clothes in his bag.
There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us
Sunlight paints the Kaiholo Port in warm gold, the air bright and humming after so many days of rain. Sails flutter lazily from the masts; puddles shimmer in the seams of the cobblestones, refusing to dry completely. Flora, in a gauzy wrap the colour of seafoam and shorts that catch the light like wet sand, drifts through the chaos. Her curls are pinned up today, a few soft strands escaping to brush the curve of her neck, and her gold jewellery gleams faintly even through the glamour of invisibility.
She spots Callum easily—there’s something about the way he moves, loose and alert all at once, like a cat pretending it isn’t hunting. It makes her grin, and with a twist of her invisibility ring, she ghosts closer, her sandals silent against the stone, the faint scent of jasmine and citrus trailing behind her like a secret.
"Hello, you," she purrs from somewhere just over his shoulder, fingers brushing teasingly along his arm before slipping away again. Her laughter follows, bright as the hels overhead, mischievous and familiar. "Guess who?"
The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three
Callum wanders further along the port, making his way down a boardwalk lined with vendors. The sounds of gulls overhead melds with the shouts of merchants hawking their wares, and the mercenary prowls through it all, at ease even as he keeps an eye out for the kind of trickery that he knows runs rampant in this part of town.
A sudden voice purrs a hello from over his shoulder, and he starts to turn to look until a brush of invisible fingers ghost down his arm. The laughter that follows has him grinning, eyes flicking around as though he can find her if he simply searches hard enough. Unsurprisingly, this attempt fails spectacularly. "Hey, Sunshine," he teases, eyes dancing with mirth. "I'm starting to think this is a kink of yours, making poor mercenaries look like crazy people talking to themselves." Hefting his bag over his shoulder, he considers a nearby vendor's wares, then moves on. "What's it going to be this time, huh?" he adds. "Something better than delving into Starfall, I hope?"
There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us
Flora’s laughter ripples through the noise of the port; light, musical, entirely unbothered by the chaos of vendors and gulls. A shimmer of air beside Callum resolves into colour and curve as she reappears, sunlight kissing the faint shimmer of salt on her skin. Her arm slips easily through his, the warmth of her body real and steady now, and when he looks down she’s already grinning up at him, brows bouncing in playful defiance.
"So what if it is?" she teases, eyes bright with the same wicked sparkle she’d had the first time she snuck up on him. "What's wrong with looking crazy?"
At the mention of Starfall, she releases his arm with a squeeze, shaking her head with mock disbelief. "I thought you went where the coin was, mercenary," she drawls, then softens with a shrug. "No caves or curses today, just dinner supplies." Her gaze flicks to the tote at his shoulder, curiosity curving her smile. "What about you? Off on a trip?"
The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three
Flora appears in a sudden shimmer of gold-kissed hair and tanned skin, drawing a smile from Callum as she links her arm companionably with his. There's something to be said for strolling the port with the queen on his arm, and that's besides the fact that he likes Flora. She's mischievous and fun in the way that Torchline's ruler should be, in Cal's opinion, and she's never made him feel like he's somehow lesser for just being a mercenary.
"Well, when you put it like that..." he says, rolling his eyes playfully. Then, in response to her query, he shrugs. "Just getting rid of some old clothes. Cleaning out the closet, ringing in the new year right, et cetera, et cetera. I usually sell what I can and donate the rest."
The gulls wheel overhead, and the peregrine falcon that lurks beneath Callum's skin itches to join them in the air. He ignores the sensation, focusing instead on the Doubletake. "Don't suppose there's any chance I can talk you out of dinner supplies and into dinner, hmm?" he asks, flashing a charming smile.
There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us
Flora’s grin blooms wide and bright, sunlight made human, and she gives an approving little nod at his responsible start to the season. "I always mean to do that," she admits, tone equal parts confession and complaint. "But every time I start going through things and think, oh, I haven’t worn this in years, I should get rid of it—" She flutters her free hand dramatically, aqua eyes widening with mock despair. "The second I do, I immediately think of three reasons I should have worn it."
She sighs, full of tragic flair, before flashing him a conspiratorial look over her shoulder. "So I gave up trying. My wardrobe’s basically a historical archive at this point."
As charming as his offer is, Flora bumps her shoulder lightly against his in wordless appreciation, but shakes her head. "Tempting as that is," she says with a crooked smile, "if I showed up home late, no dinner in hand, having instead had dinner with a very handsome mercenary—" she gestures to him pointedly, "—I’m pretty sure my boyfriend would, rightfully, explode on the spot."
Her tone softens as she glances toward the boardwalk ahead, where the breeze carries the tang of salt and spice. "But," she adds, looping her arm through his again, "I’d be happy to walk with you while you drop those off?"
The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three
Callum laughs at her admission, shaking his head. "I'm sure your wardrobe is much more interesting than mine," he admits. "I have pretty much the same shirts, just in varying shades of boring." That, and he tends to reach for his favorites more than anything new he might purchase - which is why several of the shirts in his bag still have the tags on them. "You probably have, what - a different pair of shoes for every occasion?"
Her rejection is taken in stride, a dramatic sigh falling from Callum's lips. "Ah, yes, and I couldn't blame him," he says. "I suppose you thinking I'm handsome will be my consolation prize." He winks, though, and nods at her offer. "That'd be great. Keep me from replacing these with more things I don't need." There are, after all, many different vendors hawking their wares, and it's all too easy to be swept up in a shopping spree.
"So, does the boyfriend have a name?"
There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us
Flora wrinkles her nose in exaggerated agreement, curls bouncing as she tilts her head. "Oh, definitely more interesting than yours," she says, unrepentant. And when he throws out the idea of one pair of shoes per occasion, her laugh bursts bright and incredulous. "Just one pair per occasion?" She tsks dramatically, as though genuinely offended. "Callum, please."
She nudges him again as they walk, sunlight warming the boards beneath their feet, vendors calling out everything from skewered shrimp to hand-carved trinkets. His dramatic sigh earns him an adoring smile, warm and teasing all at once. "Think of it as a very well-earned consolation prize," she says lightly. "Only awarded to the handsomest mercenaries, obviously."
But when he asks about her boyfriend’s name, the brightness of her smile softens into something quieter, tender around the edges. "He does have a name," she says, tone playful before it gentles. "Kaisel." Her gaze flicks toward a stall with colourful lanterns swaying in the sea breeze as she adds, "We’ve been dating just over a season now." Her voice holds a note of warmth she can’t quite tuck away, even as she keeps her steps light beside him.
The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three
Flora is all bright lights and playfulness - every bit of her embodying the sunshine moniker she's earned from Callum. He grins at her, caught up in her glow, until she softens around her boyfriend's name. This, at least, Callum can understand; while he doesn't have anyone special in his life right now, that doesn't mean he's always been a lonely mercenary, and his grin morphs into something understanding as Flora's tone gentles into something almost vulnerable.
"A season?" he muses aloud, ignoring a vendor who goes so far as to come out from behind his stall to attempt to lure them in. "That's a big milestone. He's a lucky man, I'll say that for him." There's no malice or disappointment in his tone, just a quiet acceptance, perhaps even a touch of encouragement. He knows what it's like to have something like that to celebrate.
As for himself, Callum smiles crookedly. "Can't say there is," he admits. They near the donation point, and he deposits his bag into the chute. "But I stay busy enough with my work, so it's probably for the best."
There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us
Flora can’t help it; her whole face lights up, a glow she tries (and utterly fails) to rein in. It might be rude to beam this brightly about someone in front of Callum, but the warmth spills through her anyway, softening her posture and brushing colour across her cheeks. She clears her throat, attempting—poorly—to gather a little dignity. "I’m lucky too," she says, voice gentled but still sun-warm. "He’s one of the good ones." And that truth sits in her chest like something warm and steadying, a tide that lifts her a little higher even as she forces her attention back to Cal.
His admission earns him a surprised little lift of her brows; Callum is handsome, kind, and far too charming to be drifting unattached. She bumps her shoulder against his in easy affection, giving him a sideways grin. "Yeah, well...a guy like you shouldn’t be tied down anyway." Her tone lilts teasingly, softening what might otherwise sound like a line; it’s more admiration than flirtation, warm rather than sharp.
As he drops the last of his clothes into the chute, Flora lets her gaze track the market around them, bright tarps and swaying lanterns casting soft colours over the boardwalk. "So," she asks, turning back to him, "do you need anything to replace what you just donated?"
