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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!
Returning from the festival had been its own whirlwind, and while Erebos had conjured several newfound things, he’d found it best to keep one of them to himself, at least until they got home. It’d been difficult to rein it all in, the notions and knowledge and what to do with it all practically buzzing out of his skin - but then there’d been word about Ru, and he’d seen his father try to collect into someone not worried about more than just their close-knit family and the region at large; so there’d been scarce time for his revelation. And that was okay - or so he told himself. Teachers always seemed to hold pride on patience.
Uncertain and unaware on how to distract or deter on that manner, he went straight for it as they wound back down the Citadel streets after another one of the Sword’s many meetings. “Any more on Auntie?” he started immediately, a hopeful little glance threaded Deimos’ way, reaching up for his father’s hand, winding his fingers and grasp within.
The Sword hadn’t forgotten his son’s notions from the festival, but as they’d been secretive, furtive means, he’d half-wondered if it’d been something simplistic that the lad didn’t want Noah to see. Then there’d been news about Ru up to her old tricks, and the semblance of possibilities had run rampant in his mind; especially after all the other scenarios and experiences with the Valkyrie’s predilection towards disappearing, and well.
Intentionally swinging his son’s arm so the child might catch the slightest lift off the ground, his brows furrowed at the question. Sometimes Erebos was simply too perceptive, or nosey, because he couldn’t recall ever telling the youth about the current situation – so he must’ve been listening in at some point. Maybe he could create a parchment just for Evie and himself to communicate when things became far too much or unsettling for him; a kind of youthful ignorance and innocence they’d hope to maintain. Sighing, he ran his free hand through his beard, the rumble concocted coming low, in case passersby took notice. “Frey said she was fine. We just do not know where she is. But Ru has done this a lot in the past.” Maybe he was saying all of this for himself too; to alleviate the sorts of tension brindling and scorching his shoulders.
Turning quietly, he paused along the past, crouching so he could fully face the youth. “You know my burdens are not yours. I do not want you worrying.” How many of them could say they’d had a childhood free of strife? Deimos certainly aimed to maintain it – for however long he could. “What did you want to tell me from the festival?”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
His eyes widened at the news – thinking how neat it was for a herald to know one’s whereabouts, or at least, the health and stature, but not give forth anything else. “She must have some really good hiding places,” he countered with a grin; the relief in his face that she was fine – simply not coming out yet. Not ready to play or venture outwards into a new round of hide and seek. With a tiny grin he imagined Ru bending within shadows or lurking within deep, dark cellars, always ten steps ahead of those wishing to find her. Unaware, of course, that this didn’t always bode well for those involved with her; making it that much more difficult.
He hadn’t expected Deimos to turn and offer that particular solace though. He didn’t know half of these burdens, but could fathom most weren’t enjoyable, and that leading a region only guaranteed a lot of letters, meetings, and necessary protection for those within it – but he nodded just the same, maybe hoping his father didn’t have to be so worried all the time.
The mention of the festival brought forth his smile again though, and he waylaid the notions about Ru off to the side. “Oh - my magic! I think it changed. Can I show you?”
Deimos offered a small smile at Erebos’ explanation; leaving it to the simplicity, and not the reasoning behind it all. Why Ru was in hiding could only be parceled out by her, and despite his constant calculating and wondering, they weren’t going to find any answers until she eventually unveiled and unfurled from the ether. It didn’t mean he’d cease striving to find the means to an end, but he was beginning to understand that there was no control in this scheme but the Valkyrie’s – despite how it left everyone else tied and tethered to her.
The relevance of his son’s magic was far more eye-opening anyway, and the depths of his features changed into something patient and eager, nodding. “Of course.” Erebos’ abilities hadn’t been a secret for long – not when both he and Evie were Abandoned. It came as no surprise to either of them when the lad had begun showing signs, though thus far there’d been inklings, tracings of potential. Foundations of water, pulses of such incantations that trickled down through his and Evie’s bloodline both; though the brief sconces of illusion hadn’t been on either side, and likely to be destined as a figment all his own.
Though he was confused by what it had to do with the festivities and fair amidst the desert, but led his son over towards a smaller path, so he could show off techniques without knocking anyone about. “Did you gain this at the festival?”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
The side street offered him opportunity and space away from others, so he gave Deimos another brighter grin for his father’s cleverness, nodding along by presumptions. “Yeah, so, when I got my prize, I felt it grow stronger? Does that make sense? Like maybe I won a way to strengthen my magic!” In his youthful mind, the spontaneity and combination connected, despite the lack of experience on his end. Didn’t others gain and grow their incantations and enchantments in bizarre ways? Or it simply happened? Why not as the keeper of an egg? Laughing, and with a fair bit of pride for such a commendable outcome, he crouched in the snow, having promised to show off his newfound skills.
He'd seen his parents do a great amount of work with the element – so he thought to start big. Taking a long, deep breath, he channeled every ounce of concentration that he could into the water beating into his pulse, brows furrowing, seemingly glaring at nothing, until the figments finally began to concoct. Holding out his hand and turning over his palm, he showed off a watery grace – a bubble, then several more, beginning to unfurl before him, before they changed into droplets, cascading one on top of another, starting to descend like rainfall. “I can create it now! All by myself!” No need to lean upon others or draw it from puddles or snow - his making.
His brow arched at the sentiments and explanation – because while one didn’t exactly expect prizes from a spontaneous egg hunt to grant such powers – the unpredictable nature of Caido meant he also wasn’t wholly surprised. Given how he’d come to his fire incantations with minimal effort, save for thinking perhaps it’d been simply passed down from his own father, he couldn’t really argue the front. The youth had certainly practiced his magic, but he’d also not been capable of doing so for very long, given his newfound age. “Interesting,” for it was, and he had no better foundation for it. Trusting Erebos could fathom the distinctions between the basic principles to mastery in its form, he simply waited for the display.
At which he had to smile again, watching as the bubbles appeared, all under Erebos’ own merit and skills, before cascading into droplets, as if they’d found a minor raincloud. He joined in the youth’s excitement, granting a larger grin. “Very well done. That is a good skill to have.” His head tilted, eager to educate but wanting his son to find it on his own terms – ask when he was ready, rather than immediately diving in. “Do you want to try more?”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
His father’s praise was enough to ignite the youth’s grin again – proud and triumphant with the force of the bubbles, droplets, and ensuing, but very negligible rain. He’d seen both of his parents do a many great, wonderful, awe-inspiring thing with their enchantments – he knew these moments couldn’t hold a candle to the possibilities – but the magic contained and adorned was his. And that meant multitudes; to be capable, to bear no shame, to unfurl it at his own command, rather than being a watcher, a witness.
And he’d seen his dad do the same things with his soldiers – patiently waiting, biding, to see if they were willing to strive again. He was always going to be; determined, steadfast, nodding at the encouragement. Furrowing his brows, he honed all that concentration into the figments of water, striving to alter and change their disposition, holding the foundations and morphing them into traces of ice, then snowflakes, as they descended gently down to the rest of their brethren. “Ha!” he gleamed, practically beaming from ear to ear. “How’s that?”
The grin was enough to inform Deimos he’d done something well; and for the present he played the instructor role once more, tilting his head, studying the way Erebos altered and commanded the magic. It didn’t seem natural or straightforward to him yet, requiring vast amounts of concentration and focus; but that seemed to be a normal instance when youth was applied to the scheme of things. It had taken all of them time to manage, to understand, and to pluck at the necessary strings running through their blood. At the very least, he’d be safe to do so here, tucked away and practicing without the folly of anyone else.
His gaze went to the rain altered into snow, granting another nod of his head. “Well done.” Pausing, intending to push in another direction, he took another steadier breath. “See if it will come naturally to you.” In demonstration, he held out a palm, took one inhale, and permitted an extension of water to pool above his hand, lingering and twirling as his enchantments and incantations wove amongst themselves.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
His grin didn’t disappear – just as resolute as his determined, steadfast little entity. But when his father urged a more natural adaptation, the youth tilted his head, trying to remember what it meant to relax into these modes. That he didn’t have to stretch and draw and quarter away portions of himself just to get the magic to refine or stay or even listen to him; so he steadied, took a few breaths. Releasing the tension through his brows, then his eyes, he watched as Deimos easily conducted the incantations along his palm, bending and swaying the elements with an obvious ease. And while Erebos could argue that his father had many more years of experience, he was willing to listen, rather than quibble, quarrel, and argue the sentiments.
Only when he eased back, settling right into the snow, and rationalize the potential, did the magic come back to him. It relished and soared without the insistent tug and wheedling, and he laughed at the notion as the icy little crystals came spiraling around again, and he made them twist and turn in nature’s folly, basking in the glow of it. “That’s so cool.” Then he ordered the snow to rampage their way into the Sword’s incantations, watching as they billowed around it. "How long do you think I can use it?" He'd know, just by the flex and pervading conjectures, that it wouldn't be for eternity.
Watching as Erebos listened, sometimes far better than the soldiers in his command, Deimos gave a light snort, letting the snowflakes chase after their compatriots as the same elements bolstered and heightened. Only when his had potentially surrounded the tight cluster of frozen particles did he ease up, brow arching at the inquiry. “Depends. You are young, and if you just came to master it, you may have anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours at a time.” The Sword knew the aspects of limitations too, had felt them pulse and twitch down into his very soul like moments in the Spire, back when everything felt far too new and he’d wanted to do so much more than his form had been capable of. While it wasn’t a problem now, for him, he knew he’d have to keep a careful watch on his son, and many others, who yearned and craved to unfurl until they couldn’t anymore. It was important to know when to stop, and when to go; and hopefully they all understood those aspects well before danger and destruction were near.
Making a corporeal, watery snare around the miniature ramparts, he mused, nose wrinkling slightly. “And what you are using it for. Times like these, it probably does not drain you too much. In battle, while wielding it against enemies and striving for damage? Takes a lot more concentration, focus, and drive.” Until his fortitude and endurance could holster and bolster.
The mere thought of his son ever being in that sort of situation chafed and ground at him too; because he knew better. That was how Caido was. But he didn’t want the youth to end up in a situation like Ru’s son, Enzo, obliterated, a spark gone out before the flame even had a chance.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
Erebos knew better than to rush headlong into danger – had enough eyes on him to probably not have the opportunity anyway. But there were those moments in every youth’s life where the glory seemed infinite, and the amusement far outweighed the potential of life-threatening ailments and catastrophes. When stories were just that – tales that stretched and hardly provided or presided anything more than the potential for grandiose heights and heroic days. Anyone in Halo could tell him the efforts of both his parents with thrill and exultation, or of demigods streaking through the horizon, racing headlong into mountainous peaks and valleys, or down into the crush and rush of horrendous isles. Wouldn’t any child want to stake their claim for the future, to be amidst those honored and committed?
He said nothing to the sort to his father; the Sword would have brushed off those efforts as necessities and nothing more. So he grinned instead, with no concept of time or energy or drive other than wanting it. “That still sounds awesome,” he declared, watching as Deimos’s water trapped his snowflakes, laughing as he made his seem to fight back, waging miniature declarations when all they could truly do was strive not to be absorbed. “Yeah. It does seem to take a lot. But I’ll get better, right?” echoed on a hopeful glance; because while he couldn’t imagine utilizing these for hours now, the mere thought of it something in the near future made him wonder and crave.
The response made him snort, half-wondering if Evie’s penchant for impulse ran rampant through their son, or if it was just the impetuousness of youth. He had likely been the same in his childhood too, wild and eager to be much like the soldiers surrounding their region, desperately seeking out ways to improve, while being distracted by any manner of mischief he could behold. It was only later, after many years of traumatic events, that he’d been corded and carved into some hardened, steely fixture; and he wouldn’t want the same for Erebos. “Of course. Look how far you have come already.” Whether or not that was tied to trial and error, or the aspects of some carnival game scarcely mattered – the designations and journey might not be the same for everyone, but the simplicity was. “Especially if you are patient,” he wrinkled his nose, water incantations carefully poking holes into Erebos’ snowflakes, trying to see how long they would take to dissolve, if the lad wasn’t watching close enough. “I did not have these things all at once. It took time.”
There were only so many measures one could skip; where eventually they’d have to labor onwards, strive, try - and he might as well have imparted the thought of it here and now, where Erebos could begin to understand that sometimes life wasn’t built on instant fulfillment and thrills. The world didn’t appease simply because one wanted it to.
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
He gave half a pout as he watched the water droplets beginning to massacre his miniature snowflake army, digging deep into his pulse and entity to stoke the rest of the incantations into a rush of a melee. They flickered back to life and rushed at the cascading water – short-lived, he knew, but for half a moment he’d like to think he was just as potent and powerful on his own.
A reminder of patience didn’t carve deeply though; his nose wrinkled too, huffing a great sigh until his sides heaved beneath the layers of warm garb. “I guuuuessss,” drawled; he knew it was real and true and that no one came into such potency all at once, but still, it was a nice dream. On a rush of potential, like maybe the Evergreen had developed all sorts of different mastered magic at his age, he inclined his features upwards, permitting another easygoing grin. “What about mom?”
Deimos rumbled a short laugh as the snowflake soldiers rushed in some final push – and witnessed them be singularly crushed by the watery opposition. Shaking his head as they fell to pieces and disintegrated, he took the half-hearted measure of patience with a roll of his shoulders, knowing and understanding he wouldn’t have listened to the same lecture at his son’s age – but figuring one day it would sink in. The Sword’s level of patience had come from other lifelines and measures; certainly not from boyhood inclinations.
The inquiry gave him the slightest bit of pause. Knowing how Evie had kept her incantations and enchantments furtive, secretive, and under wraps for many years within the closed-off, barrier-laden positions of the Hollowed Grounds, and amidst her strict parents, the possibility could’ve gone both ways. But it would’ve been very difficult to keep hidden for so long. Rather than answer the question for her though, and because their son should’ve held no shame for being who he was, he relented with a vague smile. “You could ask her. Especially when you are showing off what you can do.”
under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed
