Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
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!
Far as Jack can tell, the world is getting out the worst of its bullshit before the turn of the season, because by the time he sails from the Greatwood around to the Grounds for a stop prior to heading south, the sky has grown black as pitch and even the good Captain reconsiders sailing onward when the rain starts to fall. Thunder continues to purr across Jack Tar Landing as the evening draws in and the downpour turns torrential, lashing wildly against walls and windows and emptying the streets.
The Ark's crew, Jack included, have taken shelter in one of the larger taverns, rooms booked and liquor flowing faster than the water in the gutters. Someone (it's Bassian) has started up a shanty in the corner of the bar that's quickly turning into a group affair, and Jack takes the opportunity to fuck out of dodge before he's roped into it. Taking his bottle of spiced rum and his glass - and ignoring that he knows it's a Torchline vintage and he knows it's a good one - as he sidles into one of the booths it's inevitable that the sting of homesickness soon follows.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Unsurprisingly, Charlie is not a fan of the weather, and with the docks slick and shining under sheets of rain, the priestess has also sought refuge inside the tavern. Perched atop the polished wood bar top like it was always meant to hold her there, one leg crossed lazily over the other, Charlie nurses a drink while a loose wreath of fire curls around her shoulders and spine, flickering gold and coral as it dries her skin and fabric alike. Steam rises softly where the rain had been—ancient problems require ancient solutions—and though this wasn't the Grounds, it wasn't so far away that the sight of her covered in fire was causing too much commotion (though Charlie's presence inevitably caused a little anywhere she went).
Her gaze is half on her glass, half on the door, because sailors always come in soaked and grumbling when the weather turns like this, and she finds that those most inclined for heat and alcohol are also more willing to listen to her sermons on Dygra, when she sees him. As Jack slinks in with all the grace of a man trying to escape his own reputation, bottle in hand and shoulders tight, Charlie’s mouth curves instantly, bright and delighted, like the evening has just begun. "Jack!" she calls, voice cutting clean through idle chatter and thunder alike, pure recognition and cheer wrapped together without restraint.
She hops down from the bar in one smooth, eager motion, fire following her like a living thing as her boots hit the floor. The heat pulls in tighter around her as she moves, tail flicking once, twice, and then she is dart!ing across the tavern and into the booth across from him, a grin already firmly in place as she leans forward, elbows on the table, firelight dancing in her eyes. "Well," she says, bright and unapologetic, eyes skimming him with open curiosity, "fancy seeing you here." Her tail curls lazily around the edge of the seat, flame softening to a warm glow as she lifts her glass in a casual little salute.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
When Jack hears his name and it's not laced with irritation or suspicious recognition, he can't help but feel uncertain. The former two reactions are familiar, at least, and whilst he does vaguely recognise the owner of the voice, as his blue eyes flick up towards the bar, suddenly Charlie isn't there any more. No, she's directly opposite, her mind smashing into his telepathy like a firework. His hand tightens ever so slightly on the liquor bottle as he pours himself another measure into the glass, the Captain adjusting his magic around the wildfire of chaos and vibrance that the Ancient has brought with her.
"Sailors sailin' into a port town? Wild, I know," he draws, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim of his glass, the faintest hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. He raises the drink in salute as well once he's taken a sip, relishing the slow and familiar burn in his throat before setting it down onto the sticky table. "Weather's too shit to make the trip south tonight, so we'll be headin' out tomorrow. What brings you so far out from your shrines an' temples?"
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Charlie doesn’t so much react to Jack’s restraint as she treats it like a familiar dance partner; something to spin around, dip dramatically, and never once let lead. His dry drawl lands, and instead of dimming her, it gives her something to play off of, something solid to bounce against such that when he lifts his glass, she mirrors him, only to immediately tip her own back and finish it in one enthusiastic go. The empty glass comes down on the table with a decisive clack, followed by a long, theatrical "Aaaaaaaaaahhh."
Her shoulders relax instantly, fire licking brighter for a second before settling back into a warm, smug glow around her collarbones. Her tail flicks once, then again, the second pass unmistakably impish as it curls suggestively near her hip. She wiggles her brows at him, grin broad and utterly unbothered by his cool composure. "A port town like this absolutely deserves my attention too." Her eyes sparkle as she leans back. "And honestly? I’d be a terrible priestess if I could only work out of a temple. Can you imagine?" Charlie shudders theatrically. "So dull. So contained. No fun at all."
Her gaze slides back to him, warm and mischievous. "Besides," she says sweetly, fingers tapping against her empty glass, "I find the worship much more spontaneous in places like this, so I like to be around when I can."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
A little more accustomed by now, at least, to the vibrance of Charlie's mind as it whirls about his magic like a tornado on fire, Jack drums his fingers gently against his (not empty) glass, glancing over at her - all flame and cheer and impish delight - as if seeing her again for the first time. So sue him, but their previous encounters have all been happenstance, outside, and usually with some underlying crisis or event taking centre stage. Tonight and right now, it's all Charlie. (And some Bassian, Jack is trying very hard to tune him out).
"Mm, you say that, but you're the only priestess I know who even has a dedicated temple," he remarks with another sip of rum. She's the only priestess he knows period, in fact, but whatever. "Ah yes, the worship," he continues, reaching out automatically to refill her glass with the bottle he's brought with him. "An' how is your quest for followers goin' so far out here?" Poorly, he suspects, given how she's sitting with him.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Charlie’s grin flashes quick and bright at that—not smug, not possessive, not even particularly proud—just delighted, as if Jack has complimented something lovely she happened to be standing near rather than anything she owns. "Oh, that’s hardly my doing," she says lightly, rolling one shoulder as though the credit might slide straight off her and back into the world where it belongs. "It is very convenient in a lot of ways, though."
She murmurs a soft note of thanks as he tops up her glass, and under the table her tail drifts, lazy and deliberate, brushing along his leg in a way that is neither apologetic nor accidental. Reaching for the drink as if nothing at all has happened, she lifts it to her lips and takes a long, indulgent sip, fire flaring faintly brighter at her shoulders as she swallows. "Mmmmm," she sighs, then shakes her head just slightly, smile turning thoughtful rather than defensive. "I’m not really after followers." The word lands softly, almost fond, as though it’s a misunderstanding she’s used to correcting. 'I just think everyone deserves to know how good Dygra is."
Her gaze stays on him as she leans in, voice lowering into something rich and coaxing. "Imagine going through life never knowing there were better options," she says softly, tail giving another slow, suggestive sweep beneath the table. "Stronger ones. Wilder ones. Just sitting there...waiting for you to decide you want more." Her smile sharpens at the edges, bright and dangerous and very aware of how it sounds. "Wouldn’t that be such a shame, to never know about it? Like sailing around a little lake you think is all you can ever have, never knowing about the oceans that make it feel like a bathtub."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
"I have no doubt," Jack mumbles, voice muffled behind another sip of rum. In the back of his mind, of course, he's already wondering why there aren't temples to any of the other gods out there, and whether as part of this potential lift-and-shift over to the Greatwood they shouldn't consider making a starlit monument for Safrin. (Possibly just to piss off Dygra, who probably wouldn't care, but it's the thought that counts).
Setting down his glass, he not only feels the suggestive brush of a tail against his leg but also the not-so-subtle heat behind it, and in response Jack tips his glass back to finish his drink in one. It isn't a decision or an intention as such, but gods if it doesn't feel like a good night for bad decisions. "An ethical priestess," he rumbles, topping up his own glass with a smirk. "Of Dygra. Who'd have thought?"
Raising an eyebrow, then, in a silent did you just call my goddess a bathtub, Jack scoffs and leans in as well. "Ah, so you've tried worshippin' all the other gods out there?" he challenges. "The heralds, their patrons, all of 'em?"
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Charlie flashes him a grin that shows just a hint of fang, all bright heat and unapologetic confidence, her head tilting to the side as if she’s genuinely curious rather than teasing him within an inch of his patience. "Is it really that surprising?" she asks lightly, tone airy and amused. Fire licks lazily along her fingertips as she toys with her glass, tracing its rim while the flame curls and retreats in obedient little spirals, more adornment than threat. She hums, thoughtful and pleased, eyes never leaving his as she considers his challenge.
"Oh, I’ve absolutely read up on their pamphlets over the years," Charlie says with a grin, shoulders lifting in a small, exaggerated shrug. "Very informative. Lots of rules for some of them. I've even worshipped with their followers a time or two." Her nose wrinkles prettily a second later, the expression exaggerated and playful. "And while lakes can be lovely and I've definitely had my share of fun with them—" Her smile shifts then, sharpening into something knowingly wicked as she leans forward just enough for the firelight to dance across her features. "There’s just something about the ocean," she continues, voice lowering into a rich, coaxing and indulgent purr, "that nothing else can compare to. The depth. The pull. The way it doesn’t ask permission before it drags you under and teaches you how to sink or swim."
One brow arches, blue eyes gleaming as her tail gives another lazy, suggestive sweep beneath the table, all implication and invitation. "Surely," she adds sweetly, "a man like you can agree with that."
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
Jack barks out a laugh at that. "Yeah, it is," he says around another sip of his drink. As a man with very few ethics himself and knowing what he knows (none of it intentionally) about Dygra, he'd have expected her priests and priestesses to be demonic little heathens. It certainly seems to be the case for a few of the other Ancients he's met anyway.
"Their pamphlets," he repeats, smirking as he lowers his glass to the table, the heat of the liquor warming the rain and the reservations from his bones as time goes on. He's fully prepared for the sort of boring diatribe that follows a remark like that, but of course then Charlie waxes lyrical about the ocean like she's baiting him on purpose (which he knows she fucking is) and the Captain tilts his head to her across the table.
"A man like me don't need gods to go out onto the ocean," he says. "I'll sail whatever waters come my way an' ride the waves until they break."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Charlie lifts a brow at that, slow and deliberate, the gesture carrying far more meaning than the movement deserves. Her shoulders roll in a coy little shrug, fire whispering along her skin like it’s in on the joke. "I’ll take that as a compliment, then," she says lightly, blue eyes smouldering as they linger on him. There’s amusement there, certainly, but also something appraising, like she’s testing the edges of him just to see where they give, if at all. "You don’t strike me as the sort of man who gets surprised easily."
His words about breaking waves catch, though, snagging her attention the way a spark finds dry tinder. Charlie’s grin turns mischievous, sharp at the corners, and she leans forward across the table. The fire around her responds instinctively, flaring just a touch brighter, fingertips glowing as she braces her hands against the wood. "Until they break," she echoes, head tilting as if she’s tasting the idea, ruby horns catching sharply on the firelight.
Her tail curls lazily beneath the table, and she looks at him through her lashes, all challenge and invitation braided together. "Is that always how you sail, Jack?" she asks softly, voice warm and dangerous, "with the intention of breaking every wave beneath you?"
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
"You should," Jack rumbles. "I also ain't the sort of guy who gives compliments easy." He lifts his glass again, then, emptying it in a smooth and practiced tilt of liquor against his tongue, the fire of it chasing all the way down his throat to pool low in his belly. It helps, he finds, especially as Charlie's effervescence and charm turn dark in a way that allows him to peel away the golden curls and big blue eyes from memories that bite at his heels like hungry dogs in the corners of his mind.
And so when she leans across the table he does the same, if not much more slowly, and the fire around her will find itself a companion in the small flames that Jack conjures to twist through the air, kissing against the backs of her hands. "Depends on the weather." He grins, sharp and roguish. "A good sailor knows how to ride any wave. You've gotta be flexible for that sort of work, y'know. I'd be happy to show you how."
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
Charlie’s grin turns incandescent at that, bright and unabashed, the kind of smile that promises trouble and enjoys the promise far too much. "Then I’ll consider myself very lucky," she says, voice warm and pleased, blue eyes holding his without flinching. If Jack’s magic brushes the edges of her mind now, it doesn’t fizz or pop like a shaken bottle finally uncorked. Instead it opens into something cavernous and old, a vastness layered with centuries and forgotten skies, with worlds that existed long before this one pressed itself into shape. There’s brightness there, yes—champagne bubbles still rising, still dancing and golden—but beneath it lies depth, weight, the quiet patience of something that has endured being worshipped, broken, buried, and reborn. Not new. Not fragile. Something that has learned how to wait. Something, perhaps, unlike the comparatively new minds he has been used to.
When fire blooms around her hands, Charlie inhales sharply, delighted surprise flashing across her face as her fingers splay instinctively, toying with his flames as if they’re another indulgence offered freely. She laughs softly under her breath, eyes flicking hungrily up to his. "I am older than I look," she says lightly, as though it’s a harmless confession rather than a warning, head tilting to the side with feigned thoughtfulness. "Though I’ve always been very fond of learning new tricks." Old dog or not.
Rather than sliding out of the booh and perhaps grabbing Jack by the balls coat, instead one blink she’s there, fire and grin and heat between them, and the next Charlie darts! across the tavern in a blur of motion, suddenly occupying a doorway that leads out of the main room. She turns back toward him, tail animated and expressive, tracing a slow, encouraging curve that draws the eye and follows the sashay of her hips without shame or subtlety.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
Jack does, indeed, feel it when his magic patters against Charlie's mind to find it much hungrier than on his initial first pass, his curiosity piqued further and not just by rum and the promise of some hot and heavy pleasure in his immediate future. She promises trouble and he finds it every time he breathes, or so it seems; it's not a match made in heaven by anyone's estimations, but it's definitely something.
"That so? Me too," he says of being older than he looks (it's just a couple of years to Charlie's centuries, granted), and when she darts! away towards the door, his telepathy zones back in on her as quickly as it can. The Captain rises languidly to his feet, and taking one last pull directly from the bottle of liquor before setting it down and stepping out from the booth.
He doesn't announce his exit - doesn't even catch anyone's eye as he goes, sure in the knowledge that the crew of The Ark will still be fucking around and finding out by the time he returns. Soon enough he finds himself back at Charlie's side, the heat that whispers between them much more than mere fire and proximity.
fight so dirty but you love so sweet talk so pretty but your heart got teeth
The dark beyond the tavern swallows them quickly, rain and singing muffled to a distant, impatient purr as she moves with purpose, sparks of fire skittering off her skin with each step like embers shaken loose. The glow paints her in brief flashes of gold and coral, enough to catch the sharp line of her grin as she reaches for Jack without hesitation. Her fingers find his belt easily, deft and practiced, already unbuckling it as she walks backwards, blue eyes never leaving his. The heat between them is no longer subtle, no longer playful suggestion, but something heavier, coiled tight and waiting to be loosed. Her tail flicks behind her, restless and pleased, brushing his leg as if urging him to keep pace.
She reaches blindly for a door handle with one hand while the other continues its work, twisting the latch only to find it stubbornly locked. Charlie huffs a soft, amused breath, not breaking stride, guiding them further along the narrow corridor until she tries another door. This one gives, swinging inward to reveal a cramped storage room; shelves lined with crates and supplies, a rough counter bolted along one wall, no comfort to speak of and certainly no bed.
Her mind doesn’t balk at the space for even a heartbeat, not when Jack had boasted of being able to sail on any sea. With a raised brow that echoes this though, she tugs him forward, fire flaring briefly along her shoulders as she pulls him across the threshold.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
