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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!
Hearing Colt call out dog names to chase after the speaking squirrels, Thorn just snorts under his breath and gets back to work putting the panels in place. It’s tedious work, but ones he wants to make sure are done right. The last thing he wants is for anything to happen and it be his fault, after all.
Taking the break very seriously, Thorn fills up a glass of water to down as the heat begins to pour in around them. He takes note of the wagon drawn by the horses, the pile of dirt in its back and the shovels sticking out of the back, and takes a moment to stretch out his arms and crack his neck as Colt explains. He thinks he understands it, hopping into the back to collect a shovel and hands one to Flora.
Flashing the Doubletake an easy smile, Thorn begins to work shoveling out the dirt and adding a flair of air magic to help it spread a little easier than the pile he’s tossing out. “Takin’ a break from the Torchline heat?” He asks the Queen to make small talk while they work. He’d lived in Torchline before, he knows what the heat of Longheat brings to its shores and he’s quietly grateful that King’s End had a habit of being at least a little cooler.
Thorn starts shoveling dirt out and makes small talk with Flora! He uses his air magic to help spread the dirt he throws out the back of the wagon, too.
Air manipulation (Abandoned/Hybrid): Can manipulate the air. Must be within a 30ft radius and allows the user to levitate medium-large sized objects up to 5ft above the ground . Control is excellent.
Type: Grey | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
Flora lets out a long, dramatic groan the moment the words unload dirt land, tipping her head back toward the brightening sky as if petitioning it for mercy. "Of course," she mutters, half-laughing despite herself, already moving because complaining has never actually stopped her from working. She whistles sharp and familiar, and Spice lifts off immediately, circling once before swooping back in to bathe both Flora and Hawthorn in a welcome wash of icy air, frost-kissed and refreshing enough to raise goosebumps.
She takes the shovel from Thorn with a grin and a nod, stepping closer as the wagon creaks into motion. "If I was," she answers easily, voice warm despite the chill still clinging to her skin, "I'm not sure I'm doing it right. King’s End doesn’t give you the courtesy of an ocean to dive into when it gets like this."
Flora leaves the heavier lifting to Thorn’s magic, using her shovel more practically to scrape and pry dirt free from the corners, levering stubborn clumps loose so they can be carried out on his gusts instead of fought by hand. She works steadily, efficient rather than elegant now, tossing him a quick look whenever a section is clear before shifting to the next. "Tell me if I miss a spot," she says, already angling her shovel again as the wagon rolls on, content to be useful even when usefulness looks like dirt under her nails. Flora helps shovel!
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'. this is like breaking for me
If it rains it pours so go pour one strong When it comes to this life, we only get one
The horse and wagon creep around the arena at a slow walk, circling a pattern that starts on the outside by the fences and then grows tighter into the middle. This covers the whole arena, ensuring the dirt that Hawthorn and Flora unload makes a full coverage over the whole space. It’s not the only one, a small train forming, each one gathering a few people into it’s backend as the gathered group works together to unload enough dirt. Colt joins the last wagon, lending her own strength to the task in a fresh bloom of sweat that beads and rolls down her face with the effort. There’s something motivating about seeing the pile vanish bit by bit, an end in sight, affording perseverence when arms threaten to shake with wariness by the end.
She hops out of the wagon, the boards bare of all but crumbs of dirt and the bones of some shovels like a carcass picked clean, sighing long and loud. She swipes the glisten off her face with her sleeve, brushing the weight of damp hair strands back behind her ears. ”The fact I’m missing last season’s rains has got to be a cruel joke,” she groans as she leans into the shovel she’s kept hold of.
”Almost done, then we get lunch.” She dangles that carrot out with a touch more effect than an HR pizza party, if only because it means they all get to sit down for a moment and recuperate. ”You can use your shovels, but might wanna trade ‘em for rakes. Gonna smooth this arena out until she’s flat as a duck’s ass.” The rakes in question lean like soldiers against the arena, ready and willing.
Dirt unloaded, go Kailey, you're doing great! Next up, smoove it.
So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive Dead set on living til the day I die
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Flora’s shoulders sag the second smoothing is announced, the promise of lunch doing absolutely nothing to soften the blow in the moment. She drags the back of her hand across her brow and then, with full theatrical commitment, mimes shooting herself in the head in Hawthorn 's direction before breaking into a grin that says she is very much still alive and unfortunately still working.
"Don't even" she laughs toward Colt, shaking her head as she steps down from the wagon. "If this were last season, we’d do all of this and then the memory mud would just wander right back to where it had all started." The image earns a snort from her as she swaps her shovel out for a rake, testing its weight with a small, resigned huff.
She pauses only long enough for Spice to oblige her again, a cool breath washing over her and sending her hair lifting back in a brief, ridiculous moment that looks far more dramatic than the situation warrants. Flora blinks through it, smirking faintly as the strands settle, and then gets to work, nudging and pulling at the dirt with the rake, smoothing down small mounds and redistributing soil where it’s needed.
It’s not elegant, and she’s clearly learning as she goes, but she finds a rhythm soon enough, rake dragging, boots shuffling, sweat and dust slowly winning the argument despite the occasional blast of cold. "Wait, are duck's asses actually flat?" she wonders under her breath with amused skepticism as she adjusts her angle and keeps at it, determined to see the arena properly finished before her arms give out.
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'. this is like breaking for me
Flora’s miming breaks through the sweat and hard work that Thorn is also putting in, granting him a moment to snicker at the display with a quiet huff of same, babe that he can’t quite keep to himself. Lunch, however, is the boon that distracts him and gives him enough of a mental break that he realizes the work they’re doing is very nearly reaching an endpoint. At least for now.
Groaning very dramatically in agreement with Flora, Thorn hops out of the wagon to go and collect the rake. “Not t’mention it would’ve been heavy and just shitty sludge to haul all over.” And Thorn’s already sore, so he doesn’t need more of a reason to feel like his arms are more on fire.
He doesn’t personally know if duck asses are flat, so he’s content to see if Colt comments on the murmur of Flora or if it becomes a rhetorical question as he begins to rake the dirt evenly, pausing now and then to wipe the sweat from his forehead and temples.
Thorn rakes!
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
If it rains it pours so go pour one strong When it comes to this life, we only get one
”Can’t a girl dream for one minute?” she scoffs at the pair of them, not needing any rude reminders about memory mud or shoveling wet and heavy dirt everywhere. ”Just a light rain, nothing else,” she insists, knowing there’s no world where the weather obeys or is inclined to kindness. ”Or maybe you just need to be working on water abilities,” she suggests to Hawthorn, shooting him a teasingly unimpressed look for a moment as they all continue to rake and level the uneven dirt. She does purposefully edge in closer to Flora as they work, definitely because that’s where the ground needs attention and not to capitalize on any residual temperature control from Spice. Despite this, she misses the duck remark, too focused on leaning into the work to be done with it to heed barely spoken words.
The lunch arrives not long after, a blessing by all rights as it signifies everyone can stop. Which is for the best, given the heat blazes on with its greatest intensity now, and some in the crowd are looking a bit beat, and equally beet-colored in the face. Everyone has managed to smooth out the major slopes, and the horse and drag team later will get the rest in full.
The delivery driver, named Dash, calls out with a wave as he stops his donkey and hops down to unload their spoils from the back of the wagon. Fresh from the barbecue pit on the outskirts of town, they have an assortment of pulled pork sandwiches, sliders, and chicken wings. Various sides of coleslaw, potato salad, and mac and cheese await in large bowls with serving spoons. Some pitchers of lemonade and beer join the water barrel, all of it laid out one of the several picnic tables clustered nearby, sheltering under a tall tree’s shade. ”Thank the gods,” Colt sighs, leaning up into a stretch and another swipe of sweat against her sleeve, which has now become damp too. ”Bring it in everyone, let’s eat and kick back for a second, arena looks good as is!”
Arena is duck approved, lunch time now!
So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive Dead set on living til the day I die
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
A laugh leaves him as he’s targeted briefly by Colt’s comment, snorting and rolling his eyes. “Hey, that’s my boss’ job. It ain’t mine.” With no water magic to be found, Thorn does his own little fun rendition of jazz hands once he grabs the rake to drag the dirt around and make it even. They work hard, sweating and raking and the courtesan takes a few moments to blow some of his air magic around himself and the workers, high enough that he doesn’t need to worry too much about disturbing the dirt but enough to get a bit of a breeze flowing around them.
And then it’s finally lunch and Thorn groans his relief. Setting the rake aside, Thorn practically beelines for the tables laden with lunch. Immediately snagging a glass of lemonade, Thorn begins filling his plate with plenty of the options, settling underneath the shade of the tree and waving his thanks to Dash, he isn’t sure he’s ever been this hungry before.
Thorn uses a little bit of air magic to keep everyone around him cool with a breeze and then beelines to lunch to devour it!
Air manipulation (Abandoned/Hybrid): Can manipulate the air. Must be within a 30ft radius and allows the user to levitate medium-large sized objects up to 5ft above the ground . Control is excellent.
Type: Grey | Rank: Upgraded | Cost: Action
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
The moment lunch is called, Flora drops her rake without ceremony, the metal clattering softly as if even it is relieved. "Oh thank fuck," she breathes with feeling, already angling toward the shade and the promise of food, shoulders rolling as she shakes some life back into arms that are very aware of their existence now.
She makes quick, decisive work of the spread, piling pulled pork high onto a bun and then adding a little more for good measure, because she has earned it. A second, smaller plate follows just as automatically, a neat portion set aside for Spice, who lands nearby with an air of expectation that suggests she has also been working very hard in her own, frosty way. Flora slides the plate toward her with a fond huff, fingers briefly brushing cool scales before she claims her own meal.
Settling into the shade, she takes a long pull from a glass of lemonade, eyes half-lidding in relief before she finally bites in, messy and unapologetic. "I forgot how good food tastes when you’re actually starving," she says around the mouthful, more to the air than anyone in particular, already looking a touch more alive now that the work has paused and lunch has well and truly begun.
fuck you I want pulled pork so bad rn
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'. this is like breaking for me
If it rains it pours so go pour one strong When it comes to this life, we only get one
Hawthorn and Flora ‘s enthusiasm for the food earns a muffled laugh from Colt as she builds up her own plate. She portions out a small bit of everything, though not in excess because a full belly, heat, and more physical work don’t tend to mix nice. ”Didn’t either of you eat a good breakfast this morning?” Ranch work has a habit of wearing out everything from you, calories included. ”Might lose a pound to sweat by the end of the day,” she grins before downing her slider and beer.
The rest is well earned, and it’s easy to settle into propped-up feet and conversation. Much like pulling away covers in a winter morning, rousing back to her boots and the remainder of the day’s work feels like pulling teeth. She manages it with a loud groan, patting a dog’s head in dismissal as she rises into a stretch. ”Welp,” she says with a slap of her hands at her sides as she scrutinizes the arena. ”Guess we should make sure this all works for the big day, huh?”
Sauntering back to the arena, she gestures as she talks. ”Need a few of ya to push the broncos down the corral lanes from the pen they’re in. Need another set to sort them in the chutes and get their rigging on. Then, a set to open the gate of the chute into the arena and send them out for a show, one at a time. Lastly, some people to open the gate here and send them back down the corral lane to the pen they came from.”
Lunch break's over, time to practice bronc busting. Select one of these roles to complete in your next post.
1. Push the broncos from the pen into the lane they built. Dogs will be with you, just wave your hands and make some noise standing away from the lane they need to run down.
2. Sort the broncos into 1 horse per chute and get their bucking strap on.
3. Pull the gate of the chute open to let the bronco out, 1 at a time, into the arena to buck.
4. Open the arena gate back to the lane they built and let the bronco run out back to the pen. Dogs will help, can make some noise if needed and have NPC horse riders in the arena.
So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive Dead set on living til the day I die
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Flora laughs around her last bite, shaking her head as she wipes her fingers off on a napkin. "I’m not convinced it’s worth it," she says lightly, glancing down at herself with a crooked grin. "If I lose a pound and gain heatstroke, that feels like a bad trade." She watches Spice finish off her portion with clear satisfaction before polishing off the rest of her own and draining the last of her lemonade, pushing herself up with a soft, dramatic groan as reality reasserts itself in her legs.
Standing sends a wave of stiffness through her, and she winces, rolling her ankles in her borrowed boots as she listens to Colt outline the next steps. Her nose wrinkles more with each mention of broncos and chutes and bucking straps, the mental image of large, opinionated animals doing large, opinionated things making her reconsider several life choices at once.
"I think I'll stay away from the bulls," she decides aloud, lifting a hand in immediate veto before gesturing toward the arena gate. "I can man the gate, though." Fingers crossed she could do it without being trampled.
Flora takes option 3!
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'. this is like breaking for me
“You ever tried workin’ on a full stomach?” Thorn calls back to Colt, full well knowing that she has but he’s convinced she’s made it through all of the stomach cramping phases that it wouldn’t bother her in the slightest if they were to happen. Thorn had intentionally not eaten that much to start only because he knew he’d suffer for it later.
This time, though, Thorn is positive he’ll be suffering as he absolutely devours his choice of food for lunch, cleaning up and stretching before they’re summoned to start again. He’s already tired, but there’s lots more work to do, and he listens as Flora picks her choice of which section she’d rather take. It leaves him with a few more difficult sections, choosing to pick the one that he thinks he’d be able to handle.
“I’ll take the first one!” He calls out, slipping over toward the space where he’d be able to wave his hands all crazy and make plenty of noise to help them run down the lane they’re supposed to. And that’s precisely what he does.
Thorn picks option 1!
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
If it rains it pours so go pour one strong When it comes to this life, we only get one
Colt rides along the fences behind the chutes, helping slam shut the back end as Hawthorn and the rest pressure the broncs down the lane of panels. With each chute now containing a powerful, ready horse, Colt and the set of hands with her quickly fasten on their bucking straps. The stock isn't friendly and is about half-wild, so the process is done quick and sure from the hanging angles of the fences, a few people rising up suddenly as they clamber away from a swinging body or bared teeth. Once ready, Colt nods at Flora and the gate opens, unleashing the stampede of fury that is a bronc. The rigging gives way after a few impressive bucks, the horse subsiding to a nervous trot that readily dips into the freshly opened gate and the lane back home. The rest of the crew grabs the rigging and ensures the horse makes it back to the pen. They rinse and repeat until the operation is seamless and every chute's been tested.
"Well, looks solid and smooth to me," she concludes with a smile, slipping down from the rails as the last horse gets sent off. "Sure looks like it's bound to be a show too," she whistles out low and fond of the stock given over to this year's event. Not hers, she doesn't raise the sort that bucks like that, but good connections pulling through to be sure. "Speaking of, no one can enjoy it properly without the bleachers, so let's give them a little TLC, yeah?" Surrounding either long end of the arena is a series of wood bleachers, worn and weathered by the past year. Still in good shape, but crusted with mud and dust and a few tangleweed remnants from storms that've come and gone, plus a spiderweb here and some debris there. Set out in preparation of this task already is a slew of cleaning supplies, including brooms, scrub brushes, and some buckets of water.
No one lasted 8 seconds but the bronc testing went well! Onward to cleaning up the bleachers.
So I'm dead set on living while I'm still alive Dead set on living til the day I die
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Between himself and the dogs and the other hands, it’s both a rush and relieving to see the bulls slip into the chutes as needed. When his job is done, he leans over the edge to watch Colt slip on the bucking straps. From there, it’s just a rinse and repeat of everything before it and Thorn finds his job relatively easy all things considered now that they’ve come through already.
Hearing the praise of it looking good, Thorn lets a lopsided smile bloom on his face. “A’ight.” He hums once this portion of the job is done. Heading to the bleachers, Thorn stretches out his back before he’s grabbing a broom to brush out each seat as they go, trying to make sure that they’ve got every inch of it clean.
Thorn picks up a broom and gets to sweeping!
Hawthorn
so tell me your name and tell me your problems, i got the same
Flora keeps her post at the gate, eyes widening despite herself as the first bronc explodes into the arena, all muscle and fury and motion. Her brows climb higher with every buck, a low, incredulous laugh slipping out of her as the rigging finally gives and the horse bolts for freedom. "That's....dramatic," she murmurs, swinging the gate open again just in time to send it back down the lane, pulse humming with the residual adrenaline even though she’s stayed well clear of hooves and teeth.
By the time the last chute is tested, she’s properly impressed, watching the smooth rhythm of it all with open curiosity, dust clinging to her skin and sweat cooling where Spice’s breath has lingered. At the mention of the bleachers, Flora exhales a long, exaggerated sigh, tipping her head back for a second before conceding with a laugh. "Of course they do," she says, already moving, because apparently this day is determined to use every muscle she owns.
She grabs a bucket, dunking a sponge into soapy water before climbing up to claim a section of bench. Kneeling, she starts scrubbing at the grime with determined strokes, suds gathering as dust and mud finally give way beneath her hands. "I missed this last year," she calls lightly over her shoulder as she works, glancing back toward the arena. "Did you have a good turnout?"
passion is a passing thing, it's accidental chemistry caught up in a feelin', it can be deceivin'. this is like breaking for me
