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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!
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
It's warmer in Halo than Lyra expected, warmer than she'd packed for - a surprise indeed, on a sea of ice.
She stands near the shrine on the Sea of Glass, regarding the little stone altar and its strange, delicate bubbles of ice. She's come to Halo to train in tundra search and rescue, but she's making time to visit some of the sights, too - and given her job, it's always prudent to make an offering to the gods when she can. So she carefully picks her way across the ice to dust a bit of wet snow from the altar's lip, then places a rose she'd bought back in the Citadel across the stones. With any luck, it will freeze, an eternal bloom that will bring some color into the frozen wastes.
She turns from the shrine and looks across the snow and ice. A groan sounds from out across the water, and she glances over in time to see a piece of a glacier splash into the sea. Suddenly unnerved by her proximity to the surely frigid water, she retreats at a rapid pace, leaving the shrine and her offered rose behind.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos could admit to foolishness when it became readily apparent. He wasn’t immune to mistakes; but not since the war against the Family had he managed to become so injured and mauled, and all due to a race amidst time and space, intending to save one of his own.
But the sled he and several other soldiers dragged bore evidence of their success – a tracker, wrapped in woolen blankets, managing to sit upright, for now, and an ursur carcass behind him, still as stone. Just he and his fellow warriors had taken the brunt of everything; slashes, tears, wounds along the juncture of legs or arms. Even his, long ragged claw marks down the length of his shoulder, rampaged in a stream of blood – half torn between shaking his head, clenching his jaw, and simply getting the job done. He’d left Zuriel behind to tend to the other man who’d been brought in, and he could fathom the multiple lectures they’d all receive upon returning home.
Belial hadn’t been left in the Citadel though, and scouted ahead, giving them some time to cross along the top portions of the Sea of Glass with a lookout. As they pulled and tugged though, the peryton let out a hoot, and Deimos turned to catch a glimpse of a woman racing across the surface. Wondering if there’d been another victim here, or just one more pinnacle of threats lingering nearby, his deep rumble cut across the sanction. “You all right?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
A voice breaks the eerie silence that surrounds Lyra out on the ice, and her gaze snaps to the speaker with a momentary flash of suspicion. It's not that she thinks everyone is out to get her - in fact, she rather believes that most people are ultimately decent folk - but she's seen enough of the world to know that things are rarely so black and white. But when she sees the state of the party that traipses through the snow, she blinks with surprise and hurries forward.
"I'm fine," she says as she approaches, hands held up in a universal signal that she is no threat. "I was leaving an offering at the shrine. But are you all right?" she adds then, pausing briefly a short distance away. The injuries are obvious amongst the group, something that Lyra, fortunately, has the ability to do something about. It's not in her nature to see others suffering and turn away. "I have a healing ring - can I help any of you?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos was a naturally suspicious individual by the way his life had worked; most of the time his estimations were either spot on or jaundiced. First impressions had a way of filtering into his mind amidst the other calculations, so he wasn’t quite certain what to do with a stranger staring back at them with a cynical brow, especially after ensuring they were well – other than maintain his own. His eyes narrowed immediately, spine straightening into that unyielding frame, stepping in front of the entire band before she approached, her hands help up.
He didn’t let his guard down, but his brow arched at the offer. There’d been no lie detected, at least by the item laid against his chest well underneath piles of coats and furs, so he only eased a light breath. With no healing of his own, he couldn’t quite deny the potential for it to be laden on his fellow compatriots and citizens, granting one step aside so she might inspect some as they rallied forth. “We had to go rescue a tracker,” he gave by way of explanation, as soldiers grabbed at the man first, offering him up for mending - features clearly cut and bleeding through swiftly tied bandages and wraps. The worst off of the lot by far. “Met up with an ursur,” hence the still and large carcass also on the sled. “Thank you.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
Lyra's gaze flickers over the party, noting the still form of what must be an ursur bringing up the rear. While she's never seen one in person, she's certainly heard of them, and the sheer size alone is staggering now that she's gotten the opportunity. But that's not what keeps her attention. Instead, she tears her eyes from the felled beast and returns their shocking blue to the stranger who seems to be leading the group. Offering a wry smile - rescuing errant trackers is, after all, something she understands all too well - she takes a small step closer, the better to survey wounds. "Of course," she says in response to his thanks. Then she gets to work.
She checks each member of the party, starting with the worst wounded, who is bleeding through his makeshift bandages and wraps. While her ring is only powerful enough to heal in limited quantities, she manages to do enough to stop the worst of the bleeding, then re-dresses the wounds for good measure. She moves on to the next and the next, until the last person who has not yet received treatment is the leader himself.
"Your turn," she says briskly, pausing to wait for permission before jumping right into healing.
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos watched; the careful scrutiny of mending and assuaging there in the midst of a stranger offering them respite. He was not too far removed from war; difficult as it was to parse through sometimes when people were simply kind and compassionate, rather than pretenses and an underlying omen. Instead of threats though, the ring, while not overly potent, seemed to take the worst of the edges off – enough they’d be able to forge ahead with renewed strength towards their march home.
When she seemed to pinpoint her gaze on him, however, some stubborn portion nearly rooted behind his teeth in refusal. Of the type to cut off his own nose to spite his face, his thoughts meandered into mulish territory. The wound wasn’t that bad, in his eyes (despite the slow trickle of blood still continuing down his arm), and maybe it’d be more helpful to have her round back over the others, then they could depart. His jaw clenched, and he could see one of the warriors nearby grant him a very flattened look, before the Sword wrinkled his nose and extended his arm out to be mended. Looking elsewhere, across the Sea of Glass’s expanse, he sighed, but tucked it inward, granting no explanation and only delving further into inquiries. “Who are you?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
For a moment, Lyra thinks that he might refuse. There's a stubborn, mulish set to his jaw that she's seen before. Something just as obstinate lights in her eyes, but fortunately, there's no need for a battle. The leader seems to decide that it's in his best interest to be healed and allows her to approach - though he looks away, out over the Sea of Glass, as she begins to work.
"My name is Lyra," she says as her ring warms with magic. "I'm a search and rescue responder in Torchline. I came up here hoping to learn about the tundra. I want to be able to help people in more places than just the beach." Her ring does its work quickly and efficiently, and before long, Lyra drops her hand from the man's arm. "How does that feel?"
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
While she stitched over the initial layers, he could feel some of the pain recede. The trickle of blood ceased, and the injury wouldn’t appear to be as harmful when he returned home to the scrutinizing eyes of both Evie and Zuriel. Though as she spoke, he found he didn’t recognize the name; making sense moments later when she granted her region and occupation. “Better, thank you,” he offered initially, maneuvering his arm and rolling his shoulders; less aches, and more to be mended later.
Figuring he’d broach on politeness as well, he offered introductions. “I am Deimos. We are heading back to the Citadel, if you are heading in that direction.” A few of the soldiers began to pick up their portions of ropes on the sled, tending back to their duties and pieces now that they were feeling not as maligned; not a mistake he’d be making again. “None of us are menders, but we could provide you information along the way.” Mostly about the dangers of the tundra; the barbaric world around them (that, ultimately, he wouldn’t have in any other composition).
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
Satisfied with her work, Lyra took a step back to survey the party. Most had been healed enough that they were no longer in immediate danger, but she still wished that there was more she could do. While she could make another pass through the group, she had to wonder if it wouldn't be better to just get back to the Citadel, where more experienced and capable healers could take up the mantle.
Vibrant blue eyes returned to Deimos as he offered his name. "I would appreciate that very much," she said, grateful for the company. After having seen firsthand what the tundra could do to even a fairly large group, she was no longer eager to go exploring on her own. "I'll take any information you can give - survival tips are extremely helpful in my line of work, as well as tracking tips that might differ from other regions."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
He nodded at the acceptance, beginning to move forward with the rest of them, taking the helm and rope, listening to the easygoing slide of it across the ice and snow. He half-expected naught at all, and maneuvered ahead in silence, listening as the soldiers discussed things back and forth, perked up and livelier now that portions of their wounds had been fixed. When she spoke again, he tilted his head.
They were broad terms though, and knowledge extended would depend on what she was searching for. “Do not go alone. We have many threats on the Tundra,” including their deceased carcass in the back. “Frost giants, ursur, white dragons, water elementals, crystal spiders, just to name a few.” As far as other tips, his litany would always go towards the hunting aspect. “Depends on what you are tracking.” People, one would presume. “The snow reveals quite a bit, based on your timing. Tracks. Blood.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
Lyra walks alongside Deimos, content in the brief silence, and when he speaks, she listens intently, soaking up any knowledge on offer. She almost wishes that she could sit down for a bit with a notebook and a pen, but that's never really been her style. She learns best by doing, by experiencing. Perhaps she should ask Deimos if there's anything she can help with while she's in town. That might help her more than any conversation.
But for now, she ponders the information she's been given. Don't go alone - well, she'd made that mistake today to visit the shrine, but she'd be more careful in the future, particularly with all the threats that Deimos lists off. "If someone gets lost out here... what's their best chances for survival? With all the snow, I don't imagine that finding fresh water is a problem, generally speaking, but what about food? Resources? In a forest, someone could find wood for a fire, for example."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
The question loomed for a moment, his brow arching slightly. “You probably know the answer to that already,” in the ‘not very high’ category. “It is dependent on many factors. We have a variety of landscapes beyond here,” and he jutted his jawline in the various directions – the Bay, the Hollow Forest, the Greenwing, before he persisted in tugging on the line, feeling the sled maneuver faster under more power and swifter strides. “Most Halovians are well equipped and adept because they know what to expect. It is visitors we usually must worry about. So tracking and leaving notice of whereabouts is crucial. And often timing is everything.”
Hunters would take their vital necessities. Merchants would snag at whatever they needed, depending on the distance for their wares. “The Monster Hunters’ Guild also sends out warnings of sighted beasts,” such as the one behind them; eventually coming to use within the Citadel itself, meat, bones, and fur parceled out to anyone who required it. “Many carry jerky or other food on them, and are thoroughly educated about fire.” Halo carried its flames with righteous plumes.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some
That visitors are the ones to get lost out on the tundra does not surprise Lyra. It is much the same with tourists in Torchline getting lost at sea. She smiles wryly, shaking her head at the comparison. Perhaps things are not so different in other places, despite the varied terrain and weather. "I understand," she says, making mental notes for herself to follow in future. None of what Deimos has to say surprises her, and she's pleased to find that she feels fairly well-equipped to at least handle herself out on the snow and ice.
Now, actually completing a job here? That would no doubt be another story altogether.
"Thank you," she says after Deimos is finished. "For sharing this with me. If ever there comes a time when I might be able to help, please don't hesitate to ask. I'd love to learn more, if I can, and the best way I've found is to be exposed to the environment." Of course, she might be a nuisance or a burden, and she wouldn't want to be either of those things, so she adds, "If it wouldn't be an added difficulty, that is."
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates
His brow remained firmly arched at the notions of understanding – because sometimes that remained to be seen. He’d had plenty volunteer to assist, and then become fully entrenched in the danger and suddenly be in over their heads. He kept the notions in mind though, in case there would ever be a time. “What have you experienced on the beach?” he inquired instead; striving to comprehend the other complexities of such perils and hazards, how they might align similarly towards the Tundra. He could fathom many lost at sea, broken amidst and amongst waves and undercurrents; aspects they would’ve encountered back in Isilme, amongst his homeland’s seas.
Of course, there were other factors at play, and given how often search and rescue came with less-than-ideal circumstances, he asked another question, tugging on the sled and maneuvering things along. “Do you have a way to defend yourself?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead The rising of the horns, ahead
