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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 ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Between letters and portions of the known and enigmatic, Deimos had set about alterations to his schedule. In some part, he knew not many would be evacuating Stormbreak to Halo – it was hardly the destination spot for many in Caido, but on the off-chance some intended to journey here through ports and flights, then the Citadel would be ready for them. The citizens were well versed in utilizing space for shelters, expanding upon the inns, and whatever else was necessary; they’d gone through their own trial time after time. Survival could often be met head-on with the mere thoughts and motions of preparation.
Threading his way through the Palace and its beds, amidst medical adornments, and with Safrin’s Mirror of plumes and warmth gathered nearby, he figured they’d be at least equipped and primed to deal with any predisposed visitors. Discussing with a variety of soldiers, staff, and any other individual who sought to assist, the Sword suddenly found himself simply waiting – which, in turn, made him restless.
Eventually someone handed him some tea and he’d situated himself at a bench, Belial curled up beside him while he attended to the long list of necessities, crossing some parts off and then scrawling more on, before another person caught or sought his attention.
With the refugees safely delivered and directed Koa sets out in search of Halo's king, following directions from soldiers and workers until he reached a relatively quiet Palace hall. The on a bench sits the Warden, looking all the steady, unyielding bastion as he holds his position in the storm. The young Dragoon allows himself a moment to stand and admire this tableaux, wondering, not for the first time, if a day will come when he is that center which holds the rest in place. If he will ever rise to the level of his heroes, ever be able to find enough stability in himself to build a new life, a new home.
But now isn't the time to dwell on the future, the things he aspires to and fears he'll never be. Swallowing those thoughts down Koa presses forward, Pipsqueak a scarf draped around his neck. "Warden Deimos!" the boy calls in greeting, raising his fist in salute as he stops before the Sword. He's still sporting the patchy beard and grown-out hair from his sabbatical, and there's more worry lines in his forehead than the last time they sparred, but his copper eyes still shine with youthful purpose, his voice still firm and warm. "We've got the first set of refugees on their way to getting settled. Thank you, again, for agreeing to take them in."
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Deimos shouldn’t have found chaos easier; but there he was, just the same, settled amidst the bedlam. In honesty, theirs was a hustle and bustle of movement and motion, ensuring safety and shelter – rather than what he could imagine the other side looked. They’d done similar motions before – quick evacuations away from burning buildings in the middle of LongNight a significant highlight – but at least quick, swift decisions had been made before the inevitable; much less suffering, much more protection. As more things transpired, organized to a fault, he leaned forward, scratching the top of Belial’s head and scratching more things off the list.
His attention snapped upwards at the sound of his name, focus immediately upon Koa. He probably should’ve expected the Dragoon, given the younger man’s own propensity for shielding and striving, but for some reason he hadn’t presumed he’d be journeying to Halo. “Dragoon Koa,” he nodded, granting a small smile if they were still going to be on titles. A short bout of scrutiny followed, noting the patchiness and worried lines, but saying naught; all those notions were understandable, given the current state of things. Rising from his seat, he tucked the parchment away into the deep pockets of his coat, listened to Belial greet Koa and Pip with a sharp yip. “You are welcome. We have more inn space and the shelter too, should there be more rounds.” He didn’t presume others would come; Halo was rarely anyone’s premier destination (despite his internal bias; he knew it wasn’t a shared one). Chancing another glance, he tilted his head, studying. “How are you doing? Do you need anything?”
Despite the gravity of the situation Koa can't help the smile that slips onto his face as Deimos returns his formal greeting with a playful one of his own. It's a smile that's quickly chased away by an intrusive thought, because Dragoon isn't a real role anymore, is it? Or at least it won't be, soon.
But that's a bad thought, so he pushes it down, choosing instead to force his attention toward Belial's friendly greeting. "Hey there," Koa murmurs to the peryton, offering a hand for sniffs and scritches. Pip takes advantage of this opportunity to slither down the outstretched arm, extending her nose to sniff at his. Koa keeps his arm extended until the formalities conclude, looking back to the General and trying to ignore the noodle dripping off his limb.
"Not too many more, I'd expect, but not everyone has decided where to go yet." Including Koa, but he's very intentionally not worrying about that right now. Which brings the topic around to how he's doing, and real talk? Koa has no idea how to answer that question honestly.
So he does something he's gotten quite good at. He lies.
"I'm... hanging in there. Tired, but, y'know." Koa chuckles dryly, running his hand over the back of his neck as he shakes his head. "Nothing a bathtub worth of coffee can't fix." He looks up hopefully at Deimos, as though the Warden might be able to snap his fingers and manifest such a tasty tub.
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
As you wander along a sun-warmed path, something catches the light at just the right angle, glinting brightly against the stone. Set slightly off the walkway, nestled among pale gravel and heat-baked earth, rests a smooth piece of sunstone.
The stone radiates warmth even without being touched, its golden surface threaded with natural veins that seem to glow softly from within. The air around it feels heavier, saturated with heat, as though the sun itself has paused here for a moment longer than elsewhere.
It looks intentionally placed, not lost — a quiet offering waiting to be noticed by the right eyes.
You've found an offering for Tanau! Whoever is next to post in this thread will be the first one to see the offering, but if they wish to give it to someone else, they're more than welcome! No need to post in account updates, just keep track of this thread for the Longheat SWE!
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
While Belial curiously stalked forward, Deimos listened, eyeing the peryton before his gaze went back to Koa once more. He gave a swift nod, the comprehension easy – the lie to follow suit just as much. The warm glow of Safrin’s talisman hinted, chiseled its way against his chest in another comprehensible, tangible thicket. He’d likely given the same fabrications many times over; easier to disassemble and put up a buffeting shield of nothing than to delve deeper into the sentiments and feelings. So he permitted Koa to have it, just as others had done for him before. The Dragoon would have to determine when it’d all come crumbling (if at all); the Sword wouldn’t intrude upon that.
Instead, he altered course, granting another small smile at the notions of coffee. “That we can do.” His companion gave one more sniff before launching off the bench and following the Warden’s long strides as they began to thread their way back into the Palace’s pavilions, and the carafes of caffeine available by warming braziers. Along the way other merchants, assistants, offered alms for anyone requiring the aid; he persisted, unfurling a long breath until they came to the stand, and Koa would have his pick of the lot (including some pastries; the aroma of cinnamon and cloves intertwining amongst the breezeway). “Have you chosen somewhere to settle yet?” He figured a majority would go for Torchline or King’s End. He might’ve asked more too, had something, gilded amongst the stonework, not caught his eye.
The peryton launched after it, but Deimos was quicker, snagging at the warm rock before the deer could eat it, holding it up to the light in careful study.
Pipsqueak launches herself after Belial, her serpentine body fluttering through the air near the Peryton's head. Koa, too, picks up his stride, keeping stride with the taller Warden as they set off toward the promised coffee. And pastries! "Safrin's mercy, you're my hero," Koa exclaims in grateful adulation, half to Deimos and half to the vendor who's already extending him a piping cup of caffinated heaven. He takes a quick sip, wincing at the burn but delighting in it, too, before setting about the work of loading a plate with mouth watering goods.
"Mmmm," Koa answers incoherently around a mouthful of cardamom bun, returning to Deimos with a precarious tower of snacks in hand. He swallows his bite before continuing on, extending the plate toward the Warden. "No. Haven't really had time to think about it, y'know?" Which is not true, he's had plenty of time to think about his future, he just can't. Compartmentalization is the only thing keeping Koa from capsizing; the moment he lets himself consider the reality of his situation, he knows he's going to sink.
Nope, none of that. Koa takes another bite - smaller, this time - and lets out a contented hum. "These pastries are making a pretty solid case for Halo, I gotta say." It's mostly playful but perhaps a little questioning, because if he did move to Halo he would want it to be with the Warden's express permission. Even better if it was an invitation. Senpai notice me and all that.
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Belial loosened another screech before sailing upwards, skimming deliberately over and around several braziers, lantern posts, and kiosks; difficult to tell if he was challenging the dragon or merely making things chaotic by default. Deimos shook his head at both peryton and Dragoon, permitting the small smile to remain, trying not to avail them of the lighter, jovial aspects – perfectly aware of how it could be rankled over the coals next. Pocketing the small stone, figuring he’d inspect it later, he turned towards the tea canisters and carafes, refilling his own cup.
Tilting his head vaguely at the proffered plate, he only took a small cheese bun on the side, breaking it in half and watching as the warm plumes rose from its sanction. The answer wasn’t a surprise; if Koa hadn’t settled into the reel of his emotions or the binding tethers, then it made sense that he’d yet to configure where he’d go thereafter. Deimos favored compartmentalizing too – if he could tackle this, then he could go to the next, then the next, on a rapidly spinning wheel – then he wouldn’t have time to examine the feelings trapped behind bones. Then he wouldn’t need to do anything more than wander into the trepidation and apprehension, feel that settle well before everything else. Take action before consequence.
But the Sword also favored roots. A place to put all his alms and sacrifices and blood into. Purpose. Reasons. Shelters. Homes. He believed Koa did too; one didn’t become soldiers for their region for the entertainment factors. “Fair enough,” he granted for a moment, and perhaps he’d give Koa an opportunity to thread through those lines; not a push, not a shove, but a second to think. Because the Warden didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t force another into a whim they’d yet to trace or crave, but he figured, sooner or later, the younger man would have to face the crumbling portions. A dreadful, agonizing plunge, but with lifelines nearby, if he was willing to grab them.
Taking a bite and granting all the pretense of casual intentions, he snorted at the pastry comment, saw the snare. “We do have more than baked goods. The hot chocolate is hard to beat.” He wrinkled his nose, extending a wave to some passersby, but then persisted, continued, gaze flickering back to the Dragoon, words weighted, never wasted. No pressure, just truths. “But you would be welcome here too. You could fit right in.”
His lure - innocuously placed, but a lure nonetheless - works, and Deimos makes the invitation which Koa had so craved. A hot spring of validation and pleasure wells within the soldier, enough to briefly cast away the numb chill that's permeated him since he heard the news. Lips quirk in a quarter of a smile, eyes glistening hopefully, almost (almost) shyly as he looks back at the Warden. "Do you think so?" Koa asks, though he knows this is rhetorical - Deimos isn't one to say things he does not intend.
For one of the first times since he learned of the imminent demise of Stormbreak, the young man tries to grapple with the vastness of the future, dares to poke into the well of despair he's thus far ignored. "Thank you. I... I'll definitely keep that in mind, when the time comes to make a decision." He pauses, jaw flexing as he searches his plate of pastries as though the crumbs may form into helpful meaning, but they remain mockingly inert.
"It's hard to think about starting over anywhere. Stormbreak - the Dragoons - it's who I am. Who I've always been. It's in my blood, y'know?" Straightening his spine like a well-trained soldier, Koa again looks up at the Warden. "But... knowing I could have a place here? That means a lot. Especially coming from you."
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The Sword didn’t mince or waste words; each one extended had its own designated purpose. The inquiry caused him to snort – uncertain sometimes about the Dragoon, because for some moments he seemed absolute and confident, and in others, precariously dangling on ledges. Perhaps that was the edge most of them walked; striving to appear gallant and defined, while encompassing every contortion of misery inwards. “I would not have said otherwise,” he wrinkled his nose, juvenile and boyish for half an instant, taking another bite. “But I agree. It should not be an impulsive choice.”
Koa seemed to have found one of the crumbling sanctions though, and Deimos’ gaze went downward, following Belial’s movements suddenly near his feet, granting the youth space as he began to decipher and unravel the components. He’d started over more than once – from Isilme and war-torn states, to Helovia, losing lands and regaining again, to here and now, drifting from the Grounds and back into tundra conditions; digging in when it was all they had. He took a long breath thereafter, his head tilting a degree, so it looked less unyielding, dwelling further into the aspects of the known, of what it meant to be devastated. “That is understandable. Give yourself time.” No rush amidst the fractures. No headlong, rash decision contorted from loss. “And while it is not the same, the Shields are here too.” Soldierhood could be a definition – gods knew he used it for himself – but not the end all, be all either. “Were you thinking of anywhere else? Or looking for something in particular?” There was always Torchline (as Deimos was thoroughly, and happily, unaware of the dramatics bound to those shorelines for the youth), King’s End, or some aspect of the Wilds.
The compliment surprised him, but they often did. Granting a small, indulgent smile, he tried to accept it, rather than instinctually scrape it away, like it wasn’t a deserved aspect. “You are welcome.” Tossing a portion of the bun down to the peryton, the companion gobbled it down, loudly, while he still mulled over decisions.
"King's End," Koa says, naming the only alternative new homes he'd considered. "Sunjata welcomed us before, and some of my friends are heading that way." Zavien chief among them; the draw of the Risen Sun's ongoing camaraderie is strong. Rubbing his toe on a scuff in the stone floor, he shrugs. "But there's history for me there, too, and part of me wants to start over fresh, y'know? Figure out who I am without everything I used to be."
He might have tried to explain further, but it's at this moment that Pipsqueak gives a chirp of alert. Turning in the direction of her attention, Koa spots one of his lieutenants hurrying down the hall. The last of the refugees are off the skyship and on their way to being situated; it's time for the Dragoons to head back.
Koa nods dismissal to the other Breaker, then turns with a tired smile to face Demios again. "Duty calls," he chuckles ruefully, extending a hand the Sword's way. "Thank you again, Warden. For everything. I'm sure we will speak again soon."
Then he sets back off the way he came, to the arms of a city in its final throes of life.
[Fin]
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
