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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!
Lyra makes her way to the shrine at twilight, a bouquet of Efas Herb in her hands. She climbs the stairs slowly, reverently, already looking forward not only to the completion of her quest, but to seeing Safrin again. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed and that she's done so much - and yet it feels only yesterday that she stood here, awed and amazed, as Safrin blessed her with a quest to enhance her healing ring.
With a smile on her face, Lyra sets down the Efas Herb on the altar, then places a small, blown glass starwhale beside it - an offering, just to make sure she stays in the goddess's good graces. And then, finally, a little packet of the Efas Herb, in which the ring has been carefully wrapped. "Safrin?" she calls out into the falling night. "I have done as you asked. I hope I've done it well." And then she waits eagerly, glancing around the room for any sign of the goddess as she - hopefully - arrives.
Starlight spills first across the shrine’s pale stone, catching in the glittering sands beyond the walls and drawing them into a slow, reverent hush, as though even the sea has learned when to still itself. The air thickens with celestial pressure, light bending inward on itself until it gathers, coheres, and steps forward as a woman wrought of night and stars. Safrin stands where moments before there was only shadow.
Her smile is immediate and radiant, the sort of warmth that feels chosen rather than given freely, and her gaze settles on Lyra with unmistakable approval. She reaches for the blown glass starwhale without hesitation, lifting it delicately between her fingers as the light within her flares brighter, delighted. "Very well," she says, her voice smooth and luminous, carrying the quiet certainty of a verdict already decided. "You have done very well."
The offering is set aside with care, and then her attention turns to the packet of herbs. One elegant hand reaches out, brushing the wrapping lightly as her fingers graze the ring within. The herbs ignite at once—not with flame, but with soft, silver-burning light—and smoke coils upward in lazy spirals, star-sweet and shimmering, wrapping around the ring. The glow deepens, sinks inward, and when the last wisp fades, the ring hums with new strength, its magic tempered and refined beneath her touch.
Safrin lifts it, inspecting the work with a satisfied tilt of her head, before extending it back to Lyra. Her eyes rise then, sharpening just slightly as they take the measure of the woman before her, not as a healer, not as a supplicant, but as something with untapped depth. "There is more in you yet," she observes softly, the words less suggestion than promise. Stepping closer, Safrin raises her hand and gently brushes a strand of Lyra’s dark hair away from her face, the contact cool and electric, like the brush of distant constellations passing overhead. Her smile lingers, intimate and possessive all at once.
"I could give it to you, if you are brave enough to ask for it."
Lyra has completed her quest and her ring has been upgraded!
Safrin appears where moments before there was only shadow, a beautiful, gleaming coalescence of starlight made woman. Lyra bows her head respectfully at the goddess's appearance. Safrin's praise lands with a warmth that feels hard-won, and Lyra raises her gaze to meet Safrin's with a grateful smile. Tension that she hadn't realized she'd been holding in her shoulders releases, and the woman says, "Thank you," before falling silent to observe.
The goddess touches graceful fingertips to the packet of herbs, and it alights with a silver glow that is far more beautiful, in Lyra's eyes, than flames ever could be. When Safrin inspects the ring and hands it to Lyra, she takes it reverently, slipping it onto her finger as though she might never again take it off.
But that is not all; Safrin regards her with an expression that Lyra has a hard time reading before offering her something else - something unknown, unstated, that feels almost like a challenge. Her touch is both cool and electric at once, raising goosebumps on the woman's arms as Safrin gently brushes her hair away from her face. But Lyra trusts the starlit goddess, and after a moment's pause to consider, she says, "I will gladly receive anything you would give me."
Safrin’s smile deepens, slow and luminous, as though Lyra’s answer has aligned something inevitable. Both of the goddess’s hands rise to cradle Lyra’s face, her touch cool and precise, thumbs resting lightly along her jaw as she tilts her chin upward, ensuring there is no escape from her gaze. Starlight pools in Safrin’s eyes, galaxies turning languidly within them as she looks down at the woman before her with unmistakable possession.
"What I give," she murmurs, voice velvet-soft and absolute, "is only the freedom to unbind what has always been yours."
Her eyes close, and around them the shrine seems to inhale.
Light erupts—not outward, but inward—starlight rushing in a radiant tide around them, spiralling close, tight, intimate, until it pours into Lyra as though she has been waiting her entire life to receive it. It floods her veins like liquid night, brilliant and alive, not burning, not painful, but reshaping. The contours of her very soul flex and shift beneath the pressure, something long-dormant stretching awake, recognizing itself at last.
Safrin remains there throughout it all, palms steady against Lyra’s face, an anchor amid the celestial surge, her presence vast and unyielding even as it flows through Lyra’s being. When the light finally begins to recede, it does so reluctantly, leaving echoes behind; faint, shimmering traces woven into bone and breath and magic alike.
Safrin opens her eyes, her smile unchanged, and then, without sound, her voice blooms directly within Lyra’s mind, carried along the attuned bond like a whispered starfall: There. Now… can you feel it?
Lyra is now an attuned!
Safrin's hands move to cradle Lyra's face, and the woman leans into the touch as the goddess tilts her chin upward. Galaxies swirl in her eyes as she looks down at Lyra, who imagines that there is something like fondness in Safrin's possessive gaze. When the goddess closes her eyes, so, too, does Lyra - and yet she still sees the starlight that rushes in, spiraling around and around and, finally, within her, bright as day and yet still unmistakably of the night. Lyra gasps. It's a sensation that is too much and not enough all at once, and it is only Safrin's cool touch on her jaw that keeps her grounded as the starlight threatens to devour her.
When the light begins to fade and Lyra opens her eyes, it is to gaze at Safrin with breathless devotion and endless wonder. And when the goddess speaks through the Attuned bond, Lyra lights up, breath catching in her throat. While she hasn't quite figured out how to speak back, she can feel the link to something more deep within her being, as though her soul has been split carefully and painstakingly into two. "Thank you, Safrin," she whispers, delighted and awed in equal measure. "I can feel it."
Safrin’s expression softens as though Lyra’s breathless devotion pleases her in precisely the way it should. The smile she offers now is radiant and almost maternal in its warmth, approval shining through her like the heart of a star at full burn. "Mmm," she says gently, her thumbs brushing once along Lyra’s cheekbones before her hands lower. "You will feel far more than this soon." There is delight in her tone. "Do not rush toward it," she continues, straightening to her full celestial height. "New instincts are powerful things. Let them unfold. Listen before you leap. Power is sweetest when it is understood."
Her gaze lingers, assessing and affectionate in equal measure, as though committing this moment to an eternal ledger. Then, with a playful glint that does not quite diminish her divinity, Safrin winks. "I shall be watching," she says lightly, though the promise carries weight enough to anchor continents. "From above. I am curious to see how you shine."
Starlight gathers around Safrin's form once more, brightening until her edges blur into brilliance. In a soft rush—like a constellation collapsing into itself—she vanishes, leaving behind only drifting motes of silver light that fade slowly into the twilight air.
Safrin brushes her thumbs along Lyra's cheeks, leaving tingling trails in their wake. The woman watches as her goddess lowers her hands, sharing even more advice with her in a warm, maternal tone filled with the delight that comes from watching one of your children shine. It's a voice that Lyra knows well, having used it often when speaking to one of her own children. To think that she's earned such a tone from Safrin! Her heart is so full that she feels it might burst.
The goddess's parting words are met with a respectful nod of Lyra's head. "I will do my best to be worthy of your gifts," she says, eyes shining with devotion. And then the goddess is gone, leaving Lyra in a star-speckled twilight that takes her breath away. Lyra takes a moment to whisper a soft thank you in Safrin's wake, and then she carefully descends from the shrine, eager to put her new abilities to use.
