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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 rain cast the Greatwood in a soft haze, muting the riot of crimson and gold into something subdued. The Mathair’s tree loomed at its heart, vast and ancient, its branches shivering as droplets traced the grooves of its bark. Lightning split the sky—and it screamed.
Noah did not startle easily, yet the first shriek carved cold along his spine. Each jagged fork of light tore through the heavens with a bloodcurdling cry, and the thunder that followed did not rumble so much as moan, a chorus of voices layered in anguish. He wasn’t sure what had caused it to happen, but the first time Noah heard it he wondered if the Leafchange deity was acting in a way that the Longheat deity had. The only certainty was that it was Leafchange, and she was present. If Tanau was honored in his season, then the Mathair should be acknowledged in hers.
Noah stood at a respectful distance from the tree, observing her — it — quietly as the rain cried.
Melita didn’t often startle easily either, but given the prevalence of the lightning, and its subsequent screams lately (and her own death once marked in sparks), she’d become a restless heathen. “Stupid fucking rain,” she muttered to herself as she trudged along the route towards the Mathair, not even daring to glance upwards when she heard it again. The tremor ran through her regardless, and while she could feel Fangorn snaking his vines over her shoulders in a comforting embrace, she still huddled over, eyes downcast, while Sila beckoned them on.
Turning another corner amidst the trees, clutching onto her bag, she startled again when she saw someone nearby. She probably should’ve planned for that – tons would be here making offerings in one segment or another – but she still gasped, combining it will an ill-timed screech in the sky. Keeping that mostly to herself, she gave a lighthearted wave to the Sentinel, an inkling sprouting in her mind from discussions the other day. “Hey Noah,” as she advanced, not bothering to stop and halt, but proceeded towards the foot of the tree and all its knotted branches and roots.
Sensing a presence with his deep attuned notions, Noah listened through the trickling of rain to decipher if he needed to act. There was a pause in footsteps as another shriek raked itself across the sky with the flash of lightning, and the Sentinel turned. Even beneath the hood, he recognized her immediately. Her fiery hair was unmistakable, as well as the presence of her dragon who seemed to be carving their way forward. The demigoddess clutched a bag, and Noah wondered if she too was here to place an offering.
”Hello, Melita.” He returned her greeting, a polite smile curving over his features. As she stepped towards the Mathair tree, Noah’s wonder turned into solid fact. She must be here to give an offering. Taking the time to step closer himself, he reached down into the inside pockets of his cloak and pulled his offering out. Noah knelt despite the rain soaking through wool and leather. He set down small, sun-bleached animal bones, abundle of spicy tea comprised of clove and cinnamon, a promise of warmth against thinning light, and finally, he laid several bright griffin feathers beside them. Then he let his eyes trail to the fiery haired woman again.
The Sentinel granted very little today; perhaps Melita should’ve been grateful. Flinching again at the overhead scream and the flash of lightning in her peripheral vision, she took a long, deep breath, pondered over the rest of circumstances. If she was fast enough, maybe she could get in and get out, make their way above the clouds in the Firecracker and find some relief above the noise and freefall of elements she wanted no part in.
Her eyes went to the assortment Noah brought, taking in the animal bones, tea components, and griffin feathers, wondering if they were some of his own. Hers were different, and as she kneeled and felt Fangorn’s vines wrapping around her in some amount of shelter and comfort the little gourd could provide, she opened her bag, presenting portions of meat down by the roots – some ningo, some gore crow, some pheasant. Then there were sprigs of mint and honey, melded together in a sachet, and when she was done she shrugged; figuring that would be all there was to it.
But curiosity always struck a terrible tenor with her, and she indulged, head tilting. “Hey, so, my uncle noticed he couldn’t use his magic to call you to a banshee battle we were in. Did something happen with Vi? Are you okay?” Perhaps he had been able to retire, as they'd speculated.
Lightning screamed again, splitting the sky wide enough to make the world feel briefly hollow. Noah stood in the echo of it, Melita’s question resting between them like something fragile and sharp. Her uncle — Sunjata, he knew — had tried to call him? Not once had the Flood ever wanted his help, but Noah didn’t stand on what he suspected was a fracture. He didn’t even stand on the anger he felt towards Sunjata now, in the shadow of what he had done to Hotaru. His jaw feathered, the only ondication of any emotion regarding the Flood. He pulled himself to her own true curiosity instead. He could have shortened it. Could have said “yes” and left it there. Could have even just brushed it off to obscure divine decisions, shifting seasons, nothing personal. But Noah was an honest man, and he didn’t have much of a reason to hide anything from Melita. While they didn’t know each other well, he had nothing against the fiery haired woman, despite her uncle.
Rain slid down the line of his jaw as he looked past her for a moment, “Vi said we might have peace. ” He began, voice even but not competing with the sound of the rain. If she wanted to know, she’d have to listen. “That the state of things should reflect that.” His eyes shifted back to Melita’s, unflinching and steadfast. “He told me he was releasing me from my burden of duty. That I didn’t have to carry his banners anymore.” Another shriek tore overhead, but Noah did not look up this time. “And then he told me the only thing he wanted from me was to live.” Vi had acknowledged the burdens, difficulties, and traumas that Noah had faced. He saw him. The rain fell steadily around them, soaking into earth and root and offering alike. “I’m not a demigod anymore.” Noah said simply. Not bitter. Not relieved. Just true. ”I’m okay.”
She felt the sting of the lightning scream pierce through her shoulders in one agonizing wail; a shudder went through her, but otherwise she might have appeared calm, steady, if not oddly quiet and muted. She could play and pretend it was the depths for which she respected Noah’s answer, head tilting, eyes flickering back towards him in the spark of light in the distance, on edge, restless.
And despite discussions, albeit tipsily on her end, when it came to family dinners, they’d only mildly landed on a guess towards war entanglements. Her eyes widened as he went on, about peace, about reflections, about standings and banners and burdens – and perhaps, because she’d never thought about demigods simply no longer being that, her gaze went downcast. Could the same ever happen to her? Would Ludo one day decide everyone in Caido had been amused enough? Tired of her games and mischief? Was this what potentially all of them could be reduced to?
Swallowing down some sentiments suddenly brewing and brooding in her chest, she nodded, placing it in a vault of understanding and not digging wholly into it much further, save for maybe the last part. “And are you living? Doing all that?”
Another low moan of thunder rolled through the trees, less a crash now than a lingering grief in the sky. Noah let Melita’s question settle for a moment before answering, the rain continuing its steady fall around them. Water gathered along the edges of his cloak and dripped from the tips of his hair, and he moved back some to both shake it off and give the Mathair the respectful distance she deserved. “Yeah.” he said at first, simple and honest, a smile touching his lips for the briefest of moments at the admission.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the forest beyond the Mathair’s great roots, as though the answer might be written somewhere among the shifting leaves and dim grey haze. Living. It had sounded almost too easy when Vi said it. After years of purpose shaped like duty and vigilance, the word had felt vast and ungraspable. Bu he had told the god he would. So he did. “I am.” he confirmed, voice calm despite the way the lightning and the rain and the thunder and all of its wailing made his skin prickle.
He lifted one shoulder in a faint shrug, the movement easy, unburdened in a way it hadn’t always been. “Part of it’s the shifts.” Noah said “When Vi made me an attuned again he did not leave me powerless. He blessed me with many shifts. I’ve got more than just the polar bear and the griffin now.” More than he had before he became a demigod, even. Some the same, some new. Despte his lack of magic, his lack of healing, the shifts filled him so fully he didn’t feel much of a void from what he lost. There were parts, yes, that felt hard and empty, but most of him was full to the brim with gratitude for Vi’s grace despite his shortcomings that it evened out. His eyes flicked briefly to the feathers he’d left at the roots, rain-darkened.
Rather than being melancholy, Noah’s platitudes seemed to lean towards a quiet acceptance. Things were done. Final. Melita doubted she could ever be so stoic, to let it roll off her back. She was more apt to shrug, then brood later – and with such a situation, there would be much to wither about. But maybe after wars, it was easier to settle into something not so tragic and heart-stopping. Better, and not bitter – a lesson she’d never quite managed to embroil in her own psyche.
With the thunder rolling in the distance, further now, she took another breath that felt more easygoing, not so tense, gone, in the past, escaping and evading it all for one more moment. Her brow arched from under her hood and cloak, gaze going back to him as he announced he wasn’t left without power, just of a different sort. She granted a smile, indulgent for now. “Cool! I still don’t have any shifts.” Said with a shrug to unfurl through her frame, not bothered by it. Perhaps it was all an eventuality. But she remembered the griffin well, all fire and power, wings and lift. “What else do you have?”
The storm seemed to drag its voice farther across the sky, the screaming lightning now more distant than before. Noah lifted his glacier gaze up to the canopy to look through the filter of it to the dim light above for a moment, listening to the fading wail before returning his attention to Melita. Her easy shrug about having no shifts earned the faintest hum of amusement from him, the sound barely louder than the rain threading through the leaves. ”They’re part of the spirit within.” Noah said. ”So whenever Ludo lets them surface, they’ll certainly be something.” He offered her a smile, trying to be encouraging as his eyes drifted back down to her.
His line f sight lowered back toward the griffin feathers resting at the Mathair’s roots. ”The polar bear, and the griffin. I’ve also got elk, gyrfalcon, wolverine, lynx, and longma.” The last one still felt strange sometimes, its celestial grace different from the grounded ferocity of his other shapes. He looked back up to her, shifting his weight just so and offering another smile, this curve more smirking. ”The longma actually reminds me of you.” He let a laugh escape, remembering the spar he shared with her all those years ago. ”In that form, I can walk on water.”
Part of the spirit within might’ve had a decent ring to it, but knowing herself quite well, Melita couldn’t quite comprehend what might linger underneath all her layers – so she grinned, mind warping to possibilities and parameters with little justification, and no need of encouragement. She already had enough chaos on the horizon.
His list of animals, while not as long as her uncle’s, was certainly impressive. It was nice that Vi still let those simmer in him, she supposed, not leaving him bereft of powers. Before she could utter ‘what the fuck is a longma’ he seemed to interpret it as some kind of familiarity – her eyes widening, head tilting like a confused dog. “Oh? What is it, exactly?” Her ability came from an item – and that likely wasn’t the case with this notion.
"Easier to show you.” he said simply, a smile breaking his features. The shift came as naturally as breathing. Noah stepped back from the Mathair’s roots, giving the offerings their space before the change moved through him. It started in his chest, that familiar pull beneath his ribs, like the world briefly folding inward before reshaping itself. His frame lengthened, bones stretching and reforming with a smooth, practiced grace.
Where Noah had stood, a longma emerged from the rain. He was tall and powerful, body draped in pale scales that caught the dim grey light of the storm. A mane, wind-tossed and gold, ran along the length of his neck, the steady drizzle already beading on the strands. Tall horns curved back from his head, elegant and sharp. Noah lowered his head slightly, glacier eyes watching Melita for reaction. He wasn't sure she'd be as impressed with this one as the griffin. Where the griffin was a vessel of raw power and brutality, a master of the sky, this longma was regal and elegant, yet no less strong in own way.
She arched a brow, a myriad of questions lingering just behind her teeth, but she refrained; holding it in well when the motions and notions had been promised thereafter. On his alteration and change though, she wasn’t certain what she’d been expecting – the horse, dragon, horned configuration was certainly a sight to see, and while he had no water to prance on here, she’d take his word for it. “Oooh,” she granted with awe, clapping her hands together amidst tiny applause in the roots, eyes flickering over the newfound pieces.
“Can you stab people with those?” pointing directly to his horns, of course, figuring that was an additional bonus. If she were to acquire a shift, she’d want it to be useful, self-assured; plunging into one’s enemies and walking on ponds, rivers, lakes, and oceans sounded like an ideal combination.
The longma’s head tilted, rain sliding down the pale ridges of his horns as Noah regarded Melita with a look that was, even in this form. unmistakably thoughtful. It was not something he had actually considered. The question seemed to catch him off guard. The horns had always felt ornamental compared to the brutal practicality of claws and teeth his other shapes carried.
Noah lifted his head higher, the thought still swirling. For a moment he stood very still, as though measuring distance and balance the same way he might before a charge in another body. Then he lunged. He was carefuly of the roots beneath him, both not to disturb the Mathair and to keep himself from toppling head over hooves. The hunter lowered his head, then thrust his head forward in an exaggerated stab at the empty air, horns slicing through the rain with a dramatic sweep that displaced a curtain of droplets. The motion carried a surprising amount of force behind it, though it ended with him jerking his head back quickly, snorting and shaking his wet mane.
Apaprently, the answer was yes. He could. But it wouldn't be a graceful assassination.
Melita watched as he seemed to go through a series of emotions – unaware, really, on whether it was bouts of confusion, turmoil on some sanctimonious, pious decree, or just the general unknown. She couldn’t be the only one that always figured out weaponry and armaments first though. If so, that was very sad.
So she watched as he went amidst the motions, plunging forward on movements not yet well rehearsed. It seemed to do the trick though…haphazardly. Half-impressed and half-questioning, she pondered, one finger tapping on her chin. “Oooh…If I set up some shit for you, you think you could get it?” Her eyes went towards brush and bushes…something she could snag and lift easily, place high enough for big stabbing range instead of going for empty air and y’know. Coming up with nothing.
Not really waiting for an answer, she scurried over to some wet proportions, gathering nettles and avoiding the thorns, amidst some small bushes and placed them in the center of lower branches, like they were future victims waiting to be skewered.
