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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!
05-09-2026, 11:02 AM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2026, 11:03 AM by Deimos.)
Deimos
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
Deepfrost had already immersed itself as another busy interim in the Sword’s life – between newborns, Erebos himself, Halo and its prep for the inevitable LongNight swing, he’d found there wasn’t enough time in the day to accomplish all the tasks on his never-ending list of responsibilities. Perhaps now that was why he ventured directly into the Artisan’s Guild; intending to conduct quick, swift business transactions, make a stop at Kiada and Fox’s, then loop back home.
Fastening his daughter’s luxere hat securely over her rounded features, he snorted when she blatantly stared at him, as if threatening to combust, scream, or anything in between – tucking her further into the straps at his chest and leaving her be thereafter as he began to thread through the market. Its gilded formations always left him reeling with former memories – of taking the reins of said projects before passing it along, knowing he couldn’t commit to it fully when entanglements and harsh outlines drove him far out of the Grounds’ reach. It was a rarity when he did manage to return to this region every now and again, and his steps were always carefully orchestrated, not intending to be swallowed and consumed by its murk and nostalgia.
But then the familiarity of a booth towards the back corner ensured he’d be able to complete something today, and he mustered the long length of his strides in its direction.
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
Asta’s section is certainly for the more macabre and grim of trinkets – not unfounded in the Gilded Market, of course, but one that definitely had it’s own shadow cast over it. It likely helps that there is a smiling shadow that hovers on the walls from where the butcher finds himself bent over a particularly large looking boar skull, bone bleached and with tusks that extend outward, made to appear thinner toward the tips. The butcher sits there with a small chisel, etching designs into the face of the skull that he intends to be some kind of key holder or a place to hang things like necklaces perhaps – when he glances up to see the shadow alert him to some movement toward his sector.
Straightening up, the butcher’s tail twitches as he sets the chisel down, wipes his hands off and runs a hand through his hair that he tries to keep tucked back behind his antlers – horns that are extended into four points rather than the two he’d always had before, turning to see who’s arrived with a sharp smile already on his face. Adorned to keep away the cold himself, braziers keep the workspace around him warm, as does the dark violet turtleneck that trails up his neck, sleeves pushed up just enough to not get in the way. A rough diamond ring sits on his finger, alongside the crimson sheened feather bracelet on his wrist that settles against scar tissue that matches the other wrist and a few thinner scars that adorn the Ancient's forearms in the process. He seems to pay them little mind as he focuses on who his visitors might be.
Standing, then, as he sees Deimos accompanied with a child bearing a hat with luxere hat – which receives automatic approval from the deer-Ancient, he greets the Warden with a polite note. “Deimos, what a pleasant surprise.” His dark gaze drops to the child he carries. “Accompanied by a delightful little luxere, I see?” The amusement is soft, because he obviously knows she isn’t a real luxere, but he can’t help but to make the joke if everyone seemed to make them about himself and his newish Feirw shift.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
It didn’t take long to forge trades with the merchant; an exchange of pelts and goods for coin Deimos could utilize later. Granting his thanks and summation of other information, he turned to go when another voice called his name – arching a brow, he shifted slightly to see Astaroth there amidst his own wares, though a bit more macabre than the interim he’d just passed. “Asta,” he nodded, snorting at the implication of an additional luxere. The newborn youth barely peeked over the rim of the carrier on his chest, just enough to see wide blue eyes, before closing them again, wholly unbothered and pretending as if she hadn’t caused multiple ruckuses the entire length of the journey. “This is Idalia,” and he patted the luxere hat lightly, not wanting to already cause some more wakeful and youthful energy (screeching).
His gaze flickered back to the interim at large, gazing at the skulls and braziers – the proportions of inevitable pieces. Curiosity and inquiry wound their way through, hastened on a rumble. “Did not realize you were part of the guild. What are you making?”
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
As Deimos approaches the booth once the butcher’s captured his attention, he lets the shark tooth smile brighten a touch as the Warden introduces his presumably newest child to him. “Hello Idalia.” He hums, his accent trailing over her name as he offers a little wave to the young girl that peeks over the rim of the carrier with bright blue eyes.
His gaze lifts back up to Deimos as he takes in the butcher’s section, the variety of bone trinkets on display include a variety of etched knife handles, windchimes, jewelry dishes, and holders for a variety of random things here and there. At his question and comment, though, Asta straightens and turns to his side so Deimos can see the half carved boar’s head. “I find myself tinkering quite regularly. It felt like it made sense to join the guild.” He admits. “I am at present making a ring holder of sorts. Though I typically find myself making chimes and other items along those lines.” He shrugs a little casually, before turning back toward Deimos with a bright smile. “Though I was considering taking a break from this to work on a few bells.” Seeing as a lot of people had come through seeking them out.
"It seems like you were successful in what you were searching for?" He asks, nodding to the booth Deimos had just come from where he'd noticed he'd procured some items for himself.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
For what it was worth, Idalia made no stir at the sound of her name, either too new, the stranger not bothering her, or a sentiment for the future where’d she a toddler not unlike a dog used to ignoring its owner calling it. She blinked again, still with wide glances, and taking everything again, before closing her eyes once more.
Deimos kept an inward snort smothered down, his eyes flickering over the variety of means at Astaroth’s current disposal. Knife handles, chimes to catch the wind, and a myriad of other notions and creations that had found a purpose carved out of bones and the like. An understandable and pragmatic approach, and given who Ancients were, he figured most had been free for the taking, liberated after their own needs to be sated. Amused, his head tilted, gaze catching said ring holder. “Fair enough. That part of the season will be here before we know it.” At least that was how it usually went – too consumed by so many other notions and necessities for the winter deluge that the end of Deepfrost loomed with all its LongNight veneer. Deimos imagined, much like Kiada and Fox, that these edges and fringes of said phase weren't the Ancient's favorite. Hence the braziers. “Do you want any help?”
As for his own successes, he gave a short grin. “I was. Ursur pelts are in high commodity come Deepfrost. Easy bartering,” and his monster hunters and himself usually gladly partook in assuring none reached Halo’s Citadel.
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
He lets Deimos take in the wares he currently has on display and those he’s currently tinkering with, standing slightly off to the side to let him see a bit more of the décor and chimes hung and displayed. And when the Warden speaks, Asta nods in quiet agreement with a hum of a laugh. “Unfortunately so.” The butcher agrees, his smile widening a touch even as he asks if he wants some help. And honestly? Why not. Collaboration often made for unique experiences, and for that the butcher lifts the little portion of his booth to let Deimos in. “I will gladly take all the help I can get.” His tail flicks comfortably as he snags a secondary stool for Deimos to sit upon should he wish to.
In the meantime, he snags the boar’s skull he’d been working on, hanging it on the wall beside the work bench to free up some space as he produces a small box full of a variety of deer bones. “Oh most definitely. They were back when I was in Halo long ago.” Before he’d become Ancient, before he’d had the fire in his blood that helped keep him around for this long. So, shooting a sharp grin over at Deimos as he takes a seat and pulls out a vertebrae he’s fairly confident he can use to whittle into a bell-like shape, he looks over at Deimos again. “Since then I have stuck to wool and not being caught out in the snow.” He leaves the box there in case Deimos wishes to use one of them as he takes a piece of graphite to start marking the circular shape of the bell before he carves. “Danta’s coat is quite an impressive feat, by the way.” Well aware the Warden had made it, he can’t help but to offer his compliments.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
Nodding, he snagged the stool, settling upon the wooden surface and ensuring Idalia was still righted within the carrier before proceeding – a quick perusal and study. “Any particular design?” Some individuals were specific about the ideas they were concocting, and others unbothered by the distinctions; but he didn’t know Astaroth well enough to figure which category he’d fit into, and he certainly wasn’t going to offer collaboration and then simply do his own thing.
The notations about his inclusion within Halo always flickered curiously at him, but when nothing else was offered Deimos was never certain how deep to pry. So he kept the speculation and inquiry to himself, watching the notches of the vertebrae slunk forth and into the Ancient’s grasp. “Fair enough,” he snorted – Kiada was prone to much the same nowadays.
Not expecting the compliment, his gaze widened slightly, and then returned to normal, amused. “Thank you. Hopefully he finds it to some benefit. I made a similar one for Kiada too.” Danta hadn’t visited often – though that was also an understandable feat.
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
“I have been requested some seasonal designs. Snowflakes, trees, snowmen.. things of that nature.” The butcher offers toward Deimos with a bright and sharp smile. “However, seeing as you are the Warden of the snowiest land, I am happy to have any options you decide may reflect it better.” Collaboration, of course. Giving the bare bones of ideas before letting Deimos run away with some ideas of his own.
As the bones are drawn out and sorted through, Asta picks a few that would work for the shape of the ones he wants to work with, snagging the chisel and getting to work rounding it out in flakes of bone he ensures gets nowhere near the child in the carrier. “I do miss Halo at times. The sunrise over the snow was always something special.” He admits for idle chatter, letting his dark gaze flit over toward Deimos in the interim before he’s complimenting the jacket.
A soft laugh leaves him, nodding to the idea of Danta benefitting from it. “He most certainly does. It is all he wears during Deepfrost if we must venture outside.” And he thinks at this point to part him from it would be like taking his tail away. “I did not realize you made Kiada’s as well. It is quite a lovely thing, as well.” He hums, finally getting the bone into a round shape, before he uses some scorch magic to burnish the outside and make it a little drier and easier to cut a line through it so he can start carving out the interior.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
The seasonal designs caused him to pitch a laugh; though instead of a loud chuckle it presided as a low rumble, not wanting to awaken the child or stir her back into her wildness. “I will see what I can do.” At first, he did much as requested – the creative assortments intermingling through his hands in golden glows – figments of earth, of water and fire to assort the necessary temperature arrangements – before creation flowed outward into exact, precise measures. Some were of those snowmen; pinpointed in amusing or serious aspects depending on wayward expressions, before he began on evergreen wreaths flowing outward with gentle boughs, then moved on to luxere and their elongated antlers, as if the whole of the racks could wrap all the way around.
While he worked though, it wasn’t terribly awful to listen and chat. “I am fond of the auroras. They have a particular presence nowadays,” before the eternal evening set upon them – something to cherish across the horizons and skylines.
Another small smile chiseled its way into his features for half a moment, amused by Danta’s antics with a singular jacket. “Let me know if you would want one too. Could make a matching set,” by way of teasing.
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
The designs that Deimos etches into the makeshift bells are certainly ones that impress him – the little luxere antlers specifically are ones he’s drawn to. Obvious, given the rack of his own fire obsidian ones nestled on his head. And while the butcher works on his, he opts for a series of trees, a patch of evergreens against a hill that screams specifically Deepfrosty. And it makes for an easy means of work while they talk.
Hearing the auroras, though, the butcher shoots a vibrant smile over at Deimos – sharp and amused and almost a touch surprised. “Do they? It has been centuries since I saw them last.” He admits – to the point where he’d nearly forgotten their existence when he thinks back on his time in Halo and Whitebrim as a whole. The sunrises, though, were always worth his memory.
His fingers falter a touch to hear that Deimos could make him one, and whiel the matching set was something he wasn’t entirely opposed to even if his fiance’s attire wasn’t one he often wore himself, he chuckles deeply. “I could not possibly pay you back for such a gift.” The butcher admits – clear that he is interested in a gift such as a coat that would help against the cold, but he just isn’t sure what he could give Deimos that the man couldn’t make himself that would make it worth it.
It’s something he ponders as he sets the bell down and his shadow casts over it, activating his Peter Pan magic to keep it in place and from rolling while he etches the deeper lines into the bone shell of the bell.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
Creatures of the north followed suit as he stamped the bells with images of Halo; ursur, jaws agape and mouths wide, for those that might appeal to the unyielding aspects of the world. Frost foxes for the gentler appeal, springing across a landscape of copper and tufts of snow, and several elementals, as if chasing something beyond thickets and copses of wood. He didn’t bother with any of their larger-than-life arachnids – he couldn’t fathom many wanting to claim such trinkets for their own. The Sword chanced a glance at the ones orchestrated and created by Asta, smiling slightly at the evergreens.
Deimos didn’t have centuries on the Ancient though, and could only vaguely tilt his head at the thoughts of no auroras. “Much like this,” he offered by way of contorting them along the next bell in his hands – measuring the colors and hues into the surface of the vestiges so they would bleed and wind through – greens, blues, purples, and on the other side, matching it with reds and oranges to make the twist and turn of them realistic.
At his offer though, and Asta’s subsequent response, he shrugged his shoulders. How many times had he simply created and contorted because it was necessary? Or individuals were friends and allies? It was only every so often anyone bestowed something of value to him; he’d had the same discussion with Colt. “Not many do,” he gave with a hint of amusement, his nose wrinkling. “But there are other things besides items. I prefer information, should you ever hear of interesting things.” Threats. Furtive traces. If something was looming large and aggressive all over again – not unlike the vast warnings he’d extended to others, on behalf of Safrin, when it had come to the Family’s imminent arrival.
we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin let your desire be simply acquired within, within
They work in tandem, even as Deimos bells are done much faster than his are – without any crafting magic or ability to carve into the bone. Instead, he carves more into the bell until he can make the little space for the hook – pausing for a moment before he adds the little metal strand for the clapper portion of the bell from being added to work on creating it – snagging a small bird rib to drive a little hole into it to be added.
His attention flickers over to the bell Deimos is currently creating, focusing on the aurora as it comes to life in a variety of different hues. It’s vibrant and beautiful and far more vivacious than he remembers them being and it hits a stroke of nostalgia in his chest that he wasn’t sure even could feel anymore. “That is splendid.” He murmurs, the slight twitch of nostalgia making it into his smile. “Perhaps I will keep that one for myself.” He admits with a soft chuckle, wondering if he could convince Danta to go back to the House of Midnight only to relive the auroras without worrying about turning to stone.
Ah, but as the offer to make him a coat like Danta’s, the interest and inability to pay the Warden back for the freedom it would provide, is certainly something that lingers despite his attempts to try and think of what he could get him. But when the answer comes of what he could do instead, it’s extremely tempting for a man who hates to be indebted. It isn’t as though Deimos is asking for a lot, though, and Asta has always enjoyed dealing in information and gossip. After all, it was Danta’s and his favorite past time.
“I am the Security of the Dusklight which is a wonderful way of attaining interesting information when it comes around.” He muses, like he’s explaining how he could make this work before he nods decisively and lowers the clapper he’s finished to give Deimos his full attention. “I can certainly manage that. Do we have a deal, then?” He asks, his smile brightening.
Astaroth
if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap
you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul
Snorting, he maneuvered the bell closer to the butcher; permitting him access to the keepsake, welcome to have whatever auroras he craved. There was a pause in between though, amidst the offers extended; Deimos could understand and fathom why. He was a man of transactions – easily capable of rendering bestowals and offers, then finding degrees in which the decrees could land accordingly, but some simply weren’t. Debts and obligations could be a liability in some circumstances, but the Sword preferred the opportunity rather than letting the overdrawn and beholden portions linger and loiter for too long. Nor was there any rush on the other’s part – information was a valuable resource, but what he required might not have been readily accessible at all times. “So I have heard,” he grinned in response, mindlessly tugging his daughter’s hat down further where it had popped up in brief movements. “We have a deal,” and he offered his hand, in case that was how the Ancient preferred to settle things.
Thereafter, he conjured a piece of paper into the air as well, letting the gilded glow settle across his palm before charcoal followed suit, then slid it over to said security officer. “If you have any particulars for it, you could draw them out.” Unless he wanted the Sword to have free rein; which Deimos might take into some comedic means and ends.
He pauses in his work to take the bell Deimos has made, dropping it into the little drawer of his own personal items and effects with a grateful little nod. He gets the bell he’s been working on etched into the bone, pausing as the hand is extended toward him with the mention of a deal – taking it into his own hands, warm with the heat of the fire permeating through his body.
Withdrawing to get started on the bell again, he spies the golden glow and the charcoal and paper that are conjured and the butcher’s brows rise, captivated briefly by the display of magic before he takes them. “Thank you.” He hums, setting it on the counter briefly before he starts to sketch out the design. It’s a long jacket, a trench coat of sorts with lapels and a design that is similar to Danta’s own red one. In elegant handwriting, the butcher puts little arrows and explanations over the fabric – velvet and wool, a deep burgundy, and the like. All things he explains verbally when he slides the paper over and shoots Deimos a too wide, too sharp grin.
“Give me a moment.” He pauses, shifting into his fyrhund shift to take the bone bell into his maw and angles toward the brazier with the fire when he breathes out fire from his maw, the scorched ashen appearance coating the bell. He does it a few more times upon rotating the bell, in order to get the etchings dark rather than the entirety of the bell, anticipating when he shifts back he’ll start cleaning up the sides and edges and bringing them back to a usual bone hue.
