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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!
04-05-2026, 12:10 AM (This post was last modified: 04-15-2026, 07:33 PM by Colt.)
COLT
My clothes still smell like smoke Your name's still in my throat But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
It’s midday and the heat is at its height, beating down over her hat and beading sweat against her skin. She’s dressed in loose, long-sleeves and thin pants, all to help her keep her sweat in order to cool her. Her boots are still pulled up and over, but they’re missing her usual jingle of spurs, the horses being left behind at the camp here. She’s also fitted with a bandanna that has charcoal layered inside it, the local’s method of dealing with Suvahi’s toxins when they need to trek through it.
A small pack of food and water rations, as well as first aid, is clung from her shoulder. Across her back her quiver and bow wait at the ready for the day’s task. She glances over for Marcus as the camp continues to break down. ”The locals said they know a spot the birds will come once dusk hits, so we’re hiking to there now.”
Marcus quest req: Complete a thread hunting, killing and cooking something. No shifts may be used to fulfil this requirement.
Sand grouse: The most common way of shooting sandgrouse is waiting for them over a water hole. The birds start coming to drink in groups as soon as the sun is up or down. The outfitter may set up a blind, but normally simply standing or sitting quietly under a bush is enough. Sandgrouse aren’t very tough birds, but they are fast flyers with erratic flight patterns.
When fire meets gasoline Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat It burns bright but damn you lose everything We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Two Olsons, both come to help at word from the Valkyrie. The young hybrid had not gone on the trek for dream cactus, but he was here now ready to help Colt with what she needed next.
Marcus had taken the bandanna without complaint, though he hadn’t expected the way it would press the air thin across his face, the charcoal muting the scent of the Suvahasi into something dull and distant. It helped, but not enough to make the place feel safe. While none of Caido was safe and Marcus grew up understanding that, this place felt too different than Halo. The unease within him made sense, as he was standing now on nearly opposute ground than he was used to.
He finished securing the last of his gear as Colt spoke, giving a short nod at her words. His gaze drifted past her shoulder, to where the desert simply stopped. "Sounds good to me." He said, watching the way sand gave way to suffocating green in a way that still felt wrong no matter how long he looked at it. Heat clung there, trapped beneath the canopy, thick and unmoving.
He adjusted the strap of his quiver. "What else have the locals said?" He wondered aloud, eyes moving back to Colt.
My clothes still smell like smoke Your name's still in my throat But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
At the word of their guide, a tall and lanky man who’s dressed all tawny in flowing fabric, only his eyes open from the mask tied around his mouth and over his head, Colt presses into the jungle alongside Marcus. ”They said don’t miss,” she says with a grin, and although her mask covers the shape of it, the reach extends into the crinkle and devilish gleam in her eye when she looks across at him.
She ducks under vines and extends her stride over logs, shuffling past mossy rocks and skirting away from particularly nasty looking flora that seems to turn with them as they move. ”Seriously though, they said the birds fly in very strange patterns when startled. And they’re fast, so we gotta be faster. We all take aim at once, a different one each, and fire together. Surprise is how we be faster.”
The scent of charcoal competes with the hot reek of the jungle. It’s a mixture of something overly sweet and an undercurrent of rot, both plant and animal, she’s sure. ”Although if we miss, they said they’re fairly dumb and will return if we’re still and patient.” She snorts, because that about lines up with her belief in birds too. Ahead, their guide points to an overly bright flower, a hand signal telling them to be careful not to bump it, their charcoal not a catch all for condensed toxins.
When fire meets gasoline Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat It burns bright but damn you lose everything We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Marcus huffed a quiet breath through the bandanna at her grin, amusement flickering beneath the tension. He knew she was smiling because of the way it reached her eyes, and Marcus felt some of the tension ease between his shoudler blades. His gaze swept low first. Then his attention shifted upward, tracking breaks in the canopy where birds might cut through, or even where a startled flock would try to escape.
The guide’s warning drew an immediate adjustment. The young hybrid angled wide around the bright flower, shoulders turning to keep his gear from brushing it. At Colt’s comment, his brow pulled faintly. He hoped they wouldn't miss, but Marcus knew very well that hunts didn't always go your way. He wished he could use his eagle shift to take one of the birds down. It seemed easy enough, but he knew that was why he couldn't -- Frey had set this before him as a challenge.
"Together, then." Marcus said as he stepped in again after the guide.
My clothes still smell like smoke Your name's still in my throat But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
The hike drew them into the jungle on a path that's more visibly worn down than the rest. It's almost hard to tell though, with how greedy new growth is here, but the natives travel it enough that by virtue of its use, it's maintained. When they get close enough, one of the leads halts them all suddenly, gestures used and raised up rather than voice. Colt doesn't know precisely what the hand motions mean, but the hunter closest to her and Marcus leans in faintly to whisper the intel. They've spotted tracks ahead and can hear the birds calling to one another. They suspect it's not the entire flock yet, but they motion for everyone to be quiet and get into position.
Colt nods, pulling her bow and a sharpened arrow free in preparation. She crouches lowerr as she walks, mindful of every foot placement as she nestles in beside a fallen log and peers into the clearing not far from here. The water hole is smaller than she expected. It's no grand lake and scarcely seems to earn the title pond, but then for the desert this place is a practical oasis.
She sees the brown birds, camouflaging well with the ground where they spend a good deal of their time, wandering about in search of food or company with one another. A few are drinking, and some yet are bathing in the shallow edge. They will wait a bit longer. The hike here has made the sun lower and activity has gone up, the increased noises in the jungle proof enough. Too long and they won't be able to see much longer, but too early and they risk spooking the flock before all have returned.
When fire meets gasoline Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat It burns bright but damn you lose everything We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
Marcus dropped into a crouch beside a cluster of broad-leafed plants, careful not to let a single branch snap beneath his weight. The jungle seemed louder now that they were still. Insects buzzed somewhere overhead, water dripped from leaves despite the heat, and farther away, unseen creatures rustled through the undergrowth. Every sound blended together into a living wall of noise that made picking out individual sounds more difficult than any hunt in Halo.
The sandgrouse calls drifted faintly across the clearing, enough to draw and hold tight his attention. Marcus shifted his gaze toward the water hole, letting his eyes settle rather than dart. His father had taught him long ago that prey noticed movement before shape. A hunter who constantly searched often found less than the one who waited, as the body followed the eyes. The birds were harder to spot than he'd expected, blending nearly seamlessly into the earth and scattered vegetation around the oasis. One moved and suddenly three more appeared beside it, shapes resolving from what he'd mistaken for stones and shadows moments earlier.
Marcus slowly drew an arrow from his quiver, keeping every motion deliberate. The shaft rested lightly against his bow as he studied the flock, and all around it. He tracked possible flight paths, noting the open lanes above the pond and the gaps between branches where startled birds might escape. His pulse remained steady, his breathing slow behind the charcoal-filtered bandanna. Marcus settled deeper into his crouch and fixed his attention on the clearing, patient as the hunters around him and Colt beside him. The hardest part of hunting had never been the shot.
It was knowing when not to take it. And he did -- finally.
My clothes still smell like smoke Your name's still in my throat But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
Hunting has never been her mastery, much preferring to raise her food rather than stalk it. What she has done is chase down terrible beasts and foes with the guild, though that feels more like arming herself for war than this quiet sneaking to place their net of sharp points for a meal. The birds are defenseless, and too stupid to worry about, so this only relies on stealth and patience rather than the grit and fortitude of facing a wild creature on a rampage.
Stupid though they might be, the birds can certainly survive, as intelligent as they need to manage in the region they live. What they lack in ferocity and wit they make up for in speed and matching the ground. Like Marcus, Colt's eye struggles to find them all, but she trains herself on a mark or two once she manages to make them out.
A sudden whistle cuts then, the sign to unfurl, and Colt's breath catches as she grows taut. The arrow she set to her bowstring shivers into motion as her fingers skip up the cord and release the tension, sending the sharp point directly through one of the birds. She reaches back to grab another arrow and fires towards one of the grouse that's lifting up into the air, tracking the movement so that she fires into where it will be the moment it reaches there. It just dodges though, agile and it's flight jittery, and cursing softly she quickly reaches for another arrow to do the same as the clearing becomes alive with wings and bodies alike.
The Pencil Sharpener | An earthen quiver that sharpens any arrow placed inside.
Type: Dark | Style: Offensive | Level: Mastered | Cost: Action
When fire meets gasoline Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat It burns bright but damn you lose everything We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
