Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
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!
Tanglefoot was something completely awe-inspiring to the Caretaker. Full of lush, overgrowing vines, ferns, and a variety of wildflowers and herbs, she could’ve spent all day and evening meandering her way through the natural essences – collecting, learning, and nurturing, utterly content in the teeming of life itself.
Except she did have many more roles to play, and she couldn’t forgo everything to revel in the delights of the world. Instead, she flew over the portions of the shrine, on light, fluttering bits of air and thermals, before deciding on what to do for her portion of offerings to the Old Gods – and especially Frey.
Yearning and craving to make up for all her recent blunders, she began snagging at tiny fruits and flowers as she passed: berries, sun-ripened and exploding with flavor, were placed at the foot of the shrine. Thereafter, she began to lay down petals – some in enriched gold, others in sunset orange and violet, immersed in the vibrancy of the earth around them.
Mittens, however, sulked – hovering above the pedestals with a roll to its eyes – spindly stick arms haphazardly crossed.
we are more weather pattern than stone monument sunlight on mist; summer lightning
Beware the darkness of dragons, Beware the stalker of dreams,
A rumble like distant thunder could be heard on the wind, rolling steadily closer. Dark wings ate up the miles even at a leisurely pace. They were a marvel, infinitely more efficient than the acrobatic crow - every wingbeat brought a thrill, a surge of delight at her own strength, at the speed – at the wind caressing her scales and the landscape rolling by beneath her. A joyride it was, undertaken for the sheer joy of flight in a shift still new to her. Testing its senses, Maea let the unpredictable thermals of the mountains and jungle carry her off course.
A structure perching on a clifftop high above the forest floor caught her eye during one such detour. Flicking the long tail like a rudder might steer a ship to port, her vast shadow rolled over treetops and rocky outcroppings as she circled ever closer. Curiosity was ever her favorite vice; having never been in these parts of the jungle before, the idea of stumbling across some ancient ruin or exploring a new shrine kindled every childhood dream of adventure from dormancy. By the looks of it, this structure was probably the later. Intrigued, she began searching for a space open enough to land, unaware that the draft of her wings was messing with the petals and offerings so diligently placed by another visitor.
Beware the talons of power and fire, Beware one who is not what she seems.
From nearby, Mittens gave an outcry – loud, shrieking, a warning. It could’ve been much of anything, given the Oerwoud, and so the little bird, heart beating erratically from the sudden onslaught of panic, peered around, features fast and swift and keen-
But certainly not enough to combat a dragon.
Had she been absent of the sudden apprehension and terror, Lena would’ve recognized key signs. No dragons lived within the jungle, that she was aware of. This could’ve been a fellow Attuned, or an Ancient, but alarm and horror could be devastating things, and her brain was overcome with the need to flee and escape, rather than any other sagacity. Dragoon she might’ve been, but wiser still was to evade.
Except she barely had the chance – the long wings unfurled and hastened across all her painstaking work. Away went the petals and offerings, tossed aside and fumbling back into the scenery, and so too her own light, small body, suddenly uprooted and lost in the swing of erratic thermals and gusts. She couldn’t help but shriek too, as it loosened from her throat in a state of shock and dismay.
we are more weather pattern than stone monument sunlight on mist; summer lightning
08-05-2025, 03:53 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2025, 02:51 AM by Maea.)
Maea
Beware the darkness of dragons, Beware the stalker of dreams,
A bit of a tight squeeze though it was, the dragon angled itself down towards the foot of the shrine. Rocks broke loose and crashed into the forest below as she tested the ground, not yet fully trusting it to hold her weight. Being big was awkward; her tail kept smacking into trees so that fruits and leaves shuddered to the ground, and her claws left scrape marks on the pale rock. But slowly, tenderly, inch by inch she fitted herself against the patch of land until she stood firmly on solid ground.
Gingerly folding one membraneous wing against ink-black scales, then the other, a sinuous neck snaked around her own bulk to look for the source of the screeching. She was certain it wasn't imagination. The rest of the forest had grown quiet at her passing, but not this one voice... Intrigued, slitted nostrils flared as the dragon attempted to catch a scent, or any clue as to who else was there with her. When nothing immediately stood out, she reluctantly shifted, shrinking down into the familiar shape of the ancient; dressed in black, with a restless tail coiling behind her, and her long hair tied up around the crescent horns, wrapped into a bun around a simple hair stick. Somehow it didn't feel as fun to explore in this form... though she had to admit it made it easier to approach the shrine.
Beware the talons of power and fire, Beware one who is not what she seems.
All those prey instincts locked in, and she ducked behind the altar, still as a stone. Half-hoping her grey plumage would blend into the surroundings, the only thing keeping her entirely away from bursting out of the seams were primordial inherency and Mittens – whose eyes seemed to be narrowing, observing, as it glanced out from behind the pillars and altar.
The sound of wings faded, and her gaze narrowed too, heart beating wildly in her chest, pondering if this was the moment she could evade or escape. Or if it was a ruse, some trick most predators could come up with, sliding into their roles in hunting, waiting, until their target was comfortable enough to flee.
Except – when curiosity won out – she peeked around to see a familiar figure. Blinking, she shifted, though she couldn’t quite stop shaking, the movements shuddering through her hands and shoulders. “Maea?”
The voice halted her in her stride, taken aback by the sound of her own name spoken into the wind. Casting about for the speaker, pale eyes landed on the head poking out around a corner, widening in recognition. "Lena! What a surprise, I didn't see you here. Are you... alright?" Taking in the pallor of the caretaker's face and the tremor in her limbs, Maea surged towards her with hands outstretched, wanting nothing but to reassure her.
"Did I startle you? I'm so sorry; it's a new shift, I forget hardly anyone knows about it." A recent acquisition, and one she was still getting to know, she had yet to learn how impossible it was to distinguish her from any other dragon, or how little it mattered to some. Not everyone was as fond of dragons as she, nor as thrilled to brave danger for the sake of sating curiosity.
There were key differences in these moments. Lena knew much about dragons; talked to them, tended to them, knew their habits, their routines, their distinctions from one another – but those were creatures in the Celestine. Not the behemoths outside, in the wild, or the individuals who held them as shifts. She had no way of knowing who was who when it was an Ancient who couldn’t hear the Attuned bond – but her mind could concoct all sorts of scenarios of those far more vicious. Of ones who didn’t tend to basic humanity and rationale. Of things she wasn’t capable of, in the middle of the Oerwoud, save for running, fleeing, and evading; saving herself. Natural, expected aversions.
Maea’s concern didn’t seem to match her earlier actions, and the Caretaker could feel herself stiffen, an unyielding little bout as her heart tended to the other synapses and fluctuations in her pulse. “I was…surprised,” she admitted, not taking any of the hands offered, pushing herself upright, fingers clutching the shrine for initial support while her breath lowered to something without jack hammers in her chest. “Just trying to put an offering here,” and her eyes went to the scattered berries and flowers, haphazardly strewn, sighing as she discovered her hard work had been for naught, beginning to crouch and grab ones that weren’t too badly disturbed. “Are you…exploring?”
Mittens glared fiercely at the Ancient, however, not forgiving or forgoing the slight as easily – a threatening grimace reflected on its stony eyes and mouth.
For a moment Maea's hands hovered in the air, until it became clear that her gesture was being rejected. Falling down to hang simply by her sides, she didn't quite shrug but simply stepped aside when the other woman began picking scattered petals and fruits off the ground. Guilt stirred within, habitual and reflexive; apparently she'd gotten in the way again. Messed things up again, ruined someone's day again – she stepped back from the shrine, carefully moving away from scattered offerings so she wouldn't accidentally crush them more than she already had.
"I'm sorry. Can I help you put it back?" She didn't try to help, not right away. Experience had shown that trying to fix things sometimes made it worse than leaving it alone, and that she seemed incapable of understanding when to do what. Better to just ask, to stop trying to do the right things before she'd been told what was correct to care about.
"Yes. And getting to know the dragon. I'm not used to... taking up space." It really did seem to be something she should be apologising for - or maybe that was also a habitual way of thinking she needed to discard. It was confusing; on one hand she shouldn't have to shrink to fit in with others, but she also needed to be considerate, pay attention to her surroundings, not be a nuisance while also be confident and act according to her own beliefs. 'Everything in moderation', she'd been told... but why did that leave her with this suffocating pressure around the chest, like she couldn't breathe?
While Mittens still fixed its beady eyed stare upon Maea, as if daring her to try something else, Lena surveyed the scene, sighing as more of the flowers she’d picked for their bright, wondrous hues, slid away – either gone with the wind, the dragon’s wings, or anything else. Instead, she traversed back to where she’d snagged her initial few, pushing past several brushes and nettles, thorns and vines, for the right sort. “If you’d like,” she honored with a gentle shrug; utilizing the breath in her chest to retain the remaining portions of her calm demeanor.
Plucking a similar orange flower, she placed it in her hand with the other uncrushed fathoms of berries and blooms, returning to arrange them back upon pillars and columns, before repeating the gestures in another area. Perhaps she should have been tending to Maea’s clear aversions and discomfort, but given what the Caretaker had just gone through, with zero regards for either herself or Mittens, when she would’ve never done the same to the Ancient, her patience was a little rattled and thin.
Pushing past another bush and finding some lavender hued flowers, she granted a relieved sigh, before managing to convey something to Maea. “I think it’s being aware of your surroundings. Or the impact such a shift would have.” She trusted the Ancient knew better – hadn’t she been a part of the lore seekers – to understand the nuances behind the lore of black dragons. To comprehend what she was doing. It shouldn’t have taken that much consideration at all.
As for the Oerwoud, she tilted her head, contemplating how many portions she’d traversed through. “Some parts, though not often.”
With permission given, the ancient crouched low and began the collection of scattered petals, flowers and berries into a fold of her skirt. A battle raged within her, of reflexive defensiveness waged against more recently learned acceptance, a desire to be better, less volatile in her reactions. Whether the new influence was winning or not... was hard to say.
"... mh. A part of it, indeed. Doesn't that mean there will never be a good time or place to exist in that shift, though? Nothing will ever welcome a dragon - except maybe other dragons. Does that mean I shouldn't ever take the form of one? Or that I should get used to upsetting anyone who happen to be in the vicinity?" It was a genuine question, not intended as defensive but a request for Lena's opinion. For her own part Maea didn't see her shift as any more or less dangerous than any other big predator, but she was willing to admit that she was biased, and perhaps a bit too enamored by the chance to not give a fuck about anything else when she for once had the upper hand. To stop worrying about consequences for once, and care about nothing but herself, apologising to no one – it had felt good.
Until someone actually got in the way, at least. Then she only felt bad.
Watching how Lena arranged the decorations, Maea mimicked her patterns as best she could, until she ran out of materials. "I see. I didn't know that. I came here in part because I figured there wouldn't be that many people around... but apparently it's still not remote enough. For not noticing you... I apologise." Her gaze fell on the companion as she spoke, including it in the apology. She really may have been careless... something she would have to work on in the future.
Searching and seeking once more, she crouched low, applying attention to an assortment of nettles she’d combed through already, hopeful there were still some little herbal flowers remaining on their thorns. “I don’t think so,” she answered at first, because Maea seemed to have taken her meaning into a completely different direction. Shaking her head, she gave a sigh, wondering if there seemed to be other implications within those threads that she simply wasn’t understanding. “In the heat of battle…in travels and journeys…goodness, I could imagine even enjoying yourself with others in the same capacity, but I think some conversations probably need to be had first. Ancients don’t have the Attuned bond. No one has any way of knowing its you.”
So therefore the fear would remain. The stigma placed – unless Maea deigned to do something about it. If she preferred to lord over with her prowess, then she’d likely find the same results as she had today. “Unless that’s your goal, and if that’s the case, then I think there will be more problems ahead. Black dragons are known to be the most hostile.” And therefore, people would react as they saw fit – in fear, as she’d done – or in some other capacity, like hunting. Like mauling in return.
Mittens glared as the apology came forth, but it’d always been the sort to not appreciate delays in such facets. Lena nodded, accepting it as it was, uncertain if her words would echo or alter anything.
A thoughtful silence followed as the ancient considered Lena's elaboration. A very stubborn part of her raged against the implication that she was responsible for managing the safety and comfort of others, while a more sensible side admitted that it wasn't unlike the responsibility of large ships to keep a lantern lit, as a warning to other sailors in the night. Was she then flying in the dark right now? Making her a pirate in the eyes of lawful citizens, a rogue among Attuned, and no doubt that was a delight to her chaotic goddess. She could imagine Charlie shrugging about it, could see Danta's grin at the prospect of causing mayhem - and that said enough about what she herself needed to do.
"I don't want anyone to be afraid of me," she replied softly. "What... would have let you feel safer, in my approach, just now? Could I have done anything to reveal my nature or intent...?" She hadn't been roaring or breathing fire, so it wasn't that. She could probably announce to the world that she had attained this shift - make a declaration on noticeboards and through letters - but ultimately that wouldn't help if indeed there was no visual cues to suggest that this ancient was different from any other, or separate from the wild dragons. And really... the idea of simply never flying through the skies in this guise was painful in a way she couldn't explain. Not unlike the notion of needing to conceal her horns or her tail. The shift was as much part of her as any other physical trait and she had every right to assume it whenever she wished.
Which left a marker, of some sort. To declare her otherness, and leave it to others to decide whether that was enough. "Do you think an item of some sort would be noticeable enough? Like a collar or such..." Something that changed in size, bright and visible... She at least didn't hate the idea.
If Maea didn’t want to take responsibility for her actions, then there would be far more difficult notions for her up ahead – Lena, gentle, compassionate, and certain, couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to scare or frighten others, and so had no cause or claim to it. Pausing in her ministrations though, she glanced at Maea, equally speculative but not having the answers for everything the Ancient seemed to seek. In the end, her mouth softened into a thin line, a long breath coming through, plucking several more found berries, content there’d been any left at all. “Listening might have helped.” She and Mittens both had made opening declarations of their presence, and nothing seemed to have aided – hence the sudden need to escape, evade, and hide. “I’m not sure. Dragons come with the preconceived notions of destruction. I think you might gain some reactions not strongly in your favor either.” Of death, in either direction. “And I had no other way of communicating with you.” Not with Attuned or Ancient correlations. Or vice versa, on Maea’s end, she supposed.
She hadn’t given the other woman any declaration that she should never fly about in such a shift – but certainly notions that came along with it. For perhaps a multitude of safety reasons, amidst a myriad of citizens that roamed across Caido, including Maea herself. No one asked her to conceal. No one asked her to remain secret. But no one asked her to rampage around as a dragon and terrorize the world either – and they had every right to conduct themselves as they wished too, in the presence of a dragon. Compassion for others went both ways.
Placing the fruit back upon the altar and arranging the flowers so they looked presentable amongst them, her brows furrowed. It wasn’t her job to solve the Ancient’s current dilemma, but she’d be willing to continue to lend advice, she supposed, so long as she had some wisdom strung along the hinges of her mind. “Maybe a ribbon? Or just some simple cloth.” Didn’t need to be elaborate – Lena wasn’t fond of the thought of collars in any capacity. “Not many wild ones would carry such things.” Which would give people pause – at least an opportunity to reflect that they might not have been in imminent danger.
The vision of a fierce dragon with a ribbon tied like a bow around its neck came to mind, and Maea's mouth softened with amusement, a huffed laugh easing the tension she'd unwittingly been clinging to. The discrepancy in that image - like a frost giant with a lacy parasol - stole away the seriousness with which she'd considered the problem.
"What color of ribbon would go best with black?" she mused, almost playful; she reached for a scattered flower tucked into a nook of the shrine and contemplated the soft blue color of its petals.
"No, but I hear you. I will work on paying better attention when I fly. It's a promise." Extending the flower atop an outstretched palm towards Lena, the remorse in her eyes was genuine. Maybe she didn't listen well and she probably was too literal in her interpretation of what people said - often even rigid in her conclusions - but the desire to understand and get along was absolutely there.
