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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.
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09-03-2025, 06:46 AM (This post was last modified: 10-02-2025, 05:06 AM by Thalassa.)
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
Her heart hurts.
She's so angry that she'd been too stupid to see her infection, that she'd been too heartbroken to see how it separated her from her homeland, that she'd been too numb to care.
Thal has already accepted that she's not the one to blame for the experience - not when Asta has made it clear that her mistakes did not mean she deserved anything - but it doesn't change the frustration she feels at having been manipulated. She tries not to wallow, she really does, yet her mind continues to drift to the disgusting feeling of having her free will ripped from her, of having been a discarded puppet when they'd tired of her. And it sucks. She wants to scream and cry and punch something so hard that she blasts a hole through dimensions to wrap her hands around Pierce's throat.
But that's not possible, and she has to settle for the blazing determination in her mind to never feel that way again. It solidifies iron walls around her heart that still oozes blood from the thorns that had been torn away; she strengthens her senses to recognize threats and she is always on guard. Nothing will get through without proving first that it deserves her trust.
All of these roiling emotions burn through her as Thal lands amongst the familiar dark stones of Apopo, shifting gracefully from lyvern to Ancient in a seamless step that has her black cloak fluttered behind her. It feels like stepping home, the salty breeze caressing her cheek while the pull in her chest eases with the ocean's proximity. She closes her eyes for a moment, appreciating the peace and quiet as much as the heat that embraces her stoic features. It loosens the tight hold in her chest and draws her close to the river of lava where she warms her hands.
A small sigh escapes, encouraging her shoulders to fall from her ears. The movement sounds strange, a scratch that doesn't sound like the tension of her shoulders or the bubbling of lava. It sounds more like a scratch of claws, and she's suddenly on alert, her eyes scanning the surrounding for what beast may be preparing to attack.
She's not expecting to spot a fluffball of white fur trotting playfully across the igneous surface. It seems to be chasing a piece of ash, getting closer with every naive bounce, small grumbles chiming from its throat that are less than terrifying. They're almost... cute, although Thal won't admit it, not when the fumbling furball is getting closer to the lava -
A colorful curse bursts from her lips, watching with horror as the young cub chases the piece of ash right over the edge of the cliff. In a split second of instinct and decision, Thal darts forward, blinking in and out of existence as she closes the distance between them. Black tendrils still trail her fingers as she lunges over the edge to close her grip around the horribly soft scruff of the cub. She curses again when a piece of stone bites into her hip, but she grits her teeth and doesn't release her hold, using all her strength to pull it up and over the cliff to safety, putting herself between the whimpering cub and the lava that would certainly turn it into a skeleton.
09-11-2025, 10:09 AM (This post was last modified: 09-11-2025, 10:12 AM by Damien.)
a lot of people will look at you
Aria
Aria had always been quick, but she had never been this quick. One heartbeat she was darting across black stone after a puff of ash, the next she was gone, swallowed by the heat-haze and smoke of Apopo. Damien had cursed under his breath and followed, boots grinding across the brittle crust of cooled lava. The ground was treacherous, every other step threatening to shift beneath him, but the sight of her pale fur flashing against the dark kept him moving.
By the time he broke through the curtain of steam, it was too late to stop her lunge toward the cliff. His chest tightened, the image of her vanishing into the boiling sea below driving him forward—
And then someone else was there.
The stranger’s form flickered in and out of the heat like a shadow, tendrils of black clinging to her as she dragged Aria back from the brink. The cub squirmed in her grip, indignant at being snatched mid-pounce, but very much alive. Damien stopped short a few paces away, breath hard in his chest, the sweat on his skin not entirely from the volcano’s furnace-breath.
Aria gave a mewl when she spotted him, and he ran a hand over his face, the edge of fear in him already hardening into a mask of irritation. “You little fool,” he muttered at the little leopard, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
Then he looked more fully at the woman who had saved her. She was shorter than him, but carried herself like someone who’d fought worse odds than a playful cub. Her horns caught the light like shards of molten rock, and her eyes—bright, cutting blue—met his with a guarded intensity.
“Bad spot to bring a cub, huh,” Damien said. His voice was a little less breathy, though still low and rough, shaped by years of Halo’s cold but edged now with something warmer—genuine gratitude under the flat delivery. “She’s mine. You have my thanks for not letting her burn for it.”
Aria, oblivious to the danger she’d just escaped, nosed at the woman with kittenish curiosity, her long tail flicking as if this was all just another adventure. Damien's gaze didn't leave the Ancient, weighing her the way he weighed any new face in unfamiliar ground.
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
Thal hisses softly as she feels where the rock had dug into her hip, quite certain it's going to leave a bruise that will be a multitude of colors. It doesn't stop her from cradling the squirming cub in her arms, doing her best to keep it from finding another reason to leap to its death. Her fingers are tangled in the white fur, surprised by how soft it is, like a cloud brushing lightly in her hold. She's looking through the black spots and thick pelt for wounds, but the soft mewling doesn't sound distressed and suddenly there's a man stepping in front of her, flaring the adrenaline again.
She hasn't risen from where she'd rolled from the edge of the cliff, feeling like a vulnerable child curled up hugging her teddy bear. Defenses form, muscles stiffen, and blue eyes narrow as she does her best to stand gracefully with the cub still in her arms. The wiggles and nuzzles batter against her thick walls, and Thal can't help the way she soothes with a gentle hand, nearly giving a melodic hum to calm it as she focuses on the man.
He's tall, but not as tall as Asta - and not nearly as intimidating. Not as the rough gravel of his words ring with something akin to kindness in the wake of her blazing emotions. She plants her feet, lifting her chin to flash her fangs at him - more annoyance than threat at having been interrupted. Her words are similarly flat with a sarcastic edge to them, cold despite the heat of fire at her back. "She doesn't deserve to die just because you can't keep your eyes on her." Looking down at the kitten-soft paws against her arm, Thal turns her hand just enough that it looks like she's adjusting her hold rather than scratching just beneath the leopard's jaw then behind the ear. She ignores the purrs that make her want to melt, glaring up at the man who had risked such an innocent creature's life with stupidity. "What kind of person lets a cub run loose in a place like this?"
09-14-2025, 09:25 AM (This post was last modified: 09-14-2025, 09:26 AM by Damien.)
a lot of people will look at you
Aria
Damien straightened slowly, dragging a sleeve across his temple to clear the sweat. His brows pulled low, but the rest of his face hardly shifted. He let her jab land, then let it sit a moment in the steam. The cub’s purr was loud enough to hear over the hiss of steam, and the sound pulled a humorless huff from him.
“Right. Because I brought her all this way just to toss her in.” His tone was flat, bone-dry, but edged with enough bite to show he wasn’t entirely amused. “Forgive me for letting her down to piss without strapping her to my chest first.”
Aria purred louder, stretching her neck into the Ancient’s hand as if to underline his words with utter betrayal. Her little jaws gaped in a mock yawn, then she tipped her head back and tried to chew gently on one of the woman's fingers.
He shook his head, the irritation in it aimed more at himself than her. “I’m not from here. Took a wrong turn through the steam and ended up in the middle of your blasted volcano—” He exhaled hard through his nose, not quite a sigh. “She’s quick, and I’m only one man. Sometimes she gets ahead of me.”
Damien held her stare then, unbothered by the fangs she flashed. Her horns caught the red glow behind her like embers sparking in obsidian, and there was a hardness in her that reminded him of Halo’s own stone: jagged, unyielding. Still, he didn’t bristle much more than he already had. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care. I was right behind her.”
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
The excuses were all plausible, but Thal didn't like his biting tone, her lips pursing to a thin line. She let the cub gnaw as she thought on the man, unbothered by any blood she may draw in the process. The loud purring made it hard to discourage the adorable naive fluffball, so she settled to hand a little nibbling, offering up her finger as she shrugged her shoulders to dismiss any good intentions the man may have had. "And yet it wouldn't have mattered because her fur would have already melted off by the time you got to her." She would have been a very cute skeleton, but a skeleton, nonetheless.
Still reluctant to release the cub into the unresponsible man's custody, Thal stood her ground, delaying with her abrasive tone. "You should be more careful. Get her a leash or something if you have to." But even as the words left her mouth they tasted like ash, knowing exactly what it felt like to be restrained and manipulated. She wouldn't wish the feeling on anyone, especially not an innocent cub who didn't know any better. Thal didn't like lingering on that thought, her tail flicking sharply to snap behind her as she looked down at the white fur still coiling through her fingers.
Damien’s jaw tightened at her words, but he let them pass without biting back this time. He wasn’t about to argue the obvious. She wasn’t wrong, only merciless in how she said it. A part of him respected that, even as it left him feeling like a scolded child. His gaze shifted to the cub, purring so hard her whole body seemed to vibrate, small teeth latched happily on the Ancient’s finger like none of this had been dire at all.
“She wouldn’t stand for a leash...” he said, his tone even, stripped of sarcasm now. “She’s still young. Still learning. So am I.” The admission cost him something, but it was honest, and he let it sit there without excuse.
Aria chose that moment to flop deeper into the woman’s hold, batting lazily at her before settling her head against her chest, tail curling like she’d found herself a second home. Damien gave a low breath that wasn’t quite a sigh.
Then he shifted his weight and kneeled down to tug his pack open. From it he pulled a length of rope, the fibers rough and salt-stained from travel. Without comment, he began working it through his hands, twisting and knotting with the ease of someone who’d spent years making do with what he had. A harness, crude but serviceable, was already taking shape.
When he was done, Damien’s gaze flicked up, meeting the woman’s eyes over the cub’s head, steady and unflinching but not combative. He held out the makeshift harness to the woman, if she wanted to put it on the cub herself. “I’m Damien, by the way. That's Aria. We’re from Halo. I’ll keep her leashed from here on, at least until we’re somewhere safer.” His voice softened, carrying a thread of sincerity beneath the gravel. “And I owe you more than thanks for catching her. Surely I can repay you, somehow.”
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
The honesty was refreshing, washing over her with a vulnerability that she could relate to even if she didn't show it beyond a silent nod of her head. The movement had her dark curtain of hair shifting around the base of her horns, hiding the moment the tension in her shoulders eased a touch, barely noticeable as she turned her attention back to the cub making herself very comfortable in the crook of her arms. She wasn't someone who welcomed physical touch, but the cub's soft fur and insistent batting of her paw had Thal biting back a smile. She smothered it with the experience of a seasoned captain, only the flicker of amusement in her eyes giving away the emotion when her hand curled to press a thumb playfully against the wet black of the leopard's nose.
Her eyes moved back up to watch the man, tracking his hands as they reached into his bag to reveal a worn and frayed rope that he began to twist into an amateur attempt at what she assumed was a harness. She raised an unimpressed brow, having worked with lines and ropes enough to know that it wouldn't hold for long, but she didn't say anything as he offered it forward like a promise that he'd 'do better.' Paired with the sincerity in his eyes and the honesty from earlier, she was inclined to believe him.
Reaching out one hand, she accepted the harness along with the provided names, still deciding what to make of the idiot who almost got Aria killed even if he'd convinced her it wasn't intentional. Her gaze scanned him as she moved to kneel - hiding a wince from her hip in the process - her fingers holding firm yet gentle against the cub to keep her from bolting. "Thalassa." Her voice wasn't any warmer, but the bite was gone, the anger dissipating in light of his open admissions, giving nothing more to spark her ire - even if she didn't feel compelled to share much more than her name.
The coarse rope slipped easily around Aria, who wriggling and squirmed to play with the end of the line. Thal skillfully adjusted the knots so they'd fit comfortably on the cub's shoulders as she thought of what she could possibly want from Damien. There was always money, manual labor, a favor... but something else came to mind as she watched Aria nibble on the frayed pieces of rope.
Setting her jaw to discourage arguments or questions, Thal stood to address him, obviously used to her directions being followed. "Let me know when she's old enough to hunt. I'll teach her." That way he didn't get the cub killed when she failed to recognize a predator on her trail. At least, that's the excuse Thal used to justify her choice.
Damien watched her work the knots with more competence than he’d shown, rope slipping snug over Aria’s shoulders while the cub squirmed like she thought it was a game. He was ready for another barb, but instead she stood, jaw set, her voice carrying that clean command of someone used to giving orders.
“Let me know when she’s old enough to hunt. I’ll teach her.”
For a second, he just looked at her. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, and before he could stop it, the grin came. Not the polite kind, but the one you can’t help when you’ve seen through the bark to find the bite’s got a little soft center after all. He chuckled low, shaking his head.
“Sure. Next season she’ll be old enough for her first real outing, I think.” His eyes dropped to Aria, who was busy chewing the frayed end of the rope like she’d already claimed it as a prize. “But then I’ll just owe you double. Teaching her’s another debt in itself.”
He let that agreement sit between them for a breath, the steam hissing from the cliffs below filling the silence. Then his gaze cut back up, sharp but not unfriendly.
“What do you do to make a living, Thalassa?” His voice had steadied back into gravel, practical as ever, but there was a thread running through it — the angle of a man looking for a way to even the scales. “Could be I can repay you with more than words. I’ve got strong hands, and I’ve built, hauled, and mended more than my share. Point me at something that needs doing.”
Aria punctuated his offer by flopping onto her back, all four paws batting at the rope line, purring loud enough to drown the volcano’s growl.
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
The grin wasn't expected, the laughter even less so. It wasn't something people often did when she made an order, something they didn't dare to do in case it sparked her anger, because most of them were smart enough to know that she didn't take disrespect lightly, and she didn't appreciate it when her authority was disregarded. But Damien's knowing look wasn't one of catalogued advantages or planned insubordination, it was almost familiar, like he'd seen this kind of storm and didn't mind smiling into the roaring winds, confident it wouldn't hurt him.
Thal wasn't sure she liked that, her eyes narrowing in preparation for his argument. And yet he agreed, going as far as to make plans and suggest it as another debt in her favor. She wasn't sure she liked that either, wondering what his angle was despite the various pieces of evidence proving his honesty.
Momentarily distracted by the snagging of the leash, her eyes watched as Aria flopped onto her back, exposing the softest fur of her white underbelly. It was an annoyingly adorable motion that put her suspicions on hold as Damien spoke, watching how the tufts of white between her paws didn't stop the needle-sharp tips of her claws from catching the rope fibers, head turning to claim the piece in her ivory teeth where she gnawed happily.
'Make a living' felt like a very civilized way to reference her profession and it nearly had Thal scoffing - but she kept the instinct under wraps, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at his list of suggested capabilities. In explanation, she leveled him with an assessing gaze, this time lingering on muscles and height as means for labor. "I'm the captain of a ship. We could always use extra hands, but it's hard work, and the crew doesn't go easy on polliwogs." Not to add that they were a rambunctious bunch with loose morals.
Damien caught the narrowing of her eyes, the way she seemed to brace for an argument that never came. He didn’t give her one. Just let her look sharpen on him while Aria’s rolling and rope-gnawing pulled half her attention away. The cub’s antics softened the hard edge of the moment, but when Thalassa’s gaze returned, unimpressed and cutting, he met it without flinching.
He’d never been the sort to shrug off what was owed. A life saved, a hand lent in need — those weren’t things to be smoothed over with a nod and forgotten. In Halo, debts were paid or they came back around to bite harder, and Damien carried that truth like a second spine. So when he weighed her gaze, it wasn’t suspicion that rooted him still, but the simple fact that until the scale between them balanced, he meant to stand his ground.
“Captain, then.” The word hung for a beat, his voice still flat, though not dismissive. Ships were far from his home ground, but the word carried enough weight to make his mind turn. He had known shipwrights in the past, men who could build a hull that outlasted storms, mend planks split by sea or cannon, rig a sail to stand against the sky itself. Damien had learned enough from hauling lumber and hammering braces to follow their lead. He wasn’t a sailor, but he knew wood, rope, and tools, and what steady hands could make of them.
“If it’s swabbing decks you want, I won’t balk at it.” His shoulders rose in a slow shrug. “But I can do more than push a mop. I’ve worked alongside men who built vessels from the keel up. I know how to set a board to take weight, how to brace a line so it doesn’t give in the wind. So if you need something shored up, I can see to that. I can even put my own crew together.” So her crew could continue swabbing, or take a break, or whatever; that was more her business than his.
Aria chirruped at the sound of his voice, rolling over to her feet again and giving the rope another proud tug, as though she thought she’d done her share of the day’s labor already. Damien glanced down at her, offering a pat, mouth twitching in a faint shadow of the grin he’d worn before, before he straightened up and his gaze lifted back to Thalassa.
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
Unlike some people, Damien didn't say the title with surprise or disbelief, simply taking the information and letting it settle between them as fact. It eased more of the tension coiled deep in her bones, unwittingly curious as to what kind of person could laugh in the face of intimidating orders and accept such truths without question.
Pursing her lips again, she let out a gruff sigh. "Fine, but building ships and sailing them are two completely different things." Nevertheless, she didn't discourage him, willing to see what sort of humor might play out when he tried his hand at mooring in the dark of night or adjusting the sails in a storm, salt spray making the rope slick and the deck treacherously damp while obscuring his vision. The idea had a glint of humor forcing its way into the blue of her eyes as she gestured dismissively with her head, midnight hair shifting over her shoulders like ink over rocks. "I'll let you know next time we set out."
Then Aria was demanding Damien's attention, consequentially pulling Thal's with it. Despite having had a near death experience but minutes ago, the cub seemed proud of the accessory she'd acquired, presenting it with such playful excitement that the captain had to hide the smirk trying to lift at her lips. She cleared her throat, finally willing to offer him the reins as she suddenly demanded, "The hunting can't be in Halo." The rope dangled between them, the permission being given in return for his obvious investment in Aria's safety and happiness.
Damien watched the shift in her eyes—just a flicker, a thinning of tension—but he caught it all the same. He didn’t push at it, didn’t need to. Some truths were best left sitting quiet between people.
Her sigh came like the scrape of a knife over stone. Fine, but building ships and sailing them are two completely different things.
“Figure as much,” Damien said, voice low, gravel roughened by the volcano’s heat. “Wood doesn’t buck in a storm or throw you overboard. Still—it’s what keeps the rest of it from sinking.” His shoulders rose and fell like a man who’d lived long enough to know the weight of his own words, then let them slide back down where they belonged. “If you want me pulling lines and finding my sea legs, I’ll do that too. It's something I've been meaning to try at some point. But if I fall overboard, I hope you'll at least throw me a rope.”
The corner of his mouth tugged at that, dry humor undercutting the blunt delivery. He didn’t flinch from her dismissive gesture, just let it stand, filing away the offer like a man who’d already decided he’d see it through when the time came.
Then came her sudden demand: The hunting can’t be in Halo.
His dark eyes lifted back to her, steady, weighing her like he weighed any line worth trusting. He let the rope dangle between them for a moment longer before curling it into his grip, claiming it slow, deliberate. “Not in Halo, then,” he agreed, tone clipped but not unfriendly. “I’ve no shortage of ground to cover. She can learn wherever there’s room to run and prey to chase, so long as it's far away from any volcanoes.” He smirked at that, though it faded quickly.
He gave the rope a tug, and Aria pressed against his leg, looking up with eyes bright and guileless, all innocence against the backdrop of molten stone and suspicion. Damien reached down, rubbed behind her ears, then glanced back at Thalassa, something flint-hard but respectful in his stare.
“Next season. Torchline, or wherever you think best. You’ve got my word.”
- You think that you're the man. I think, therefore, I am. -
An eyebrow raised, wondering if he was implying she didn't know the benefits of a strong hull or a solid mast. It firmed her tone, a bit of snark finding its way in as her tail flicked softly behind her. "Absolutely, but I keep her in pretty good repair, so unfortunately for you, the only work to do is the sailing and that might take longer than hammering some nails in a board." If she was really feeling it, he might end up stuck with them in the middle of the ocean for a month.
Damien didn't seem to mind, already offering forth his services with an honest humor and a hint of a grin that she nearly returned before she was shrugging her shoulders, the practiced indifference clear on her face. "Depends on if you were pulling your weight or not. Maybe it would be a mercy to let you drown." Put them all out of their misery from his stumbling inexperience.
He accepted the rope like a deal being brokered. Whether he recognized the risk Halo posed to her or simply thought she didn't want to travel to his territory, Thal didn't much care. As long as she wasn't freezing her ass off or turning to stone, she was willing to teach the cub what he couldn't - to keep him from getting her killed, obviously. It's why she wasn't quite as disappointed by Aria's departure, straightening her spine against the cute bundle of fur as she gave her own curt response accompanied by a nod of her head. "Next season. Torchline."
10-09-2025, 03:05 PM (This post was last modified: 10-09-2025, 03:05 PM by Damien.)
a lot of people will look at you
Aria
Her tone sharpened again, all tail-flick and snark, and Damien almost smiled at it. Almost.
“Then I’ll learn to sail,” he said simply. No edge, no bluff — just fact, as though he’d already set his mind to it. “Don’t need mercy, and I’ve no plans to drown. You throw me overboard, I’ll just climb back up and keep working.”
Aria punctuated that statement with a soft mrrp, as if she believed him, head tilting toward the captain. The heat from the lava vent wavered around them, distorting everything into some kind of motion — the ropes, the cliffs, the dark glint of Thalassa’s horns.
Damien took one last look at her then, the set of her shoulders and the calm command that still clung to her even here, in the glow of something half dangerous, half alive. She was a strange one — sharp where most people were not, honest in a way that didn’t need polish. He could respect that.
“Torchline it is.” He said simply, and so it was settled. Whatever the reasons for preferring Torchline to Halo, Damien didn't begrudge most people for it, least of all Ancients. He was pretty sure they don't like the cold, but don't quote him on that.
He gave a final tug of the rope, and Aria tumbled after him, tail flicking with satisfaction. As if she planned the whole thing.
“Until next time, Captain,” he added after a pause, voice lower, rough with a warmth that sat behind his dry tone.
With that, he turned back toward the smoldering path that led down from Apopo, the cub trotting at his side. The two shapes—one broad, one small and white—faded into the haze, swallowed by heat and steam.
