Reynard North (
shardofwinter) wrote in
nexus_sages2016-01-11 11:23 pm
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Entry tags:
In which Winter has a thematically appropriate query
Not all Nexus days can be sunshine and beautiful frost patterns. Days like this are a grim, sombre grey. The mist is so thin in places that all it does is make the distance fade away sooner than normal, but it does apply a more reserved filter on a place often filled with joyous shenanigans. No, this is unmistakeably a day which makes the multiverse feel close, secretive.
It's in this clandestine scenery that Reynard strolls about. Far from hopping or skating through the landscape, he strolls about the place, setting ice on the path and covering it with a dusting of snow. In the residential and commercial districts, he's sent ice along as many pipes as he could find. As he goes he rumbles a low slow tune. Some might recognise the sea shanty when he reaches the familiar 'Ho... Ho... and up she rises...'. He's not a bad singer, all things considered.
He looks up from his work and fixes his eyes on the nearest stranger, singing fading into a deep hum and then silence before he speaks. "What is the coldest thing you've ever done? The most cold hearted act you've ever brought yourself to commit. Go ahead. I'm not one to judge."
Just as the quiet settles back into place, he pipes up again. "Actually, you can tell me the literal coldest thing you've ever done too, if you'd prefer. I can't resist a good ice story."
((Reynard is still handing out Winter Curses & Blessings and causing trouble if you would like to avail of any. Other than that: Caution to those who talk to spirits, they are proud and fickle people.))
It's in this clandestine scenery that Reynard strolls about. Far from hopping or skating through the landscape, he strolls about the place, setting ice on the path and covering it with a dusting of snow. In the residential and commercial districts, he's sent ice along as many pipes as he could find. As he goes he rumbles a low slow tune. Some might recognise the sea shanty when he reaches the familiar 'Ho... Ho... and up she rises...'. He's not a bad singer, all things considered.
He looks up from his work and fixes his eyes on the nearest stranger, singing fading into a deep hum and then silence before he speaks. "What is the coldest thing you've ever done? The most cold hearted act you've ever brought yourself to commit. Go ahead. I'm not one to judge."
Just as the quiet settles back into place, he pipes up again. "Actually, you can tell me the literal coldest thing you've ever done too, if you'd prefer. I can't resist a good ice story."
((Reynard is still handing out Winter Curses & Blessings and causing trouble if you would like to avail of any. Other than that: Caution to those who talk to spirits, they are proud and fickle people.))
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"It's n-not as bad here as it was back home. Brooklyn got so cold with the wind blowing through the streets. Got knocked right off my feet a few times after art school got out. And we never got warm in our apartment. So...s'better here. Don' mean I have to--" Wheeze, cough. "Have to like it."
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"I walked away when a friend needed me. He'd been keeping secrets and I was so upset with him, I couldn't even see how much trouble he was in, and..." And that's enough.
There's a long pause before she asks, "Are you collecting gloomy stories for a reason?"
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"For context," he begins, "I have been in pursuit of a cell of the cultists who murdered the Emperor. Recently, I was able to decipher their rites of entry and present myself as an aspirant to their cause. Falsely, of course." How the honest-to-a-fault lizard could do that is anyone's guess.
"For further context, their order espouses the violent overthrow of order, the triumph of the strong over the weak by means fair or preferably foul, with frequent spills of blood, which their daedric patron calls 'red drink.'" He sneers a little at the quote, some of his disgust showing.
"So, into this den of traitors I went, and was required to relinquish my belongings for the rite of initiation. This I did--I had brought none of my sacred articles, only the accouterments of a common sellsword. This done, I found an opportunity to slip from my guide's attention and explore the layout of the place unnoticed. And also, to pay these cultists the wage of their treason."
"I have devised a spell, you see, which suffuses those it grips with an immediate, overwhelming lust for battle. This spell does not kindle a single heart, but strokes all near where it splashes." His tone has been growing gradually darker, angrier, as he relates this last, and it grows only moreso as he continues. "Thus did I write poetry upon the pages of their chronicle--creeping unseen, I drove treacherous souls to turn on one another, interrupted the sacrifice of another Argonian, and gave their master an abundance of the red drink he so craves. May he choke on it."
With a sigh and a shake of his head, he restores his lighter, gentler voice. "Anyway. That is my tale of an act coldly done."
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That scowl fades but it'd be too much of a stretch to say he visibly enjoys it. He's not exactly in open awe, the multiverse is a mess of miracles so vast it might have dulled him a bit to that feeling, but he does find himself wondering if this means so much of the craziness is more orchestrated than it seems. Now in reality, his reality at any rate, the seasons are natural. Something about the tilt of the Earth's axis and atmosphere and pressurized systems makes weather and climate and all that. But if it's orchestrated, artistic, his mind takes it in in a different way, a way that takes time to really process.
More time than he's given, at any rate, blinking in surprise when spoken to, shoulders spiking up. It's almost like Reynard's gone and broke the fourth wall, talking to an audience member still reflecting like that. Which is, once he thinks about it, rude.
"That kind of wording's judgmental. If someone 'brings themselves' to do something, it's not cold. Cold's when people don't think anything at all about what they're doing to other people."
If he meant to dodge the question he still ended up giving an answer applicable to himself. True to form, he doesn't think about that.
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"I fell in love," was his answer. His hair was somewhat sorted, and a nice but old long coat wrapped his body. His face half hidden in a warm and equally as old scarf, barely a speck of color found on him.
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"I've destroyed people in exchange for money or favors. In fact, I lifted someone up from destitution, gave her my hand in what I claimed was friendship, and then turned around and tore her apart. I stood aside and watched as she cried, begged, and pleaded with all who could hear her to not believe the slander that had reached their ears about her, that they take what she said over the rumors. But I had poisoned them against her. In the end, she fled the city I lived in to escape the shame. All of this in the name of a goal that made me out to be the victim in all that I did." Despite the description of the cold-hearted act, her expression doesn't change away from the cautious anger she approached with. "I can't tell what's colder - the crime against someone who was likely innocent of whatever sleight the person who hired me accused them of or the fact that I did it while thinking I was the victim in all of it. I admit the latter makes me feel some amount of shame." Ahh, so something did stick after they last spoke.
She carefully crosses her arms in front of her chest and rests her hands on her upper arms for warmth. "As for coldest thing I've ever experienced, I believe the Winter you've provided us here in the Nexus wins that. It's something I'm not likely to forget - or mock - for the rest of my life."
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"Not sure I have any good 'cold hearted' stories for you, but I've been to the North in my world and it was quite cold. The kind of cold that stays with you for days after you get back to the warm parts of the world again." He chuckles a bit at the thought. If he's lucky, he'll never have to go that far north in his world again so he can stay home and warm with his family instead.
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