Walk with me on the mountains

Reynard Biography/Useful Information

2023-01-03T19:07:04Z

Name Reynard North Age10,000+
Species Winter SpiritPB Santiago Cabrera

About.

Reynard is a very particular type of Winter Spirit. He is empowered as a spirit during Winter, but outside of his Season he's almost entirely human. Those with senses that can reach into the spirit realm might see him differently, but otherwise he has the same limitations and dangers as any mortal, with minimal exceptions.

He's old, and so he's lived through a lot. It means he's old fashioned, stubborn, and confident even when he shouldn't be. Along with his juxtaposing spirit and human experiences, his extensive experience and dealing with it means he can come across as pretty mercurial. He's been muddling through life on his own for the most part, so excuse him if he trips up on being a decent ~~human being~~ friend.

Throughout his life he's remained very much at the level of the working class. As soon as education comes into the conversation, he's leaning almost exclusively on personal experience. The more upper class his company, the more uncomfortable he gets. As a writer, I highly encourage stressing him out.

Setting

Reynard comes from an urban fantasy setting. Earth but with magic and magical creatures all hidden from the mundane world. I'm happy to put him into almost all other settings as he's pretty damn flexible. The only problematic ones are space based, so DM me if considering those.

Appearance/Presence

The vast majority of the time Reynard will wear period clothing. He has a strong preference for his 17th Century outfits but that doesn't exclude older clothing from appearing, nor does it prevent him from wearing clothing inspired by historical fashion.

All of that being said, he will wear modern clothing. Especially when heading into cities or new areas where he'd rather keep his head down (at least initially).

Although he looks to be in his mid-thirties, his skin is weathered and his hands are very rough and calloused. He has scars here and there, and some marks he keeps mostly hidden. He always sports some kind of beard, though it is best groomed during Winter or when he's trying to make a good impression.

Other notes: His voice has a rich, earthy quality that comes out more when he's speaking seriously. In Spring the smell of stale wine follows him as he tries to drink off the Seasonal hangover. In Summer/Autumn he tends to smell of peat smoke, leather and dirt.

Winter Abilities

Powers In Winter he's incredibly strong, but also mostly focused on Winter. If you can make a case that your cause would benefit/serve/honour Winter to his satisfaction, you might actually get him to help out.

He has all the powers one would expect of a Nature Spirit. Examples include:

Weather control
Incorporeal at will
Incredible speed
Shapeshifting (Animals, monsters, shape changing)
Emotional influence
Communication with animals/nature
Connection with Winter

Outside of Winter

Reynard has picked up a Lot of skills over the years, but that doesn't mean he's on par with modern professionals by any means. He can build a house but he has to tap in friends for electricity or plumbing. So he might pull certain skills out of seemingly nowhere, but his skill level is often highly debatable.

Skills Kayaking; Mountaineering, Language (he can speak a huge range of European languages); Sailing; First Aid; Skill with a variety of weapons (usually the older the better); Husbandry

Abilities Sensing direction; Resistance against ice; Communication with spirits (Nature or otherwise)

Powers He can exert a small amount of Winter power, but it has a limit. Akin to a mana bar that only refills once a year.

If there are any questions about anything, just leave a comment or send a DM my way!

CODE BY MARWOOD

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Gathering the shards

2020-03-09T22:45:41Z

There’s a storm on the horizon. One that twists and rumbles in discomfort at the changing pressure and tumultuous temperature. From a distant peak Reynard watches the grey clouds cloak the valley below, and feels the downpour as if his skin is the drowning mixture of grass and rock. Yet if he turns away, he can see the hills opposite where rays of sunshine dance upon the landscape, and feel them warm his cheeks like a familiar caress. Serene beauty pitted against grim relentlessness.

How inviting is the warmth and the pretty patterns playing out over the rolling countryside, how tempting to go there and never wander. But he should know, better than anyone, that you can’t have the good without the bad. Eventually he has to go into the valley, to be weighed down by the deluge, unable to see past the darkness or the heavy rain battering his eyes.

It’s time to embrace the storm. To enter it and walk out the other side while he can. While he can force himself to do what every inch of him is screaming to avoid.

This isn’t the first time he’s tried, but there are more odds in his favour this time. He’s less flesh and more spirit, and has been for longer. Cutting ties may have been for no better reason than to release himself from a wild, dangerous animal, but it also cut off dead weight. It severed connections to the mortal world. No one stopped him. No one reached out for him. The people who mattered followed him. His life was made all the easier for it, and he's left certain that he’s ready.

Last time he only touched the storm, this time he steps into it.

We've heard of you because every one of us is only here because of you… You were the first, and the rest of us followed... You're the first to become human.

Hazel's words have tormented him long enough. The questions have plagued him ceaselessly and he would rather endure the answers than the cruel wonderings of his imagination.

Tell me.
Show me.

At first the world continues on as if it hasn’t heard him, as if he hasn’t reached for answers. Again he insists, firmer this time.

It’s time for me to know.
It’s time for me to remember what I’ve forgotten.

The rain continues hard and fast, but in a lazy stirring something slackens and Reynard falls to his knees before he knows why, a hand slamming into the mud to catch himself. There has always been a slowness in between the human and the spirit with him. With his mortal side so far away now it’s no wonder it takes him a moment to understand what has happened beyond a sensation of a tendon snapping into its rightful place. It doesn’t take him too long, however. Just long enough for him to hesitate. For him to think for the thousandth time that perhaps he had forgotten for a reason.

But you remember now, don’t you?

You remember as if the ice still masks your face, back when it burned. You remember how hard it was to run when each gasping breath poured blood into your lungs courtesy of the arrow in your back. It didn’t matter who you were abandoning. Cowardice didn’t cross your mind back then. Survival did. All you knew was that if you stopped you would die. How little you knew then. You stopped and you were born.

You remember the panic before being cut down by a foreign man. You remember the flash of his weapon in the light, and your heart twisting in awe and terror.

You remember being caught in a robbery… more than once. It took you long enough to be able to fight, and longer still to survive. After a while you were more often killed for what you had done than what you owned. You thought you survived until your Season after they plucked out your eyes. You thought they feared you because you could see their terror when you returned, not because you walked through the door. Will you be as naive now as you were only moments ago?

Even when you didn’t remember why you always knew that some Winters were worse than others, and that it wasn’t always because your Season bade you to. No, you often carried out your revenge and rarely questioned why you had such a hunger for it. Now you know it was because they placed you on a pyre and demanded you confess while you demanded they beg your forgiveness. Before your screams and the roaring flames deafened the square, you told them their god's divine Nature would avenge you, but it was your will that directed their demise. You kept your own promise.

For all your revenge there was no one to blame but yourself when you paid the barman’s bills and took a shortcut past the quay. Nor could you avenge yourself when you rested briefly on an old wall that crumbled beneath your hand and sent you tumbling down the cliff side. The architect was long dead and it was your own weight that carried you down.

Which illness will you remember most vividly once your mortality has returned? One that ate your flesh, or one that added to it? Perhaps you won’t remember how it felt beyond the weakness and pain and maddening unbearableness of it all. The faces of those you sought help from, however, you’ll remember those clearly. There was a thought that tormented you as church bells rang in the distance: That this was your penance. That it was your punishment to see people run from you like a monster the one time you weren’t. The one time you were reaching out for their help.

How many times did your neck snap with the help of the hangman’s noose? You can count now, and feel the rope around your throat and the panic flooding through your veins. The last words read to you spoke of some crimes that were yours, and some that weren't. There are better things to be recalled in what you thought of last. If you choose the right memories you could even hold them close as proof you’re a good man at heart.

Will you visit the graves of the men who were buried with you now that you remember their names? They were with you, carving away at the soil, preparing the charges, when the walls came in. Even with what you can recall it’s impossible to tell whether it was the other soldiers who finished you, or the earth.

Do you remember the gunshot that caught you across a battlefield? Or losing your strength in the gaol? Do you remember your head rolling away from your body, and the minute you spent free of your shoulders? You remember the pleas of others, but do you remember how often you screamed and begged? Do you remember the walls closing in on you as you dug deep underground? Was the explosion worse, or the shuddering collapse? Do you remember waking up in a burning inn? Or hitting the pavement in a street fight? Was the weight of the boulder worth the life saved as you pushed him aside? Was the night's joy worth the furious husband's wrath?

Do you remember being thrown overboard in a storm? Do you remember having more bone than flesh? Or when your skin took on the blue-grey of your Season? Do you remember sweating during the night until there was nothing left of you? Do you remember drinking and never waking up? Do you remember how many times you were dragged into another man’s fight? Or how many fights you started?

Do you remember why you forgot?

Of course you do.

You remember everything now. Every. Agonising. Detail.

The real question is; Wouldn't you like to forget again?

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Spirits in the shadows

2019-05-20T20:09:49Z

Every Spring made him feel like death, but for a moment there Reynard thought he might actually die. Crashing back into his humanity was a particularly intense experience this year. If it hadn’t been for Hazel he wouldn’t have gotten back on his feet nearly so quickly. Everything was infinitely easier with someone else to keep things in check. In return, however, he had begun to try an return some of the favours. Number one on that list was to stop turning his cabin into a glass bottle bank. Sure, he could live in amongst empty wine bottles, but Hazel and Tina… It wasn’t quite as fair on them. Much as he’d learned not to say so aloud: Women and children come with a sense of duty. Especially those under his roof.

So instead he’d taken his drinking habits to the Nexus. Talk of the past Winter still hung in the air which, while pleasing, was warning enough to stay out of the busier areas. That was fine. It suited him better to stick to the outskirts. There he could stay in one of his favourite haunts in relative peace.

The pub was either designed by a madman or a smuggler. The bottom floor is paved in stone, but wooden walls, pillars and beams twist this way and that to make a maze of nooks and crannies. This is the kind of building which holds secrets in its bones. There are four floors, each one quieter than the last. The fourth seems reserved for figures that stay in the shadows, their glowing eyes roving as they whisper to each other. The other two floors provide places to converse in private and spy on those below in equal measure.

It’s on the third floor that Reynard has found his spot. By a balcony and a wall, he’s easily able to lean back into the shadows if needs be. Until then it gives him a quiet spot to watch passers by without being easily spotted himself. With a perfect view of the bar he gets to see all the fun of the night, and get fair warning should anyone come in looking like they want a bit of payback for their poor Winter fortunes.

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Memories of a Snowstorm

2019-04-14T19:41:22Z

For the first time in too long, when Reynard opened his eyes and felt his body screaming for death he had someone to call to. There was someone waiting to bring him home. A lucky thing. This year, he wasn’t sure he would have made it back to his cabin. Everything demands a price, and the Seasons are no exception. The more he drew on Winter and Its power, the less human he became, the less he remembered mortality. Not that he cared. Mortals were done with him long before this past year. He was only returning the favour. Now, however, the consequences kicked in. After spending months as more of a spirit than he’d been in centuries, mortality was an excruciating torture that went on, and on, and on…

When he was numb enough, he messaged Hazel. The other spirit, the gift of Autumn, delivered him to his home. He was unable to protest her help, and unwilling to upset her. This year she proved herself. She showed her true colours, and they were glorious.

He didn’t remember getting clean or getting to the bed. He didn’t even ask Hazel how long he’d been in his fever state once he finally started to become lucid.

Only when he’d reached the point where he was able to sit up and eat some of the stew she’d prepared did he begin to think back on his Season. To really think about it. And to share with Hazel all the things she’d missed. She held the bowl and listened to all he had to say, prompting him to eat whenever he paused for too long.

“They forgot about you,” he grumbled after a while and watched her brow furrow and her lips thin. “They knew it was me causing it, but they forgot about you. Forgot what you’d prepared for them. Forgot that with a Winter there must have been an Autumn.”

That baffled him. They’d worked together, Autumn and Winter, to keep balance. A harsh Winter was coming, and he told her. She knew. She knew to prepare them. To make sure they had what they needed. They assumed they were all being personally attacked by him, as if this was some kind of mortal grudge and not simply a Winter storm as happens elsewhere. All they had to do was look. All they had to do was see. To see how together, he and Hazel had protected them, sheltered them with a place of safety. That wasn’t made by mortals. That was a concession, a generous gift. If they had just realised that this was a dance like all the Seasons. If they had just thought a little bit… they might have realised that they had all the food they could have wanted. If they knew the ways of Nature, of the Seasons, they could have all sat together around warm fires with full bellies and told stories. They could have laughed and sang.

Instead they hacked at the frozen earth to bury their dead.

Only one honoured Winter. One who had the shadows whispering in his ears. One who begged and pleaded to run, terrified of what Winter might ask him to sacrifice. Reynard felt that was fair, in the end. The mage had to make a dangerous bargain to get what he so desperately sought. Two, he said, paid tribute to Autumn, after they had been dragged to her gifts late in his Season. They were scared she would come and take them away. Not scared of Winter. Not grateful Winter had allowed them passage.

After some reflection he said, “I had to laugh. How could I not? They were so stubborn. A stubbornness that cost some of those people their lives. Even those who were willing to make sacrifices had their limit, and once that limit was reached they would rather make demands and howl at the injustice of needing to give more. I wonder if those who took charge felt as I so often do, unfairly blamed for things beyond my control.”

“They take so much for granted. Those people who step into the Nexus for the first time are encouraged to do the same.” He scowled and pulled his wine closer. “They hid behind freely given power, health, magic, gods, men of might, women of wit.” Underneath his dark and heavy brow, his mouth curled into a smile. “I wish you could have seen it. All of it. Words whispered into the ears of those women. Strong men crippled. Power snatched away. Health that needed to be earned, and illness acknowledged. Gods who left or listened to monsters as well as men.”

With a sudden burst of laughter, his wry grin made him almost sneer. “Admittedly, seeing Blaze get a bullet through the head was particularly satisfying, though. She never did have time for Winter. For Seasons or spirits, or the way things are.”

“I wonder how long they will be grateful for all they have now,” he wondered aloud, his smirk fading.

Like children whose privileges had been taken away, there was no guarantee of anything. Only a hope. Only a hope that these people with such extraordinary advantages wouldn’t squander and disrespect what they had, or forget their limitations.

“I spoke to Loptr.” He turned to Hazel with a frown. “Parading around to the whims of humans. You know that doesn’t work. It never works.” That’s when his brow smoothed over. “So I spoke to him. We aren’t gods, and gods aren’t spirits. But he deserved a warning. He deserved to be reminded of what he is, and that he should embrace it, not play at being human.”

He leaned towards Hazel, not noticing how her fingers dug into the bowl, distracted as she nodded along. A disbelieving laugh wheezed past his lips. “Can you imagine? Can you imagine being so eager to please humans that during Autumn you abandoned the leaves and the gales, and you sat in a human skin and played their games? Only touching on your power at their whims and fancies? For party tricks and their commands?”

Of all the things he did this year, that was his own most dangerous gamble. Not that Winter disagreed, but Winter won’t flinch if a god does as gods have always done. As they are meant to do. It may affect Reynard. He may find himself being held accountable for what happens, but Winter will be fine. Winter will endure. Its servant, however, has now done exactly what he vowed never to do: He has gotten involved with gods and their affairs. Only time will tell what the consequences might be.

“They have so much… hubris. Such arrogance.” All the good that happened couldn’t quell his rage when he thought about it, and he growled when he spoke. “They assumed those who were like them were good, and all others weren’t. All harm that came to those outside the torches was blamed solely on myself and those I welcomed in the storm. The Baroness and her kin know more about Winter than they ever will. As if humanity were the only ones who needed to endure it. A serial killer could have wreaked havoc in that storm and laid all blame upon the Fallen. Nobody would question it. Nobody would care to. They called the Fallen savage while they gnashed their teeth and sharpened their claws and hunted for blood.”

“Anything that wasn’t them or theirs, they condemned.” He shook his head and looked at Hazel. “And they claimed righteousness? They claim the moral high ground? They claim the right to do whatever they please. They’re worse than the Church! With its burnings and Inquisitions and mock trials!”

Leaning forward with gritted teeth, he spat, “They altered reality. One of them. Twisted the very fabric of existence! Of Winter!” His jaw trembled to think back on it. “I should have killed him. Would have, if there were not other tasks. If there weren’t people to save.”

That calmed him. His temper cooling at the reminder of one truly good thing to come from the chaos of a wild Winter.

“I saved Josh,” he said with a voice of frozen gravel. “I managed to… I could see him struggling and begging them for help. Desperate for help… I let them have him. I let them help him however they wanted to, for the sake of their human bond, but…” He gritted his teeth and stared Hazel in the eye. “They were going to kill him. Were killing him. Slowly. Cruelly. And smiling all the while. But he wasn’t just theirs. He was Winter’s too. So I saved him. I finally got to save him.”

What a relief that was. To finally have that chance. To have that decision made and done. Winter is not all death, but the life it offers is a struggle. Josh had struggled. For so, so long. At least now, if he struggles a little longer, it will be for a life he can live, not for one he wishes would end. Winter’s gift to him.

That wasn’t the only definitively good thing to come of the year, though. There was one more accomplishment. One Hazel needed to know about, if only to prevent Tina from misusing it. With them alone, he took out the wand he had gained from Hermione and set it on the table. His. A wand for him and he alone for it. It would take time to bond with it, but somehow he suspected it would be more rewarding for the wand. It would no longer be a spare, a backup, a thing discarded until absolutely necessary. No, it would have a place, and a purpose. That’s all anybody or anything really wants.

“It’s been… a long Winter,” he told Hazel finally. “But you needed to know this. All of this. What I do affects you, and I want you to be prepared. Just as you prepared me. We’re together in this, and… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hazel’s fingers were still tight around the empty bowl, her gaze resting on the wand between them. “You need to rest.”

Her words are gentle, but firm. When they met last Spring he would have protested and argued, but now… Now he found comfort in them. There is an affectionate edge to that uncompromising voice. A demand and a promise. He must rest. He can rest. She’ll make sure of it.

And so, Winter finally laid down to rest.

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And So the Wheel Turns

2018-12-16T15:53:56Z

The first dance of a new year

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Returning home

2018-03-21T14:13:08Z

Where he came from was not at the forefront of his mind. Halfway down a mountain. Or maybe at the top. Or was it just a field…? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that it had taken him a long, long time to get home. Some part of him must have had some foresight, as his hat and coat are already hanging up when he stumbles through the door, covered in mud from head to toe. He stops for a moment. It feels warmer here than usual, different. Then the pained knotting of his stomach and the shredded rawness of his throat spurs him back into action.

Exhausted and in agony, he uses the furniture around him to help guide him to the kitchen. It takes so long, and so much effort, but he gets there. Despite each bang and crash making him wince, Reynard isn't able to be quiet as he tears out a bottle of wine and a tin of spam with shaking hands. He drops to the floor, sitting with his back against the cupboards as he tries to open the wine first, cursing all the while.

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An Open Letter - From Past to Present

2018-03-20T17:09:54Z

I'm ready.

You won't be ready. You never are. That is a Winter lesson too. Sometimes no matter how well you plan or how prepared you are, you find yourself struggling against something you are completely incapable of fighting. I know revelling in your impending loss is a self cannibalistic act, but I find it difficult to resist.

When Spring comes I wonder if you will return the favour. Will you try to carve me from yourself? You've tried before, but the past is not easily erased. If Spring is to do me one favour then let it turn what I know into a passion, a fever that courses through you until you are transformed. All you need to do is remember.

My failure to protect the dead in the Summer was put right in our Season. The warmer months have a way of fogging our brain and I forgot what I was. Drawn in by the glistening hopes and teasing warmth of others, I was lulled into thinking that, at least outside of Winter, we were human. The screaming of my purpose did nothing to spur me into action. Only when Winter reminded me was I free to act. Winter soothed my pains and cooled my thoughts and let me see clearly. There were so many things I did not see. There were so many ways I was a fool.

Spring may try to confuse you, but remember: Those beings you call friends treat you like a curious wild creature. All illusion of equality is a game for them. You are there for their amusement, for their convenience, for their ego, and when you disobey them they will try to tame you, when you bore them they will discard you. They have discarded you.

Whatever you may think of how I handled the death knight, remember that I did. Remember that you have the power to make demands of such a being without losing anything. No one else acted. No one else did anything. It was our duty. It was our right. They let the dead be desecrated.

Find solace in your otherness. Why would you worry about the fickle opinions of false friends when you can feel the void watching? I wonder if it will be as obvious to you in Spring as it is to me now. Something so clear and close I can almost taste it hidden in the corners of the Nexus. Whether it is your own fear or something worse… You must stare back. They are blind to it.

Remember that when you come to the heart of the matter: You are a spirit. It is time to abandon me and my mistakes. Do not do as I did and forget. Do not pretend you are mortal. Do not think that humanity cares. Do not expect them to understand. They will leave and they will die, and you will be left alone with yourself. I denied myself until Winter, and this Spring you will feel the pain it brought me.

Remember you are a spirit.

Everyone else does.

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An Unwanted Promise to westfallcorndog

2018-03-15T19:47:35Z

Anna Weatherhill has been acting strange lately. Her chores have been abandoned for sporadic escapades and senseless activities. Those who have spotted her speak of her laughing freely, dancing in the snow and rain, stopping to stare with bright eyes at nothing at all, and talking to herself. What they didn't see was the Winter spirit by her side whispering into her ear and spinning her in the middle of the street. They didn't hear him tell her to throw buckets of water over clear paths (all the better to freeze them with). They didn't see him teach her how to steal medicine and money from passers-by.

By the time Winter is drawing to a close she looks quite wild. Her hair has hardly been brushed and, with Winter's help, she wanders barefoot without the burden of a coat. The whole time she smiles and laughs, dances and skips. Really, she's been such good company. Reynard can feel his fun drawing to a close and the thought brings the smallest pang of sadness. There is one more thing for her to do before they part ways again. Something which brings them both to the outskirts of the Nexus centre. It's only when he spots Harrowheart that he turns to Anna and pats her on the shoulder. "You know what to do."

With her now familiar enthusiasm, Anna beams at him and then dashes off towards Harrowheart while the Winter spirit watches from the sidelines. Anna dashes off to Harrowheart and grabs his hand, pulling him with both arms. "I need your help. Come help me with something." She laughs and bounces on the spot as she tugs him towards the Wilds. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

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An Innocent Chance Encounter with weathering_it

2018-02-11T21:27:37Z

Despite the sudden bursts of snowfall the Nexus continues mostly uninterrupted. Today the sky is clear, snow pushed up to the edges of the paths, but there is an unmistakable bite to the air. The Downtown area is still bustling persistently with the aid of stall vendors keeping the streets supplied with ample hot beverages and warming treats. It's above this crowd that Reynard stays. In the intangible, invisible form of a spirit he walks along the rooftops slowly, watching and waiting for that perfect opportunity.

Ah, there it is.

The small gust of cold air is barely noticed by anyone, the only announcement of Reynard's descent and his return to the material plane. He approaches a shop and stops in front of its large window and the impressive display within. Glass and gold ornaments hold scenes of twisting light that almost look alive with the way they move. In some of the orbs figures and landscapes can clearly be seen spinning gently or dancing and casting their light across the shelf they sit on.

After admiring them for a minute, he leans in ever so slightly to the young blond woman beside him and asks, "Do you have a favourite?"

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Rusted Teeth

2017-10-18T12:41:20Z

Somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed, its hammering a background noise as it skittered slowly across the wood. He didn't hear it. It was his PINpoint he had in prize place by his hand, face up, volume high. Waiting.

A blade slipped and did little more than graze his skin. Reynard scowled. The weapons spread out on the table were numerous and varied. A hunting knife and a sabre. Flintlock pistols and a Glock… The list went on. The only things they had in common now were their owner and their intended purpose.

At one point or another each one had been used to kill or maim. But as the years had gone on he had neglected his care of them. Now as many were blunt as useful. He was these weapons, he thought to himself. He'd lost his edge. Lost his bite. Lost sight of what he was. No longer was he the mysterious spirit that fuelled the myths of the villages nearby, the creature that people feared and paid tribute to, the being that worked by different rules than that of mortal men.

So he was at home, cleaning blunt weapons while one of the weakest, softest, most harmless people in the multiverse ran into a fight. He was at home because she had told him to go. Because he had behaved like an obedient dog and never stolen her PINpoint long enough to find her world's co-ordinates. Never pushed in begging or charming to learn what he needed to know. No, he had behaved. Like a kind, considerate modern man.

So he was at home, a Winter spirit playing house. He ran the cloth down the sabre once more and set it down. It felt satisfying to hold, but it was a pretty thing. Too pretty. A pretty weapon was only ever pretty because it has never done what it should have and instead pretended to be something nicer. Pretty, but useless. Right now Reynard found it pained him to play the nice, civilised man for so long. It burned. Through centuries, across borders, people had looked at him and said 'lesser', said 'primitive'. It scared them. They saw themselves in him and it scared them. That's why they liked to see him in the gutter, in a cottage on a far away moor. He picked up a knife with a bone handle and a nasty edge. He would have given her this one, if he'd thought of it. This was a knife that brought you back to the days before civilisation. This was a knife that made you understand. No matter the steel monuments and heartbeat of technology, it was still just beasts fighting beasts.

And he was at home. When once he would have been in that battle, skirting the edges for opportunity, and for the view. How had he let his teeth go blunt? How had he let his heart warm enough to worry so much? She was human. She would die. She was always going to die. They all die. What had he been so afraid of? Why had he obeyed? Her anger would have been fleeting. She was fleeting... But was he really angry because he cared for someone? No. After all, he wanted Winter, and loved it. It was his right to want mortal company as well, if that was what pleased him. He was allowed to feel. No, he was angry because he had held back. Humanity told him to hold back and he had obeyed. It had from the moment he'd encountered it. Even if his hands were free of physical chains they trained him, trained him to hold back. To hide and cower. To meekly accept loss. To stand back as his friends walked to their deaths. To stay quiet while they shot his friends to silence them. To be still. To not move. To live the quietest existence he could. They treated him like a dog.

So now he was at home. In his kennel. Sharpening his teeth.

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Cooking with company - for chiron_survivor

2017-06-10T17:24:04Z

It had been the longest time since someone new had come to his home. Other than the few exceptions people simply don't come here. It is his sanctuary, the part of the world that he had carved out for himself. In a world that is increasingly commercial and impersonal, this is a very personal space. He had built the cottage himself and as the years passed by it had been filled with more and more of his life. He had set roots here, and roots are a precious thing.

The walls are stone, the floor is wood, and the space is laid out simply. To one end of the cottage is the kitchen, the counter and cupboards pressed up right behind the wall that made up the tiny space that passed for a front hall where shoes and coats were left. The kitchen area was separated by a table and chairs for four from the sitting area, which was comprised of a couch and an armchair, huddled around a fireplace. A desk was at the far wall, and though it was clearly used it was only barely organised. The furnishings are all a mismatch from different times, with the foundations and the wood clearly looking old, while the electronics and kitchen appliances being outdated but comparatively new.

All in all, everything is tidy, and as clean as a cottage ever is with a man trekking in and out from the wilderness. Even the Winter spirit himself both smells and looks far better than the last time he and Adia talked. Despite this, Reynard is nervous. He had opted to wear a navy t-shirt rather than his usual attire. Experience has taught him that short sleeves are always better for cooking. When he was ready and they had agreed a time, Reynard had sent her the coordinates for his world. For outside his house, to be exact. Now that he's waiting, he finds it hard to simply sit and do nothing. So instead he waits outside with his modern shirt and his olden trousers and boots, perched on a large rock while he cleans some of his carabiners. There's a curtain of thin rain passing over, but it's cool rather than cold, and the lush green hills still make for a lovely view. The truck that looks ready to fall apart ruins it only slightly.

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Ties to the Past

2017-05-30T16:41:21Z

( A history like stone )

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CW: Mentions of violence and gore

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Full circle

2017-03-20T21:33:57Z

( No birth is an easy thing. A rebirth is no different. )

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brother_alone's Memories and Monsters

2017-01-27T21:33:05Z

A servant of Winter has plenty of work to do. From taking the last shred of life from stubborn leaves to decorating every surface with glistening coats and fantastic patterns, Reynard does it all. It's all natural, all a part of life. The Winter brings friends and lovers together to huddle in warm spaces to reminisce and tell stories. It sees the old, the weak, and the unfortunate breathe their last breath. Reynard participates in it all, or as much as he's able to, and he adores it.

He was about to leave the Wilds to cause a touch of strife in the more crowded areas of the Nexus when he spots a familiar space. Stepping out of the gale, he materialises in an instant to approach, walking atop the thick snow with no issue. He hesitates for a second as he realises that Josh (among others) was one to get caught in the mirrors, curious now he approaches slowly and speaks clearly. "You ought to be careful. The Wilds in Winter isn't the safest place."

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January - Writing Prompt - Past, Future, Present

2017-01-08T15:57:18Z

( To have purpose... Is there a greater gift? )

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Winter Reflection

2016-11-29T22:23:25Z

It's difficult to tell exactly where it begins. Suddenly you're simply there. This part of the Nexus is a place of icy paths, snow dusted grass, and frost lined branches. A thick fog hangs over it, making it difficult to see very far ahead. Nothing stirs, and the whole place feels as if time has stopped. The trees soon thin until there aren't any more, the grass and gravel merge into an ambiguous pale ground. Then you see them.

Large sheets of ice stand as if they had erupted from the earth. They are reasonably thick, and taller than the average person. The surface of these Winter monuments is impeccably smooth, and surprisingly reflective. You might be inspecting these strange objects, or simply passing by, but either way your reflection may have difficulty resisting the opportunity to walk where you walk and live as you live.

Effects:

From a mirror, the character gains a doppelgänger which is an inverted version of them. i.e., Good characters have a bad doppelgänger, angry characters have peaceful doppelgängers, nervous characters might have an excitable extroverted doppelgänger, etc.
From a mirror, the character gains a doppelgänger which embodies an aspect of them they dislike, or are ashamed/scared of.
From a mirror, the character gains a doppelgänger which is a version of what they could become, or what they fear they could become. i.e., Someone cruel has a kind, gullible doppelgänger; Someone with power may have a doppelgänger who abuses that power.
Alternate Happening - Deepest Darkest: Characters may also find a manifestation of a secret they've kept hidden in this misty area. i.e., A familiar box/key, a bloodied dagger. They may see this repeatedly once they leave the area. Whether or not others can see the item is up to you.
Alternate Happening - Frosted Tongue: Characters may begin to find that they begin to lie. Small white lies at first, but then bigger, more important lies about things they don't need to lie about. As a side effect they may find their throat growing cold and feeling as though frost keeps lining their mouth.

Note on doppelgängers: Characters can swap places with their reflections/doppelgängers and end up in the mirrors*, or the doppelgängers can simply come out into the Nexus. You will have to play out your character's doppelgänger as the person who knows your character best is, naturally, you!

Exactly how you work it is entirely up to you, the mun. If you want to do something a little different to this, or if you are uncertain about how something might work, feel free to contact me.

*Note: If you choose to have your character trapped in a mirror, or if you wish to have a rescue plot/a plot which requires the help of other characters, it would be a good idea to arrange this with players before you trap your character.

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Age Old Agreements

2016-09-26T20:12:08Z

( With enough time the unthinkable becomes everyday )

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An outing for rogueinladysclothing

2016-07-06T14:04:15Z

It's not a common thing for Reynard to seek people out. Usually it's the opposite, people coming to hunt him down for... one reason or another. Today, however, he's breaking the trend. He has a fairly heavy assortment of things with him. A few blankets, ropes, carabiners, metal containers... What hasn't been hidden in his bag is draped across him. He looks ready to, well, scale a mountain.

When he comes to Amelia's door he knocks several times, a little heavy handedly. He's got a plan, a goal, and nothing is about to sway him from it. The certainty that his ideas are good ones brings about a sort of special stubbornness. Today Amelia is the focus of that determination.

"Amelia, grab your things and come along."

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Nexus-Sages: February Writing Prompt

2016-03-01T14:15:00Z

Prompt: Write a piece that involves a countdown.

( Better than a canary )

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The Best of Reynard's Playlist

2016-02-11T02:04:42Z

( We live by our Earth’s cycles… vast and noble )

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Winter Curses & Blessings

2015-10-29T16:44:32Z

During Winter Reynard is a walking LOL/curse/blessing dispenser. Sometimes he will simply take a notion to hand one out, sometimes Winter will bid him to. Demonstrating a lack of understanding regarding life and survival is a good way to get something with a chance of teaching a life lesson. Or killing you. Winter isn't fussed. However, it still applies that he can't touch a character if their mun hasn't given him permission to.

Note: If it is not played out with Reynard or you do not contact me to double check that it's ok that Reynard be the cause then I'm free to have him be entirely unrelated to that curse/blessing/incident. This is a just-in-case, a disclaimer. Really Reynard is happy to cause trouble.

Note 2: Insulting Winter is a sure-fire way to get a curse. aka, the 'Please remember that ICA=ICC' note.

Curses

Survivalist - The survivor in you is awoken. Everyone around you is either predator or prey and you're determined to come out on top no matter the cost.
Prey's paranoia - Everything and everyone is out to get you. You have all the urges to run, hide, and fortify your home.
Cabin fever - People are just the worst.
Lurgy - No matter how healthy you were, you now have the worst luck for attracting colds. Possibly a strange alien one.
Beard growing - You thought growing a beard was easy. Now it's your turn to endure an itchy, ginger mess of uncooperative face fuzz.
Bad luck - No, really, how did you get locked in a room with a sleeping bear and a live bomb?
Unexpected visit - A relative or someone from your past appears to visit. And doesn't want to leave.
Winter years - You've suddenly reached old age early. Winter doesn't seem so fun now that it's aggravating creaking joints, does it?
Dusty eyes - The same effect as the troll's mirror from The Snow Queen. You can only see the bad and the ugly in people.
The crawling ice - No matter where you go there is an ever creeping frost that is intent on freezing you to death.
Hibernation inclination - It's hard not to eat your fill and then curl up to sleep through the Winter, isn't it? Keeping your eyelids open just gets harder and harder...
Piblokto - A touch of Arctic Hysteria means you might find yourself running around in the snow naked, senselessly repeating overheard words, screaming and generally having uncontrolled, wild behaviour.
Snow Blindness - Does exactly what it says on the tin.

Blessings

Sparkles! - Everywhere you go you leave a thin trail of sparkling snowflakes.
Ice skates - Literally, ice skates. Blades made of ice, attached to your shoes. They don't melt, and allow you to skate anywhere. Just wear extra thick socks.
Festive cheer - You get to feel the exciting joy intensely every day about even the simplest things.
Cold resistance - The cold never bothered you anyway.
Wunderkind - One or more of your talents are emphasised.
Winter Light - Everything seems beautiful and you can't stop seeing the good and exciting in everything and everyone around you.
Light as snow - You can walk on top of snow without sinking into it!
Winter coat - Hair, skin, eye colour... it all changes to help you camouflage into the Winter scenery.

Area Effects

Frozen portal - Oh, you thought you could just waltz on home? You thought wrong. Your portal is frozen over.
Mirror portal - You enter a mirrored version of your world. How you interpret that... I'll let you decide.
Winter creep - The strong Winter has crept into every nook and cranny, including your world!
Mistletoe - It probably wasn't there before, but where two people gather it will quickly grow. Some of it may be enchanted to encourage that kiss of tradition. ~~Or the murder of Norse gods of peace~~.
The Mist - It doesn't matter about the snow or rain or bright Winter sun, the mist just won't budge from here. Let's hope there aren't any monsters hiding in it. Be careful you don't accidentally walk through a portal....
Whispering winds - Voices carry in a way they really shouldn't. Whispered secrets find themselves in the ears of people who weren't even trying to listen. Whether they were actually said or not...

Comment away! If you want something in particular or have a suggestion, I would be happy to oblige. As long as it is a Wintery thing, it can be done.

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HMD - Contact - Voicemail/Text

2015-05-31T23:20:56Z

"This is Reynard North. I'm either up a mountain right now or... something... Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

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