Log View

Source	Contents
Vetiver Mirror	The roads of the 100 Kingdoms spider web out in every direction. Maintenance coming and going with the need to trades and the eb and flow of the ever changing names and shapes of the nations that make it up. This particular road hasn't seen cobble since the contagion. Weather and time made the shoddy work return to dirt. Yesterday's rain made sure that dirt turned to mud. The impatient merchants turned that mud into a mire with the turning of their cart wheels and beastly hooves. Several carts dot the roadside, abandoned. Broken axels and wheels. Animals too, no doubt hurt beyond saving tripping in the muck. Crates and supplies opened and turned over. The best bits repacked into the carts that could be saved. Overhead the cloud choked sky make sure the mud remains for at least another day. Amidst the ruin one figure picks through the refuse. Small in body, wearing ragged and patched pants. Covered in mud from her bare feet to her knees, clearly some kind of vagabond or scavenger. Tossing bits and bobs over her shoulder as she rifles through the goods. "Weather report is all rain they said. It will make it easy they said." Kicking over another crate. "Weather team could have at least cleaned up the BLOODLY CLOUDS." Yelling up at the sky
Blackest Barlow	Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Blackest Barlow stomps slowly, but steadily through the muck. He drags a simple wooden cart, loaded up with an ornate stone sarcophagus. The various merchants still at the sides of the road stop themselves from asking for help as they notice the armored figure's hands are slowly dripping blood into the mud at his feet. The few who might be brave enough to call out anyway meet his burning pyreflame eyes and their words catch in their throats. "Cowards." Barlow mutters to himself. If they had, but the courage to ask, he might even consider helping them out. He drags his cart off to the side of the road to catch his breath. The air here is too thick. The colors too bright. He never realized how soothing the Underworld was until this moment. He hopes he can get accustomed to Creation again soo. "At least the clouds are nice," he says, absent-mindedly before looking over at the yelling woman. "Pray to your gods then, if you want nice weather." His tone is mocking.
Vetiver Mirror	The little scavenger turns at the sound of the voice. Unfortunately for them the quick motion causes them to loose balance and slip into the mud. "zayebat'!" the words are skytongue but even if you don't speak it curses transcend the language barrier. "You could at least help." Mostly obscured from Barlow behind a box a hand does go up into the air reaching for assistance.
Blackest Barlow	"Hmmph." Barlow snorts a little at the suggestion from the scavenger and glances at the raised hand for a moment, contemplating whether or not to actually assist them. He sighs and wipes the blood from his hand before reaching down and helping to lift the small individual up. "I think you'll find there are plenty of people whose 'least' is far worse than simply not helping," his deep voice rumbling out from his helmet. "Besides, those who desire help from others bear the burden of asking for it."
Vetiver Mirror	"Ohya? Spilling my blood just going to make this place muddier buddy" Voice full of sarcasm as she is pulled bodily from the wet earth with the unpleasant wet sucking sound. Held up by the arm until her muddy bare feet manage to find purchase on a solid bit of group, and even then at Barlow's mercy till he lets go. Covered in mud head to toe. Fuzzy ears and tail that might have been overlooked as part of her hair from a distance matted with the stuff. Free hand whipping he face so she can actually see. "Woah." Ears up in surprise, eyes widening as the scavenger gets a close look at the bleeding armored man. "Besides. I'll trade a little bit of shame asking for the help." Not missing a beat, voice going from annoyed to curious. "Thanks for the hand"
Blackest Barlow	Barlow claps his gauntlets together to remove the fresh mud from them, causing drops of blood to begin to drip from them once again. He looks the scavenger over again, studying her appearance. "You are welcome, though there is no shame in requiring assistance." He sits on one of the crates, the wood groaning under his weight. "I haven't seen anyone like you out here before. And neither did I recognize that word you said, though the meaning seemed quite clear. Are you a traveling merchant of some kind?" He looks at her attire again, noting its condition. "Or perhaps some kind of runaway?"
Vetiver Mirror	Rubbing her wrist where she was held. Pausing as she realizes there is blood mixed into the mud. The sound of gauntlets clapping together bringing her attention to the blood. Opening her mouth either concern, or a glib comment on her tongue perhaps both, dying before she speaks. Clearing her throat and taking up a spot on a nearby crate as well. "Me? I guess you don't get a lot of northerners out here? Translates to -uh well." reaching down she nicks a bit of linen from the crate and starts to wipe herself clean. "Oh you mean the ears. Godblooded, not fae touched or nothing. How about you? I don't see a lot of restless dead walking about and having conversations." If there is fear or judgement in her over those facts she doesn't seem to express them. Instead seeming to share a bit of curiosity. "As for my job I'm a scavenger. I get jobs to recover lost things. Even if someone else owns them at the moment." Giving a bit of a wry smile and holds a hand out this time to shake. "Call me Vetiver Mirror."
Blackest Barlow	Barlow listens to Vetiver speak, listening closely to her explanation. "Can't say I've met many god-blooded. And I'm surprised one would need to resort to scavenging as a job." He stares intensely at her, as if searching for something, but then shrugs his shoulders and relaxes, "But a glorified walking corpse shouldn't be one to judge, I suppose. I am called Blackest Barlow. I've only just come to this area looking for military work." He looks about the stuck carts and wagons a moment before sighing, "Though I can't imagine this location will work out. Military training doesn't seem high on this particular groups list of needs."
Vetiver Mirror	Vetiver seems thoughtful for a moment, "You can lean on the privilege of your birth but it doesn't really make it your strength, does it?" A line from a play she watched once, but it seemed appropriate in the moment. Blue-green eyes meeting the soul fire ones as he looks into her. Brave, foolhardy or accustomed to the dead. "This road? Maybe not, but the Hundred Kingdoms is always at war. Someone will need your services. Actually If your looking for a smaller gig maybe watching my back? I'm not much of a fighter." A twist of her wrist a slip of Jade appears in her hand. Impressive trick without sleeves. "Or I have other ways to pay. If you need something stol-er aquired. I can take about anything you can imagine."
Blackest Barlow	"Well, always at war suits me just fine," the massive, soulsteel plated figure says plainly. He watches Vetiver's trick with the jade and nods a bit, impressed. "Something tells me you don't need anyone to watch your back. And though I appreciate the offer, I'm not looking for work solely for the pay. I need war and military endeavors like a blacksmith needs a hammer in their hand and the heat of the forge on their brow." He pauses for a moment and then lets out a single, hoarse chuckle. "Besides, partnering with an... acquirer of other people's goods isn't exactly the fame I'm seeking to get."
Vetiver Mirror	Pulling the arm back, she flips the slip between her fingers idly. Once or twice it almost looks like the markings change as if she is trading out one piece of jade for another just for the extra style points. "Creating art is your passion. I get it. You paint on the battle field not in a back ally." Leaning back she starts to pet her own tail only for her look to sour as she realizes how much of a mess it is. Shaking a bit of mud from her hand again. Stowing the coin and getting back to cleaning herself up. "Don't knock my trade till you try it. We share some things in common. I take coin, treasures, hopes, dreams. You take lives. We are all stealing from others in the end. Don't hesitate to ask me if you need help with the things you can't take by force."
Blackest Barlow	Barlow seems genuinely surprised by Vetiver's words, contemplating how much truth there might be in them. "An offer I may take up, if the need arises. And though I am pleasantly surprised by your candor and understanding for what I might do, there is one point I would argue." He folds his hands together and leans forward, getting his eyes level with hers. "I do not take lives. When you meet someone on the battlefield, you both have already agreed that your lives are on the line. Anyone who thinks that their lives are safe and yet walks into battle... Is a fool." Barlow then leans back again and waves a hand dismissively, "But I refuse to kill the defenseless. I'm a soldier, not a hired killer. And to be honest, while I enjoy the thrill of battle, I find training others in the art to be a far more fulfilling activity. I'm not just seeking places of war for battle, but to train people. Everyone who desires the ability to defend themselves should have the right to learn how to do so."
Vetiver Mirror	Vetiver leans back a little as Barlow bears down on her. Still meeting his eyes but there does seem to be a limit to her courage. The response gets her to think too. Eyes turning to her tail now as she carefuly tries to work the muck out of her fur. "I find myself matched for wit Barlow. Not something I can say often. I don't wish to offend you with the difference of perspective. I'll simply leave you with this." Hopping up off the crate. Unable to meet him at a level gaze. Instead she puts a hand on his knee almost as if to comfort "Your mother gives you your live, you can give it to another surely. A love, a lord, an ideal. When you meat on the battle field they don't open their arms and let you have it. They fight you for it. You win and you surely take it as you would part a gold purse from a nobleman. I don't argue they put themselves there, that you are not in the right to take it but you take it none the less." Smiling up at him with warmth in her eyes "We are noble thieves, and that is much more than some pittyless rogue." The hand comes away from Barlow. Perhaps leaving him feel some how lighter.
Blackest Barlow	Barlow watches as Vetiver touches him, watching for any signs of obvious mischief, but finds none. He doesn't even notice as the stranger pulls the dreams from him, for how would he notice a thing he long thought dead? His armor is cold to the touch, like the body within no longer radiates the warmth of the living. He listens to Vetiver speak, but her words seem foreign to him. Distant. "Perhaps you are right. But perhaps not, as well. In then end, I suppose it doesn't matter either way." He stands up from the crate and looks around himself for a moment. Without looking at Vetiver, he speaks to her in a hollow voice, "Death comes for all, eventually." He grabs his cart again and finally glances back down at her, "Certainly the first 'noble' I've seen covered in so much mud. Take care of yourself, Vetiver. When death finds you, may it find you alive." Barlow then returns to his walk, dragging his sarcophagus-laiden cart behind him.
Vetiver Mirror	A shiver goes down Vetiver's spine. The cold in the armor, perhaps because of the nature of the armor reminding her of another cold. A dark cold that brought her close to death. What her hand comes away with. What she holds close to her heart as the two begin to part has a kind of dull warmth to it. The dead dream. "What a fascinating thing to learn." The fox girl mutters to herself before head snapping back to attention. "May we all meet the end of all things." Its said like a prayer, or mantra in response to Barlow. Perhaps a strange thing to say to the restless dead. "May it not be the last noble you see in such a state!" breaking out in rancorous laughter. "Later friend!"