[open] where the moon has lost its glow

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow & you
WHAT: day to day miscellaney
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: hither and thither
NOTES: feel free to hmu for a bespoke starter or wildcard me if none of these tickle your fancy, I ain't give a damn

I. The Training Yard

Each morning Barrow faithfully reports to the training yard, where he sets out the practice dummies and the sparring weapons and stands by to assist anyone in particular need of combat training. It's more or less a running joke among the regulars that the earlier one arrives, the gruffer and more visibly hung over he is, but it doesn't take long to get him cracking and appreciating jokes, his lilting laughter echoing across the courtyard.

In recent days, however, his manner has become a little more subdued, his humor more careful. The chilling of the air has resulted in some increasing difficulty gripping the haft of his hammer, as well as weapons and cleaning rags more frequently dropped with a weary expletive and a sigh.

By early afternoon, he's usually retired to the chair set up on the edge of things, where he continues to bark instructions and suggestions to the trainees until it's time to clean up.


II. Lowtown Dives

Ever since a particular incident, it's been difficult to catch Barrow on the Gallows when he isn't offering training. More often, he can be found taking meals or faffing about on the mainland, playing cards with strangers (always strangers) if he's in a good mood or just sitting and silently nursing a whiskey if he's in a bad one.
Although notoriously lazy, occasionally his cleverness wins out and compels him to switch up the pubs where he's spending time, ensuring that finding him-- and tracking any behavioral patterns-- is more difficult for the average person. That said, anyone taking a special interest will notice an uptick in the quantity he drinks and the amount of time he spends simply sitting alone, mind wandering.
Hiding.


III. Wildcard

flails around like a muppet


for Emet-Selch and Herian, separately

With the cat out of the bag, as it were, times have been set aside by request for training of the specifically anti-magic sort. For this, Barrow trades his warhammer for the more stereotypical sword and shield, which he clearly wields with the confidence that comes from years of expertise. Although the sessions are one-on-one, they still occur in the training yard and can be witnessed by passersby.

When arriving for their first session, both Herian and Emet-Selch individually receive a brusque little wave and a nod of greeting from where Barrow sits on the edge of the yard.


for Jone

"Oi, Jone," he grunts to her one morning, perhaps a little more timidly than usual-- he's not completely sure where they stand, at the moment-- "Provost gave me some kind of magic breastplate, needs stress testing. Want to help?"
He grins reflexively. For the one person he can rely on to help him beat the shit out of something, he suspects he need look no further.

Comments

II Helping!

[muckspout]

Edgard has noticed Barrow has been a little scarce and that struck him as odd, so he's been searching for him in pubs. This one in particular, is definitely not his scene, so when Edgard actually finds him there, he's a little alarmed.

He grabs an ale of his own and then casually sits near Barrow--not too close and not too far. He then says out of the corner of his mouth,

"Need some assistance?"

[thereneverwas]

It's not a voice he was expecting to hear, though Barrow is, granted, hardly adept at keeping a low profile-- something about being the biggest person in the room, often with the loudest laugh, doesn't make one exactly difficult to track.

So he can't be too hard on himself, anyway, but he's still not certain of what to do with Edgard's presence.

"With?" he asks, a bit guardedly.

[muckspout]

Edgard frowns and then scoots closer.

"Usually," He says quietly.

"People don't come to this particular pub, unless they have to."

Get it, Barrow?

[thereneverwas]

Sometimes, just sometimes-- and maybe Edgard brings it out of him-- Barrow decides to be difficult.

"You implying something, mate?" he says, too wearily to be properly offended.

[muckspout]

Edgard huffs with slight irritation and turns to face Barrow. He says measuredly and in a whisper,

"Trying to ask if you're here for a job or a mission or just in over your head?"

He's helping, Barrow! He's helping.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow sighs and rubs his hand down his face, knowing full well that his irritation isn't with Edgard, though he's having a bit of a time controlling it.

"I'm just having a drink," he mutters, "I'm not in over my head." And one of the nice things about being massive is that most people won't fuck with him, even if they don't know about the arthritis and the overall gentle-spiritedness.

"What are you doing in here, if you're so worried?"

hewwo.

[arkitect]

He's allowed just a little time to pass before settling upon a day-- perhaps he's busy. Perhaps he just doesn't feel like looking too enthusiastic about things. Whatever the case, he's here this morning, dressed simply enough; he foregoes the outfit he arrived in more often than not, these days, going this time with comparatively plain black robes.

He doesn't appear to have anything else on him for the moment, empty-handed as he raises one in return.

"I do hope you haven't been too bored, thus far, but if so-- well. Mayhap that can be helped."

[muckspout]

Unbelievable!

"Looking for you!" He hisses.

"You went missing and was trying to make sure you were alright."

He looks around, trying to keep his face free from fear.

"Are you drunk?" He whispers. "We should get out of here."

[thereneverwas]

"How's that saying go? Only the boring are bored?"
Barrow hefts himself out of his chair and approaches the mage, his smile a bit tense but otherwise genuine.

"How're you wanting to approach this?"

[thereneverwas]

"Went missing? Maker, can't a man nip out for a pint without having the hounds set upon him?"

He's not drunk-- not overly so, anyway-- but Edgard is grating on him, drawing out some of the malaise that's settled itself deep in his being.

"Fuck off, if you're going to be this way. Or shut up and have a drink, I don't give a shit." It's needlessly harsh, and he knows it, regrets it almost as soon as the words have left his mouth.

[arkitect]

"I would like to see how the capability functions, foremost," he answers. He certainly isn't going to complain about getting to business.

"I do not exactly require training in how to function without my magic, though some practice may not go amiss; knowing what to expect of this is more a concern. How quickly it can be put into place, and so forth."

[thereneverwas]

"Righto."

Turning the wooden sword in his hand, Barrow regards it for a moment before glancing back over Emet-Selch.

"'f you want, we'll just spar regular. You cast a spell, I'll do my thing. Anyone start having a real problem, we stop. Seem reasonable?"

[arkitect]

"Reasonable enough, yes."

He eyes that sword, briefly contemplates retrieving a practice weapon of his own, but-- that isn't quite the point here. It'll serve as practice in not getting hit.

Instead, he simply gathers his focus. The point also isn't to catch Barrow completely off guard, so he offers a brief warning of "If you're prepared, then," before he begins.

Magic gathers around one curled hand, deep purple mixed with shadowy black, and as he extends that hand a quick, relatively weak bolt streaks toward his opponent. Just a starting point; the intensity can always be increased as needed.

[muckspout]

Edgard doesn't respond to that.

He glares at Barrow, picks up the pint that he already had with a flourish, takes a gulp, and sets it down with a thunk.

He continues to glare. He's shutting up and having a drink. Pointedly.

[thereneverwas]

This suits Barrow well enough, who takes another drink from his own mug and relishes the peace and quiet, however briefly he can expect it to last.

If Edgard intends to outwait him, he will find it a difficult task.

[thereneverwas]

For all his lax demeanor, Barrow isn't as easy to catch off-guard as he might appear. All it takes is the sight of the bolt streaks leaving Emet-Selch's hands, and Barrow has raised his sword in a particular gesture, negating their existence in a burst of white light.

He lowers the sword again, and waits.

[muckspout]

Patience is not a virtue of Edgard's. After a minute or two of staring and drinking, Edgard breaks.

"So, what's wrong?"

Clearly, something is wrong.

[thereneverwas]

"Who says something's wrong," Barrow says flatly, in his very best 'if you want me to talk about this you will have to pry it from my cold dead fingers' tone.

[muckspout]

"Your mood, tone, and overall demeanor." Edgard states flatly.

"And the fact we are not in a...friendlier pub."

The second phrase he says at a whisper.

[thereneverwas]

"Never occurred to you I just don't want to talk about it?" He relents slightly, if only because a tiny piece of him feels a little guilty for giving Edgard, who tries very hard, the cold shoulder.

"I want a little peace, Edgard. Thought no one would bother me here." How wrong he was.

I. The Training Yard

[notathreat]

Ellie is aware of Barrow the way she's aware of most of the residents of the Gallows, though they haven't had occasion to cross paths much. He's a much bigger, more physical fighter than her with her sharp, vicious knives and wicked aim. They'd have had little to teach each other.

But she recognizes his voice on the crystals, and she'd have had to be deaf not to hear what went down recently. Even Derrica had backed off of him, and privately, Ellie isn't so sure about him herself.

Barrow doesn't fit the picture of a Templar she has in her mind. Bullies, who get off on control and abuse of power. Or if he does, he hasn't really shown himself to be.

More than anything, Barrow reminds Ellie of all the older men in her life. Gruff, older cowboy-types. Teachers, protectors. Men whose hands were far from clean. And more than anything, she can understand hiding a part of yourself.

Ellie's just finished hauling another quiver of newly-fletched arrows to the archery range, heading by him and his chair, when he drops something with a curse.

Automatically, Ellie leans down to pick up the cleaning rag, and offers it back to him before realizing she's done so. She hesitates, then shifts the now-empty quiver on her shoulder.

"Old injury?" she asks, gesturing at his hand. These always cropped up for folks as the weather turned.

[muckspout]

"Fine!" Edgard holds a hand up.

"Just trying to help my friend."

He chews at his lip a little.

"Just finish my drink and leave you alone."

[thereneverwas]

Barrow takes in a deep breath, as if to respond, but just sighs it out instead, rolling his eyes and covering the lower half of his face with his mug. He's not going to rise to this-- not when he's already tired of defending himself, and not in front of a pub full of people who'd probably like to see them have it out with fists.

Which. He wouldn't, but. You know. People.

"...'s nothing personal, mate," he grumbles after a time.

[thereneverwas]

"Thanks luv," he mumbles as he retrieves the rag from Ellie's hand, but despite the gruffness in his tone, the gratitude in Barrow's eyes is quite sincere.

"Not all that old, to tell you the truth." He flexes his hand to pop his knuckles with a wince, then takes up the rag once again to continue his polishing.

"Seen you about," he muses, and nods to her quiver, "archer, I take it?"

[notathreat]

Ellie nods back, flashing a small smile -- and adjusts the empty quiver. She's not carrying her bow at the moment, but it's a common sight across her back, and apparently Riftwatch has fewer archers than she would've thought.

"Among other things," she says easily, tapping two fingers to one of the knives strapped to her thigh. Visible, with her cloak pushed back as it is. The cold doesn't bother her so much.

"Ellie," she says by way of introduction, and gestures to his hand. "What happened there?"

War wounds; often the safest topic.