Aug 03 18:20:43 109 PA - Gabriel Meets Whitefeather

From Chronicles

Aug 03 18:20:43 109 PA.

SMALL CAMP – SHRINE TO NATASHA BLAZE

Nature rustles quietly in this place, very alive and yet very serene at the same time. A mid-afternoon sun hangs beneath high white and fluffy clouds, a few local songbirds occasionally adding their own syncopation to the general ambiance of this little clearing. Very sharp eyes might see very mild indicators that at some time hence, this was also a place called home. A small bit of lichen and moss scraped off of this tree, a depression nearly imperceptible where a pit once lay. At this moment, a short man with graying hair - getting up in age for humans these days - is moving around the perimeter, a set of armor neatly piled near one of the trees with evidence of abused lichen. His motions are slow and deliberate, eyes on everything, even the almost impenetrable wall of vegetation keeping this location safe from the general prying eye.

It is for this reason that she's not careful about staying quiet. In fact, just the opposite. Whitefeather is astride her deep brown mustang (a fine animal in fact), and it is her voice that precedes her over anything. Raised in a throaty, off-key tune, she sings in her native Tsalagi tongue, praising the earth, the sky, and nature in general in the sort of vocal patterns one might expect to hear on an old western. It is only a short time after this is heard that the sounds of vegetation crushing, and the clop of hooves is heard as well as she approaches the small campground. Curiously, her approach does not seem to startle away the wild life. And for someone used to living in the wilderness for a very long time, the signs are much easier to notice. Shortly before she draws within sight fully, her song, still in native tongue, changes to one of travelers meeting. Every indication she is TRYING to make noise.

Announcing yoru presence is always appreciated, anywhere. However, Gabriel has not lived to this age in this business by taking full advantage of such niceties that society may be able to offer. His right hand reaches down to his calf, removing the long-barreled Parkerized pistol from its special holster - aside from a wilderness rifle near the armor, the only weapon evident of reaching out without literally reaching out. The full fourteen-inches are pointed toward the source of the noise, something that he's become good at determining, and the safety is punched off. Though he may not be *that* concerned, as his left hand continues to roam slowly over the nearest tree even as he points the weapon with the other. "Hello," he calls out in his classic Kentucky-drawl, even pleasant despite the pistol. "If you're entering, please come alone. This is sacred ground."

There's only the brief sound of someone dismounting to announce she's done so. Then almost no sound once she begins to slip through and part the brush and vegetation. This time, she enters barefoot, no moccasins,"Correct, I suppose. Though to be fair, I see the ground a mile from here, or three, or ten just as sacred. Aieee, you'll want to lower your slug-thrower, brother. To shed blood on sacred land is bad medicine. I have seen enough of that in my lifetime." Whitefeather takes a moment to orient herself, apparently unperturbed by the pistol, despite her words. She reaches into her belt pouch, pulling a small thumb-sized envelope from it made from a large leaf, in which, if one were to open it, they would find tobacco. "Aiya, an offering for your fallen. Tell me, does she still linger?" She says it matter-of-factly, as if such things were common. Maybe they are?

When the woman who is much taller than he breaks through the brush without any obvious intent to harm, Gabriel raises the barrel so that it points to the sky. The safety is engaged, but the weapon is not quite lowered yet. Rather than answer the question, he asks, "You're familiar with this funeral right, and believe that it is for a woman or girl?" His head leans slightly sideways. "You can read the inscription, ma'ma?" As Whitefeather continues on to the offering, he only offers back, "Please don't. I appreciate your custom - I assume - but it's not ours." At this point, the older man has fully turned to address the woman and the clearing in general, his back to the tree that he'd been inspecting.

Whitefeather shakes her head,"Letters are an indulgence I have gone far in life without. They are fine things, I suppose, but they have never been our way. My people pass our knowledge, such as it is, through word of mouth. Still, I am familiar with the burying of dead and the marking of their place." She shrugs, and tucks away the tobacco, equally unperturbed by the declining of her custom,"As you wish. I only guess it is a woman. No man is quite so protective of the resting place of a brother. I have eyes. I see you. That is enough. I have fish, and rabbit, and some blackberries if you are hungry." As if this were not so odd, she begins to softly, respectfully tread the perimeter, curious,"Every land has its spirits. The spirits of those who have passed, though, can tell you the most of its people and its history."

"Natasha's spirit has passed on, she's in the realm of God now, ma'am. I'm Gabriel, her husband, and it's not the spirits, it's the memory of the person by those who survive them," he says by way of clarification of his belief. Of course, to him it's an absolute truth. "She died violently, and before her time as I would have said. You are...?" He leaves the question hanging for the strange woman who has invaded the sanctuary.

Whitefeather lifts a shoulder,"A seeker." She pronounces something in her native language, a tangle of syllables, then clarifies,"But you may have an easier time with Whitefeather." She doesn't press on the issue. Apparently the man feels strongly on the matter. She pulls a handful of blackberries from her pocket, and eats one. Then after a moment's thought, puts them back. "There. I have introduced myself. Now you will also introduce your wife? I am curious to meet her." As if one COULD meet a dead woman. Then again, it might just be part of her native beliefs.

Sliding the long pistol back into its unique holster, Gabriel takes a few small steps forward, then some larger ones toward the grave mound itself, as if putting himself into a place of better protection. "As I said, her name is Natasha." Despite the fact that he's been told that the woman can't read, he bends down to pull along her who long carved name as he would if teaching a child. "Natasha Alina Sollomovici Blaze," he reads. "Our last name, or surname, is Blaze. Shortened from the original Polish 'Blazejewski.'" A string of letters that actually sounds to the ear, 'Bwah-ZHE-ski.'

Whitefeather nods to Gabriel, and merely says to the man,"Saying her name is not the same as an introduction." A pause, and then she continues her odd circling. For all that, she is not so crass as to try to walk on a woman's grave. "You carry many weapons for one come to visit a resting place. Aiee. You are a bizarre one, Gabriel. I have offered you tobacco, I have offered you food. I would offer you water, but I do not think you would accept it. You go armed where there is only good medicine, and risk making bad medicine with blood. Aiya, I think you are a complicated man. I was always curious of this, this idea of naming the dead for all to see. It merely tells me her name, but it does not tell me WHO she is."

"I can sit down and tell you who she is," Gabriel says. "If this were my world, I wouldn't be here with weapons, and I might be more openly friendly with strangers. In this world though, simply getting here is dangerous for me. I don't have another option but to be ready to defend myself with violence in a place of peace, so yes. It is complicated. As for the offerings, as I said - they are not our ways in a place like this, Whitefeather." He gestures toward the grave on the 'our ways' part. He smiles slightly to add, "I think that a man who is not complicated, would be a boring man. But didn't you already say that you were familiar with marking the graves?"

Whitefeather smiles in return, finally choosing a place opposite the mount, a respectful distance away, legs folded beneath her. "Always with the abstractions, aiya. No. I said I was familiar. I did not say I understood. Things I do not understand make me curious. My mother said it was a miracle I lived as long as I did. So yes. I suppose it is dangerous here. Everywhere. This part of the world, though... much more calm than where I am from. Less chance of being eaten by a t-rex." She seems to find this somewhat humorous. "I think you have one up on me, though. I have a simple bow and arrow. My weapons made of bone. No armor. Aiya, I hope it makes you feel safe. So sit. Tell me who she was."

Before sitting - something that he just doesn't do for a moment - he reaches behind is back, where a much larger pistol is stored, it comes out not exactly threatening with its barrel, but ready to be. "Lived, past-tense?" Gabriel asks as the pistol is readied.

Whitefeather smiles gently, as unconcerned as ever. "Oh indeed. You see, I am a vampire. But of the variety that loves the sun, and holy places, and likes drinking a lot of water." She laughs,"You my friend are very, very nervous gentleman. No. Not past tense. She was just impressed that I survived the trials that I did. I was a very brash youth. So confident in my own abilities. I nearly died a half a dozen times. Somehow, I lived long enough to become warleader, before I left my tribe. A necromancer and the Coalition both nearly took my head before I was twenty five years of age. That girl was a different person than I am now. I had a different name, too. Long forgotten."

She may not have known it, but Whitefeather may have come close to dying when she momentarily confirmed that she was a vampire. Gabriel's arm relaxes though as she continues, and the pistol finds its concealed holster once more. "Not nervous, cautious. Even had a gentleman stop by my place of business the other day who ended up telling me the same thing. I have never been brash, and I have been confident, but I have survived to my own age by being cautious. Recent events in my life have only confirmed a need to redouble those defenses, Whitefeather." Gabriel moves to another point to defend his wife's grave. "If we're going to chat I'd like to do it somewhere else. This is for reverence and love, not getting to know new people. If you give me a little time to clean up, we can move back to the city, if you're interested in continuing this conversation," he says politely, beginning to get back to the cleaning that he had been doing when the woman arrived.

Whitefeather rises, heading towards the place she stowed her horse. "Do me a favor though, brother. In the future, please don't fondle your weapon so much... it makes me twitchy, and I have doubts as to whether it would even dent a vampire. You need wood for that." There is the sound of her mounting her horse again in the brush,"Aiyaaa. Do you know how to sit a horse? I will give you a lift when you are ready, Gabriel. She is a fine horse, and consents to carry me. I do not see why she would not do the same for you. I look forward to hearing about your not-brashness. Every man of war, they have something to teach me. Something I feel honored to learn, often."

Gabriel makes no comment about the other woman's twitchiness or similar subjects. Rather, he waits until she's out of the protective vegetation, then takes a moment to finish cleaning the area. A kneels by the grave and says a clear prayer, though impossible to hear. Some words are whispered at the head of the grave, and he slowly kisses the dirt, patting the revered blade exactly into place. "I'll be back soon, Natasha," he says before getting up and walking toward Whitefeather and her horse. Finding his voice, he comments, "I remember enough to not fall off, and to know that my thighs will hurt tomorrow." That said, he prepares to mount up when final authorization has been given. And probably some kind of assistance, as well.

Whitefeather offers a hand to the man, a strong arm, well conditioned to physical labor. "Aiya. Then hold on tight. I know the white man enjoys his saddles, and the lady bearing us over the mother is not so tame as many who are broken by their companions." In other words, she's probably not a comfy ride to someone who's not used to it. At least she was patient, though. "When we are about, I am sure she would welcome the chance to teach you how to ride again." Not Whitefeather. The horse itself. Still, she does take a moment to re-situate some of her nastier-looking weapons to allow the horse and its new passenger to ride without fear of injury. She'll click her tongue to start up once everyone is ready to go, though.

"Oh, just a moment," Gabriel begs off, disappearing back into the camp. A few minutes later he come out differently - wearing armor. "As I said, it's dangerous for me just to get from the city to here, and back. Please don't do anything to make me twitchy," he asks, parroting the woman's word back to her. It takes some doing, but he does mount up, and probably won't even fall off on the way to Kingsdale.

RIVER WALK NORTH

Whitefeather eventually rides right up to the gates, only surrendering her horse when it becomes clear that hogging paths and the like with it would be frowned upon. For a change, she seems ill at ease in the confines of the city. Since she has nothing of apparent value to steal, though, she's probably pretty safe from stealing and the like at least. "So tell me the story of you and yours, Gabriel. Gabriel. That is the name of one of your peoples' great spirits, yes? What do you pray to your great spirits for?"

"Gabriel is the name that my parents gave me, Whitefeather. What would you know of my people's spirits, when you don't know who my people are?" he asks, comfortable now that he's dismounted. A nod is given toward the cemetery. "Here to visit anyone in particular, or just a bunch of graves to inspect?" He remains mum on the subject of his story at the moment.

Whitefeather frowns a little bit,"You have a great spirit, Hay-zeus. All of your spirits are people shaped. And your Spirit Gabriel, a winged spirit shaped like a man, he guards the gates to your Hunting Grounds." She shakes her head, though,"I am a warrior, called by the spirits of Earth, lead to my purpose by Bear. I merely wander here because how a people treat their dead can tell one much. It will tell me how much the land and its people are in need. My purpose called me here, and here I will stay until it is fulfilled, or I am dead. In the end, they are the same thing."

The man listens, a small smile on his face, but does feel the need to either correct, clarify or simply state some facts. "The Archangel Gabriel is one of seven Archangels, all who have different purposes. Gabriel sits at God's left hand, and is His messenger with Earth. Still, like all the Archangels, he takes part in battling the Sons of Darkness." Gabriel the human shrugs, "I guess I know more about my own people than you do, even if the spirits apparently speak more directly with you than mine do. You're hunting spirits? A ghost buster of some kind?"

Whitefeather shakes her head to the man,"I think, perhaps, while the sentiment is noble, your Archangels are a bit complicated for me, brother." She simply chuckles,"You are welcome to them. At least they have a purpose I can understand. Still, my purpose is not to hunt spirits, no. I am guided by them. Certain ones. They direct my hand, and put a path before my feet, and allow my own heart to move me along it. The world has become a dark place, brother. My purpose is to leave it a little brighter than it was when I came into it."

"And how does one brighten a dark world when guided by spirits?" Gabriel asks, glancing obviously to the cemetery once more. "There seems to be no absence of darkness to combat, in various kinds. What's yours?"

Whitefeather tilts her head in thought,"How does one brighten a dark world when guided by spirits? As naturally as breathing." She waves her hand out over the cemetery,"Hundreds of lives, ended by time, and sickness, and violence, and in a few cases... even love. There is no end to darkness to combat, true. But my definition is an easy one. Anything and anyone that does not respect freedom and life. That is what I combat." Gabriel presses the issue slightly. "But how. Guns? Magic? Prayer?" He shrugs, "Or simply doing good deeds and thus preventing darkness from gaining a foothold?" A nod is given to the cemetery. "I'm not sure that so many of them get to be ended by time and love." He gestures back to the main part of the city. "Look at how old people are. Time doesn't last long, because things are meddling with its natural course, wouldn't you say?"

Whitefeather raises an eyebrow,"I do not use trappings of your modern world. They bring too much strife. With arrows, knives, clubs, tomahawks. With kicks, and punches. With vicious violence, and cunning, and ruthlessness. By good deeds, and simple kindness. By helping those who cannot help themselves. By helping those with feet on their necks rise and stand up. By leading or following as necessary. As for natural courses... I do not presume to know what is and is not part of a thing's course. Prosek, for example, is over a hundred. I am told he is as spry as the day he was whelped. Is this not a wonder? Humans are capable of great good and great evil. Fight with violence where you must, fight with kindness where you can."

Gabriel chuckles lightly. "So, through extreme violence and good deeds. Very crusader of you," he says rather ironically but politely at the same time. "It also sounds a lot like communism. 'Rise up oppressed workers and throw off the shackles that bind you,'" he states. Perhaps a quote, perhaps just something close to propaganda. Then, "Emperor Prosek is only sixty-seven."

Whitefeather frowns a little bit at Gabriel,"I think perhaps you are seeing something that is not there, brother. I am not an idiot, but I am not an educated woman, either. I think perhaps you ascribe more thought to it than I am putting IN to it. As you will, though. People can and often are oppressed. Prosek is a thorn in the Coalition's side. I think they would be better off without him and his spawn. A task time will probably see to long before I ever receive the opportunity." Still, when Gabriel says '67', she frowns and mutters under her breath. Something like 'that young?'. "You must forgive me. My people were isolationist for a long time."

Perhaps delving into a bit of cemetery-side philosophy, Gabriel offers, "Prosek is only doing what he thinks is best for his people. But I have to ask - how can he be a thorn in the side of his own people?" No comment is made on the youthful comment. Either it goes without anything being said for now, or it was so much under-the-breath as to be inaudible. "So if you don't put thought into it, you can only be reactive, then?"

Whitefeather tilts her head, actually laughing out loud in delight,"My, brother, but you have a talent for putting words in my mouth that I have not actually spoken. I said I do not put as much thought into it as you think I do. Or perhaps you thought I already put very little thought into it at all. Aiyeee. Anyway, Prosek is a thorn to his own people. I suspect he does more what he feels is best for himself than what is best for his people. And if I am wrong, then he is the worst kind of leader of all. A poor one. Even a leader in love with himself can be talented. But the man has been responsible for more of his peoples' deaths than any single person can lay claim to. He poisons their minds, hearts, and spirits with hate. He wages unceasing war on everything he fears or doesn't understand. He misuses the loyal children of Wolf, the dog boys cruelly. He has the power to do so much good, Instead, he squanders it and his resources. He makes a poor trade for his people."

"The people who live under him, many of them would say that they're safe and better of than the rest of the continent though, wouldn't they?" Gabriel replies. "The dog boys are often loyal to their master. The humans perhaps repressed and oppressed, but defended. Who's to say that he doesn't understand these things, rather than being wise about an enemy to the way of life that he has chosen, and those who live with them have chosen?" A shrug is offered. "Even for the poorest person, leaving that life is as easy as walking. There aren't border guards to keep people in, just to keep them out. It often goes both ways." Perhaps a twinkle in his eye indicates that he really does know a thing or two about walls, but he makes no specific comment on it. "History is rife with the oppressed eventually rising against their masters. Perhaps you only need a perspective of... time." He manages to make the word sound like a laugh, knowing that something unsaid on that topic is being shared.

Whitefeather shrugs one shoulder ever so lightly,"I have time. But, brother Gabriel... you and I both know that though the border guards do not keep them in, there are other chains that keep them more surely. They so fear the world outside their cities and such that the thought of leaving never occurs to them as a possibility. Meanwhile, their soldiers leave to kill and die in droves, bringing their 'freedom' and 'enlightenment' to people who never wanted it. Still, they are free to choose to live in oppression and safety if that is their choice. But it becomes ignoble when they try to impose that on others. I spoke with a child of the wolf today, and he was incapable, nearly, of believing any worthwhile contribution could come from anyone but a human." This actually seems to make her sad, for a wonder. "As it is, I am but a pebble in the pond. I will do my part, but no matter what I gather to myself, I am only one. It is not my place to force better lives on people. Only to ensure they have the option should they wish it. I still think Prosek is little better than a rabid dog, though."

"It's all perspective, really. We all have our beliefs, and we all believe that they're the right ones. No one would have a really strong belief with which to face the world, believing that it was wrong, would they?" Gabriel asks in return. "The best way to free these people, if they truly need to be freed is simply to educate them. Guns and tomahawks become useless compared to even a little knowledge, yes? Show a man what he might want, and he might try to get it all by himself." After clearing his throat, he clarifies, "A 'child of the wolf,' a dog boy? Humanoid dog-thing?"

Whitefeather nods to Gabriel,"Indeed. A 'dog boy'. Wolf's children, they are. It is clear to see. Powerful. Strong. Pack hunters. Loyal. Quick. Personally, Bear is my own totem, but I respect Wolf and his children." She closes her eyes, letting her thoughts roam as she faces out towards the graves,"You speak in circles, Gabriel. I speak of uplifting people, and you speak of 'communism'. I speak of violence, you speak of uplifting people. You enjoy baiting and testing people the way a cat does. It is... fun."

Half of Gabriel's mouth turns up in a smile. "I'm glad that you're enjoying it, Whitefeather. Do you like coffee or perhaps milk or juice? This is a beautiful place to come, if you're here for the lake or to visit a loved one. I'm here for neither. I don't know any of those people, or anyone related to them. Or at least, I am unaware." He extends a hand back east. "Care to join me over something nice to drink?"

Whitefeather nods to Gabriel at that. "Aiya. Coffee. Milk. Juice. These are things I have seen. I am not used to anything more liquid than water. It would be a good experience. Tell me. What do people trade here. Skins? Beads? Bone carvings?" It may sound like a joke, but she is utterly and entirely serious about it. "I have been along for a very long time, Gabriel. Company would be... good."

Gabriel starts to move east, but waves toward the Merchant Plaza. "Trade? Anything that you have to trade, someone will buy or barter back. Even slaves," he says with a definitively negative tone and a solid finger-point toward the 'Dregs. However, he doesn't expound on the subject while standing around a drained bog and cemetery. "But if you want to buy things from more proper stores, they use credits. Most people like to trade them around on a stick, which makes it look invisible, but some of us rare people like to keep them in coins or paper. Ah... you know your numbers, I assume?" He marches east.

TRADEWINDS COFFEE SHOP

Whitefeather nods to Gabriel,"Aiya, I have heard of these credit sticks. My people do not trust in things we cannot hold." She rummages in a belt-pouch, coming out with a small carving made from a brachiosaurus ankle. An incredibly delicate little piece, shaped like the saurus itself. "Here. You can sell this. A man from my tribe makes them. It is made from the giant lizard, the one with the very long neck. You call them dinosaurs or some such." Probably worth several times the cost of a cup of coffee. Cross materialism off her list. "Anyway, yes. I am not one of your 'teachers', but I know my sums."

The day has certainly worn on since the unusual pair met out by a grave in the wilderness. So much so that it is now night, and here at Tradewinds Stefanie has replaced her sister Tiffany at barista duties. Not much work to do at this hour, as there are only a few people enjoying refreshments. Gabriel has a few words to exchange with the young D-Bee, clearly they know each other. "Coffee and cream please, and whatever the lady is having." He gently pushes the dinosaur carving back toward the evidently Indian woman. "Please, this is on me," he says to use a phrase that she might not know. A low column of credit coins is stacked neatly, waiting for Whitefeather's order to be placed.

Whitefeather looks uncertainly as she is asked to order, basically, and lapses into thought. "Ah. I know. Mijuni told me to 'ask for something with no artificial ingredients in it'." She gets fresh-squeezed orange juice for her troubles. She then looks at her cup, and then at the man,"Ah. My thanks, Gabriel. It has been a while." Since what? Still, she looks at Stefanie,"May Bear bless your endeavors with strength." She notes to Gabriel,"Bear is a family totem. The making and serving of food and drink are common hallmark of the family way."

"Hmm? Uh, okay. Thank you?" Stefanie twitters. Like her sister Tiffany, she's fairly batty but quite the friendly girl. The intellectual opposite of her second sister. When Gabriel's coffee is delivered, he waves around the room. "Please, pick somewhere that you're comfortable and tell me about your bear. Also, who Mijuni is, and how he or she knows the phrase 'artificial ingredients.'"

Whitefeather looks around to find some sort of out of the way place, and then takes Gabriel's invitation literally, sitting on the ground with her back to the wall. "Thank you again. Bear is my totem. She is both a totem of the home and of war. When you are born, the spirits get a sense of who and what kind of person you are and they choose to empower and look over you, guiding you as best they can, if you are most like them. If you stay true to yourself, they will stay true to you. Bear is a mother. Kind, and warm, and admittedly a bit lazy. But when her family and friends are harmed or threatened, she is murderous in her rage." She sips her juice, smiling delightedly at the flavor,"Mijuni is the 'barbarian' trader my tribe frequently traded furs, hides, and bones with for weapons. He is very knowledgeable."

Gabriel manages to find himself a spot on the floor, back to the wall, rump on the floor, knees up and parallel to one another. "That's not Bear. That's hopefully every mother," he comments. After yawning slightly, he sets in to get off of heavy subjects and make simple small-talk about whatever he can until one or both of them gives up and decides that it's time to sleep. As they're now on Sunday and thus his one day off in the week, that might be a while.