T'was a time before king or kingdom. Towns were simply towns and government had yet to be born out of ritualized robbery. And in this time there was a herald neither hired nor conscript. A herald unheard of by even his master. A herald who worked without any asking but not without pay... and he always got payed.
With silver tongue the herald spake, giving the same message at any town he came across, and so skilled in weaving word that he always got his way,
"High above, within that star-spotted aether stretching over earth, there is a blasphemous city. It consists of two gigantic pewter disks with the smaller orbiting the larger. A thousand building so tall they tear away at all firmament. Each structure carved of a single slab of noble stone: Emerald and ruby and sometimes even diamond. All of them finely dressed with filaments, with inlays of silver and gold. This is the homeland of Barlow. I tell you: Do not be deceived by his human form. He is demon. Without effort he brings desolation to all who do not submit. All he asks is simple: To offer him tribute now, as an advance, and then another when he arrives. If you pay I, as his herald, the advance, I will deliver it to him. Upon receiving said advance he will give an extra three months for your village to prepare the rest."
Every time it worked. Every time the herald left with full pockets, never to have them emptied by Barlow. In fact he had never met the man but was always five steps in front of him. Barlow was dimwitted but he was indeed intimidating. He never bothered to ask why strange villages greeted his arrival with coin. He just assumed his visage scared it out of them.
But upon visiting a certain village, one a bit more talkative, he learned of his unknown herald. And figuring he was owed what the herald took... Barlow left in search of the herald. Barlow found him in transit to the next town. The herald tried to reason, to deploy his craft, but words don't work on idiots. And so Barlow struck the herald down and took what he thought was owed him.
Barlow then arrived, as he always had, in another town. Having no warning from the herald his demands of tribute were mocked. There was no fear of the demon in them. No herald to instill it. Barlow was then quickly slain when attempting to violently enforce his demands.
On certain nights you can still find Barlow and The Herald, in their ethereal forms and having made amends, applying their dual crafts: Swindling with words and then applying violence. But they're just ghosts. Incorporeal air. So the violence only works if you and your fellow travelers believe in it.
