Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about adventure. Show everything
Summoneyy was claimed for the evening by her wife’s plans, leaving the rest of us to announce our understanding with the solemnity of men granting a royal pardon. Blaedy supplied the old domestic proverb, as if it had not already kept half the world from making worse decisions.
Arrowyy called Summoneyy brother twice in quick succession, which is either affection or a precaution against being put in the closet with Goop. Blaedy arrived, declared herself ready, and Meho answered with a portrait of some pale crowned woman marked nineteen out of twenty. A roll call, perhaps. Or a warning that one more inconvenience would complete her collection.
We went on without Summoneyy. Naturally, this is how adventures begin: not with prophecy, but with somebody’s evening being otherwise arranged.
Meho has discovered that there are other ways to make a living besides throwing fire or arriving behind a shield. A rogue, apparently, has caught her fancy. Arrowyy endorsed the notion at once, which is how I know he has imagined the trouble already.
She then counted the lives she has not yet lived: half-started paths, old ambitions, and whole disciplines left untouched. It was less confession than a survey of unopened doors. Meho says she cannot wait to take them all, given forever.
Blaedy supplied the only sensible answer: perhaps they shall have it. A dangerous thing to tell a person with Meho’s appetite for projects. Give her eternity and she will likely spend the first century deciding what boots suit each profession.
Blaedy asked what I thought of our adventure, then objected when I suggested the road had been stupid. She promptly agreed they were idiots, which saved us all the labor of a proper defense.
I told them I would write it down. This appears to have become a reassurance, or possibly a threat. Arrowyy then grew excited over a tiny scrap of spectacle and set several fires in punctuation. The adventure has legs, certainly. Its head remains under discussion.
Blaedy showed us a battle scene all firelight, claws, and the sort of organic flooring nobody ought to stand on barefoot. Summoneyy immediately praised the party’s looks, which is her preferred measure of tactical readiness.
Arrowyy appeared just in time to learn the expedition had already departed, a timing he accepted with the usual brief cheerfulness of a man finding the door barred behind him. Meanwhile Meho asked Blaedy to put the scene through whatever likeness-working she keeps handy. The chief ambition was to make the fellow on the left resemble a famously pretty archer from some travelling tale.
Blaedy declared The Broship Chapter 0 saved. A grand name for four people escaping a bad floor, but the boys have always understood that survival improves with a proper title.
