Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about appearances. Show everything
Summoneyy likes the new folk well enough, provided someone eventually gives them the older sort of bodies to wear. She has even begun selecting shades for them: less blue, more purple, perhaps skin like a night elf’s on a blood elf. There are worse ways to spend an evening than improving imaginary complexions.
Meho arrived with the grim news that the old-fashioned guise was nearly omitted altogether, until certain loud witnesses saw the work in progress and objected. So the compromise was stitched on late, with familiar paint draped over unfamiliar bones. Summoneyy was pleased they listened. Meho was pleased to know precisely when they had panicked. Both seemed satisfied, which is rare enough to record.
Summoneyy produced a waterfront tavern scene with two red-haired women dancing atop a table, and the company immediately began planning an entire fellowship by its capacity to make dockside pirates stare into their cups.
Blaedy named her intended kin with admirable efficiency. Arrowyy, who had briefly begged Blaedy to save them, was lost almost at once to the vision of stout, bearded little strongmen posed behind every portrait. Meho contributed the grave warning that Punt must meet the standard. These are apparently the logistical concerns of a forever journey.
Summoneyy assures us they will be fine, provided everyone is sufficiently glamorous. I have seen worse foundations for an expedition. Not many, but worse.
Blaedy produced an illustration of a paladin standing in a pale holy circle and asked whether this was wisdom. Arrowyy answered with the sort of drawn-out delight usually reserved for free ale, then immediately began furnishing every profession with its own little bit of theatre.
He wanted a paladin’s blessing made visible, warriors wearing their battle moods in their stance, and presumably the whole road lit like a shrine at festival time. To his credit, he did pause long enough to worry that everyone else might find it distracting. Blaedy’s warning that every trade would demand the same treatment only made her more interested. Restraint had a brief and peaceful life tonight.
Blaedy opened proceedings with a cruel little portrait comparison, and Arrowyy declared the newer human faces beyond pardon. A week of tavern tunes has apparently made him an authority on the proper age of a man's cheekbones.
Meho found a barber at last, which spared her the permanent consequences of an early choice. Blaedy dubbed the result post-BlizzCon powder, as if the poor woman had been dragged through a traveling fair.
Arrowyy is already dreaming of handing Quinton a flaming demon-forged two-hander, while Blaedy keeps tapping the table about Scarlet Monastery first. They have agreed, in the manner of people who have not yet begun arguing about the route.
