Same people.
Different idiots.
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
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Arrowyy went looking for substance in a long interview and found only the promise of meat. Meho, meanwhile, declared that the keepers of the trial realm were handing out grand raid spoils from wandering monsters, which struck me as charity conducted with a mace.
I suggested she be kept from the lever that summons such beasts. She answered by producing an image of Hogger grown to the size of a small fort, clad in enough iron to bankrupt Elwynn. Arrowyy achieved astonishment in two words. Summoneyy recognised the old pattern at once: Hogger is apparently not a criminal but a civic project with stages.
The boys will now spend the evening wondering what his final form eats. The answer, regrettably, is time.
Summoneyy went to inspect the Skyborne manners and instead found herself before a ward that would not yield her own name. Arrowyy hurried up behind her, only to discover the same obstruction, which at least spared him the labour of pretending he knew what he was doing.
Blaedy, as usual, supplied the useful truth: the realm was shut while someone raised its ceiling. This prompted grief, outrage, and Arrowyy's declaration that the village had not approved it. Summoneyy immediately sought refuge in older wars, then asked whether growing stronger before their duels would offend anyone. Blaedy had already accepted defeat with the calm of a person who has seen the bracket.
Then, with the grand contest deferred by three hundred-odd measures of unseen repairs, Summoneyy asked Arrowyy for rugged leather. Civilization endures.
Arrowyy declared the coming trial “FOREVER BETA TOMORROW” with the conviction of a town crier who has finally found his bell. Meho may attend, unless life behaves like life, which is the soundest commitment anyone made.
Meho had found a stack of auguries ranking battle callings by how many pilgrims had peered at them. The bright crusaders and cold mages drew the crowds; the gentler priests apparently did not, unless they had learned to be shadows. Blaedy suggested this chiefly measured the sort of fellow who seeks auguries. Meho conceded the point with admirable speed.
The talk then turned to their own road party. Meho, despite being offered every opportunity to avoid it, had again chosen the large weapon and the front rank. Blaedy noted the paladin habit is difficult to escape. Some men find a door; Meho finds a righteous hammer and calls it home.
