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 factions. Show everything
Arrowyy has fixed upon a cream hooded garment as the instrument by which he will locate fellow adventurers among the provisions. Apparently strangers will see it, declare their faction, and begin hostilities through polite conversation. Blaedy sensibly ruled that small talk already counts as a hostile encounter.
Meho wants the whole look: rolled sleeves, fine beard, perhaps markings. Blaedy assured her she needs none, while Arrowyy proposed beard-shadow markings, proving that friendship is merely ridicule with a warm coat on. Meho then produced old recruiting pageants in which rival banners made a great show of recognizing one another. The men are still treating this as a workable civic custom.
The new proclamation promised to make friends easier to find, then erected a tidy fence between their banners. Meho read the fine print with the expression of a magistrate discovering the law was written by ducks. Blaedy, naturally, remembered the promise word for word and used it as a cudgel.
Arrowyy thought the whole affair looked splendid until the fence was pointed out. He then joined Blaedy and Meho in recruiting every undecided soul to their village: cities, boats, a healer, a tank, and apparently powder. Arrowyy added dancers and a dwarf performance of uncertain dignity. Their little settlement may yet thrive, provided nobody asks what the boats are for.
Meho intends to play regardless, but angrily. This is the soundest plan anyone offered.
