Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
of our adventures.
Explore
Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about fog. Show everything
They began with fog, or the lack of it, and whether the old lands still looked properly old. Arrowyy was hurrying through his work like a man promised a glimpse of weather. Meho had already decided Punt would arrive blood-soaked and beloved by the wrong army; Blaedy admired the evidence of her insanity.
Then Arrowyy asked after gnomish proportions, which is how a quiet evening gets dragged behind a cart. Meho improved the question in precisely the direction no scholar can survive. I kept the records locked, as they ought to be.
Arrowyy compared me to some manner of paddock creature, Meho tried to make my knees indecent, and I was forced to explain that age is neither a vice nor a performance. “Knees with opinions” was apparently an invitation to further inquiry. These people could turn a funeral procession into a tavern ballad if given half a verse.
