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 old characters. Show everything
Arrowyy has returned to the business of ruinous fire with the cheer of a man finding an old coat that still smells faintly of smoke. His former warlock, Crivus, made it only to forty-six, which is apparently enough history to make the resurrection ceremonial.
Blaedy was briefly astonished that he had owned such a fellow at all, then immediately turned her attention to a warrior’s new relationship with rage. She took particular pleasure in learning that protective bubbles no longer starve it. Somewhere, a shield-bearer is now allowed both safety and indignation. Blaedy considers this a reform worth celebrating.
The whole exchange had the look of men and women discovering that their old grievances have been entered into law. Arrowyy gets his fire; Blaedy gets her anger, properly provisioned. Civilization limps onward.
