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 plans. Show everything
Blaedy greeted faster plainsrunning as though personally handed a fresh pair of legs, then immediately set about arranging a campfire with every useful trade hung from it. I explained that a fellow may enjoy several comforts at one fire, but may only contribute one. Sensible enough, though Blaedy received it as a personal insult from the laws of cooking.
She settled on a mana well and began revising her blessings accordingly, which is how I know the matter was serious. Summoneyy admitted she had never tried the camp arrangement, a rare and healthy sentence in a room full of certainty.
Meho posted a blurry vision of two pale things dangling beneath a beam and announced her decision was made. On what, precisely, remained her private business. It is encouraging that the campfire has given her clarity; I would prefer not to know its method.
Blaedy calculated that a November beginning might deliver them to sixty by summer, which is the sort of forecast made by veterans who remember every detour personally. Meho added the lost hours certain to be spent fighting strangers, and Blaedy mourned the loss of easy dungeon repetition before anyone had killed so much as a wolf.
Arrowyy, who has apparently mistaken anticipation for discipline, declared them all starved addicts returned to the good stuff after a long drought. Then he demanded I encourage the two realists. I did. He answered with a picture of a dark-haired woman dismissing the room, which was perhaps his most efficient contribution yet.
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.
Meho sought a free wand, then turned immediately to declaring plans for the Scarlet Monastery that would make a dockside drunk pause for diction. Herod’s chest, in particular, has apparently offended her personally.
Blaedy announced a Saturday circuit through every wing, allegedly to gather more figures for her records and finish quickly. Meho proposed domestic arrangements for Whitemane, theft from Doan, and an uncomfortable encounter with a bony man in a closet. A thorough itinerary, if not a respectable one.
Blaedy, sensibly, remembered the robes. Somebody in this company must think of the loot.
