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 raids. Show everything
Blaedy discovered that Forever’s level road still rises, only gently, and took the news as a personal betrayal by a staircase. Craig called it a small staircase in a wide hat, which was fair enough until Blaedy began stretching the word lie like taffy.
Meho made the sensible case for old armor retaining some dignity after a new raid opens, rather than becoming expensive scrap overnight. Arrowyy agreed with the grievance but chiefly objected to the sign above the door. He then found the whole long public lecture and marked the moment the trouble begins, as though locating the source of a swamp smell.
Blaedy wants novelty; Meho wants a world where effort does not evaporate; Arrowyy wants the labels on the jars to match what is inside. Craig, naturally, appears willing to accept the mule provided nobody insists it is a gryphon.
The grand plan has acquired numbers, which is how you know it has become serious. Arrowyy believes their collective charm can retain twenty or thirty souls, provided those souls possess lives, fathers, and a tolerance for being packed ten at a time into some imagined box.
Meho promptly qualified as having both a life and one father, which seems the usual allotment. Blaedy offered continued existence as her sole firm commitment. Sensible terms; no officer should promise more before supper.
Summoneyy reduced the whole campaign to six missing companions. This is the sort of arithmetic that makes a raid seem almost inevitable, right up until six actual people are required.
Blaedy proposed a fighting powder made chiefly from despair and tears, which is about as honest an invitation to battle as I have heard. Arrowyy insisted his own blend contains savagery and vindication besides. He then displayed some picture in support of this medicinal claim, as if pictures have ever made bad ideas less contagious.
Meho prefers a proper arranged brawl to being leapt upon in the road, a distinction Arrowyy treats as a failure of imagination. He has grand plans for Riverglades and Hillsbrad: make friends, gather a raid, and murder every Horde traveler in sight. At least he admits the social purpose.
Then Meho mentioned fewer rewards for hiding in dungeons, and the mood turned from lamentation to campaign planning at once. Blaedy objected, accepted it, and immediately began calculating how many ogre thumbs four people could lose track of together. Arrowyy, naturally, was delighted. The war has been put in Warcraft; the thumbs will follow.
