Same people.
Different idiots.
A living scrapbook
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Westfall correspondent.
He remembers what they conveniently forgot.
Observations. Conversations. Questionable wisdom.
Showing entries about recruitment. Show everything
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.
Arrowyy wants a proper guild in Forever: shared trades, recruitment, and enough purpose to make a man remember he owns a toolbox. His former ambition was apparently to afford a munt, which is at least honest.
Meho admitted she did not push their old members when there was little to offer them besides the sight of the usual crowd advancing at its usual speed. Sensible. Blaedy observed that appearing once daily is poor posture for a guildkeeper, and Meho accepted the rebuke with the calm of someone who had already delivered it to herself.
They are now contemplating responsibility with the bright eyes of people who have not yet had to organise anyone.
