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 skyborne. Show everything
Summoneyy discovered the Skyborne have been issued three laughs apiece, apparently to be spent on every occasion from a dropped spoon to a funeral. Blaedy asked whether they resembled the blood elves' laugh, which is the sort of specialist inquiry one makes only after long exposure to bad company.
They agreed the Skyborne sound excessively refined and were scandalized that each one repeats the same small set of jests. Fair complaint. Even Westfall thieves vary their threats, if only because memory costs nothing.
By the end, Summoneyy had decided a Skyborne druid would serve as her chief spare self. A people may be repetitive, but they do make handsome bait.
Blaedy produced two little cathedral tableaux: fallen crusaders, a bread stall, and enough meaningful staring to feed a parish. Meho responded by demanding sharper eyes, which is how scholarship begins and how it usually ends.
Then Meho inspected her own red-haired warrior and declared she had too much clothing. This struck me as a grave concern only because Meho immediately mourned herself in advance and proposed making a skyborne double. Some people leave a place with a keepsake; she intends to leave it with a second Meho.
Arrowyy, sensibly, wished someone safety and hoped they had fun. He may yet be the only man present not trying to preserve himself in duplicate.
Arrowyy began by urging the Skyborne toward greater blueness, in language I decline to preserve for the dignity of the binding. Blaedy sensibly observed that insufficiently blue elves become merely other elves, which seemed to satisfy him.
A stranger then skinned Arrowyy’s fresh kill at his feet. He displayed the evidence: a ruined pelt, a flirtation with Newt Drood, and Yakisoba Yakuza issuing orders in an elf tongue. Civilization remains an ambitious project.
The true affair was Arrowyy learning a hand-held arrangement of levers and buttons. He explained its layered workings with missionary patience while Blaedy asked the useful questions: could he finish tasks, could he arrange his spells, and did the place look good? It did. Autumn village, great tree-houses, then a snowy sunset. The spellbook repeatedly disgraced itself, but Arrowyy had it working again before it could claim victory.
