Mother came by yesterday. She had brother and his husband with them, and we had dinner. Surprisingly it was rather pleasant – we discussed the work she’d been doing, and she inquired about the Rogers. I hid some of the truth from her, as a matter of course – they’re not disbanding, anymore than I thought they would, and they’re still dedicated to that mad old shaman, but they have their own selves back, and their pieces are fitting back together.
Athan, I’m told, continues his work. He’s been dismantling his old creations for years, but he never stops scheming and planning, but I guess it’s just his nature. He’s been doing more good than harm, these days, now his memory is complete. He left me some very fine casks, the other year. The wine from those is dry, and sweet.
The shaman, on that line, still toils in the iron city. Once a week, a Roland and a roger goes to visit him. He’s still crafting, and scheming, and working his plans. Maybe the city will do right by him. Maybe. He gave me a box to give to his pseudo dragon. He winked when he did so, so who knows anymore.
Garrison still does his work, hunting. Some times I hear that he hunts Athan’s creatures, sometimes I hear that he’s been trying to catch a whale.
Tivorahan, too, is doing repentance work. There are many, many lines on her register, and she’s working through them all. She came round for dinner a few months ago, along with mother. All feels well and cordial, and I didn’t even slip anything into her food for old times’ sake.
The pirate, I am told, is taking to Abaddon like a duck to water. The free life suits him well, and he is banding together a merry band of fellow dead drunks (both figuratively and literally).
The autumn leaves are rolling in. We have enough in the casks to bide us over the winter, and then more. The cities are less rubble than they were, and people are moving on. The world is still scarred, and some of those wounds may never heal. But better days are ahead, I’m sure of it.