“Crone's Cleric Luthgard.”
Yeah, that still feels weird.
For one thing, nobody around here remembers a time when great-great-grandma Aramintha wasn't the Crone Cleric Luthgard. Hardly anyone manages to live that long.
For another, nobody but dwarves give one sliver of a fuck about the Crone Cleric, and none of my friends are dwarves.
For another still, it's not like I had my whole life to get ready for this responsibility. We all knew it might happen to us, but there are, what, thirty of us eligible? And usually we have more time. Usually, the Cleric should be not such a stubborn ass and wait so long to tell us she's dying. Usually, the acting Cleric ought not to wade into battle with their nose in a book because they haven't finished learning their incantations yet. Usually. But hey, in most families, having thousands of bees swarm through your open window to cover you in glowing light is not considered an auspicious portent, either.
Old Nana Minty was the closest I think a person could ever be to having the very mind of the Blessed Crone Herself. A brick shithouse til the day she dropped. I definitely inherited her physique, but I'm not so sure about the personality. Maybe it comes. Maybe it wasn't ever her who was like that. Maybe that's the Crone. Who could recall?
Anyway, I'm tired, but it sounds like none of my siblings have yet gotten over the novelty of being finally allowed to drink. My confirmation has been a great occasion for months of partying. I, on the other hand, am glad to find the smell of mead unappealing, as I imagine much misery would result from holding the alternative view in a situation like mine. Alas, the honeywine from my flask goes only to the earth.
Tomorrow, I'm going to something called a “poker game”, which is apparently some sort of human gambling that's used as an excuse for bonding. I'm not sure why humans need excuses for bonding. Or complicated rules for gambling. But hey. I'm only 29. I'm practically a child still. What do I know? “Be among the people,” that's what they tell me. So I'm gonna.
“Every Cleric keeps a chronicle,” that's another thing they tell me. So I guess I'm really going to act my young age and write in a diary. Good night.