In which Orlando finds his Path

Travelling back to Whitestone took a day and half, but It turned out that the time shift had in fact worked in our favour, and that no more than an afternoon had passed since we had first entered the rift, which meant that we found ourselves back in town no more than four days since we had set out.
 
The journey was uneventful, but I was glad to have had the chance to practice my recital of the battle, because I was obliged to repeat it several more times for those who had no memory of what had occurred.
 
Raphael continued to pointedly avoid Enessa all the way back, and she made no effort to speak to him. Whatever the problem is here, this lack of communication isn’t likely to resolve it. However, I very much doubt that Raphael would be inclined to listen to anything that I might have to say about it, so I will have to hope that Zeni can do something to mend things. Increasingly, she is the one in whom he seems most willing to confide.
 
I spent the majority of the journey back by Orlando’s side, discussing all that we had learned about the guns of Whitestone, and what to make of all this talk of fae wars and breaches in the fabric of the planes. We were a long way from home, and very much has changed in the past months, but still, that process of thinking things through together was comfortable and familiar. A most welcome feeling after the immense strangeness of the past few days.
 
Arriving dusty and travel stained around midday on the 4th, we found Lord Percy waiting impatiently for us at the gates of the keep, rushing forward and sweeping his wife into a passionate embrace as soon as our little party came in sight. These are two people obviously still very much in love, and it would have been a hard heart that was not touched by their obvious pleasure and relief at seeing one another again.
 
We were dismissed in short order by the reunited couple, who clearly had business of their own, but with promises of reward and celebration in the days to come. Heading back to our lodgings at The Last Woodpecker we found young Eva engaged in scribing work, which she showed to Zeni and Sabali with some pride. I was very glad to see her happy and settled, and I hope that she will be able to remain here in Whitestone. Of the towns I have visited in Tal Dorei, it seems to be one of the best governed and most godly. She should be able to build a good life here.
 
The next day we received an invitation to dinner at the castle, and I, along with most of the others, decided to invest in some new clothes for the occasion. We all looked very smart, although Sabali’s choice was a bit eccentric. I assumed that it was something traditional to his people, but he himself seemed rather unsure about it. The question I wondered was, how did he end up with something so unusual if he did not request it specifically from the tailor? Realistically, this is a question to which I will probably never know the answer, but I’m glad to say that the outfit did at least include trousers, which was something I think everyone was grateful for.
 
It was a lovely evening, the Lord and Lady of Whitestone had gathered a somewhat eclectic but certainly charming set of guests. Everyone was very kind and fulsome in their praise of our efforts, and we were made to feel most welcome, even feted - both Zeni and Wind received generous gifts from Lady Vexalia, and we were all lavishly rewarded with coin. Such tokens were unnecessary of course, but will certainly be useful.
 
Lord Percy promised to allow Orlando access to the castle’s workshops, and I could see the pleasure and excitement in Orlando’s face at the prospect. This is what we had come here for, after all. Or so both of us thought at that time anyway.
 
At one point, Zeni asked me how I thought Enessa was doing. I told her that I thought Enessa was fine, not unhappy about the bargain she had made, not as far I could see in any real trouble because of it, and that Raphael’s reaction was odd, especially given his own circumstances. Zeni said little, except that she thinks she has a way to smooth things over. If she does, then I wish she would get on with it. No-one likes this tension in the group, and Raphael is clearly suffering in ways that I at least do not understand. Lashing out like that almost always comes from a place of pain, but if he won’t talk to us about it, or not to anyone but Zeni, then I don’t see how we can help him.
 
The party went on until late in the evening, and when we finally headed back to The Last Woodpecker we were well fed, rather drunk and most contented.
 
The next few days were filled for the most part with fairly mundane matters. Raphael and Zeni headed together to the library, as has become their custom of late, while some of the rest of us restocked our supplies.
 
Enessa returned to the inn one evening with a very involved tale about a jeweller who had apparently insisted that she sit on his doorstep and dismember the rather rancid troll’s head that she has carried this last week, so that he could make its horns into a fine pair of bracers. It seemed rather an improbable suggestion for him to have made, but Wind assured me that it was true, the jeweller had requested it specifically. I suspect that there is a context here that I am missing, and the tale wended its way eventually to a point where I found that I was opening my purse to assist with some magical enhancement to these ivory armguards, but anything that renders that grisly trophy into a more useful and less odorous form is worth a coin or two in my book.
 
The most important moment of this week came later. A few of us had headed over to the forge of a renowned local blacksmith named Gardain Greybeard. Originally from Kraghammer, he has established quite the reputation in this city for engraving weapons, and even armour, with symbols which he referred to as runes of power. It’s fine work, and I was intrigued to see the craft practiced there. I have always had an interest in smithing, after all any warrior worth her salt must understand at least the basics of forging a blade, but this is something else altogether. Whitestone really does seem to be a haven for such innovations and I suppose that we have Lord Percival to thank for that, his reputation as a patron is clearly well founded.
 
Gardain, or GG, as he prefers to be known, and his husband Theran were friendly and willing enough to explain their work once it became clear that we were more than just idle gawpers. Simeon commissioned a silvered dagger engraved with runework on the spot, and Sabali also made an order for engravings on some of those deadly shurikens which he uses sometimes, on the rare occasion that he is unable to close with the foe.
 
I saw GG eying Valour’s Edge with interest, considering, I suspect, where best to place his runes upon her steel, but sadly his more sophisticated arts were rather too rich for my purse, and today at least I was looking to purchase only some simple javelins. To get them, I had to endure a rather lengthy and tiresome discourse on the relative merits of the dwarven or the elven style of weapon. It hardly matters in the end. What some folk will never understand is that when it comes to javelins, it is neither the length, nor the thickness of the shaft that is important, but only the skill of the warrior who wields it.
 
I could see that the Kraghammer burr in GG’s voice initially made Orlando wary and reluctant to speak, but as we all talked, he relaxed and clearly began to warm to the dwarf. After a little time, the conversation turned to the gods, and to the many ways and forms of worship in this world. Orlando has often mentioned with scorn the rigid and inflexible rites of Moradin’s church in Kraghammer, and I was concerned that the two might fall out over it. As it tuned out, GG did not seem inclined to disagree with that assessment, although I was very glad to hear him say that the failings of priests should not be conflated with the glorious experience of the divine itself. An important point, and too often overlooked.
 
The smith spoke most eloquently, and although I’ve said the same myself to Orlando many times, a person must be ready to hear such words before they can truly find fertile ground. I watched Orlando’s face and it suddenly seemed to me that, by the grace of the gods, he was ready. Open hearted and receptive in a way that I had not seen in him before.
 
GG gave a slightly knowing smile to Simeon and I, asking us to step outside so that he and Orlando could converse in private. I could feel the potential for change in that moment, and most likely Simeon could sense it too, being more deeply connected to the divine realm than I, although he wears it lightly enough. We readily agreed, and I sat outside the the smithy in the chill winter sunshine and silently gave thanks to whoever had put this man in our path. One who could speak the universal wisdom in terms that Orlando might be able to make his own. A greater blessing I could not have wished for.
 
Later Orlando told me much of what had been said, and I could see the light of wonder beginning to blossom in his eyes. This rune smithing clearly holds something of the gods own work in its craft, and GG has offered to teach it to Orlando. A priceless gift, that offer, to show him how to honour the gods in his own manner, how to worship with hammer and hands rather than book or song. Not my way, but beautiful nonetheless.
 
As he describes it to me, I can hear the new current of faith, of that delight in the divine which I know so well, bubbling beneath the surface of his words, and it makes me so happy that I almost shout my praise aloud. I don’t think he sees it yet himself entirely, but it is there, I have no doubt.
 
Even while he offered loyal service to the gods in Vasselheim, risking life and limb to defend the holy places, he was never able to share in our communion, and that has been a great sadness for me for a long time. Try as I might, I could never crack the hard shell of doubt and fear that was the legacy of his time in Kraghammer, but now I see the gentle waters of faith begin to rise in him, and in time they will wash away that pain.
 
A blessed day. If nothing else of merit happens in all this long journey, it will still have been worth every weary mile, to sit here in this little inn at the far end of the world and watch my dear friend’s eyes open to the true glories of creation. From now on we shall walk together in the light, sharing the great solace which faith brings, and each giving praise in our own way.