Early Morning, 1st of Fall, 516AV
Fall had rolled around, and although the Summer heat lingered in the hot air that didn’t seem to want to dissipate, Riverfall had a palpable energy to it. He hadn’t thought that the changing of the seasons would cause such a change, but he hadn’t accounted for the Watchtower. When it flared, not only had Orin immediately thought of Priskil, the city itself took a breath of fresh air. Everyone was rushing about, trying to finish up the business from the end of the last season and get started on the next season’s obligations and duties.
While he was surprised, he probably shouldn’t be. After all, he grew up in Mithryn Outpost, a farming community. No one treated season changes as seriously as farmers did. Their very livelihood depended on knowing what the weather was going to be. While most of them studiously tracked the days, the Watchtowers were nevertheless helpful in their endeavors. Or, at least, they would’ve been helpful in the Mithryn Outpost if there had been a Watchtower that was close enough to see.
In fact, having a Watchtower, and having someone who knew about the worship of Priskil was a highly novel experience for Orin. He felt guilty for not visiting Kimbri more often, but he’d been busy with the business of settling into a new city. Still, the Kelvic had been more than kind to Orin on one of his darker days; she’d guided him to what very well might be a happier and healthier future. Since then, he’d often planned to return, but something else had always seemed more important.
Now, though, he decided that enough was enough. He’d realized that the traits that Priskil embodied were the same ones that he strove to uphold in his own life. Of course, it had taken him a while. It also didn’t seem enough for him to simply to say that he’d try to be the type of person that Priskil would appreciate. For whatever reason, though, that didn’t seem to be enough anymore. Now that Orin was working again, with a stable job and the ability to do slightly more than just get up, go to work, and come home to sleep, he felt the need to give back to the world.
So that was why he found himself dressing in the darkness of his room. He’d been staying there long enough to know where everything was. Besides, Orin didn’t have a whole lot of possessions to his name, so there wasn’t exactly much for him to trip over. Soon enough, he’d strapped on his blades and pulled his cloak on and stepped outside. The air held a chill that hinted of the weather, and the sky and streets were wreathed in fog.
Normally Orin wouldn’t have been able to see far enough to actually get to his destination, especially in a city that was still unfamiliar to him. This time, though, even with the fog, the landmark was impossible to miss, even for someone as thickheaded as Orin. So he started making his way over to the Watchtower, eddies of mist swirling around him like an old friend. Soon enough, he found himself at the base of the tower. He circled it, but saw no one. Unlike the last time he’d come here, no silent watcher emerged to ask his business. Maybe it was because he’d already been identified as someone harmless. More likely it was because the inhabitants were still asleep.
Still, that shouldn’t stop him from his duty. It seemed wrong to disturb the stillness of the morning, so Orin sat on the ground, with his back to the rough, weathered stones of the Watchtower, and started praying as softly as he knew how. Probably it made more sense to pray silently, but speaking aloud had always helped Orin organize his thoughts and steady his nerves.
“Priskil, hear my prayer,” he began in a soft whisper.
