Ragnarr: Day 149

Dear Mother,

It looks like, once again, my work for Pelor brings me back to this part of the world. I won't be right next door, but I'm near enough that this letter should be able to reach you safely. You could even reply, if you wanted.

I was thinking I might like to come visit. I haven't been home in long, long time. How's Langthor doing? I guess by now he must have reached manhood, grown a proper beard. I can't even imagine what he looks like these days. I haven't heard anything about him since he was barely old enough to hold a hammer.

And Grithna. Did Grithna ever marry that boy she was chasing after? I never got to see her beard come in, either.

I know that's my own fault, that I left. I wish that you could understand that I had to, that I just couldn't stay underground any more. I needed the sun on my face, to feel warm air that hasn't been underground for six centuries. I know that's not very dwarfish of me, but I hope that you would understand. I was never meant for an ordinary dwarf's live. I accept that now. Pelor has helped me to accept that, and I have accepted Pelor as my patron.

Yes, mother, Pelor still speaks to me. I know you had hoped it was a phase, but it wasn't. He sends me visions, set me out to do his work. He gives my life meaning, and that's a good thing. He helps me to help others like myself, the orphans, the outcasts. And he helps me to forgive those that have wronged me. Even you, mother.

I know the dwarven gods are not so big on forgiveness as Pelor, so perhaps you'll never forgive me as I have you. But I thought I'd give you another chance. If you'd like to write me back, I would love to come see you, see the family. Or perhaps you'd rather burn this letter beside an effigy of me. That's really your choice.

I've made mine. And that choice is Pelor.

May his light be with you.

Your son,
Ragnarr