Ragnarr: Are You There, Pelor?

I wonder if the sun still shines back home.

It doesn't here. I suppose that Pelor's out here, maybe. I cast a spell, and it still does pretty much what it's supposed to do, so there's got to be something out there. Supposedly.

But it's different, back at home. I never had to wonder if Pelor was watching over me, never had to wonder if he was there. I could look up into the sky and bloody see him, the sun hanging in the sky, bright as a bastard, too damn hot, but it was always there, you know? And you didn't always know why, and you didn't always know what the hell it thought you should be doing, but at least you knew it was there.

But out here, in Sigil, it's just gray. Gray half light reflected by an arse-ton of mirrors, so that it makes the gray even bigger. It stretches off farther than I can see, farther than Pelor himself could shine. There's nothing out here. Pelor himself has written me off, given the damn mist lord leave to call in the favors I owe him.

And he has.

And I've paid the bastard back, damn it. I've paid him back in blood, sweat, and limbs. I've meddled in his petty disputes, done my part to see that he won, and cursed his name every damn minute of it, until his finally declared us even and promised not to bloody bother me again.

Which, while Ryan's out exploring and learning or whatever the hell it is the cheerful bastard does, leaves me here with the retarded girl.

By Pelor's beard, I shouldn't call her that. I like to think I'm making progress, but I can't even bloody tell. Hell, I can't even tell how long I've been here.

At least I've found a decent liquor supplier. It's about all I've got left.

Pelor, if you're even still listening, get me the hell out of here.

Not that it matters. The bastard isn't paying attention, anyway.