Pertuli.

I was not a particularly religious person.

As a people, tilwen follow no gods and offer no sacrifices, but we do know of the spiritual nature of our bond with the planet, and some follow "The Path" as a primary philosophy. The theory is that life is a journey to be enjoyed, not a destination. So long as we make the most of that journey and find our experiences fresh and felicitous, we would enjoy life's little pitfalls and live long in harmony with Terrok and the firstborn of our race.

I felt, at that moment, neither fresh nor felicitous. In fact, I was having a very bad day.

From the time Ivy Tyne had interrupted my little story session with the imps of Ill'Enniniess that morning, I had faced death and despair at one turn after another. I learned of Riposte's supposed death. I went to retrieve his body, only to find myself in chains at Perinor's hand (so to speak). I was saved in turn by my miraculously resurrected friend, only to learn he was doomed to die the same hideous death I later saw Cafilenniel suffer. I witnessed Balina's terrible transformation of body and mind, and her own subsequent demise at her lover's hand.

I had seen all these things, as if forced into the audience of some hellish spectacle combining the worst parts of public executions and mortuary theatre, while my eyes were held forcibly open and shoveled full of splinters. I was exhausted in mind and body, had run for leagues during the course of the day, and had not seen my bed for many, many bells.

And yet, as I stumbled numbly down successive alleyways with no preference of direction, I was more firmly on The Path (if there was such a thing) than I had been in centuries, and I leaned into it. To walk The Path is to live purely, in the moment, without forethought or reservation. I had experienced Cafilenniel's doom and had no idea of Riposte's whereabouts, so I simply surrendered and left the treacherous future to fend for itself. I was having none of it.

Like faithful steeds given their way, my feet bore me, without guidance, back through time to a door where I had knocked a short while before. My head rested against the oak, and after a moment's rest I thumped the pommel of my silver sword on the portal three times.

Long moments passed while I weighed the assorted merits of collapsing on the stone threshold versus remaining where I was so I could collapse into the arms of whoever came to the door. The former would take less effort, but I decided the latter would save my friend the trouble of picking me up from his doorstep. I can be noble that way. 

As the door swung inward, I thanked the Elders for sparing me the labor of a decision.

"Pertuli?" Ginnilis asked with surprise as he caught me. My chestnut hair brushed against the stone tile of his floor with a momentary whisk before I was upright once more, and being led inside. "Are you returned so soon? Where are the others?"

"Lost, I am afraid," I said, waving my free hand vaguely in the direction of the outdoors.

"Lost?" he cried in alarm. "Riposte is dead? Ivy too?"

"Oh, I don't think so," I replied stupidly, "I only mean that I lost them within five steps of leaving, earlier."

"Oh." Ginnilis looked suddenly embarrassed to be holding me upright, and I recognized the look of scorn I had worn the day I prepared Riposte for his duel at Dumon. "Are you ... hurt?" he asked, almost hopefully.

"Only in my very spirit, my friend," I replied, making signs of an effort to stand on my own. He rolled his eyes in a most ignoble manner, and when it looked like he was about to drop me, I blindsided him. "I just watched Cafilenniel die." 

I have a flair for the dramatic.

Ginnilis' face drained of color, much as I imagine mine had during the fact. He slumped, and there followed an awkward moment in which I meant to collapse, without actually doing so, while he released me. I found myself leaning dejectedly against the wall while he found his way into a chair nearby. Cafilenniel had been a not-so-distant cousin of his.

"Oh Elders," he breathed. "Another spring leaf struck from the tree." I nodded in solemn agreement. Some tilwen were more religious than I.

We dwelled in silence for a few drips before Midgidelipu joined us. Either his keen a'shee ears had betrayed our privacy, or he excelled in the observation of body language. Without a word, he caught my attention and beckoned me into the back room.

I glanced at Ginnilis, who nodded and motioned me to follow with his blessing. I did. What I found upon the studio's nearest table caused my heart to do an acrobatic flip backwards into my throat.

"What is this?" I gasped. It was so beautiful, and my spirit so low, I was drawn irresistibly to touch it.

Gleaming silver plates of armor lay ready for donning, as if a tilwen knight lay, sheathed completely in metal, upon the board. It was a style of armor still worn in the field, but considered unnecessary in Dragoskala proper, where thumbwands were commonly used by the civil defense.

Ginnilis' diminutive assistant grinned up at my expression.

"What did you do?" I asked again, running my fingers over the still-wet suit of silver field plate. It may have been the first of its kind in existence.

"Yew needa priteckshins, yis?" he grinned, speaking in his thick, rapid accent. "Yew is nut fighter, yew is liver..."

"Of all the organs, I like to think of myself as a heart," I smirked. He seemed not to perceive my humor, so I continued, "but yes, I catch your meaning..."

"Iss ekspirimintel," Midgidelipu said, hoisting his hands at me in a sign I should try it on.

"It's my personal armor," Ginnilis elaborated, behind me. He had entered unseen, and was smiling almost as widely as his assistant. He was pleased, but his smile neglected his eyes. "I have not worn it in many years, but when you left, we began casting about for other things here that might be useful to coat with silver, and this looked to be about your size. Midgidelipu was... enthusiastic about the challenge."

"You did this all tonight?" I asked, amazed.

"Yis, yis," the a'shee said. He took the greaves I was holding and began buckling them over my boots with clever fingers.

I interrupted his work momentarily when I picked the little man up and hugged him. "Oh Pidelipup, you miniature genius, you!"

The a'shee kicked and writhed in embarrassment, but I didn't care. If there was one thing in life I could fully appreciate, it was a fashion statement that would also protect my skin. Being poisonous to weresaurs would likely also prove beneficial.

After a brief scuffle wherein he complained vehemently about the caustic substances and delicate tools strapped to his leather apron, and wherein I emoted my joy and expounded on my excitement for his project, I set him down so he could help me put it on.

In two chimes the pair of silversmiths had me as fully armored as if I were entering a tourney at the tilting yard. From somewhere, Midgidelipu (bless him) wheeled out a full length mirror, and I studied my profile, enchanted beyond words. I drew my gleaming sword and posed heroically. Even in the dim workshop, I was so shiny as to be hard to look at.

"What do you think?" Ginnilis asked, knowing the answer full well by how obviously rejuvenated I was.

"It is the most beautiful thing I have ever worn," I said. "Tilwenna'i will love it." I wiped away a tear with my free hand. "Let a weresaur find me, now."

"One more thing," Ginnilis said, stopping me as I moved toward the door.

He leaned toward the alchemical bath used to create these wondrous silver items, now markedly depleted from earlier in the evening, and scooped some of the concoction into a large glass vial. He filled two more vials before the bath was empty and stoppered them all tightly with cork.

"This liquid is a tincture of silver salts," he said, wrapping the vials with rags and dropping them into my belt pouch. "It will only coat metal using Midgidelipu's machine here in our workshop, but as it contains dissolved silver, I have a hunch lycanthropes won't be fond of it."

"Do you have any more?" I asked, astonished. It seemed too wonderful that a strange, clear liquid could turn steel into silver.

"No," he said. "It is made in a laborious process that requires a good deal of silver and several days in the lab."

"Viree, viree ekspinsive," the a'shee alchemist agreed.

"Well, put these and the armor on my tab, Ginnilis," I said. "And bill me at the Ill'Enniniess Hall. I suspect they will be worth their weight in gold, tonight—a bargain at any price."

"You will return my armor in good condition," Ginnilis smirked. "It is mine. And of course you will pay me for the rest."

He and I had a running jest about my tab and how it would never be paid. Though it was his joke, I sometimes thought it amused me more. I took one last glance in the mirror as I donned the silver helm. I looked good.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"After the day I've had, I badly need a win," I said, shouldering the gleaming sword as I thumped toward the door. "I am going to hunt one down and slay the living hell out of it."