My name is Picvukin Traijin.
When I was a young boy my fishing village on the sungreet strand was burnt off the map by raiding gnomes. I have yet to meet a gnome who is not a pervert or a coward. They came at night, outnumbering our small village 5 to 1. They sang chants and bellowed praises to their evil god as they killed everyone I have ever known.
I was fortunate to be found in hiding, hot and thirsty by a Priestess of Eltindra the next morning. She took me back to Night Harbor and allowed me to live out my orphaned childhood under the clergy's care. This is where my ritual commitment began. Every morning I would clean and refuel the lanterns set out the night before. In the evening I would tend to our candles and set the lanterns out to help guide travelers to our temple. All the while, I mechanically sang Eltindra's travel hymns with my brothers and sisters.
It was not long before I had gained enough favor to heal very basic wounds. But are these powers from Eltindra? Does she exist? Possibly, after all I reach for the divine and something answers. How can I be sure it is her? The gnomes were able to invoke the same spells our clerics can, the same spells I can! Did they too worship Eltindra under a different name? What hand did she have in my father's murder? At the very least it was a hand of restraint that allowed the gnomes to find the adventurous spirit to raid us.
I have no direct proof of Eltindra's existence, but neither proof nor my own belief is necessary in order for her to be. Proof is a human condition. Do I devote myself and my very spirit to Eltindra? Or Relle? Even she in all her caring, she chose not to safeguard my pregnant mother.
No, I devote myself to the good people of this temple, my adoptive family. To the good people of Night Harbor. I follow what tenets of the good gods I believe a good man should. If that doesn't appease the "good" gods, well heaven itself be damned.
The only thing I am sure of is this: The open road before me will be traveled by this strong body I have grown into, and any gnome on it will be put down. For the good of all.
Until we meet again, be easy friends.
-Picvukin, a fisherman's son.