His blood ran thick down his arm, his head swimming in anger and sadness at the assault Emalia had made on his honor. He did not lie - he told painful truths... and sometimes, just sometimes, he kept things from people in order to protect them.
He had cut his arm once for each truth he'd wished he'd not had to tell her. Once for each time, and as deeply for each truth as he felt that it had wounded Emalia. He knew that, in time, he would heal - just as Emalia would. He only hoped that it would not take too long - no one has forever.
Then it happened. She lunged forward, reaching for his arm, and latched her hand onto his flesh. The full force of the planet seemed to slam into him, then. Electrical current, the very life-stuff of the world, charged through his body like a flight of dragons. Through the haze of pain, his senses shifted, and he could see the Child, emanating a radiant white light of cascading hues, clutching his arm. Then everything went black.
The world began swimming around him. The darkness gradually faded into light, and light gradually faded into form. His Lord stood before him: The man who had pulled him from the Wall of the False and the Faithless, so long ago. The Apprentice.
Immediately, Grobnak fell to his knees, silence and fear and worship filling every fiber of his being as he gazed upon the hem of his Lord's robe. He dared not speak: he was not worthy. How was this even possible? Was he dead once more? Had Emalia killed him?
The Apprentice held a hand over Grobnak's head, indicating that he should rise. His Lord was much taller than him - rising nearly a full two feet above him. Grobnak surveyed his surroundings and knew that he was no longer in Faerun. The sky above was a scintillating bluish purple, the trees were a whitish yellow with softly blue leaves, and each step made a noise as the red moss that grew upon the ground absorbed his weight. He could see the waves in the wind, and he was certain that he was bearing witness to The Rebirth.
"When will my sleep end?" The Apprentice asked, the deep pits of his eyes looking to Grobnak questioningly, as he placed his hand on the daemon's shoulder and walked past him. Grobnak rose to his feet as his master began walking away - the sounds of the red moss tracing his steps - looking on without an answer. In a blur of color and dream, the moment faded and another one emerged in its stead...
It was later. Night had fallen and Grobnak found himself sitting on an ornate bench made from a stone he had never seen, a bowl of hot liquid in his hands. Surveying his surroundings, he watched as white flames licked the bottom of a kettle at the center of the building he was in. Again, he was reminded of the wonders that Rebirth would offer. The Apprentice was sitting calmly beside a small stack of tree bark, performing an activity that appeared to be curing the material, as if it were animal skin, only now The Apprentice wasn't the same. It was Halethiel - the founder of all Faithful - he was speaking to, and it was The Apprentice, both at once in his foggy mind.
"It is her destiny, Lord Usurper," he whispered, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, as he told the tale of how Emalia had killed him, her pregnancy, and her quest to find the Temple of Light. What did it matter, he told himself, if he was dead any way? Halethiel had been dead for many hundreds of years - at least this time, he told himself, he was not rotting on the Wall of the False and the Faithless. Then, in another blur of color and dream, the moment faded once again, yet another moment in time emerging to replace this one...
He saw an image of a child, playing with his Lord, happily. There was something both dark and light about the girl as she giggled, The Apprentice tossing her about in his arms - a grim smile on his disease-ravaged face. Grobnak could see Halethiel's wrists as he laid on the hill, the red moss about the ground whispering to him in a thousand voices of comfort and renewal as it enclosed him in a warm embrace, and he began to feel contentment for what felt like the first time in his life.
Then he awakened, gasping for breath, greeted by others of the Faithful around him, and the full assault of reality began its assault once again on his tired mind. They needed the Swords still, and to find the Temple. For the sake of the Great Realms, he only hoped they would not be too late.
