Nephesh awoke to the sound of scuffling feet. He'd overslept... again. Hadn't these humans ever heard of morning naps? They always wanted to wake at dawn and gather to worship. He understood the symbolic importance, but his body rebelled. It hadn't gotten any better during the past two winters, either. Why did they subject him to this torment?
Dragging himself from his bunk, the halfling boy lethargically donned the oversized pink robes the other priests had bequeathed him and joined the shuffle of feet to witness the rising sun. The sight filled him with awe, as it always did. The dramatic shapes of the clouds contrasting sharply with the colors of the dawn brought him - and all true Lathanderites - to his knees in worship. There were times he thought he could hear music when the day was still new.
He'd learned many things since Grobnak had sent him here. Once, he'd thought the orc a traitor to Jenova, but time had taught him differently. He missed the intelligence behind those eyes. Few could understand what drove that creature: Fear, Self-hatred, and a desire to become more than what he was. Nephesh was uncertain whether he should pity the beast or destroy it. The beast, however, had become his adoptive father... and liberator.
Time passed in meditation as Nephesh tended to the various chores he'd been assigned in the temple. It never ceased to amaze him how limited humans were: As a halfling, he could reach into smaller crevices than they. He got some of the more intriguing jobs as a result.
It was further into the day when he was called into the new Rector's personal study. He was expecting another reprimand from the old man for stealing something he hadn't - did everyone believe that that was the only thing halflings were good for? – but instead the old man had a message to deliver, in the form of an old scroll.
Nephesh stood by and silently listened to the aged priest prattle on about the destruction of the Realms and how the Jenovese were evil, and that it was against everything Lathander stood for, for nearly three hours before he was finally given the scroll containing his master's message. Gods, how he missed the kindly old woman who'd run the temple before; at least she had been one of the Faithful.
Unrolling the gilded vellum, Nephesh's brown eyes raced over Grobnak's hastily jotted script. It seemed a simple enough task: keep her on the path and beware the strangers she traveled with. Walking over to a censer, Nephesh threw the scroll into it, observing the cloud which suddenly billowed forth - in the likeness of the girl he sought: Emalia.
