The moon-shard shatters at last under the tenth, or hundredth, or thousandth blow from Barcus' hammer, and for a moment everything goes dark. Which, given the realm of glaring light he was just caught within, is highly ominous, but also a relief to his sensitive eyes. He lies still for a long time, unsure whether he's unconscious or whether the world has simply ceased to exist around him.

He died once before, in Caldera. Can't remember the aftermath. Can't remember where he was, before he became alive again. Maybe this is it? And he finds himself thinking worriedly about the dozens of people who will be very upset with him for dying again, until he starts to hear the soft sounds of crickets chirping around him.

Gradually, his other senses return. The smell of wet earth. A whisper of wind in grass or leaves. His hands are cold, so cold, and stiff. He flexes his fingers gingerly, feels the joints pop unpleasantly. And slowly his eyes open.

He finds himself on a forest path, but it's unlike the forests he knows in Dryad Territory, and even less like the woods of Faerun, which begs a lot of questions.

He will ask those questions. Eventually. When he can sit up and find his voice.