Broken (closed)

How many days did he have left?  Definitely more than a month, at least to his recollection…  It was always odd to think about, being stuck on a ship.  In fact, the thought terrified him to no end.  He despised being on the open water.  He had begged the Captain to let him work in the hold, just so he could pretend that he wasn’t out on the seas…

Which is specifically why he found himself in the Crow’s Nest, spyglass in hand as he peered out for any signs of danger or trouble.  The warm summer winds whipped through his hair, tied back into a loose ponytail.  He let out a soft sigh as he scanned the waters around the ship.  No other vessels on the horizon, but a few scant specks of land off on the horizon, perhaps fifteen, twenty miles off starboard.  He swallowed hard as he started down the rigging, heading towards the helm as quickly as he could.

“Land ho, Cap.  Fifteen or so off starboard.”  Anthus kept his distance from the Captain, a short goblin man, dressed surprisingly finely, in a full regalia befitting his station.  Anthus sighed, looking down at his own garb.  Red and black, from his head to his toes, save for the cutlass hanging off each hip.  The captain, one Razzik Flameblast, nodded his understanding.

“Yeah, figured as much.  We aren’t going anywhere near that.  That’s deadman’s water.”  Anthus boggled slightly.  He’d looked over their supplies, and they were getting dangerously low.

“Cap, we still need to resupply.  Most of the crew’s starting to get hungry, and we’re down to a few scant barrels of fresh water.”  Flameblast nodded again.

“Yeah, but we ain’t gonna resupply there.  We’re gonna make a stop in Pandaria, near the Jade Forest.  Dawn’s Blossom ain’t too far from the coast, and we’ll get a fair price for the last legs.”  Anthus sighed.

“As you say, Cap–” His words cut off suddenly as a flash of green washed through the sky, out towards starboard.  “…the hell is that?”

Flameblast looked out towards the starboard sky, before going wide-eyed.  “…spyglass.  Steelshatter, SPYGLASS!”  He held out his hand expectantly as Anthus slapped the spyglass into it.  Flameblast held it up to his eye, peering out, before emitting a sigh.  “…well shit, that’s not good.”  He tossed the spyglass lazily back over his shoulder.  Anthus snatched it out of the air, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Trouble?”  Anthus questioned, bringing the spyglass to his eye.  A flash of purple light stood out in the air, contrasting the green-twinged sky.  Flameblast spun the wheel, cutting the rudder to turn the ship towards the emerald horizon.

“The worst kind… one we can’t ignore.  That’s a Cartel flare.  Gadgetzani.  You wanted to go there, scrub?”  Flameblast sneered.  “Now’s your chance.”

Felfire.  Felfire everywhere.  Anthus gawked as the small ship cut through the rough seas, heading towards the purple flare in the sky.  He braced against the mast, using a line for an anchor as the howling winds swirled around the tiny vessel.  The sky itself was a sea of felfire, all pouring from the islands ahead.

Bringing his spyglass to his eye, he turned his attention to the other ship, still a ways away.  The small speck of brown stood out against the black-sand beach, the vessel marooned on its shores.  Anthus grimaced, not relishing the thought of landing on that broken shore.  Still, he thought, at least I’m armed.  He looked down at the cutlass on each hip, as well as the small pistol tucked into his belt.  He missed his rapiers, but they were locked up with his armor in the Bay, under the watchful gaze of Revilgaz.

He took up the spyglass once more, as they drew closer and closer to the shore.  He looked out towards the ship, squinting to make out any shapes and movements.  One figure darted out onto the deck… then another.  Then another still.  Small, green… could be goblins… but at the moment one lifted a hand into the sky, green flame exploded from its fingers, its own signal flare.  Anthus threw the spyglass to the ground, shouting at the Captain.  “We’ve bee-!”

Sudden silence washed over the world as an infernal crashed down on the deck, unleashing gouts of flame in its wake.  He fell away from the mast as his fellow crew howled in agony, many caught in the blazing aura.  The captain shouted something, Anthus couldn’t quite make out over the ringing in his ears.  Scrambling to his feet, he drew his cutlasses, making a charge for the large demonic entity…

Blades flashed through the air, as Anthus and what few crew hadn’t been wreathed in felfire lashed out at the demonic entity.  The goblin crew shouted out at one another, surrounding the infernal and battering the beast with strikes, shot, and even a few grenades.  Despite the dire situation, Anthus cracked a grin as he put his blades into his belt.  The crew could handle one infernal, of that he had no doubt.

In spite of the battle on the deck, the ship pushed ever onward towards the shoreline and the beached ship.  He couldn’t help but smile, the thought of combat filling him with glee.  It had been a while since he had been in a true fight, not just the sparring with Sky or the wrestling matches with Lammy…

Sudden realization washed over him.  This was it.  The Legion.  This was their invasion.  Light, what about the Servitors…

What about Lyyn?  Anthus shook the thought from his head.  Lyyn would be fine.  As would the Servitors.  They had each other in all this.  In truth, he was the one in the worst position, out here at the epicenter at the end of the world.

A sudden cheer shook him from his thoughts, as the goblin crew managed to reduce the infernal to rubble.  Working together, the diminutive sailors pushed the remnants into the waves, cheering each other on in congratulatory glee.  It was, however, short-lived as large winged creatures swarmed the ship, dropping payloads of Felfire onto the deck before tearing at their prey.

A scream of terror and agony ripped through the air.  Anthus whipped his head around and the grotesque sight of the Captain being pulled apart and devoured by the winged nightmares.  Anthus cringed, distracted by the sight as claws raked into his spine…

Many years ago… 

 Anthus Steelshatter stepped out of the Golden Veil, his belongings in a bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, glaring out at any unfortunate passers by. He muttered and grumbled, frustrated with his current lot in life. He’d served the Veil as faithfully as one of his creed could, but it wasn’t enough. He trudged through the streets of Stormwind, heading towards the Park. He figured he’d grab a quick drink, and figure out where to go next… After all, he’d progressed in his skills as a Mage. Perhaps the Retribution would take him in. He had no issue with the Commander, one Jude Auroran, and it was no surprise that he fancied that fiery Gnomish lass… 

 Anthus let out a scream of pain as the claws dug into his flesh. Turning quickly, his finger wrapped around the pistol at his hip, and he drew it quickly. He shoved the barrel into the beast’s mouth as it lunged forward to rend him with its fangs, and squeezed the trigger. Brains, blood, and viscera splattered the deck and rail, the winged nightmare collapsing to the wooden deck. Anthus hissed in anger, pulling a second pistol from his belt. “Alright you fel-touched fuckers! Come on!” He hollered over the sounds of screams and burning flames, as shot after shot rang out from his firearms… 

The Retribution has pushed him to his limit, as did the tutelage of his fellow mages. In fact, his body was nearly consumed by the arcane energies, leaving flames and frost in his wake. He couldn’t last much longer tapping into those abilities, so he found himself in Gadgetzan. He’d heard of a treatment that could cut him off from the arcane, allow him to live, albeit without magic. A small plate of enchanted thorium, bent into a tubular shape could be placed around the base of his spine, where his arcane potential swelled from. If it gave him a chance to survive, he’d certainly have to take it…

After the surgery, along with recovery, Anthus found himself with daggers in his belt once more.  He’d only told people his magic had been sealed, but not to the extent he went to do it.  He sighed as he rose, the fiery gnome still sleeping beside him.  He scrubbed his face with his palms, trying to wake himself up before he headed back to the field.  Northrend was calling, and he regretted his lack of fire.  He smirked a bit as he rose, pulling on his smallclothes and heading out into the cool air.  At least now he wouldn’t be consumed by the arcane…

He howled in pain, covering his face with his hand as felfire singed his flesh, the pain unbelievably unbearable.  Letting out a snarl, he blindfired at the beasts, his rage boiling over into reckless abandon.  He yelled curses at them, in every language he knew.  Dwarven, Draconic, Gnomish, Common, Thalassian… no language was without their fair share of curses, and he would use them as fluidly and frequently as a sailor.

A streak of green interrupted his tirade as yet another infernal crashed onto the deck, exuding felfire from every joint.  Anthus steeled himself, rushing forward as thoughts ran through his head.  How the Servitors would be fine without him.  How M would be disappointed that he wasn’t strong enough.  How he hoped his friends would remember him fondly.  And Lyyn…  How he loved her, even if he couldn’t keep his promise to come home.

The infernal reared back, throwing a massive, rocky fist at Anthus, connecting easily.  Anthus flew backwards, towards the rail, his back slamming into it with a resounding crack, along with a clang and snap.  His world started to go dark as he toppled over the railing, plummeting to the waters below…

“Your presence here is unwelcome, Steelshatter.”  The Archmage’s voice rang out in the Violet Citadel.  “We tolerate your presence here, only because of the Scourge presence.  When the Lich King is no more, you will be unwelcome once more, are we clear?”  The Archmage glared daggers at the spry young rogue, who met his gaze with one of apathy and cockiness.  “Crystal, Archmage.”  He ran his fingers through his long red hair, before crossing his arms over his chest.  The Archmage sighed.  “I only permitted your entry before due to your connection to Greymantle, but as you are no longer a member of the Retribution, nor even a Mage, as far as I’m concerned, you should not be here.  It does not bode well for your… what was it called?”  Anthus smirked, bowing in an almost comedic fashion.

“The Dragonsworn Council, M’lud…”

Anthus came to as he plunged into the depths, awoken by the icy smack of water against his skin.  He instinctively gasped, his lungs filling not with the slightly-sulfury air he’d been breathing for the past hour, but with cold water.  The burning sensation washed over him as he spasmed, struggling towards the surface, arms driving him up, up, towards the surface as fast as he could.  His vision began to blur, growing darker and darker, the dull thump of cannons reverberating through the sea…

As his head broke the surface of the waves, he sputtered and coughed, evacuating his lungs of seawater, and evacuating his stomach of a mix of hardtack and grog.  He looked about, eyes frantically scanning the surface of the water and the skies.  He turned and, in absolute horror, watched as the infernal who’d punched him away started punching holes in the ship, through the deck, descending into the hold.  Anthus took a deep breath, diving into the waters as the felflames started to consume the magazine of the ship.  The ship erupted in a gout of flame, orange, red, and green swirling into the skies.  A flash of arcane energy burst from the wreckage, an alert to the owners of it that the ship had been lost.  Shrapnel whipped through the water, a large chunk of what was once a cannon catching Anthus in the shin.  He gritted his teeth underwater, swimming towards the landmass.  Overhead, an Alliance gunship, in near ruins, flew away towards the eastern skies, unseen by the battered and bruised rogue…

“I can’t follow you…”  Anthus stood in the rain, out in the wilderness of Loch Modan.  His arms crossed over his chest, trying to look serious and unflappable.  “…how is what you’re doing any different than what Deathwing was trying t–” His words clipped in his throat, a streak of red careening into him.  Talons ripped once at his midsection as crimson flew from his gut.  He dropped to his knees, looking down in horror at the red whelpling before him.  Her form shimmered and shifted to that of a fiery gnome, perfectly prim and proper if not for the rain ruining her hair.  Silently, she turned away from him as he fell forward, face first into the mud…

Anthus gritted his teeth as he swam, pushing himself harder and harder towards the shore.  As he drew closer and closer still, he saw the remnants of war, Alliance bodies, broken and burned scattered across the sand.  Felsteel spires lay collapsed and forgotten, along with countless demonic bodies, and even that of a massive Doomguard.  He sputtered and coughed as he continued, a hundred yards, fifty, twenty-five.

As his hands touched the wet sand, he dragged himself out onto the beach, before collapsing and rolling onto his back.  He breathed heavily, gasping for air as he stared at the sky, a rolling, whirling mixture of emerald felfire and black.  Looking down at his leg, he grimaced at the sight: a dislocated knee, but not as bad as it could have been.  He gritted his teeth and reached down with both hands, placing one on either side of his knee.  With a resounding crack and a muffled howl of pain, he righted the joint, tears welling in his eyes.  With so many dead, and definitely Alliance, he thought he’d hear the sounds of battle.  However, the night was deathly quiet, only the faint rushing of felfire and jibbering of demons.  He pulled himself to a small outcropping of rocks, tucking himself within as best he could.  Anger washed over him, as he realized the implications.  Marooned on a Legion-held island.  No rescue.  No escape.  He closed his eyes, feeling warmth flooding his body.  He pulled his knees to his chest, lost in thought…

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

He asked himself, head in his hands, shaking it vigorously.  It’d been some time since he’d found his hiding place out on the beach.  A few demon patrols had sniffed around the beach, looking for survivors, but this wasn’t Anthus’s first time camping out and hiding.  He remembered the times he and Lyyn staked out the edge of Lordaeron.  A smile crept across his lips, thinking of his wife.

His wife… he had to get home to her.  No matter what.  His friends were waiting, as was his family.  He pushed himself to his feet, a bit shakily, as he looked over his gear.  Digging through his backpack, he sighed softly.  Most of what was contained within was ruined by the escape into the sea.  Thankfully, he kept his food supply in an oiled and air-tight bag, so he’d be able to eat for… two, three days.  Maybe a week, if he stretched it.  His water skein was undamaged, and still full of fresh water.  Another week’s worth, even if he was parched.  And then his pistol supplies, fresh powder, balls, and casings.  Between that and the cutlasses on his hips, he’d be safe.  Now, the only issue was shelter.  He needed a lean-to or something, and on this barren island, it wouldn’t be easy.  Unless…

He looked over the beach, at the numerous corpses still there.  Every Alliance soul who died at the invasion meant a chance of supplies.  He’d have to comb the beach, even if it meant stealing from the dead.  He shrugged, no longer fearing the concept of the Nether, or being damned.  After all…

Hell had already come to Azeroth.

The first night passed without issue.  Between the discarded weapons of the fallen, as well as their supplies, he’d managed to construct a hidden lean-to on the beach.  Away from the prying eyes of the Legion, he’d managed to survive for one day.  Things had to get easier from here, he thought to himself.  He’d left his bag out to dry, the contents emptied out onto a large swath of cloth, what appeared to be a priest’s robes.  He sighed as he sorted through the ruined belongings.  His journal was drenched and ruined, as was his map.  Not that a map would help him.  He was in uncharted territory.  He shoved the map aside, angrily.  Underneath lay a small communication device, not quite the same as his Servitors C.O.M.M.

“Every member of the Retribution is expected to carry their communicator at all times.”  Jude spoke loudly, addressing the new recruits (including a certain red-haired rogue).  “This is your lifeline to us, to let us know if there are any issues, or even just for companionship.”  Jude cracked a crooked smile.  “Keep it with you at all times…”

Anthus stared down at the communicator, turning it over in his palm.  This was it.  This had to be it.  He brought the communicator to his lips, pressing the activation button on the side, before speaking softly.

“…I don’t know if anyone can hear me, but if you can, this is Anthus Steelshatter… I have been stranded, ship lost, on some island, Legion-controlled, down in the South Seas.  I do not have much in the way of food and water… and I don’t know if I’m going to make it back.  In case I don’t… know that I love you all, and it has been an honor.  I will attempt to survive until someone comes looking for me.”

He released the button and closed his eyes.  Pulling his knees to his chest, he sat and stared down at the ground, attempting to maintain his calm.

...some time later...

Two weeks.  Somehow, Anthus had managed to survive for two weeks, despite his circumstances.  Between what he could salvage from the shore, along with what meager supplies he brought from home, it was enough to set up a small hideaway from the prying eyes.  Demons still lurked on every inch, and he could hear the screams of their captives, but today, that all would change.

Anthus reached into his satchel, extracting a cinnamon roll from within.  Apparently, Lyyn had managed to sneak a healthy supply of baked goods into his bag before he left, bless her.  He was amazed at how fresh it was, despite being left in the confines of his bag for so long.  He bit into it, taking a moment of respite before he did what he had to.

Eyeing the black leather armor before him, he sighed softly, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.  There was nothing for it.  He knew what he’d have to do tonight.  He’d have to break the prisoners free.  Perhaps start a small riot.  But more than anything, he’d have to get passage off this damned hunk of rock.  He strapped his twinblades to his sides, resting his hands on the pommels.  “…alright.”  He exhaled slowly, flexing his mechanical hand.  This would be it.  This had to be it.  For his family.  For the Servitors.

Today, he’d either defeat the Legion, or die.

“I know you know how to sling spells, Anthus.”  A dark-haired man eyed the young mage, practically staring down his nose.  “And I have no doubt of your skills… but have you ever delved into more advanced tactics?”  Anthus shook his head, the young lad bright-eyed and full of vigor and wonder.  “…right, then you learn today.”  The dark-haired man reached up to a nearby shelf, pulling down a book. “…we shall begin with contingencies…”

Anthus crept along the pathway, leading up and away from the shoreline.  He’d run this route a couple times before, just to get a lay of the land and to spy on the prison encampment.  Things seemed… different.  More quiet.  He slunk down the path, carefully keeping to the shadows.  His blades drawn, his every step took him closer and closer towards the prison camp.  Before, there had been felguards everywhere, a few man’ari dispersed throughout, and even a pit lord keeping tabs on the prisoners.  Today… nothing.

Anthus kept himself away from the felfires and anything else that might give away his position.  Now was definitely the time for caution and grace, not for bravado and-

His eyes locked onto a number of cages, one exceptionally full of prisoners of all walks.  Trolls and Gnomes, Tauren and Pandaren, Sin’dorei and Kaldorei, all huddled together in various states of injury and damage.  He exhaled slowly, still obscured by the darkness.  He pondered for a long moment on exactly what to do.  After all, this could be a trap…

Anthus sighed.  Trap or no, he certainly couldn’t leave people to their deaths.  What would his friends think of him if he left innocents to die?  He gritted his teeth and, with surprising speed, darted towards the door of the cage, lockpicks in hand.

As he reached the cage, a Gnomish lass looked up at him, gasping for breath.  “…who are you?  How did you get out!?”  She exclaimed in a hushed whisper.  Anthus, remaining silent, set to work on the lock, pausing only to bring a finger to his lips.  Others in the cage started to notice, and began clamoring loudly, all moving towards the door, craving freedom from their confines.

Anthus closed his eyes, feeling the picks click softly against his fingers.  One pin… two pins… three… four… five! He twisted the cylinder as it came free, pulling the cage door open quickly.  A stampede of bodies flowed from the cage, some stopping nearby and looking for direction, others flooding out towards the water as fast as they could.

The ground shook violently, as a tremor swept through the island.  All around, portals of fel green energy tore open, various demonic creatures stepping out and into the camp.  Anthus cursed his luck and bared his blades.

Blades rang out against one another, the smell of sulfurous blood filling the air.  Anthus dashed and darted towards demons, felguards mostly, and drove his blade home with each strike.  These demons were nowhere near as ferocious or powerful as others he’d run into, but there were so many of them.  The screams of the dying rang out around him, as prisoners fell left and right.  There was nothing he could do to save them, nothing he could do to protect them.  Still, he fought on, using every trick he had in his arsenal to stand and fight.

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like an eternity as demon after demon fell.  Anthus bellowed like a barbarian, letting Dwarven anger run alongside his tricks and trade.  Pistol shots rang out like cannons in his head, and blades whirled around him like a dervish.  He wasn’t sure if he had the devil’s luck on his side, but he’d roll the bones against death, and for the moment, he was winning.

More portals opened with a crack of thunder and swirling green energy, as yet more demonic soldiers poured forth.  Anthus had retreated to the top of the cage, rapidly firing his pistol as quickly as he could load it, his eyes scanning all around.  There were so many, but he refused to fall, not today.  A silent prayer filled his mind as he unleashed everything he had, his eyes burning like fire.

Please… not today… don’t let me die…

A crack of thunder ripped through the air, one that sent the rogue nearly teetering from the cage.  He stared over at the newly formed portal, a half-destroyed fel reaver appearing, with bits and pieces all over it… and a body…

A Kaldorei body…  white hair, in two familiar braids… pale, dusky purple skin… a black leather mask… and bits of red and gold showing underneath numerous holes in black armor.

And a single dagger plunged into her chest.

Anthus froze, his eyes going wide behind his goggles.  All he could manage was one word…

“…Sky?”

…as a felguard axe cleaved into his collarbone with a sickening snap, burying itself into his chest from the top, down, cutting through organs, tissue, and finally, coming to rest in his chest.  As crimson spilled from him, from his wound and his mouth, he dropped to his knees, his eyes closing as he dropped.

“…never forget what I’ve taught you today.”  The dark-haired man looked down at Anthus, arms crossed over his chest.  Anthus nodded vigorously.  “I won’t, I assure you as much.  Thank you, Rhune…”

Anthus’s body erupted into a blast of purpleish arcane energy, the space around him warping and distorting slightly as he vanished into a flicker of sparks, his body completely gone in one instant.

(This portion co-written with Roiya)

It was late, but she was still there, in her office, her lips pressed together in a thin line.  Garmir was out, gone to hook up with a caravan that would hopefully make it safely to its destination with minimal Legion entanglements along the way.  Her fingertip tapped with idle agitation against the corner of her desk as she stood near the window, staring out at the blackening sky, still dressed in her field gear--she wore it all the time, now.  Somehow it seemed safer that way.

As she lingered in her office, the air itself began to crackle and hum with the telltale signs of arcane energy.  The air grew more and more electric, as a space near the door began to warp and distort, like viewing a desert in July.  With a resounding crack, Anthus appeared, clad in black and gold armor, on his knees, with a felguard axe buried into his upper torso.  With a resounding thud, he fell face-first onto the floor of the office, blood starting to pool around his still-warm body.

Jude’s eyes widened.  One stride brought her crashing to her knees next to him, snatching her cloak from where she’d tossed it across her desk to try to staunch the bleeding.  “Xaq!  McCullouch, get in here and make use of the gifts the Light gave you!”

The mage had been on enough battlefields to know that pulling that axe free without a healer ready was a death sentence for the man she’d long regarded as a brother.  Her jaw tightened.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispered, listening to Xaq McCullouch’s footsteps coming at a run toward her office.  “Don’t quit now, Anny.  Damn it all, don’t quit on me now.”

Anny’s face froze in surprise terror, despite a distinct lack of consciousness.  His heartbeat barely thumped as he lay there.  He sputtered, his body trying to force the pooling blood out of his throat.  He lay there, unaware of his present location, or even the fact that he still lived, for now.

McCullouch, thin and dressed in formal attire, skidded to a halt in the doorway.  “What in blazes--”  He shut his mouth, moving quickly to Anthus’s side.  “Right, then.  Move the cloak, Jude and give me some room to work.”

“If I move it he might bleed out.”

“Not on my watch,” McCullouch murmured, one hand already starting to glow with a gentle healing Light.  “Move the cloak, Jude.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Jude did as she was told, clearly trusting the priest to do his work--not that she had much choice.  McCullouch, for his part, leaned forward to press that glowing hand against the wound, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“When I give the word, pull the axe out,” he said, his gaze and most of his attention directed toward the body sprawled in front of him, his patient on the floor.

As the Light suffused his broken body, the flow of blood slowed to a trickle, then to naught as vessels knit together under the divine guidance.  Anthus shuddered with a sharp intake of breath, the axe still embedded deep inside his torso.  He lay there, face-down on the floor.

Then something truly interesting happened.  As his strength slowly returned, so did a familiar sensation, something Jude would not have seen in years.  A spark of the arcane flowed from his body, glowing like a beacon to one in tune with the arcane.  For the first time in nearly seven years, Anthus was no longer the dark spot in a sea of the Loom, but was one with it once more.

“Damn,” the mage breathed, just as the priest cleared his throat.

“Now, Jude.”

The mage startled, then nodded, pulling the axe free of her friend’s body.  McCullouch pressed both hands against the wound it left behind then, Light suffusing his arms from the elbow down to his fingertips, as warm and soothing as a ray of sunshine after a storm had passed.  The dark-haired priest was starting to sweat with the exertion, but didn’t show any sign of stopping his efforts.

Jude swallowed hard, looking back down at Anthus.  One hand, still coated in his blood, reached for his, fingers questing, then squeezing.

As the axe popped free, Anthus’ eyes snapped open, a gasping cry of pain escaping him despite the healing energies.  His fingers squeezed tightly against Jude’s, as he weakly lifted his head, his vision blurry.  “...Lyyn?  Am I dead..?”  He seemed quite delirious and groggy, but miraculously, he’d escaped the jaws of death, though uncertain of how exactly.

She choked on a laugh even as McCullouch cursed.

“Hold still,” the priest snapped, one hand pressing down hard on where the wound had been as much an effort to keep Anthus from moving as it was designed to suppress any residual bleeding.  “Lyyn’s dead.  Been dead since Theramore.”

Jude hissed a curse under her breath.  “It’s me, Anny.  It’s Jude.  You’re not dead.  You’re on the floor in my bloody office.”

He blinked wearily, holding as still as possible.  “...yes… yes, that’s right…”  He seemed to recognize that the charade was in full effect.  He looked up, craning his neck slightly to look at Jude.  “...how did you find me?”  He asked, his teeth still stained red.

“You found me,” the mage said.  “One second, nothing, then here you are on my floor.”

He looked up at her, confused, before letting out a hiss of pain.  “Shit… back feels like it’s on fire…”  There did seem to be a small bulge in his armor, right near the base of his spine.  He squeezed Jude’s hand again, as recollection began to form.  “...wait… I’m in Dalaran..?”

Jude nodded.  “In my office, in the apartment, overlooking the Enclave.”

“He’ll need a bath and a bed soon enough,” McCullouch said, his healing starting to taper off slowly as he took a little more time to assess what had happened.  “Too much healing too quickly is a recipe for Quin’s hands.”

Anthus pushed himself weakly off the floor, and let out another cry of pain as his back twisted.  He hissed and cursed, trying to push himself standing, failing to do so.  He looked from his half-knelt position up at Jude.  “Need… need to get home.”  He tried again, gritting his teeth.  A slight grinding sound came from his back, the sound of metal on metal.

“Dammit, stay down!” McCullouch snapped, grasping for Anthus’s shoulder to steady him.  “I’m not done with you yet.”  Unceremoniously, the priest yanked up Anthus’s shirt at the back, searching for the source of the sound even as Jude winced.

“Last report was that the siege at Aerie Peak had been relieved, but it’s still too dangerous to try for a portal there.  There’s so much Legion activity in the area that it’s practically suicide, and don’t you dare even consider flying out there in your current state, either.”

As the armor is pulled away, bits of enchanted thorium, apparently forced to the skin by the healing spell, clattered to the ground behind him.  “I have to, Jude…  The Servitors…”  He said, his voice wavering slightly as he reached up to remove his goggles.  His eyes brimming with tears, he looked up at Jude, looking far less like the stalwart sneak she’d come to know, and much more like the scared young man she once commanded.

She stared back at him, her jaw growing tight for a moment.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t let you, not yet.  In a day or two, maybe, but right now?  Not the way you are right now.”  She glanced toward Mcullouch for confirmation and he grimaced.

“It might not be best,” he admitted quietly.  “You’re still going to need more healing and rest after what I just did.  You might not be feeling the pain yet, but it’s coming.  Trust me.”

Anthus let out a whimper, looking directly at Jude.  “...they need to know I’m alive.  And…  Oh gods…”  As realization hit him once more, he curled into a ball, pressing his forehead against his knees, suppressing a sob.  “Sky… Sky’s dead…”  He shuddered, the room suddenly feeling quite cold.

A shiver wracked the mage and she leaned down to wrap her arms around Anthus, drawing him up to hold him against her chest the way Quin sometimes used to.  “I’ll do everything I can, Anny,” she whispered, her arms tight around him.  “I promise.”

He swallowed back tears, throwing his arms around his sister, clinging to her for dear life.  “I need to tell them, Jude… I have to.  They can’t not know.”  He was barely making any sense at this point, holding her tightly.  He silently wept into her robes, not certain of anything at the moment.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice choked.  “Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll take you there myself, Anny, I promise.  I promise you.  But please, tonight, just..stay here.  Rest.  Let Xaq see to you.  You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“Tomorrow…”  He whispered.  “I don’t care if I’m on crutches to do it, I…  I have to.”  He pulled himself back from the Viscountess, wiping his eyes.  “They’re my family too.  I have to be there…”  He swallowed hard, rubbing his face vigorously.  “...unbecoming of a Baron…”

She choked on a laugh and squeezed him tighter, tears on her own face.  “It’s all right.  It’s just us.  Xaq’s not going to tell anyone.”

“That’s because Xaq keeps his nose out of other people’s business,” the priest said, a measure of wry amusement in his dry tone.  “I’m going to find him some clean clothes and make up Joshua’s bed for him.”

“Thank you, Xaq.”

Anthus simply waited until Xaq had left the room, before leaning up and whispering.  “...I have to tell her.  To see her…”  He held her tightly, closing his eyes.

“Who, Anny?”

“...my wife.”  He uttered, as exhaustion took its toll, his body growing heavy as he slumped against her.

Jude knelt there amidst her friend’s blood on the floor of his office, cradling him against her.  A lump climbed in her throat as she rested her cheek against Anthus’s hair.

“I’ll see you safely to her,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure he was still awake to hear her.  “I promise, Anny.

“I promise.”