“Mister Ceran, it’s really you! Yer not… yer not dead! Where’ve ya been?”
An’ he didn’t ‘member me, an’ he didn’t ‘member who he was, an’ he wasn’t even wearin’ anythin’ but an old pair o’ pants an’ his scars. Even his eyepatch was missin’. But then that coin, the one he used t’ flip all day every day fell outta that cleverly made mechanical hand o’ his an’ he ‘membered that at least. The one with the Illidari symbol on it. Guess that thing means more t’ him than anythin’ else.
An’ then he found a map an’ we went on a long, long trip to Gilneas, that place that Miss Lady Blackcrest came from. I heard o’ it before, but never went there ‘til I went there with Ceran Ceran, an’ we found a cellar where his things were an’ somethin’ ‘bout that room full of the smell o’ smoke an’ blood an’ tools o’ torture made him ‘member everythin’, even me.
“Now, tell me what happened to ya, Mister Ceran. All o’ it, an’ who did what an’ why. I’ll hurt ‘em, all o’ em for doin’ this to ya.”
“Let’s just say that a couple of warlocks had some legit reasons for wanting to know things that they shouldn’t. About Kael and the Illidari. But I told them nothing.”
An’ I knew that he meant they’d tortured him, an’ I was mad an’ wantin’ t’ hurt people again, but then he grinned an’ added.
“Some people are even more twisted than me.”
“I find that hard t’ believe! But y’know. I’m glad yer not dead. How yer not dead is amazin’ since so many people hate ya, ya must be lucky, ya know?”
An’ then we left that place an’ everythin’ was right with the world again. Almost.