Return of the Mord
I got up groggy, as if I had drunk too much. My arm was in intense pain and the sensation of not having a hand was bizarre. Sure, I could have fixed it right then and there. But why not have a little fun first, I thought.
So I went out and found my friends. They were having breakfast.
"Hi! How are you all doing?" I waved my free hand at them and then set it down on the table, facing them.
"Hi, Mord. We have been doing the usual stuff. What happened to you? Do you need a hand, or something?" asked Barrel as I fumbled with the chair.
"No, no. Thank you, but I can do this. Okay. Right, well, I had to take some time off; A Brick's orders. Almost did not come back, but I did. War and all. Friends and ale. Still, to come back, I had to catch a thief or so said A Brick. So, you know, I did, but that dwarf had a nasty beast that tore into me."
"Well, I have to hand it to you. You sure do know how to make an entrance. The place was in an uproar. A Brick was furious," said All Grins.
"We missed you, Mord. It is very handy to have you around," said Pitter.
"Can one of you hand me the salt? Mord, what are you doing?" asked Throw Down.
"I am going to put my hand back on. I think I can just unwrap this, put the hand on like so, and then..."
The others looked away, except Pitter. He seemed fascinated. They were still eating and I guess the sight of my hand being wrapped up was not appealing. But I pressed on.
"First, I need an ale. Ah, that's better. Next, a tight wrap. Ah, yes. Another ale. Excellent. And now: Kord, make me whole again that I might wield my greatsword as I serve you, my great lord Kord."
And then I started to feel a tingling in my arm, in my hand. And then it got stronger and stronger until I could almost bear it no more, the two sides finding each other, binding strongly. And then, like a light being blown out, the feeling was no more. I wiggled my hand. I was whole again. The regenerating power of Kord had once again flowed into me, but this time, it stayed with me.
"Now, I will drink to that!" I had my third ale of the morning.
And so we spent the morning drinking and swapping tales. They had had some exciting times with the dwarves. The refugee problem, the defense, the building of the ringed gates, the translation of the general's notes, all of it just sounded so, well, you know.
Anyway, A Brick summoned me.
"Mord, thank you for getting the gems back and Aider. Quite a fight, huh? And, please, next time I ask you to do something to get you back in the good graces of my kinsmen, do not return in a flashy manner! Still, all seems well for the moment. Come by late in the afternoon with your friends and we will talk about what is next."
And so I spent a leisurely afternoon, enjoying the sights and smells. But then I would think of Fiola, out on the plains. Oh, how I could join her. I shook my head and held my symbol of Kord. Someday soon, I prayed.
At the end of the afternoon, A Brick asked us to go on a little mission: "With the giant army spread out in a vain attempt to engage us, now is the time to strike. We need a good strike force to go out and find where these giants are having their base of operations from. I want you guys to take a look. Do whatever damage you can do. Unfortunately, I can only spare your talents for a short while. The fortification work and scouting these areas is intense and draining. The other clans need help as well. The preparations for defense that we should have been setting up over centuries may need to be done in a matter of days."
And so it was that we took our first recon flight. We flew over the southern mountains, making a sweep on the edge of the vast desert. We saw nothing until we reached the coast.
It was there that we found the ships and an abandoned camp. These were giant ships. The giants we were dealing with seem to have traveled here for some reason. Why did they invade these lands? Pitter also had traveled here from far away, but he could not say much about what he had been fleeing other than war.
There was no way to tell where they had gone. This site was old, many seasons old. There was no evidence of any visitors since.
Mords of Wisdom: The sands of time erase the hands of work.