“Does this hurt?”
“Not really,” the half orc watched the deva’s careful needlework, “Not compared to earlier,”
“The stitching is really just for show. The ritual should hold it on. Can you move any fingers yet?”
The orc tested his hand, flicking one digit after another. “Yeah, though no feeling yet,”
“Yeah, about that… This hand looks mostly dead. I don’t think you’ll be seeing much color in it,”
“Dead? Will it rot?”
“Hmm,” the Smile muttered, “We’ll have to see. No shortage of hands these days. If you need a new one, I’ll scare one up,”
“Alright, thanks. Do I owe you anything?”
“Oh, just a story, really. I want to hear how this happened,”
“You know that big, fat shifter who moved himself into the Baron’s castle?”
The deva chuckled, “The one with all the floating bears?”
“Yeah,” muttered Augh, “I told him what’s what,”
“You were mouthing off to a guy with a bunch of magic bears?”
“And his army,”
The Smile whistled, “And his army. I’m amazed that he could even find your hand to chop it off. He must’ve needed a search party to locate it in the shadow of your titanic balls,”
The orc ignored the comment, testing his new hand, plucking a dagger from his sleeve and twirling it around.
“So,” the deva continued, "What do you plan now?
“What else?” the orc flipped his knife over and over, stashing back into one of the many concealed folds in his cloak. “Revenge,” his eyes flashed with excitement at such a dangerous word.
“Hardly a rational response, given previous circumstances,” mused the Smile, “But then, if you were even remotely rational, I wouldn’t be quite so fond of you. Any thoughts on strategy?”
“We have some people on the inside. We’re going to catch him with his pants down,”
“Hmm, sounds stupid, like children boasting about murdering dragons,” the deva stood to pour two more glasses of wine. “Whatever happens, try not to die,” He offered a glass to the orc and said, “I really want to hear how this one ends,”