“Dammit, Manny! You were supposed to keep the goblins off our flank!” A furious elf hollered from the treetops, nursing a fresh arrow in their thigh. With gritted teeth and a nasty squelch, the arrow came free, dripping with the muddy dark blood of his kind. I stood under his tree, brushing my matted locks from my face, feeling politely bewildered.
“Well, I kinda did. I mean, you only got shot once, right?” My voice was calm and slow, befitting my rather laid-back way of existing, yet this did nothing to soothe the ire of my arboreal companion, who shot me a withering glare as they slowly clambered down from the tree. Behind me, the frantic squeakings of goblins slowly being consumed by the plants I had asked to help us were growing quieter and quieter, and you could hardly see their tiny hands and arms flailing about anymore, buried beneath the verdant leaves of creeper vines.
A huff announced the arrival of another of my companions, the terse, yet reliable Ivory, who slung her sturdy axe across her back as usual, and brushed the dirt from her braid with stout, firm fingers. A rarity for her people, Ivory chose a life of adventure and heroism over the dwarvish mining culture her family had been trying to shoehorn her into since birth. She gave me a hard glance and patted my lower back with her meaty hand.
“Ah, don’t let Torpor slow you down, Manny. You did good work, even if I’ll have nightmares about those goblins’ screams.” She shuddered and we heard an ominous cracking sound as another goblin was consumed deeper in the roots of my botanical friends.
“I have a tea for that, if you want a dreamless sleep.” I say, moving methodically through my satchel on my hip, seeking said herbs, but Ivory stopped me with a firm shake of her head.
“No! No, thank you. Last time you brewed me something from that devil-bag of yours, I couldn’t see straight for a week. I’ll take the nightmares.” Light as a feather, Torpor dropped down next to us and keeled against the tree trunk, his leg still oozing blood. I dropped to one knee and placed my hand over his wound, focusing hard.
A lot of folks probably thought of me as just some dirty hippie, and they’d be right for the most part. You can’t argue with results, though, as when I pulled my hand away, stained somewhat by Torpor’s blood, his wound had vanished amid a soft glow from my hand. Small wounds like that are well within my wheelhouse to heal after all. Torpor tested his leg with a firm nod and stood straighter.
“Thanks,” he bit out, not looking at me. “We should keep moving. The rendezvous point is up ahead and Rybor isn’t one to remain idle for a contact.” We resumed walking, and I hurried to keep up, not used to moving quickly. The trees took their time, so why shouldn’t I?
The forest around us was dense, and my companions looked around anxiously at every strange sound and movement, but to me, it hummed with life and I found myself quiet at home. The big cities make me anxious, not the deep roots and tall boughs of the natural world. I laid a hand on a massive trunk beside me, feeling them thrum of life and the creak of wisdom. The ancient oak had warned me of the ambush and I silently thanked it, receiving a leaf dropped on my head from high above for my trouble. I tucked the gift away into my satchel with my head bowed before I hurried to catch up with the others.
After a few moments of tense hiking, a clearing became visible through the foliage up ahead and Torpor waved a hand to halt our progress, looking around intently.
“Stay close, keep quiet. Rybor knows we are here.” He whispered.
“No shit, dumbass.” Barked an unfamiliar voice from up ahead and Torpor winced. Ivory rolled her eyes and pushed through the bushes, leaving Torpor and I to follow. As we exited the underbrush, I spotted a red-scaled dragon folk staring daggers at us from across the glen, arms crossed over his bare chest. A belt rested on wide hips holding a dagger and a brown, leather bag, bulging with something jagged. I waved a hand at him with a happy grin, but only got narrowed eyes in return. Guess he wasn’t looking for a new friend.
“Greeting, might Rybor,” Torpor began in a voice befitting a royal audience but Rybor merely rolled his glassy, green eyes and unhooked the bag from his belt.
“You three from the guild, right? Didn’t know they sent new parties to treat with me.” He snarled as he dropped the bag before his feet, gesturing us to come closer. Topor stiffened at the insult.
“New party? I’ll have you know, sir, we are seasoned adventurers who-”
“You’re fucking newborns as far as I’m concerned. Crashing around the trees like a herd of rampaging oxen. The only one of you with any sense for the trees is that gangly one behind you, and he’s too busy huffing the flowers to look behind him.” I looked behind me, not sure who he was referring to. Torpor’s face reddened and he took a bag from his own belt, tossing it beside Rybor’s.
“If we were so new, how did we manage to get you that?” He said, a little smug. Rybor stooped and scooped up the bag, fingers quick to count the gems within before giving a firm nod of acceptance.
“Even a hatchling can find food if given enough time.” Rybor sneered at us and tucked the gems away in his belt. “We’re done here.” With that, he twirled on his heel and vanished into the trees without nary a sound. Even I couldn’t move through the underbrush that silently.
“I wonder who makes his shoes.” I said aloud, in awe of Rybor’s silent steps.
“He wasn’t wearing shoes, you simpleton.” Torpor snapped as he scooped up the jagged bag from the ground and peered inside. His face paled.
“What is it?” Ivory asked excitedly as she scampered forward to yank the bag from his hand and look inside as well. She stopped dead. “What…what is this?” I finally looked around and looked down at the bag myself. I gave a little wave, and the rotted, severed hand waved back.
“Well, isn’t that polite? What a nice hand.” The other two stared at me like I’d gone crazy as I gently took the bag from Torpor. I hummed thoughtfully as I looked up at them. “Think it misses its body? We should return it.” Ivory snorted, shaking her head.
“It’s not a lost dog. Torpor, what the hell is going on? I thought you said Rybor had a job for us.” Torpor was pacing back and forth, looking upset and confused. He threw his hands out in exasperation.
“So did I! Rybor usually deals in bounties and beast extermination contracts, not…not this!” He jabbed a finger at the bag and the hand inside flipped him off. I chuckled.
“It’s got a sense of humor, that’s for sure. Uh, let me try something.” I tipped the bag over and caught the hand in mine. It grabbed on tightly, like a weird, super light handshake. “Uh, hi, hand. Can you hear me?” I got a thumbs up, so I continued. “We don’t really know what you want. Do you want us to help you find your body? Uh, one finger for yes, two for no.” It held up two fingers. Ivory stepped up next.
“Do you want us to avenge your death?” Two fingers.
“Do you want us to leave you here and pretend we never saw you?” The hand flipped Torpor off again and he huffed, annoyed. I gave the hand a pat on the back.
“Easy there. He’s a jerk to everyone.” I hummed thoughtfully. “Well, what do you want, then?” The hand made a complicated wiggling gesture with its fingers, followed by flashing the number two three times, and repeated. I stared at it dumbfounded. Ivory slapped a hand to her face.
“Of course! You want to have a new body built for you by the alchemical wizards?” Big thumbs up. I gave Ivory a look of puzzlement.
“How did you work that one out?” She made the same wiggling gesture with her fingers.
“Swimming, as in the potion those peddlers stir for their magic and the flashing numbers represent six, which is their resurrection potion on their menu. Don’t you ever read the market signs when we go into town?” I shrugged and shook my head.
“That all feels like a bit of a stretch to me. How do you know this hand is telling the truth?” The hand in question gave me the ‘okay’ symbol and I couldn’t help but grin. “All right, I’m in. Torpor?” Torpor had been watching our charade routine with a look of abject horror on his face before he vehemently shook his head.
“You want to give this talking hand a new body? How do we know this person is trustworthy? Or even a good person? They could be a necromancer for all we know.” The hand gave a flopping motion from side-to-side, as if Torpor’s words were mildly on the money. I frowned down at it.
“You’re a necromancer?” Thumbs up. “Are…are you a good necromancer?” Thumbs up but Torpor scoffed again.
“There’s no such thing as a good necromancer. He will raise the dead and screw us over. Mark my words.” Ivory took the hand and dropped it back in the bag before tucking it into her own.
“A job is a job, Torpor. We were tasked to help Rybor, and Rybor gave us this hand so we gotta see it through. You coming or what?” She started heading back the way we had come and I was right behind her, my mind already on the journey home. Torpor side and followed.
Several days later, we managed to find the outskirts of the small city of Portmint, both a fishing port and the local delicacy. Torpor, who was still wary of our talkative companion, led the way into the market square. I had a thick wool hat pulled down over my ears, as the noises of the city are far too loud for me. I hated coming into the city.
Ivory pointed down a row of tents and stalls to the flamboyant red one with steam rising in thick, multicolored clouds. We approached a stooped, wizened figure holding a giant spoon, swirling the contents of a massive iron cauldron while he murmured impressive sounding words. It was mostly a show, though, since magic isn’t done with the speaking of gibberish and the waving of wands. It’s all energy, and simply a matter of controlling it properly. At least, that’s how it is for Druids like me.
“Hello, mighty wizard,” began Torpor, clearly unaware he was conversing with a glorified charlatan. “We require your resurrection bath for a…client.” He hesitated on the last word, unsure how to refer to the hand. The old man eyed Torpor closely, and with an emphasized mystical air, he waved grandly over the cauldron before him.
“Ah, tis a mighty brew ye seek, young elf. The finest ingredients are used to steep the essence of life into those long fallen. Tell me, do you have the comrade close at hand, so we might breathe life into them once more?” Ivory fished out the hand and held it up. The wizard squawked and stumbled back. “Fucking hell, warn a fellow next time, huh?” He sounded much younger now, the false voice dropped in light of an actual severed hand. Ivory, used to the buffoonery of wizards, merely dropped the hand into the cauldron, despite the wizard’s protest.
“Ah, come on, I just made this.” He grumbled, but before our very eyes the potion bubbled and rolled, churning as the hand emerged, attached to a new arm, which was attached to a shoulder and wouldn’t you know it, a whole new body slowly pulled themselves free from the liquid. Skin slightly pink and naked as the day they were born, which I guess was today, a younger man emerged from the ooze. They brushed their silky black hair off their face, revealing slivery bright eyes and a wide smile. I unhooked my cloak to hide their naked form, used to this sort of experience. Torpor was speechless as the young boy climbed out of the cauldron, shook himself a bit like a dog, droplets of potion scattering across the ground and his eyes landed on me, deep and hopeful.
“Ah, thank you! I’m Cain, and you saved my life. However, can I repay you three?” He stepped forward, only to stumble on unfamiliar feet and into my arms. I caught him without thinking, his skin ice cold and clammy from the potion.
“Let’s get you to the guild first,” I said, overly loud so I could hear myself through my wool hat. “The guildmaster will have some questions for you, I’m sure.” Cain nodded and I led him back down the street, eager to be free from the noise and the crowds. Ivory kept up while Torpor was shaking his head, muttering nervously as we went.
The Guild Hall, located on the outskirts of Portmint, between the woods and the sea, was a simple construct, housing a scant few rooms for adventurers and a notice board outside where people can post jobs. As we entered, our guildmaster, Iain, peered at us through his thick glasses and brightened.
“Oh, you’re back! Splendid! Tell me everything.” He said in his excitable voice as he came around the counter eagerly, his wiry thin frame insufficient to house his enthusiasm. He eyed us all over carefully and gave Cain a double glance. “And who is your new companion? Is he a guild member?” I shook my hand and lifted Cain’s right hand, which still bore the same rotted markings as it had when it was severed.
“Iain, meet the client Rybor gave us. Cain, this is Iain, our guildmaster.” We told Iain everything, from the goblin ambush, to meeting Rybor, to bringing Cain back, to walking on over to the guild hall, to seeing Iain, to Iain freaking out about the story we just told him, to me telling Iain about the time he freaked out about the-
“Enough! I get it.” Iain said sharply as he rubbed his young face, eyeing Cain with worry, while the focus of his attention was playing with the hem of my robe, clearly just happy to be here. Cain looked up when he realized we were all staring at him.
“What?” He asked after a while and Torpor groaned.
“What do you mean, what? Who are you? Why were you a severed hand? What do you want to do now?” Cain leaned forward, his elbows resting on his newly formed knees, a sparkle of intrigue in his eye.
“I’m Cain, and I am a budding necromancer. Don’t get all excited,” he said hastily as Iain and Torpor reached for weapons. “I don’t use it for evil. I used for peace.” I hummed softly, thinking hard.
“Explain.” I said slowly. Cain swallowed and took a moment, collecting his thoughts.
“You ever lose someone suddenly? A wild animal attack? Fallen from a cliffside? Never had a chance to say good bye? Or inversely, what if a body has unfinished business, they need taking care of? I raise the dead, temporarily, for situations just like that. Loved ones can say goodbye, the dead can find peace, all for a measly sum.” We all stared at him for a moment.
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” Ivory said, her head tilted to the side thoughtfully. “Why were you just a hand though?” Cain flushed.
“Ah, well, one client didn’t like what their dearly departed wife had to say. She came back, told the client she never loved him and his son was actually the son of his best friend. He got really mad and…well, killed me.” Cain sighed, like it was a huge inconvenience to be killed. “Of course, in my line of work, I had taken some precautions and as a result, I was reduced to a living hand. Rybor must have found me and, well, here I am.” He sat back, happily swinging his feet. Iain looked stunned and smiled after a moment.
“That’s a heck of a power you have, kid. I can think of more than a few folks around here who would pay big bucks for peace like that. You have any desire in setting down some roots here?” Cain shrugged, the smile on his face getting wider.
“Actually, I did have an idea for a business.” He held his hands wide, eyes bright.
“I want to open a bar.”