Remembrance

The last piece slotted in perfectly, followed by the satisfying click of machinery.

Grim clenched his fists and claws emerged from his gauntlets. New claws, larger than his last set. He had disassembled his previous gauntlets, removing the claws and reforged them. He added fresh metal, taken from Danroth's burnt corpse.

The Forsaken was dead and at rest and Grim found himself saddened by this. Danroth was the first Forsaken Grim had ever befriended, every other walking corpse had eventually proven themselves untrustworthy or downright dangerous. But not this one, not this cackling, eccentric doctor.
This Forsaken had stood beside him during his rebellion, had fought besides the Blood Wolves since their formation and had saved Grim's life more times than he could remember over the years.

Danroth would be missed. He had been burnt as if he were a fallen orcish warrior. His body had been burnt and his spirit honoured by the Clan.
Grim could think of no better means of continuing to honour his friend than including part of him in his weapons.

Spirits only knew what purpose the twisted and blackened metal had played in Dan's anatomy. But it didn't matter. Grim used the metal anyway. What better way of remembering the doctor than slaying the Clan's foes with these claws?

Grim sheathed the new blades, content with his work. Instead of just two short blades flicking from each gauntlet he now had five, each longer than his previous ones.
The claws were dull, dark grey like his one remaining eye. They reflected the light strangely, almost absorbing it and begrudgingly spitting out a weaker light. Quite why, Grim did not know.