[b][1] - Take your clan’s insignia and mould it into an eyepatch. [/b]

[hr]

They’re not as well stocked as Dorfen merchants but you’re lucky you didn’t lose any of your fingers in the fall. With some leftover pipe cleaner and silly string, you manage to make a rudimentary eyepatch. You wipe a smear of glue on the bottom of the paper flower and stick it in front of the patch.  It’s not a work worthy of a papersmith, by far, but nevertheless, a quiet sort of pride swells in your chest. You gently wrap it around your head, slotting it gently into the bony crevasse where your left eye used to be. 

After that, You keep asking when you can leave and it’s always the same response combined with the constant prodding and testing that makes you feel like one of those caged monstrosities from Pets N Animals. 

It’s after the fifth day that you decided enough was enough. The taste of pre-packaged lunchables crusted your tongue and in spite of your politeness, there was only so much prodding and medical examinations you could handle. As you step off the bed, rest rust cakes your joints as your muscles . You stretch out your arm, rotating it experimentally. The stings of pain erupt periodically every time you pull your arm too fast or in a certain direction. At least you can finally stop lying in this damn bed. 

The door at the end of the hallway bangs open as one of the child helpers you see scurrying and busying other patients comes towards your bed. Instead of holding a tray full of syringes and bottles of pills, he held something that was wrapped in a thick orange Sham-Wow. He stopped at the front of your bed, looking reverently towards you in a way that made your skin crawl. 

“ Sa-samurai!” The boy gave a slight bow before gently offering you the bundle.“ The Pharmacist asked us to give you back your items. I do have to warn you, though. Some of your items didn’t make it through your...fall unscathed.” 

How bad can it be? You unfurl the blanket. Most of your wargear is undamaged, with the minor scratch or dent. 

Well, save for one.  

[X] - Can it even be called armor anymore? The inch-thick pauldrons have been shaved down to a thin wisp. The plating around your gorget has been crumpled. The only thing that’s usable is the cuirass and even then, the holes peppered throughout are big enough to fit your pinky through. 

[X] - Ivory Crane’s seen better days. The sword passed down from your father has been completely demolished, leaving little more than a torn handle with a bent chaffed blade. You doubt that it could even withstand one blow without breaking apart in twain.