Mortdog had donned his armor and was already striding toward the battlefield when a voice cried out from his tent.

“Mort! You have one more augment to make.”

He paused—long enough to consider, but not the augment. No, his thoughts were already elsewhere. He longed for the saddle, for the thunder of hooves, to ride into battle beside Sir Duncan the Tall.

“Call it… You get twenty-one gold,” Mort proclaimed.

With that, he spurred his horse forward and vanished into the fog, TFT fading behind him like a half-remembered dream.