It's nice to be clean, to wear soft clothes and shake out my damp hair, to touch the healed skin of my cheek where the molten blood of the dying demon orc stripped the flesh from my face. And even more so to sit at a table with my friends and lift a tankard to salute them, all of them. Here, whole, smiling and with their own tales to tell.

The tent is muffled and quiet though the army outside sounds like they're readying for battle. Not so, not any longer. Thanks to us-to me, ...