A woman with beads and feathers in her hair skitters up to the main southern gate of New Briton, her movements sharp and graceless. She almost waves off the two guards on duty, before tapping her chin and returning to their presence with a toothsome grin.

“Sorry to intrude, boys, but have you seen a young man with dark hair around here lately? I hear he’s made Sergeant, and I just have to congratulate him myself.” The woman practically balks between each breath, playing with a neatly fashioned ball of pure mithril in her off hand. A staff, rotting to the core, in her main.

“Haven’t seen him today, but he’ll be with the Host when they gather, I’d wager. And if you’re asking for any other reason than to ‘congratulate’ him, you might wanna do yourself a favor and ask if its worth the risk.” The guard says, sizing the woman up.

“Oh, now there’s no need for that. Just- let him know I was in the area, would you?” The woman doesn’t wait for a response, already turning about and heading back to the Southern Lands.