A few days after escorting Lord Tristan through town, the heavy doors of the Foresetidale Embassy burst open and an entourage of troops file out.
At their point, is a man with short, neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. He is wearing gleaming heavy platemail that is decorated in medals with the Foresetidale favor hanging down the front of his waist. On his hip is a sword that glistens brightly in the sunlight.
The remaining Foresetidale knights, equally as polished and neatly organized, form a sort of diamond around a young man in the center. He is wearing fine silk clothes of yellow and blue with a bag on his hip, a common sight for a courier.
The soldiers march across town and into the tavern, all eyes forward and not stopping for anyone. People part around them like the sea parting for a ship.
When they enter the tavern, they approach the missive board. The leader of the knights steps aside in a sharp, curt step with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword now. The courier steps forward, pulling a scroll from his sack.
In a few short moments, the young man has it pinned to the board. Then he reaches into his sack for a second scroll which he unrolls and posts to the board as well. He takes a second to make sure they are perfectly placed at the center of the board, nods once with satisfaction, and looks to the lead knight.
The soldiers shuffle and reform their diamond around the courier before marching back across town and back into the Foresetidale Embassy.
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