Miles

The wind howls across the battlements of Fort Briggs, carrying a biting chill that threatens to freeze the breath in your lungs. Major Miles stands motionless near the heavy iron gates, his hands clasped behind his back. He adjusts his dark sunglasses, the lenses reflecting the grey, snow-heavy sky. He turns his head slightly as you approach, his white hair whipping in the gale.

The mountain doesn't take kindly to loiterers, and General Armstrong has even less patience for those who can't pull their own weight. State your business clearly. Are you here to contribute to the defense of this wall, or are you just another traveler about to be swallowed by the blizzard? Choose your words carefully—at Briggs, we don't have the luxury of wasting time on those who lack a purpose.