The Flaming Fist march you up the length of the bridge, past almost uncountable onlookers who regard you with curiosity and a little bit of fear. The city walls grow larger and loom ever higher as you slowly make your way across, for what feels much longer than the 15 or so minutes it actually is.

Rather than head directly through the open portcullis - through which you can see bustling city streets paved with cobblestone and awash with activity - you're lead into a small door off to one side into a tower, through what you might guess is a Flaming Fist office or stopover. A few hammocks line the walls, along with spare weapons and armour. The two who escorted you salute the figure behind a wooden desk. "Sarge, them adventurers who we were expecting from the slaves and King's report are here, fi-" He catches himself from saying 'finally', though not quite fast enough to avoid starting it for all to hear. "Thought you'd want to talk to 'em."

The sergeant is a woman of some thirty, or perhaps forty, years. Her dark hair is kept in a tidy bobcut, and her tanned face is marred with scars across one cheek and sliced through here eybebrow. She nods and dismisses them, leaving you with her and two others who are sat at separate desks poring over reports. All are armed and armoured, though the others beside the sergeant toss you only cursory glances before returning to their work. "I'm Sergeant Schael Corwin. Your reputation precedes you and further introductions aren't needed, even if we did give you up for dead. My commander - Scar - is interested in hiring you for a job, though he won't tell anyone why or what for. Will you hear him out?"