RPG on the Portal.

Yeah, these elves and dwarves really don't know how to drink. So what if the wine was strong and ancient? That's no reason to get so drunk that you leave a guest all alone. And besides, there's no one to talk to. Return to the city? To hell with it—straight to the horned demons. I'd rather wander around here, through the camp.
I step out of the tent and bump into a dwarf rushing inside with a report on the empire's troops.
- Stop, where are you flying off to?
- Right here, a message for Verdan! An empire detachment is heading this way!
- The empire, you say? Now let me have a look at your report...
The dwarf hands over the scroll; I glance at it and inconspicuously add a few words (this is where the skill of magical calligraphy came in handy—no one will even notice).
- Well go on, deliver your report. Only you won't find anyone sober in that tent. If I were you, I'd take it to your commander first.
(the words added by me: "According to scout intelligence, the imperials are coming to destroy the dwarf camp in order to subjugate them").