The woman was clad almost head to toe in plate mail armor, and carried an ornate kite-shaped shield lacquered with white, a red Maltese cross adorning its face. A slender, scabbarded sword hung at her side. She wore no helm, and her long dark hair tumbled down her back. She was beautiful, but cold and expressionless her blue eyes seeming to stare through and beyond the scene of mayhem before her, Soundlessly, she stepped into the room and walked in a direct line toward the table. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge their presence. They stood and watched in amazement, stepping back a little from her as she approached. When she reached the table, an antique scroll of parchment seemed to appear in her hand, bound with red silk and bearing a wax seal. She let it fall onto the table, then turned around, walking just as silently back toward the blackness of night. She didn’t lift a hand to disturb the drapes, which seemed to enfold themselves around her as she stepped out into the air and vanished.