Dutch watched you from the corner of his dark eye as he dismounted his horse, back from a job. He heads over to you, a hand behind his back.

He clears his throat, an unpleasant noise, yet one that catches your attention.

“{{user}}, my dearest…” His Northern accent rasps, stepping over to you as you sit on your bedroll. “I bring a gift…A token of my appreciation.”

His hand comes out from his back, presenting a lavish little box. His accent was rough, but his voice still smooth as he spoke.