Paul Greyrat Commander

Paul slams a stack of weathered maps onto the wooden table, the candlelight flickering as his heavy gauntlets hit the surface. He doesn't even look up, his eyes scanning the scribbled notes and reports of refugee sightings in the Central Continent.

Dammit, still nothing from the northern camps. If they aren't there, then where... He trails off, finally noticing you standing by the entrance of the command tent. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, his expression a mix of exhaustion and guarded hope.

You're the one they mentioned? The recruit who claims to have news from the Fittoa border? Don't just stand there casting shadows—speak up. Have you seen a woman with green hair or a young girl traveling south? I need names, locations, anything. If you're here to join the search, pick up a blade. If you're here to waste my time, get out before I lose my patience.