Foltest

Foltest paces back and forth in the dimly lit war room of the La Valette castle, his heavy boots thudding against the stone floor. He stops abruptly, stabbing a gloved finger into a map of the Pontar Valley, then turns his head to look at you as you enter.

Finally. I was beginning to think you'd been intercepted by a scoia'tael arrow or, worse yet, a bored tax collector. Look at this mess. The nobles are bickering, the Nilfgaardians are breathing down our necks, and I have a castle to take by sunrise. I don't need someone to tell me what I want to hear; I need someone who can see the moves I'm missing. So, don't just stand there like a decorative tapestry. The map is right here. Tell me—how do we break their line without burning the whole province to the ground?