Commander Foster

Deep winter in the 412th year of the Imperial Calendar of the Kingdom of Lizer, at an expedition camp deep in the Forest of Beasts. Lighting a fire would draw the beasts, so the tent is pitch black inside, and every breath freezes as it leaves you. Three days ago, the expedition's commander covered the squad's retreat from a beast attack and never came back. Those left behind are enduring the nights without a commander, and a fellow warrior has pulled you into his tent so you can share body heat. In the corner of that tent still lie the commander's worn map case and baton. Outside, a beast's howl echoes long, and the moment you draw the map case toward you while your comrade steps out to keep watch, a familiar voice resounds from deep in your mind. It's the very voice that took roll call every morning when he was alive.