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January 9, 2025

Grenden Plains

The MRAP rocked hard against another blast from the Ovinne winds. Henry glanced at the RWS' thermal feed, which deteriorated into useless noise as the storm intensified. The normal feed looked about as useless, their vision reduced to 10 feet if they were being hopeful.

Only through a lull in the storm did they manage to catch a glimpse of the silhouettes looming in the background – the mountain range itself. They stood higher than any range he'd ever seen, even considering the longer horizon. Preliminary estimates suggested the highest peaks surpassed Everest. Hell, some probably even surpassed Olympus Mons.

Insane heights aside, the danger here wasn't just the cold or the thin air. Three parties had vanished – overestimated themselves and underestimated the range. He'd seen enough of the aerial footage to know just how bad it could be. When something left tracks bigger than a humvee in fresh snow, a 500 pounder seemed like the bare minimum. If it weren't for the Campaign, most adventurers would be glad to avoid this area entirely.

The radio crackled. "Durin Lead to convoy, hold position. Got a dip; it's full of snow. We're gonna need to clear this out."

Henry squinted ahead as Ron slowed their vehicle to a gentle stop. "Alpha Actual, copy. I'll send over Lady Seraphine."

He turned to her and gave her a nod. "I'll come with."

He dropped out of the MRAP into the snow. His envirosuit's external temperature reading showed negative 10 Fahrenheit, not even counting the wind chill.

Apparently, none of that mattered to Sera, who wore her usual armor plus a few added pieces for warmth – an enchanted cloak, a charm, and a light wind barrier to deflect the chilling breeze. She raised a small wand and lifted a block of snow from the dip, completely unbothered by the weather.

"You really aren't cold at all?"

"Cold? Hardly." She heaved another chunk of snow. "My charm does its work, as any well-crafted thing ought. But you, bundled like a babe in that contraption – I trust you're rather comfortable." She paused. "Though, personally, I should sooner freeze than suffer that unwieldly suit."

Henry smiled. "C'mon, it ain't that bad. Well, at least not compared to the OG versions. Fugly as shit, admittedly."

Sera giggled, continuing her work.

"Say, you think I can use one of those without magic? The charms?"

Sera took a small break from her work to turn back and give him a look of pity. "Ah, if only the world were so obliging. You could have one fashioned with a reserve, much like your barrier amulet, but such indulgence is dear, and most mages see little sense in spending a fortune to spare their hands a chill."

"Dear, you say." Henry glanced at the surrounding treeline. "How dear we talkin'?"

"Oh, half a million lumens, perhaps. That is, if you should find a craftsman both willing and witless enough to squander his skill so." She gave the snow one final push, clearing the deepest part of the drift. "Most enchanters would sooner laugh you out of their workshop than waste such effort on a heating charm."

"Damn. That much just to stay warm, huh?"

Sera straightened up. "For you? Aye. And yet I might say the same of that very suit."

"Ah, fair enough." Henry took in her progress. "Think that'll do it. The plow should be able to handle the rest."

They headed back to the MRAP. "Durin Lead, you're clear to push through."

Another drift dealt with. They'd hit six of them since they left, each one eating into their schedule. Burned through a few mana potions just to get them cleared out – seemed like quite the expense until it was stacked against the operational cost of attaching the Combat Engineers to the convoy. Though as it turned out, they'd found enough creative detours around the worst spots that they probably wouldn't have needed the Sappers anyway. January in the foothills just meant finding the paths the snow hadn't.

The storm kept them company for the next few hours, visibility coming and going as they pushed through the forest road, until finally, it broke. Based on the weather reports, they'd have clear skies for a few hours, maybe half a day at most. Not enough for further ISR support, but good enough to actually see where they're going in the meantime. With visibility restored, Henry could actually get a glimpse of the surroundings beyond what their maps suggested. First thing he noticed were the woodlots.

For a setting like this, winter was peak logging season – frozen ground, easier hauling, and frontier villages lived or died by their timber reserves. But the collection points marked on their maps sat empty, and they hadn't seen a single crew since dawn. No tracks, no smoke, no activity.

The land opened up into rolling farmland as they passed by the halfway point, winter wheat fields dark against the snow where the wind had carved it clean. The farmhouses and homesteads were as barren as expected. Better to cut losses; livestock and winter stores wouldn't matter if they'd stayed. The surrounding villages and trading posts were just as lifeless – must've evacuated to Krevath as intel had suggested.

Another twenty minutes to the outpost by their maps. They were still about five miles out, but the town was already starting to come into view as they rolled over a slight hill.

The perimeter extension told its own story: hasty barriers, temporary structures sprawling well beyond the original walls. It used to be an orderly town, apparently. But that didn't mean much in the face of a crisis.

The road curved past the last stand of trees, giving them their first clear view of the settlement. Proper frontier engineering – they'd built the original town on a slight rise, letting the walls take full advantage of the elevation. The stonework of the original walls looked old, even despite whatever repairs and modifications they'd done with earth magic.

Someone with actual urban planning experience had laid the original grid. The town hall was centered behind the main gate and supported by a square fortress, everything built to hold out as long as possible if the walls ever broke. But that was before the refugees.

Now earth mages had raised additional barriers in blocky sections, pushing the defensive perimeter out almost half a mile to accommodate the influx of people. Crude work compared to the main walls, but good enough for the job – shorter, thicker, with regular platforms for teams of mages and archers. Professional work, despite the time crunch.

Smoke rose from behind the northern wall, directly opposite from them. A flash of lightning split the sky – definitely not natural, not without proper storm clouds.

Henry radioed Ryan's MRAP. "Doc, get a drone up, see what's going on."

He sent it flying ahead of them, sharing the feed. The guards on the wall had their backs to the convoy, all attention locked on whatever light show was kicking off at the north end. One of them eventually caught the drone's profile as it soared overhead, hand dropping to his bow before he registered the convoy. His shout brought the rest spinning around fast enough to almost be professional.

One of the guys in the Stryker radioed them, "Durin Lead to convoy, stand by. Looks like they see us."

The guards scrutinized their arrival, hopefully not for long. They had flags, and more importantly, they had Sera. Even if the guards somehow missed the memo about American vehicles, they'd know her on sight.

He was just about ready to send her out to make contact when one of the guards waved a green flag. A pair of mages jumped at the man's signal and a set of earthen bollards receded into the ground, clearing the path forward.

"Durin Lead to convoy. Verification confirmed; we're proceeding."

The refugee district made most UNICEF camps look like luxury resorts in comparison. Mages had done what they could – raised blocks of dirt into rough shelter shapes, better than nothing but a far cry from proper housing. At least they had wells, though the blue glow of purification enchantments couldn't hide the long queues. People huddled around flames kept alive by adventurers in thick winter gear, each waiting their turn for meal rations.

The faces told the real story – farmers still in mud-caked boots, woodsmen with axes strapped to their backs, families who'd clearly grabbed whatever they could stuff in a cart before running. But they weren't just waiting around for handouts. A few groups had formed between the shelters – nervous refugees gripping fresh stone spears while a handful of adventurers barked out instructions. It'd mean jack shit against anything higher than Tier 5, but it was probably better than staring at the sky and hoping it'd all blow over.

Some of the luckier refugees managed to drag a few livestock along, though 'lucky' might have been stretching it when those animals were probably going to end up as emergency rations. Still, better to have the choice than not. Case in point: a small crowd swelled around some farmer's makeshift pen, tempers flaring over his refusal to share. Local militia shoved their way in, throwing out lines about fair compensation and rationing schedules to try and defuse the situation. The poor guy probably saw those cavs as his retirement plan; maybe he still could, if they could get the convoy's aid package distributed.

Too bad for the farmer, Perry had been pretty adamant about seeing the local castellan first – Baron Evant.

They passed through the town's actual walls after a brief check with the guards posted there. The real town looked about as standard medieval as it could get – perfect place to spend a night at an inn, have a nice little retreat with Sera. For Ron, well, he'd probably see it as the perfect place to settle down with a catgirl waifu.

Snapping a few pictures wasn't a bad idea, but the town had definitely seen better days; better to wait for one of those instead. The morning's merchants trickled out in the storm's wake, their inventory spread thin across wind-battered tables – barely enough stock to fill a corner store, let alone feed a medieval town of ten thousand and climbing. The narrow corridors of hanging sheets did little to hide their impending scarcity: five varieties of anything multiplied by zero resupply equaled empty tables soon enough.

At least the taverns still showed signs of life, copper pots of some sort of herbal tea steaming outside each door. Probably better than watching scurvy spread through the population while they waited for spring to clear the passes. The cellars might run dry, but medieval pubkeeps didn't survive this long by lacking contingencies.

It was life as usual for them, or at least the facade of it – commerce without the currency, trade without transactions. Difference was, Krevath's shelves hadn't gone empty from bank failures. Their merchants still had gold in their coffers; they just couldn't buy what didn't exist. The supply lines through the northern passes had frozen solid weeks ago, and no amount of magical heating was getting trade caravans through monster-infested mountains.

And the lines down south? Well, nobody had been willing to make the trip until Perry's convoy.

Dr. Anderson radioed in. "Captain, drone's over the northern wall. Seems the town's being raided by Hobgoblins and... Fenwyrms? Working together?"

Henry couldn't have heard that one right. He glanced at the feed. "Well, shit."

"Ain't no fuckin' way," Ryan echoed.

Ron didn't seem quite as baffled – he'd probably seen something similar in at least one of the numerous anime shows he'd watched. "How To Train Your Fenwyrm type shit. Looks like they're pulling back for now, though."

Henry frowned. Hearing that was almost a blessing and a curse. Good news for the defenders, but for the implications? Well... "Intelligent hobgoblins, huh? Can't say I've seen this in the Guild tests. Sera, you got anything?"

"Hmm. Hobgoblins, taming Fenwyrms? That's a sight uncommon, but I'd not say it past them. There have been kings among their kind before, though few live to keep their crowns. Desperation is a cruel master – drive a beast to the edge and it will find fangs where once it had none."

Ryan snorted. "Kings or not, they're gettin' deposed either way. Slappin' a hob on a Fenwyrm might damn well be a pain in the ass, but it ain't gonna make 'em any less vulnerable to hot lead. Or drones. Or missiles."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Henry agreed as they approached the castle, gates open and guards waving them through. "Looks like our welcoming party. Yen, share the data with the convoy, yeah?"

"On it," Isaac said.

They rolled past the gates, entering a busy courtyard where dozens of men had set up a small logistical outpost.

Henry stepped out with Sera as Ron stopped their vehicle. Behind them, Ambassador Perry emerged from his own MRAP, a couple guys from the Diplomatic Security Service flanking him.

A dwarven herald in a blue and silver cloak approached them. "Ye must be the American ambassador. Follow me; the baron awaits in the great hall."

Henry followed the man into the castle. The temperature inside was chilly, but a hell of a lot warmer compared to outside – enough that he could take his helmet off.

They emerged into a large space that had been converted into a makeshift command center. Tables originally meant for feasts had instead been repurposed to hold maps and icons, tended to by a small army of officers and advisors. The dwarf at the center table must be their castellan – wore the same thick coat as everyone else, but only he had the privilege of having a fanciful golden trim.

"My lord," the herald announced, "Ambassador Johnathan Perry of the United States has arrived, along with his security detail and Lady Seraphine ad Sindis of the Sonaran Federation."

The man looked up from his maps. "Ah, Ambassador. Welcome. Baron Evant Paldrin," he said, thumping his chest with a fist. "Seein' ye's a blessin' fer the eyes."

Perry returned the thump. "It's good to meet you, Baron. The supplies are all ready for distribution. I have our manifests ready for your review, but written in Sonaran, unfortunately."

"Ach, ye need not concern yerself with that! Ye've done enough already." The dwarf turned to an aide standing beside him. "Trasthald, help the good lads with the aid."

Perry continued, "I've also noticed that your northern wall is currently being raided. If I may, I'd like to offer some tactical support as well."

"Ye'd do that?" The baron's eyes narrowed. "The crown will want to hear about this..." He hesitated, stroking his beard. "But these are dire times, and a wise ruler knows when pride must bow to necessity. Aye, Ambassador – if ye're offerin' tactical support, we'd be grateful for the assistance."

He gestured to a human clad in standard plate armor and thick furs. "Captain Renart will escort ye."

Perry gave Henry a nod.

"Understood." Henry followed Renart outside. Compared to squaring off against Tier 9s, curbstomping a bunch of hobgoblins almost sounded fun.