Chapter 134 – Mission Log: Prep Work

Ironha descended from the communications room and returned to the clinic's main hall. The afternoon light filtered through the front windows, illuminating the waiting area where three patients sat on benches. Maris looked up from the supply cabinet as Ironha entered.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah."

Ironha moved toward the examination area. The first patient was already waiting—a woman holding a girl of maybe six with a cloth wrapped around her hand.

"She burned it on the fire," the mother said. "Two days ago."

Ironha unwrapped the cloth carefully. The burn covered most of the girl's palm. She applied salve and wrapped fresh bandaging around the small hand.

"Change the dressing tomorrow. If it swells or turns red, come back immediately."

The mother nodded.

Ironha kept her voice even.

"Are you staying in the camps?"

"South wall. In a wagon."

"How many of you?"

"Five. My husband and the three children."

Ironha finished tying off the bandage.

"There's a settlement north that's accepting refugees. Foroughfore. They have homes and food."

The woman's expression shifted from tired to wary.

"How far?"

"Four days. Maybe five with children."

"We just came from the north."

"I know." Ironha stood. "But Glasshold isn't letting people inside the walls anymore. And the camps aren't getting warmer."

The woman looked at her daughter's wrapped hand.

"Would there be a healer?"

"I'm going with the caravan. And Foroughfore has trained people."

The woman was quiet for a moment.

"I'll talk to my husband."

"Tell anyone else you meet in the camps. We're trying to get word out to everyone who might want to go."

The woman nodded and left with her daughter.

Ironha moved to the next patient.

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By late afternoon, word had started to spread.

A man arrived with his son, both of them showing signs of necrotic exposure. Ironha treated the boy's fingers while the father watched.

"You're the one telling people about Foroughfore?"

"Yes."

The man hesitated.

"How safe is it?"

"Safe."

"That's what people said about our village."

Ironha glanced up.

The man looked down at his son.

"Draugr came through. More than fifty of them. We barely got out."

Ironha finished applying the tonic and started wrapping the boy's fingers.

"And you don't want to take him back north without knowing what's waiting."

"No."

"Foroughfore has a militia. Walls. People who know how to deal with draugr." Ironha tied off the bandage. "And there'll be guards with us on the road."

"How many?"

"I don't know yet."

The man frowned.

"There'll be high-level adventurers traveling with us too.

People who've handled worse than draugr."

The man looked down at his son again.

"How many people are leaving?"

"We're still finding out."

He nodded slowly.

"I'll talk to my wife."

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More came as evening approached.

A woman asked about housing. She had two small children and an elderly mother who couldn't walk far. Ironha explained that Foroughfore was still building but had accepted them and would provide shelter while permanent homes were being completed.

Another family asked about food.

A man wanted to know if Foroughfore needed someone with a mining class.

A woman asked if her sister's family could come too.

Ironha answered what she could.

By the time the last patient left, a small crowd had gathered outside the clinic.

Ironha stepped into the doorway.

A younger man spoke first.

"Is it true you're taking people north?"

"Yes."

"How do we know it's real? That there's actually a settlement out there?"

Ironha crossed her arms.

"Because I'm from there. Because the people running it sent me here to help, and now they're sending me back with anyone who wants to go."

"And if we get there and they turn us away?"

"They won't. Our leaders already agreed to take you in."

The man didn't look convinced.

An older woman moved through the crowd toward the front.

Ironha recognized her immediately. She had been one of the clinic's first patients, back when almost everyone who walked through the door expected a catch. She still came in whenever her knee started bothering her, and Ironha had treated most of her family at least once by now.

"I'll go," the woman said.

Her daughter looked at her.

"Ma."

"What?"

"You haven't even asked anything."

The woman looked toward Ironha.

"Do I need to?"

Ironha almost smiled.

"It's a long trip."

"So was getting here."

Someone farther back spoke up.

"And you're willing to go north again?"

The woman shrugged.

"I've known Ironha for months. If she says they'll take us in, they'll take us in."

Her granddaughter reached for her hand.

"I'm coming too."

The woman's daughter sighed.

"Then I suppose the rest of us are going."

That drew a few laughs from the crowd.

A woman near the back raised her voice.

"If you're taking whole families, we'll go."

The man beside her nodded.

"Us too."

Someone else asked when they would leave.

Ironha looked over the gathering.

"Once everyone is ready. We're still figuring out how many are coming."

The younger man who had questioned her earlier looked around at the others.

"Fine. Put me down too."

Ironha smiled.

"Fair enough."

The group began to disperse slowly, conversations continuing as people drifted back toward the camps and wagons scattered throughout the Outer Approach.

Ironha stepped back inside the clinic.

Maris was at the front desk.

"That went better than I thought it would."

Ironha moved toward the back room.

"It's not done yet."

"No." Maris followed her. "But it's started."

Ironha nodded.

She could feel it now

Word would keep spreading through the camps that night, and more people would come by morning.

And the group heading north would begin to take shape.

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 Over the next several days, the depot became the center of the preparations.

Doc helped a man named Marvin lift a storage chest onto the back of a wagon.

"That's the last of it," Marvin said.

Doc stepped back and looked at the load. The wagon bed was full—crates, sacks, bundles wrapped in canvas, a few pieces of furniture tied down with rope.

"You're going to need to redistribute some of this weight," Doc said. "The front axle is carrying too much."

Marvin frowned.

"It all fits."

"It fits. But the balance is wrong. If you hit rough terrain, the front axle will crack."

Lux overlaid a structural analysis across Doc's vision, highlighting stress points and weight distribution.

Marvin looked at the wagon, then at Doc.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

The man sighed.

"All right. Help me move the chest to the back corner."

They adjusted the load, shifting heavier items toward the center and rear. Doc used Lux's overlay to guide the changes, correcting the weight distribution until the wagon sat level.

Marvin's wife approached with their two children.

"We ready?"

"Almost," Marvin said. "Just need to tie this down better."

Doc handed him a length of rope from the wagon bed.

Marvin worked quickly, securing the chest and checking the other tie-downs. His wife watched the camp around them—more families gathering, more wagons being loaded, more voices asking questions and calling instructions.

She looked at Doc.

"You really think we'll make it?"

Doc met her gaze.

"The road’s dangerous, but we’ll get you there"

She didn't look reassured.

"My husband says you're from the settlement. That you've been there."

"Yes."

"What's it like?"

Doc thought about it.

"Last time I was there, they were still building. New houses, workshops, a new goat herd." He glanced toward her. "I haven't been back in a while, but everything I've heard says it's grown a lot since then."

"And the draugr?"

"They're a problem everywhere right now. Foroughfore has defenses and fully equipped and trained militia."

She nodded slowly.

Her husband finished securing the load and stepped back.

"We're ready."

Doc looked at the wagon one more time. The balance was good. The tie-downs were solid. The harness connections looked stable.

"You should be fine," Doc said. "If anything shifts during the trip, stop and rebalance before continuing."

Marvin extended his hand.

"Thank you."

Doc shook it.

The family moved their wagon toward the growing line forming near the depot's southern edge.

Three days later, Ironha was still working through the people who planned to leave.

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Ironha worked her way through the gathered refugees, checking anyone who looked sick or injured.

Some had old injuries. Others were still sick from the road.

She treated what she could immediately and made notes on the rest.

Maris followed behind her, carrying a basket of supplies—bandages, poultices, fever pills, necrotic tonic.

Ironha stopped at a wagon where a middle-aged woman sat with her leg propped up on a crate.

"Let me see."

The woman pulled back the wrapping. The wound was shallow, but the skin around it was red and swollen.

Ironha used Vital Sense. The infection hadn't spread far, but she didn't want to leave it untreated before the trip.

She cleaned the wound, applied a poultice, and wrapped it with fresh bandages.

"I'll check it again tomorrow," Ironha said. "Try to stay off it until then."

The woman nodded.

"Thank you."

Ironha moved on.

Maris glanced at the basket.

"We're running low on bandages."

"I know. Calen is buying more from the Glasshold."

They continued through the camp.

A man with frostbite on his fingers came next, followed by a woman with cracked ribs. By the time Ironha reached a child with an infected scrape on her knee, several more people were waiting.

She kept moving through them, treating what she could while Maris stayed close with the supplies.

By the time she reached the end of the line, the basket was nearly empty.

Calen arrived with two more crates of medical supplies—bandages, necrotic tonic, fever medicine, salves.

Ironha opened the first crate and began restocking.

"How many are going?" Calen asked.

"I've counted sixty-three so far but more might be coming."

Calen looked at the gathered wagons.

"That's a lot of people."

"Yes."

"Are we ready for that many?"

Ironha wrapped another roll of bandages and placed it in the basket.

"Hob said we could take a hundred. We'll be fine."

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By the end of the first week, supplies had begun piling up inside the depot.

Rald directed the distribution of supplies.

Food first—sacks of grain, dried meat, preserved vegetables, hardtack. Enough to feed a hundredth people for five days, with extra in case the journey took longer.

Blankets next. The nights were cold, and many of the refugees had arrived with little more than the clothes they wore.

Then tools—axes, shovels, rope, tarps, anything that might be needed on the road or once they reached Foroughfore.

Talia worked the main counter, checking inventory and making notes in a ledger.

Renny and another worker hauled crates from the storage room and stacked them near the loading area.

Kipp helped refugees who arrived with almost nothing, handing out blankets and directing them toward the food distribution.

A woman approached with three children.

"We don't have a wagon," she said.

Kipp looked at Talia.

Talia checked her ledger.

"We've got room on two of the supply wagons. You can ride with those."

The woman nodded, relief visible on her face.

"Thank you."

Rald moved through the depot, checking crates and coordinating the work.

He stopped near the loading area and looked out at the gathered crowd.

More wagons had arrived, and the crowd around the depot had grown with them.

The depot yard was packed now, the gathered refugees spilling out onto the street and into the surrounding spaces.

Rald turned to Talia.

"How many wagons total?"

She checked her notes.

"Seventeen refugee wagons. Four supply wagons from us. Three more coming from Foroughfore with Marron. Twenty-four total."

"How are we on supplies?"

"Food and blankets are covered. We still have a few things left to load."

"And the wagons from Foroughfore?"

"Those should cover the rest."

Rald nodded.

"Good. Let's finish up."

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A few days later, most of the wagons were packed.

Mazoga walked through the gathered wagons, checking harnesses and loads before they left.

She stopped at one where a man had lashed several crates along the side.

"This won't hold."

The man looked up.

"It's tied down."

"Not well enough."

Mazoga loosened the ropes and showed him how to secure the crates so they wouldn't shift on the road.

The man gave the ropes a pull, then nodded.

"I see it now. Thank you."

Mazoga moved on.

Most of the work was finished by then. The wagons had been arranged for departure, supplies were loaded, and families were settling into whatever space they had left. Near the depot, Talia and Rald were going through the final inventory while Doc checked the wagons farther down the line.

The camp was loud now, filled with voices, creaking wagons, and people finishing the last of the work before departure.

Mazoga stopped at the edge of the gathering and looked back.

The depot sat at the center of it all, with wagons lined up around the yard. Families moved between them carrying bundles, checking ropes, and finishing whatever still needed to be done.

A week ago, most of them had been waiting in the camps with no idea what came next. Now they had somewhere to go.

Mazoga counted the wagons again.

Twenty-three.

What had started with a few families asking about Foroughfore had grown into a caravan.

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Marron crested the ridge with the morning light at his back and saw Glasshold spread across the mountainside ahead.

The city hadn't changed. Stone towers rose from the carved cliffs, with crystal veins catching the morning light.

But the ground outside those walls had transformed.

Tents and wagons filled the spaces that had once been open ground. Families huddled around cook fires. Children wandered between makeshift shelters. The camps stretched farther than they had two months ago, sprawling across every flat surface within sight of the gates.

Marron slowed the lead wagon and glanced back.

Two more supply wagons followed behind him, with six mounted militia riding around them.

Grint rode closest, his rifle secured across his back and his armor freshly maintained. The others spread out behind the wagons—Morg, Riona, Thren, Jonson, and Krev.

It was enough protection for the trip into Glasshold without bringing the full escort to the gates.

Marron faced forward again and urged the wagon on.

They passed through the refugee camps slowly, drawing stares but no challenges. People watched the riders with exhausted curiosity. Some stepped aside. Others simply stared.

No one stopped them.

The Outer Approach came into view as they rounded the final bend—busier than Marron had ever seen it. The clinic sat alongside the depot, both buildings framed by gathered wagons and families. Crates lined the street. People moved through the crowd with purpose, loading supplies and making the last checks before departure.

Marron looked over the gathered wagons as he approached.

There were more than he'd expected.

Marron brought the lead wagon to a stop near the depot entrance.

He looked back toward the driver of the second wagon.

"Start unloading the supplies meant for the depot. Check with Talia before you take anything off. She'll tell you what stays here and what goes with the caravan."

The driver nodded.

One of the women who had ridden in with the wagons climbed down behind them, carrying a medical bag.

Marron pointed toward the clinic.

"That's where you'll be working. Someone inside can get you settled."

She nodded and headed toward the clinic.

Marron climbed down from the wagon and made his way through the crowd. He spotted Doc near one of the loaded wagons, with Fish sitting beside him.

Ironha stood a few paces away, speaking with one of the families near the front of the caravan. Calen and Kipp were farther down the line, helping people find their assigned wagons and making sure no one had been missed.

Mazoga emerged from the side yard, her warhammer strapped across her back.

She spotted Marron and walked over.

"You made good time."

"We left early."

Mazoga glanced past him at the mounted militia waiting near the street.

"Only six?"

"Only six here."

Marron looked back at the riders, then met Mazoga's gaze.

"We didn't want to bring the full escort this close to Glasshold. Sixteen heavily armed militia on war goats coming down the road would get attention, especially with Commander Varro and the Imperials already here."

Mazoga considered that.

"Smart."

"The rest are waiting three hours north. They'll join us once we're on the road."

"How many total?"

"Sixteen mounted. Another eight on foot with the supply wagons. Rurran's sending a patrol to meet us halfway."

Mazoga glanced toward the riders.

"Is that enough?"

Marron smiled.

"More than enough. Most of them have the new launchers, and Carl fitted all three wagons with some new magi-tech."

He nodded toward Doc and Fish.

"And we've got those two."

Doc noticed them looking and headed over. Ironha and Calen joined him along the way.

Marron greeted them, then looked toward the gathered wagons.

"How many are going?"

Ironha answered.

"Eighty-three people spread across twenty-six wagons.

Marron pulled a small notebook from his coat and flipped it open, checking the numbers from the radio meeting.

"Hob said we can feed a hundred if we give him warning. Edda's cleared housing for sixty, with overflow space if we need it."

He looked up at the crowd.

"Eighty-three might be pushing it but we'll manage."

Marron glanced toward the loaded wagons.

"How are we looking on supplies for the trip?"

Rald had come out of the depot to join them.

"Four wagons loaded from here. Food, blankets, tools, and medical supplies. With the three you brought, we have plenty of room."

"Anything we're short on?"

"Preserved meat," Rald said. "We have enough for the trip, but it be safer if we had extra."

Marron nodded.

"Can we get more before tomorrow?"

"There's a merchant in Splitstone Row. I can have it here by evening."

"Do it. Use the guild account."

Rald disappeared back into the depot.

Marron returned his attention to the notebook, checking another line.

"Wagons ready?"

Mazoga nodded.

"I checked them this morning. Rald's crew finished the last repairs yesterday."

"And medical?"

"We're covered," Ironha said. "Supplies are spread between the wagons, and I'm carrying a full kit myself."

She looked at Marron.

"Did Edda send someone for the clinic?"

"She did. She's near the depot."

"Good."

Calen stepped closer.

"Water's taken care of too. Every wagon has barrels."

Marron looked down at his notes.

That covered most of what he needed.

"I still have to finish the supply purchase and sort out the wagon order. After that, we're ready."

Doc looked over the caravan.

"Tomorrow?"

Marron followed his gaze.

Families were already settling around their wagons. Supplies were packed. The escort was waiting north.

"Tomorrow we leave for Foroughfore."