It was a bitter and frigid morning in the wilderness east of Yew. Little could be heard over the piercing wind, save the light crunching of boots on snow, as First Sergeant Clemons and his squad moved through. The elite Royal Guardsmen, stalwart in purpose, showed no signs of discomfort as they battled the vicious Britannian winter. Their breath frozen, their lips blue, the dire importance of their mission kept them going. The First Sergeant, on point, fell to a knee as the squad approached a clearing. Without looking back he signaled the Guards to his location. The squad, without hesitation, converged.
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