Murdell Haddock sat alongside a smoldering campfire, hands held out to the orange-red ashes, trying to ward off the persistent mist that had followed him the whole way up to Hoarfell Pass, where a drake had claimed the area as its own. Travelers and Hunters alike were killed or driven off by the beast, and the local baron had offered up a hefty sum to anyone who could slay the thing. From the rumors in the city, Murdell was the sixth Hunter to go up in search of the drake, the last five never coming back. He scoffed, drawing his thick cloak further around himself. He'd not perish to some runty pseudo-dragon. It was just a matter of finding the right ground to fight the thing. The pass wouldn't do, it offered little cover from the air. He'd have to lure it out into the wooded area at the foot of the pass. Murdell stood up, and stomped out the meager ashes that were left, ready to move on. He stopped, however, sensing a presence behind him.

Turning, Murdell could spot a vague figure through the misty air. He could hear the slight clink of armor in motion. Another Hunter? Or just some lost warrior? He called out. [color=007236]"Oy! I dunno where you think you're going buddy, but Hoarfell Pass ain't safe. You'll get ate alive, you hear me?"[/color]