It's a damn cold night hunting minotaur out here in the Shiverpeaks, a cold night that's only made worse by the fact that the approaching storm has driven the driders down from the higher parts of the mountain. Minotaur are bad enough, unwary travelers caught of guard could be swarmed and torn to pieces in under thirty seconds. I would know I've had my share of accidents. That's not to say I'm not good at my job, I just get restless and so would any other poor slob that had to do this. Between the silence that seems to fill this desolate part of the mountain and the isolation of this particular job, one's mind starts to wander aimlessly.
Anyway as I was saying, Minotaurs are bad enough but driders are certain death even to a seasoned professional. More than a few fool hard adventurers have met a bitter and untimely end thanks to them. It's always best to avoid the little blighters at all costs, but the weather was making it rather difficult and it hadn't even gotten bad yet.
A storm was approaching, slowly but steadily, already there was a light snow falling from the heavens. In the next hour, maybe two, it would turn into a full out blizzard, and as much as I love my job (and I use love in the loosest of terms) I didn't want to be puttering around out here when it hit. My employers would be angry sure, but the dwarves are a forgiving bunch, minus the stone summit of course. Eventually after a few pints of dwarven ale (on me naturally), we'll all have a good laugh about things, blame the weather and our own bad luck and once the storm clears I'll be back out there doing what I love, battling a frenzied host of loud and smelly beasts in the freezing cold for their horns and hide.
The snow is coming down harder now, so if I want to get to shelter I had better get going now.
A solitary figure walked in silence through the secluded region of the Shiverpeaks known as Anvil Rock, the only sign of his passing were the footprints he left behind and even they quickly disappeared, buried beneath the snow of that fell heavy to the ground. "This keeps up and I won't be able to see my own hands in front of me, much less the road." He thought grimly. The wind was picking up and he pulled his cape close to shield himself from it. Not that it helped much.
Another strong gust tore through the branches of the evergreen trees around him, blowing snow from their bowed limbs. Then for a brief moment all was silent and in the distance he heard a sound he knew all too well, well enough to avoid anyway. It was the hunting call of the shiverpeak centaurs. "Blasted horse men must be here for the drider hunting." He looked from left to right, squinting to try to see any approaching threat but to no avail. He tried listen for their horns again but there was nothing. "Just my luck."
He quickened his pace as he continued onwards towards shelter quietly bemoaning his situation to no in particular. "I would be the one to get stuck in a blizzard in the middle of no mans land with nothing but frostfire driders and friggen horse men all over. Oh, and then there's the stone summit, minotaur, and wolves."
There was a noise behind him, so faint he almost hadn't heard it. Gripping his staff he prepared himself for the worst, he turned to meet his attacker but all he saw was the tip of an arrow as it made its way towards his chest. He felt his body go limp and fall to the cold ground and as he laid there drifting into oblivion he thought he heard someone say something, something along the lines of "Oh shit I think you killed him". Then there was darkness.
