The Wyvern Pass was a long, narrow path that ran from Coldwick Camp, the edge of civilisation, to the Desolation, a feared place populated by orcs and other monstrous creatures. The pass cut deeply into the mountainside, its towering walls funnelling the Northern Wind so that it bit even more deeply into anyone so unfortunate as to find themselves here. Little lived in this barren place except for a few sturdy shrubs, small burrowing creatures and snakes, but for a while now, it could also boast three freezing people.

“It shouldn’t be much further,” Damian informed his shivering companions. “If I’m correct, it should be just around the corner.”

“How would you know that? Every corner looks exactly the same as the previous,” Maquille retorted, but Damian’s calculation proved correct. The three travellers rounded the corner to see the small thatch hut that Denas had spoken of. It sat aside a cemetery where the ill-fated members of an expedition into the Desolation were buried, but was in an extended state of disrepair.

“It looks like someone has been rather busy,” Maquille said, noting the mounds of earth that had been dug up in the cemetery. He walked over to one such hole. It was deep and empty. “It seems the captain’s hunch has proven correct.”

Maquille turned around to see Gerome pointing something out to Damian. Following the man’s arm, he too spied the ledge high up in a wall of the pass.

“There was some movement up there,” Gerome said. “That’s where whoever did this must be staying.”

Maquille eyed the rock face uncomfortably. “Just how are we supposed to get up there?” he asked.

“We climb.”

Gerome and Damian both laughed when they saw Maquille’s face. “Don’t worry, Books,” Damian managed to say while handing Gerome a rope.

As Gerome neared the wall, he started looking for a path up it. He noted with satisfaction that there were many potential handholds. Not too difficult, he thought to himself as he found his first handhold. Just don’t look down.

Down in the pass, the other two looked on, trying not to feel too impressed as Gerome quickly ascended the rock face until, with one final effort, he pulled himself onto the ledge. Then he lifted himself up and examined his surroundings.

The ledge was fairly spacious. A closed door concealed a cave and, to his left, a coiled rope was tied to a rocky outcrop. After testing the knot, Gerome dropped the rope down to his companions and, while he waited for them to join him, enjoyed a few moments of warmth in the midday sun.

“Looks like you were correct,” Maquille complemented Gerome between breaths. He was still panting from the climb, but Gerome merely nodded an acknowledgement before pulling out a probe and starting to work on the lock. Soon, the lock clicked open and Gerome stepped back. “Ladies first,” he whispered.

Damian pulled out his sword and approached the door. He was concentrating hard. Suddenly, he kicked the door in and, charging forward, swung his greatsword at the wall beside the door. His arms were jarred as the blade suddenly encountered resistance. A guttural scream deafened his ears as the sword cut through flesh. He withdrew the blade, reflecting on how nothing should try to ambush him by a door. The creature fell to the floor, but two more stood before him. They were big and muscular, furry and had hyena-like heads. Both wielded axes.

An arrow sang over Damian’s shoulder, embedding itself in one’s chest. It broke the shaft, then rushed at Damian, swinging its axe. The axe clanged against Damian’s blade and Damian tried to stab at the creature, but it dodged out of the way. The other creature was also moving towards him and he was forced to back away. Two fiery red balls flew past Damian, singeing his hair before crashing into the second creature and knocking it to the floor. It struggled to rise.

Damian turned back to the first creature. It charged back at him, but he span around it and plunged his sword into its back, knocking it to the floor. Damian looked back at its companion, who was struggling to rise from the floor. Then a dagger was driven into its chest. “What did you do that for?” Damian turned on Gerome.

“What? It had it coming!”

“We could have used it. It could have had information.”

Gerome looked down at the creature, then back at Damian. “There’ll be more that way,” he apologised grudgingly, pointing out an opening that led deeper into the cave.

Damian bent down by one of the creatures and wiped his blade on its tunic. “What are these?” he asked of Maquille.

“I believe they are called gnolls,” Maquille informed the others. “I read about them in the old texts, from before our people settled here in Mythalia. It is strange that we should run into them here though. There have been no reports of them in the Imperium, but their presence here is an ominous sign. They bring evil with them.”

Damian turned to consider Maquille’s words, staring into the dark opening. “Then we’d best root them out of here,” he eventually said.

Maquille bent to pick up a stone. He rubbed it gently and it began to throw off a soft light. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The opening led deep into the mountain. The tunnel could accommodate them easily, but was dark and damp and the light from Maquille’s stone threw off eerie shadows against it walls. They jumped at many of the shadows, but there proved to be no real resistance.

Maquille was startled when he suddenly bumped into something. It took an anxious moment before he realised it was Damian, who had suddenly halted. He soon found out why when a guttural chanting reached his ears. The group proceeded forward with caution.

The tunnel soon opened up into a well-lit cavern. From behind the rocks they took cover behind, the three were able to see a single gnoll in the middle of the cavern. He was chanting loudly and seemed oblivious to their presence.

Gerome had withdrawn his bow and notched an arrow. He was looking at Damian, waiting for permission to shoot. Damian reluctantly nodded, thinking a prayer to the gods that the shot would prove true. The gods must have heard him, because the arrow embedded itself in the gnoll’s neck and the gnoll dropped to the floor like lead.

Damian and Gerome rushed towards the gnoll’s body, stepping around the blood that was slowly spreading across the floor, while Maquille followed more cautiously. They searched its body, but the only interesting item they found was a strange pendant. It was round and made of copper. A crack ran across its front and Maquille remarked that he thought it was part of the design. There was nothing else in the cavern, so they returned the way they came, bearing their prize.

They arrived back at the ledge in time to see the sun setting. “Looks like we’ll be spending the night here, boys,” Damian sighed. “Prepare yourselves for a cold night.”

Damian sat down on the ledge and began to scratch around in his pack for a bite to eat. He felt someone tugging at his shoulder and looked up to see Gerome gazing urgently past him. “Someone’s coming,” Gerome whispered.

In the distance, Damian saw a group of about a hundred orcs coming from the same direction they had. “It looks like there’s been fighting,” he said, studying the orcs who were being carried on makeshift stretchers and others who bore battle wounds.

“Perhaps,” Maquille’s voice cut across, “it would be a good idea to pull the rope up.”

Damian jumped up and started pulling the rope up. He was still busy when the orcs passed beneath the ledge. One came to a stop. He was dressed more impressively than the others – clearly a commander of sorts – and was bleeding heavily from a wound down his cheek.

The orc gazed up and his gaze met Damian’s. Then Damian realised that Gerome had notched an arrow to his bow and was training it on the orc. He lifted a hand to stop Gerome. The orc nodded at him and continued marching with his troops while the three companions watched them disappear into the distance from their vantage on the ledge.

“Arrogant filth!” Gerome burst out.

“I do hope everything is alright in Coldwick,” Maquille thought aloud, the concern evident in his voice. But that was far from the case.