The Elder Scrolls I : acclivity of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his fair game. His hands were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded Fe Armour, his foresighted favourable blonde hair hung over his brass, damp with sweat.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his infantry to confront north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making minuscule racket he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak tree until, halfway up, he rested against a leg. Slowly he drew his fathers Ancient Nordic Bow and readied his brand pointer to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

'' shucks you '' he cursed as they moved on and in he distance he saw the large cervid he had been stalking prancing away towards the lake.

He slid down the tree diagram after sheathing his artillery and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning wind blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his hand through his fortunate hair and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree line he breathed deeply inhaling the fresh air, it was so different here than it was in the urban center, here you could find peace.

As he looked around himself Arngeirr sat down and, bringing his olfactory organ close to the solid ground he began to sniff and heed for any wildlife that he might trace.

He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the direction of Llinatas Deep, as he approach the money box he sighed, he hated swimming, he was n't bad at swimming per say, just disliked getting wet, unusual though as he did n't heed getting bemire, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern bank to avert the Slaughter Fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would have been their last concern, as for some rationality everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner family believed in hex, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two reasons, he did n't require to suffer his prey, and just to his left on top of the sunken pillar of Llinatas Deep were two bandit Marauders wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an Apprentice Necromancer.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a Brobdingnagian musket ball of pure Caucasian light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the necromancer shouting and barking orders as three brigand bowman came up and fritter arrows at the empyrean as the Necromancer shot fireballs at it and the two brigand earlier charged at it wielding their axe in a blind wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupefaction and daze he drew his Sky-forge steel great-sword from his backbone and charged at the brigand as the sphere began to contract inside taking the loose mannikin of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the first bandit, a fellow Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in hide armour. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's head, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords chest, then spun around drawing the sword from his breast cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his fount stained with descent, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right hand, his pectus heaving as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in craze.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and drop his great-sword with all his might. Battle-axe and Great-sword clashed in a Dame Muriel Spark of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each other with all their lastingness, staring into the orcs beastly face as it roared in anger and continued to adjure its leaf blade downwards towards Arngeirrs brain. His force was failing, the orc was winning with its immense natural strong-arm strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few races who posed a actual scourge to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his headway Arngeirr slipped into an unbound rage. He roared out like a caged lion, the nordic battle cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its fanny, its energy now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its breast, delivering the killing shock, cleaving a gaping fix in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock music that once was a strut holding up the tower, weilding an ebony bow set up to fire her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded smoothing iron clad red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassinator flanked him on his rightfulness as he faced the tower.

reading material himself for scrap Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swung his blade in a wide arc in front of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the start swipe then as the second came he deflected with his scimitar sending Arngeirrs blade away from him and into the air. The Red-guard slashed at Arngeirrs thigh bringing him to his knees as an Arrow sank into his shoulder joint. The Khajiit stabbed him in his right should also, completely crippling him as Arngeirr felt his aliveness ebbing from him.

Then he felt a whoosh of air as a greenish blur flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the tugboat crumbling walls, an Orcish battle-axe embedded oceanic abyss in his chest. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared panoptic eyed at what she saw, fright engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the altogether sentence as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the corpses to press but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its wooden leg broken. Arngeirr felt a warm manus on his arm pulling him up as the warmth bedcover through his body, a comforting appease visible light engulfing his wound, healing them.

Then a tall man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two ebony swords and a great sword, with yearn swept back golden hair and a muscular build walked by towards the thaumaturgist and Khajiit. He drove his swords into the neck opening of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

'' Do you render ? '' The man asked in a deep, yet piano and comforting voice to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was short, 5ft 3in in peak with retentive black hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a cryptic sparkling super acid, she was tenuous of figure, clearly whippy and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit Quaker stole and get it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the sunken support

The man walked over to Arngeirr and helped him up

'' Are you alright ? '' The man asked, to which the man nodded in reply

'' What is your name ? ``

'' Arngeirr, and yours ? ''

'' ... Raiden .... ''