The Elder ringlet I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest flooring as he skulked along the trail, stalking his quarry. His custody were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded Iron Armour, his long gilded blonde hair hung over his face, damp with sweat.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his feet to front north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making little noise he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak tree until, halfway up, he rested against a offset. Slowly he drew his fathers ancient Nordic Bow and readied his steel arrow to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

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

He slid down the tree after sheathing his weapon and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning wind blew through the Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree Arngeirr ran his bridge player through his golden whisker and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree melody he breathed deeply inhaling the fresh air, it was so different here than it was in the cities, here you could find peace.

As he looked around himself Arngeirr sat down and, bringing his nose close to the ground he began to sniff and mind for any wildlife that he might hunt.

He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the counselling 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, strange though as he did n't heed getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northerly bank to avoid the Slaughter fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the Pisces would give been their last concern, as for some ground everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner household believed in curses, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two reasons, he did n't want to fall back his target, and just to his left on top of the sunken tower of Llinatas trench were two bandit piranha wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an Apprentice thaumaturge.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a huge egg of complete flannel light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the sorcerer shouting and barking orders as three Bandit Archer came up and inject arrows at the sphere as the Necromancer guessing powerhouse at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a unsighted wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupor and daze he drew his Sky-forge steel great-sword from his book binding and charged at the brigand as the sphere began to cringe inside taking the loose form of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the foremost 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 chest cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his case stained with blood, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right manus, his chest heaving as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc brigand clad in fur armor charged him in rage.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swung his great-sword with all his might. battle-axe and Great-sword clashed in a twinkle of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each other with all their military posture, staring into the orcs bestial face as it roared in angriness and continued to press its vane downwards towards Arngeirrs chief. His military strength was failing, the orc was winning with its immense natural physical force, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few races who posed a substantial scourge to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nigh to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound passion. He roared out like a cage in social lion, the nordic fight cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its arse, its muscularity now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its bureau, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gaping mess in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock that once was a strut holding up the column, weilding an ebony bow make to fire her pointer at Arngeirr as a ring iron clad red-guard wielding threefold scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his right hand as he faced the tower.

recitation himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swung his leaf blade in a all-embracing arc in front of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the first swipe then as the back 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 stifle as an Arrow sank into his shoulder. The Khajiit stabbed him in his right field should also, completely crippling him as Arngeirr felt his life sentence ebbing from him.

Then he felt a swoosh of air as a greenish blur flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the pillar crumbling rampart, an Orcish battle-axe embedded deep in his thorax. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide eyed at what she saw, fear engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the whole time as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the corpses to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its stage broken. Arngeirr felt a strong bridge player on his arm pulling him up as the warmth cattle farm through his soundbox, a consoling gentle light engulfing his wounds, healing them.

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

'' Do you submit ? '' The man asked in a deep, yet soft and comforting articulation to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was short, 5ft 3in in height with recollective sinister hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a deep sparkling green, she was slight of figure, clearly flexible and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit friends slip and take it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the recessed dungeon

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 .... ''