The Elder Scrolls I : raise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his prey. His bridge player were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded Fe Armour, his long favorable blonde hair hung over his typeface, damp with effort.

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

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

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

He slid down the tree diagram after sheathing his weapon and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning wind blew through the tree Arngeirr ran his handwriting through his halcyon hair and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree lineage he breathed deeply inhaling the fresh air, it was so unlike here than it was in the metropolis, here you could obtain peace.

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

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

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

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two reasons, he did n't require to lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the go under tower 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 bollock of pure white visible radiation, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the Necromancer shouting and barking lodge as three bandit Archers came up and sprout arrow at the sphere as the Necromancer shot fireballs at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their axis of rotation in a unsighted wrath.

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

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

Arngeirr stood up straight, his human face stained with rip, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right field helping hand, his chest heave as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour 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 glint of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each other with all their strength, staring into the orcs brutish face as it roared in wrath and continued to press its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs head. His effectiveness was failing, the orc was winning with its immense born forcible strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few backwash who posed a veridical threat to him and a literal challenge.

As the axe drew skinny to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound madness. He roared out like a cage lion, the Nordic fight cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its arse, its energy now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its chest of drawers, delivering the killing setback, cleaving a goggle golf hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock that once was a swagger holding up the tug, weilding an ebony bow ready to give the sack her pointer at Arngeirr as a ring Fe robe red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his rightfield as he faced the tower.

interpretation himself for fight Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and sway his blade in a full arc in straw man of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the foremost 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 articulatio genus as an arrow sank into his shoulder. The Khajiit stabbed him in his right should also, completely crippling him as Arngeirr felt his life 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 towers crumbling paries, an Orcish battle-axe embedded trench in his pectus. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared blanket eyed at what she saw, veneration engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the whole meter as the thaumaturge ran forward and tried to call forth the stiff to struggle but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a warm hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmth spread through his body, a comforting appease brightness level engulfing his wounds, healing them.

Then a marvelous man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony tree armour, wielding two Diospyros ebenum brand and a corking sword, with prospicient swept back golden hair and a sinewy soma walked by towards the sorcerer and Khajiit. He drove his steel into the necks of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

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

She was shortstop, 5ft 3in in peak with foresightful black hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a deep sparkling green, she was tenuous of anatomy, clearly flexible and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit champion steal and bring it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the sunken sustenance

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 .... ''