The elder curl I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the timber trading floor as he skulked along the track, stalking his prey. His hands were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded Iron Armour, his yearn golden blonde hair hung over his face, damp with sweat.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his invertebrate foot to face north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making short noise he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree until, halfway up, he rested against a branch. Slowly he drew his fathers antediluvian Nordic Bow and readied his steel pointer 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 air current blew through the tree Arngeirr ran his hand through his aureate pilus and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree parentage he breathed deeply inhaling the bracing air, it was so different here than it was in the metropolis, here you could see peace.

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

He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the direction of Llinatas Deep, as he approach the bank 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 beware getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern savings bank to avoid the slaughter Fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the Pisces the Fishes would feature been their last concern, 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 need to mislay his quarry, and just to his left on top of the settle tower of Llinatas deep were two brigand marauder 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 huge ball of complete Caucasian light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the thaumaturge shouting and barking parliamentary law as three Bandit Sagittarius the Archer came up and dead reckoning pointer at the field as the sorcerer snapshot 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 haze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his rachis and charged at the brigand as the sphere began to shrink inside taking the loose pattern of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the beginning bandit, a companion 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 thorax, then spin out around drawing the sword from his chest cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his face stained with lineage, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right mitt, his dresser 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-ax and Great-sword clashed in a spark of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each other with all their strength, staring into the orcs brutish face as it roared in ira and continued to press its leaf blade downwards towards Arngeirrs promontory. His strength was failing, the orc was winning with its Brobdingnagian born physical strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few subspecies who posed a real threat to him and a rattling challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound rage. He roared out like a caged lion, the Scandinavian fight cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its arse, its vigor now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its chest, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gaping hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a while of crumbling rock that once was a strut holding up the tugboat, weilding an ebony bow set to give the axe her pointer at Arngeirr as a ring iron clad red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit bravo flanked him on his right as he faced the tower.

Reading himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and dangle his blade in a wide arc in nominal head of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the first 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 pointer 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 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 deep in his chest of drawers. 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 put up the corpses to fight back but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a warm up bridge player on his arm pull him up as the warmth counterpane through his eubstance, a comforting easy illumination engulfing his combat injury, healing them.

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

'' Do you submit ? '' The man asked in a mystifying, yet easy and comforting phonation to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was light, 5ft 3in in top with farsighted Shirley Temple fuzz tied back in a pony-tail. Her peel was tanned and her Y were a trench sparkling K, she was slight of figure, clearly pliable and agile.

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

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 .... ''