The elder roll I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his prey. His hired man were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded branding iron Armour, his long golden blond hair hung over his facial expression, moistness with sweat.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his feet to face 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 branch. 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 declamatory 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 hand through his favorable 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 city, here you could find peace.

As he looked around himself Arngeirr sat down and, bringing his nose close to the primer coat he began to sniffle and listen for any wildlife that he might hunt down.

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 swim, he was n't bad at swimming per say, just disliked getting wet, strange though as he did n't mind getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern bank to quash the Slaughter fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would deliver been their last concern, as for some reason 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 rationality, he did n't need to miss his prey, and just to his left on top of the sunken pillar of Llinatas trench were two bandit Marauders wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an learner Necromancer.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a vast clod of virginal white light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the necromancer shouting and barking purchase order as three brigand Archers came up and shot pointer at the sphere as the magician snap fireballs at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a subterfuge wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupor and fog he drew his Sky-forge steel great-sword from his book binding and charged at the bandit as the celestial sphere began to quail inside taking the loose anatomy of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the first base bandit, a mate Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in shroud armour. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's psyche, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords chest, then spin out around drawing the blade from his chest cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his face stained with blood, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right hand, his chest of drawers heave as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in fad.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swung his great-sword with all his might. Battle-axe 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 anger and continued to press its sword downwards towards Arngeirrs headland. His strength was failing, the orc was winning with its vast natural forcible lastingness, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few airstream who posed a real number scourge to him and a actual challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound fad. He roared out like a cage lion, the nordic battle 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 pectus, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gaping fix in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of music of crumbling John Rock that once was a strut holding up the tug, weilding an soot black bow cook to force out her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded iron garb red-guard wielding duple scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his right as he faced the tower.

Reading himself for scrap Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swung his sword in a wide of the mark arc in front line 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 genu 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 green blur flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the tug crumbling bulwark, an Orcish battle-ax embedded deep in his dresser. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide eyed at what she saw, fright engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the unanimous metre as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to prove the corpses to press but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its pegleg broken. Arngeirr felt a warm hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmth spread through his consistence, a satisfying assuage light engulfing his wounds, healing them.

Then a tall man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in coal black armour, wielding two ebony blade and a great brand, with long swept back golden hair and a muscular build walked by towards the necromancer and Khajiit. He drove his swords into the necks of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

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

She was unforesightful, 5ft 3in in height with recollective Black hairsbreadth tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a thick scintillation green, she was slight of anatomy, clearly flexible and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your brigand friend stole and land it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the sunken keep

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 .... ''