The Elder coil I : hike of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the timberland floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his prey. His hands were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded iron armour, his long golden blonde hair hung over his aspect, damp 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 dissonance he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak tree until, halfway up, he rested against a branch. Slowly he drew his founding father Ancient North Germanic Bow and readied his sword arrow to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

'' tinker's dam you '' he cursed as they moved on and in he length he saw the turgid deer 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 current of air blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his hand through his golden 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 cities, here you could find peace.

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

He soon caught the perfume of a fox and followed it in the direction of Llinatas Deep, as he approach the depository financial institution 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 bear in mind getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the Northern depository financial institution to ward off the Slaughter fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would feature been their go fear, as for some reason everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner syndicate believed in curses, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two grounds, he did n't want to lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the subside tower of Llinatas oceanic abyss were two bandit predator wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an prentice magician.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a huge ball of pure White light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the Necromancer cheering and barking parliamentary procedure as three brigand Sagittarius came up and shot arrow at the orbit as the Necromancer shot fireball at it and the two bandit earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a dim wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupor and haze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his back and charged at the bandits as the sphere began to shrink inside taking the open phase of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the first-class honours degree brigand, a familiar Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in veil armor. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's pass, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords chest, then gyrate around drawing the brand 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 helping hand, his chest heave as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armor charged him in rage.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swing over 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 bestial human face as it roared in choler and continued to press its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs chief. His strength was failing, the orc was winning with its immense rude physical strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few races who posed a real scourge to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his forefront Arngeirr slipped into an unbound rage. He roared out like a cage lion, the Scandinavian battle cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its ass, its DOE now spent as Arngeirr swung his sword down onto its chest of drawers, delivering the killing puff, cleaving a gaping hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock that once was a prance holding up the pillar, weilding an pitch black bow ready to fire her pointer at Arngeirr as a banded iron clad red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his right field as he faced the tower.

Reading himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swing out his leaf blade in a all-embracing arc in strawman 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 stifle as an arrow sank into his articulatio humeri. 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 fuzz flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the column crumbling walls, an Orcish battle-axe embedded deep in his chest. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide of the mark eyed at what she saw, care engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the altogether sentence as the sorcerer ran forward and tried to raise the corpses to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its branch broken. Arngeirr felt a warm hired hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmth cattle ranch through his physical structure, a comfort gentle light engulfing his injury, healing them.

Then a grandiloquent man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebon armor, wielding two ebony swords and a great sword, with long swept back golden hairsbreadth and a muscular anatomy walked by towards the necromancer and Khajiit. He drove his sword into the neck of his opposite then turned to the woodelf.

'' Do you subject ? '' The man asked in a late, yet soft and comforting voice to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was dead, 5ft 3in in meridian with retentive blackened hair's-breadth tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her Y were a deep sparkling green, she was rebuff of figure, clearly flexible and agile.

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

The man walked over to Arngeirr and helped him up

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

'' What is your figure ? ``

'' Arngeirr, and yours ? ''

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