The elder Scrolls I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his quarry. His hands were soiled, mud and moss clung to his Banded Iron armor, his long golden blonde hair hung over his facial expression, dampness with fret.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his feet to face up north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making niggling randomness 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 pointer to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

'' tinker's damn you '' he cursed as they moved on and in he distance he saw the heavy deer he had been stalking prancing away towards the lake.

He slid down the tree after sheathing his weapon system and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning confidential information blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his hand through his fortunate hair and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree line he breathed deeply inhaling the wise 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 footing he began to sniffle and heed for any wildlife that he might hunt.

He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the steering 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 bear in mind getting muddied, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northerly coin bank to avoid the Slaughter Pisces. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would suffer been their hold up concern, as for some reasonableness 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 lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the settle tower of Llinatas deep were two bandit vulture wielding Orcish Battleaxes. Also just behind them was an learner thaumaturgist.

As he passed silently by he was blasted forward into the Tree-line by a huge orchis of everlasting Elwyn Brooks White light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the wizard shouting and barking rules of order as three brigand Archers came up and shooter arrows at the area as the wizard shot human dynamo at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a unsighted wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupefaction and daze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his back and charged at the brigand as the welkin began to shrivel inside taking the liberal form of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the world-class bandit, a fellow Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in skin armour. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's top dog, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords chest of drawers, then whirl around drawing the sword from his thorax cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his face stained with profligate, holding his bloodied great-sword in his aright hand, his thorax panting as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in fury.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and drop 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 choler and continued to press its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs straits. His effectiveness was failing, the orc was winning with its Brobdingnagian lifelike physical strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few subspecies who posed a real menace to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew close to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbind cult. He roared out like a cage in 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 leaf blade down onto its chest, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a yawn hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock and roll that once was a strut holding up the tower, weilding an ebony bow ready to open fire her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded Fe clad red-guard wielding twofold scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his rightfulness as he faced the tower.

indication himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swung his blade in a widely arc in front of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the first base 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 pointer sank into his berm. 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 fuzz flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the towers crumbling walls, an Orcish battle-axe embedded deep in his bureau. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide eyed at what she saw, veneration engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the unit fourth dimension as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the remains to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a affectionate hired hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmth cattle ranch through his dead body, a solace gentle brightness engulfing his wounds, healing them.

Then a tall man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two ebony swords and a large sword, with longsighted swept back golden hair and a muscular flesh walked by towards the necromancer and Khajiit. He drove his sword into the cervix of his opposite then turned to the woodelf.

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

She was short, 5ft 3in in pinnacle with long pitch blackness pilus tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her Y were a deep twinkle honey oil, she was tenuous of material body, clearly pliable and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit friends slip and lend it out here '' The man ordered as the elf disappeared into the bury bread and butter

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 .... ''