The Elder Scrolls I : lift of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the timberland floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his prey. His mitt were ill-gotten, mud and moss clung to his Banded branding iron armour, his foresightful golden blonde hair hung over his face, damp with sweat.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his substructure to face north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making fiddling 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 Padre antediluvian 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 magnanimous 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 forenoon jazz blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his helping hand through his fortunate haircloth and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree blood he breathed deeply inhaling the saucy air, it was so different here than it was in the metropolis, here you could find out peace.

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

He soon caught the perfume of a fox and followed it in the guidance 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, unusual though as he did n't mind getting muddy, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northerly cant to avoid the Slaughter Pisces the Fishes. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would have been their last-place concern, as for some intellect everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner kinsperson believed in hex, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two reasons, he did n't need to suffer his prey, and just to his left on top of the sunken tower of Llinatas Deep were two bandit 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 egg of double-dyed clean light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the thaumaturgist shouting and barking orders as three bandit bowman came up and shot arrow at the empyrean as the Necromancer shot bolide at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their Axes in a blind wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his stupor and daze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his backbone and charged at the brigand as the firmament began to flinch inside taking the easy form of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the 1st bandit, a fellow 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 chest, then spun around drawing the sword from his chest of drawers cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his boldness stained with descent, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right script, his chest panting as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in furore.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and sweep his great-sword with all his might. Battle-axe and Great-sword clashed in a spark of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each early with all their strength, staring into the orcs beastly face as it roared in anger and continued to press its sword downwards towards Arngeirrs head. His specialty was failing, the orc was winning with its Brobdingnagian natural physical speciality, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few races who posed a real threat to him and a existent challenge.

As the axe drew good to his head word Arngeirr slipped into an unbind craze. He roared out like a cage king of beasts, the nordic engagement cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its arse, its push now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its chest, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gap yap in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling tilt that once was a swagger holding up the tower, weilding an ebony bow set to enkindle her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded iron clad red-guard wielding dual scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassinator flanked him on his right as he faced the tower.

meter reading himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and sweep his blade in a encompassing arc in front of himself. The Red-guard jumped back at the first swipe then as the indorse 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 human knee as an Arrow sank into his shoulder. The Khajiit stabbed him in his right should also, completely crippling him as Arngeirr felt his life sentence ebbing from him.

Then he felt a whoosh of air as a greenish fuzz flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the tugboat crumbling bulwark, an Orcish battle-ax embedded deep in his bureau. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared wide eyed at what she saw, revere engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the completely time as the Necromancer ran forward and tried to bring up the corps to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its branch broken. Arngeirr felt a warm hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmheartedness spread through his soundbox, a comfort easy luminousness engulfing his wound, healing them.

Then a magniloquent man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two ebony sword and a great sword, 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 inscrutable, yet subdued and comforting articulation to which the elf just nodded repeatedly

She was short, 5ft 3in in peak with prospicient inglorious haircloth tied back in a pony-tail. Her hide was tanned and her wyes were a deep sparkling putting surface, she was fragile of figure, clearly flexible and agile.

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

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 .... ''