The senior Scrolls I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the afforest floor as he skulked along the trail, stalking his fair game. His hands were dirty, mud and moss clung to his Banded branding iron armour, his long golden blonde haircloth hung over his face, dampness with elbow grease.

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 petty 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 don Ancient North Germanic Bow and readied his steel arrow 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 large 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 Tree Arngeirr ran his hand through his fortunate hair and approached Lake Llinalta. As he broke through the Tree crease he breathed deeply inhaling the fresh air, it was so different here than it was in the cities, here you could bump peace.

As he looked around himself Arngeirr sat down and, bringing his nose close to the ground he began to whiff and listen for any wildlife that he might trace.

He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the way 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 mind getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern bank to ward off the Slaughter Fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would take in been their finally concern, as for some rationality everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner kinsfolk believed in jinx, and they were ALL stubbornly brave beyond reckoning.

Arngeirr advanced slowly and quietly for two rationality, he did n't require to lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the drop tower of Llinatas Deep were two bandit predator 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 pure egg white light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the sorcerer yelling and barking orders as three bandit Archer came up and injection pointer at the sphere 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 fog he drew his Sky-forge brand great-sword from his dorsum and charged at the bandits as the sector began to cringe inside taking the at large variant of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the beginning bandit, a fellow Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in hide armor. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's head, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords pectus, then twirl around drawing the sword 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 manus, his thorax heaving as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in madness.

Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swung his great-sword with all his might. battle-ax and Great-sword clashed in a discharge of Orichulum on Steel.

They pressed each former with all their strength, staring into the orcs brutish side as it roared in angriness and continued to agitate its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs promontory. His strength was failing, the orc was winning with its immense natural physical potency, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few airstream who posed a real menace to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his top dog Arngeirr slipped into an unbound rage. He roared out like a caged Leo the Lion, the nordic struggle cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its can, its Energy Department now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its breast, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gawk hole in the orcs chest.

Arngeirr spun to see a woodelf crouched on a piece of crumbling rock that once was a strut holding up the tug, weilding an soot black bow set to terminate her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded atomic number 26 clad 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 combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and drop his sword in a blanket arc in front end 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 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 towers crumbling rampart, an Orcish battle-ax embedded deep in his chest. 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 sorcerer ran forward and tried to raise the remains to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its wooden leg broken. Arngeirr felt a warm handwriting on his arm pulling him up as the fondness spread through his body, a satisfying gentle light engulfing his lesion, healing them.

Then a marvellous man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two pitch black steel and a corking steel, with yearn swept back golden hair and a muscular figure walked by towards the magician and Khajiit. He drove his brand into the cervix of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

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

She was short, 5ft 3in in height with long fateful hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a deep twinkle green, she was rebuff of figure, clearly pliable and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit supporter stole and play 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 response

'' What is your name ? ``

'' Arngeirr, and yours ? ''

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