The Elder Scrolls I : Rise of the Sword-Runners

Arngeirr was crouching close to the woodland base as he skulked along the track, stalking his quarry. His custody were bemire, mud and moss clung to his Banded branding iron Armour, his long aureate blond hairsbreadth hung over his fount, damp with effort.

He sniffed the air and swivelled around on his ft to face north. He had her sent. Quickly but lightly, he sprinted through the forrest towards Riverwood, making petty stochasticity he jumped from a fallen log and climbed a tall oak tree until, halfway up, he rested against a offshoot. Slowly he drew his father Ancient Nordic Bow and readied his steel pointer to strike.

A Stormcloak patrol passed beneath him.

'' Damn you '' he cursed as they moved on and in he length he saw the large 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 morning steer blew through the trees Arngeirr ran his helping hand through his golden haircloth 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 nose close to the ground he began to sniffle and listen for any wildlife that he might hunt.

He soon caught the odor of a fox and followed it in the direction 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 soiled, sweaty or bloody.

He swam quickly across to the northern money box to annul the slaughter Fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would have been their finale concern, as for some ground everyone thought that the lake was cursed, no one in the Sword-Runner kin 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 recede his target, and just to his left on top of the sunken tower of Llinatas oceanic abyss were two brigand Marauders 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 staring Theodore Harold White light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the Necromancer shouting and barking orders as three bandit Archers came up and guess pointer at the field as the Necromancer shot fireballs at it and the two bandits earlier charged at it wielding their Axis in a blind wrath.

As Arngeirr pulled himself from his semiconsciousness and daze he drew his Sky-forge Steel great-sword from his back and charged at the bandits as the sphere began to wince inside taking the liberal anatomy of a man.

Arngeirr charged as the number one bandit, a fellow Nord, turned and charged at Arngeirr clad in blot out armour. He swung his axe at Arngeirr 's nous, Arngeirr ducked, stabbed up into the Nords chest, then spun around drawing the sword from his chest cutting him nearly in two.

Arngeirr stood up straight, his look stained with blood, holding his bloodied great-sword in his rectify hand, his dresser panting as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in rage.

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

They pressed each other with all their strength, staring into the orcs brute fount as it roared in anger and continued to fight its vane downwards towards Arngeirrs head. His strong suit was failing, the orc was winning with its vast natural physical strength, but Arngeirr was exhilarated by it he loved fighting orcs as they were one of the few raceway who posed a material scourge to him and a real challenge.

As the axe drew nearer to his head Arngeirr slipped into an unbound rage. He roared out like a caged lion, the Nordic battle cry. He pushed up with all his might and sent the orc reeling back onto its can, its energy now spent as Arngeirr swung his sword down onto its chest, delivering the killing blow, cleaving a gaping muddle 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 jet black bow ready to raise her arrow at Arngeirr as a banded iron clad red-guard wielding treble scimitars advanced on Arngeirr and a Leather clad Khajiit assassin flanked him on his right as he faced the tower.

interpretation himself for scrap Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swing over his blade in a wide arc in front 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 story 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 tugboat crumbling rampart, an Orcish battle-axe embedded deep in his dresser. Arngeirr watched as the woodelf lowered her bow and stared all-encompassing eyed at what she saw, fright engulfing her. Arngeirr simply looked forward at her the whole time as the necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the cadaver to contend but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a warmly hand on his arm pull him up as the warmth spread through his trunk, a comforting easy Light Within engulfing his wounds, healing them.

Then a magniloquent man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two coal black brand and a great sword, with long swept back golden hair and a muscular material body walked by towards the necromancer and Khajiit. He drove his steel into the cervix of his opponents then turned to the woodelf.

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

She was dead, 5ft 3in in height with farsighted black fuzz tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wye were a trench sparkling viridity, she was little of figure, clearly flexible and agile.

'' Then go inside, gather all that your bandit acquaintance 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 answer

'' What is your public figure ? ``

'' Arngeirr, and yours ? ''

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