The Elder Scrolls: Rise of the Sword-Runner *Teaser*
Introduction:
All of the Tags in this are all for what will come up
Arngeirr was crouching close to the forest 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 face, 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 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 fathers Ancient 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 large deer he had been stalking prancing away towards the lake.
He slid down the tree after sheathing his weapon and walked towards Riverwood. As the morning wind 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 nose close to the ground he began to sniff and listen for any wildlife that he might hunt.
He soon caught the scent of a fox and followed it in the direction of Llinatas Deep, as he approach the bank he sighed, he hated swimming, he wasn’t bad at swimming per say, just disliked getting wet, unusual though as he didn’t mind getting dirty, sweaty or bloody.
He swam quickly across to the northern bank to avoid the Slaughter Fish. Unlike others in Skyrim, the fish would have been their last concern, as for some reason 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 didn’t want to lose his prey, and just to his left on top of the sunken tower of Llinatas Deep were two bandit 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 pure white light, dazed and confused Arngeirr could see the Necromancer shouting and barking orders as three Bandit Archers came up and shot arrows at the sphere as the Necromancer shot fireballs 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 back and charged at the bandits as the sphere began to shrink inside taking the loose form of a man.
Arngeirr charged as the first 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 cutting him nearly in two.
Arngeirr stood up straight, his face stained with blood, holding his bloodied great-sword in his right hand, his chest heaving as he huffed and puffed, watching as the Orc bandit clad in fur armour charged him in rage.
Mimicking the Orc Arngeirr charged and swung 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 brutish face as it roared in anger and continued to press its blade downwards towards Arngeirrs head. His strength was failing, the orc was winning with its immense natural physical strength, 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 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 arse, its energy now spent as Arngeirr swung his blade down onto its chest, delivering the killing blow, 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 strut holding up the tower, weilding an ebony bow ready to fire her arrow 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 as he faced the tower.
Reading himself for combat Arngeirr advanced on the Red-guard and swung 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 knees 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 greenish blur flew by him at the Red-guard was thrown back into the towers crumbling walls, an Orcish battle-axe 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 Necromancer ran forward and tried to raise the corpses to fight but, the khajiit was sent flying through the air crashing into him, its legs broken. Arngeirr felt a warm hand on his arm pulling him up as the warmth spread through his body, a comforting gentle light engulfing his wounds, healing them.
Then a tall man, of 6ft 5in, dressed in ebony armour, wielding two ebony swords 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 deep, yet soft and comforting voice to which the elf just nodded repeatedly
She was short, 5ft 3in in height with long black hair tied back in a pony-tail. Her skin was tanned and her wyes were a deep sparkling green, she was slight of figure, clearly flexible and agile.
“Then go inside, gather all that your bandit friends stole and bring 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 reply
“What is your name?”
“Arngeirr, and yours?”
“… Raiden….”
