Run! You hear me Anderson? Run!
If those blasted Nords catch you, then your fun, and your life, ends.
Run!
He kept mentally chastising himself. The cold winds of the Skyrim mountains whipped all around him, an intense blizzard was brewing up. It was so cold, he could feel it through the thick armour he had created for himself. A mixture of various pelts, cruedly sewn to old leather, with several pieces of iron scattered along the coat, for added protection. He even put a fluffy hood up to protect his face from the vile mountain winds.
He could hear the blabbering of those Nord morons behind him, despite the intensity of the storm. "Damn it! Can any of you see that Imperial pig?". One of his allies responded quickly "Bjorn I can hardly see past my own nose with this damn storm. Maybe we should turn back?". The leader, Bjorn, responded "No way! We don't turn back 'till that monster is either dead, or out of Skyrim!". The three other men nodded, and pressed on through the oncoming storm.
Anderson, meanwhile, was running ragged. These cretins had been chasing him up this mountain range for hours now. But he couldn't stop. Not when he was so close to the summit. So close to Cyrodiil. So close to freedom.
"Ongar, can you get a clear shot at him?" Bjorn asked to the bowman beside him. The bowman nodded hesitantly "Yes. I think I see him". He pulled his bowstring back, dwarven arrow aimed at the dark blob that was fading into the blizzard ahead "Ysmir, let my arrow hit my mark" he whispered, letting the arrow fly.
*THUNK*
Hearing that sound, and the muffled grunt that followed, Ongar smiled in satisfaction. Anderson, however, was far less satisfied. The arrow struck his right shoulder, through all the layers he was wearing. The hit slowed him down, but he couldn't stop. The edge was just a few steps away. Suddenly, he was struck by another arrow, this one hit him just above the hip, and knocked him off balance, causing him to tumble down the mountain benath him.
The four Nords stopped just at the summit, watching the famed murderer, who had terrorised Skyrim the past few months, tumble down the mountains to his likely death, until he faded from sight. Bjorn snorted "Even if he survived, he's Cyrodiil's problem now. Let's get back to the town, before this blizzard gets any worse...". and so they left, praying that this problem was gone for good. Or at least, gone from Skyrim for good.
*Several minutes later, and several metres downward*
Anderson eyes opened weakly. Apparantly, a small ridge had broken his fall. And most of his ribs. "Well Anderson...Luck's on your side again. Now to just get up and...*Hng*...Damn" he mumbled, barely conscious. Azura knows how many injuries he had just taken, all he knew was that he was mere inches from death. He'd need to act quickly to get out of this.
Anderson weakly raised one arm up, and started patting around at the various pouches on his belt, and paused at the one on his left-hand side. Opening the pouch, he pulled out a small purple bottle, miraculously intact from the fall. He slowly unscrewed the cap on the bottle, and swallowed the strange glowing liquid inside. "Ah...healing potion, work your magic" he groaned, rolling onto his back.
Slowly but surely, the potion began to heal most of Andersons broken bones, and his bruises. His stamina was also returning to him. He now felt strong enough to make his descent down the mountain. Thankfully, the blizzard winds were also dying down. There certainly wouldn't be any problems now. Maybe. Hopefully. It could hardly get much worse.
Anderson slowly stood up on the ridge, and continued, slowly clambering down the mountain. Hard to say the least, when you were just hit by two arrows and sent tumbling down a mountain to your doom. But Anderson was determined. Metre by metre, he descended, his strength slowly returning with every passing moment thanks to that stopped, reaching another ridge jutting out, with a tent stuck up and a fire burning, both being blown by the freezing wind. Anderson paused to check his map of Cyrodiil, curious about this area "Dive Rock?" he muttered to himself, examinging the map of the Jerall's closely.
He paused. Where had he heard about Dive Rock before? Something about a monster. It didn't matter, it was just a stupid sto-
*CRACK*
Anderson was knocked out of his thoughts by a massive fist, knocking him several feet away. Anderson looked around quickly. He couldn't see hide nor hair of his attacker.
*CRACK*
Another blow, staggering Anderson. He could hear the screeches of a troll. Now he remembered the legend of Dive Rock. A giant invisble troll was supposed to live around here. Anderson reached for the large sword on his back: A great big cleaver, the length of his arm, and half as wide as his torso. It wasn't graceful, or light, but it was a killing tool and that was all that was required of it. He had no time to check where the beast was, he was too weak to waste time like that. Anderson swung his cleaver wildy in fron of him, and through sheer luck, he managed to cut the troll straight across the chest, blood splattering across the snow. Funny, it's innards weren't invisible.
Now, with a large gash on it's chest, the beast was far easier to see. That didn't detract from it's lethal nature of course. The troll flailed it's invisible arm out, smashing Anderson in the jaw, almost breaking it. Anderson retaliated, swinging his cleaver in an upward arc. There was a dull thud. One of the beasts limbs had been cleaved off. It screeched in anguish, swinging it's remaining arm out, knocking Anderson to the ground. As Anderson's consciousness faded, the last thing he heard was the troll fleeing into the snow, and the sound of human footsteps.
