Seanu Reaves
The Shogun of Gaming
It was a cool Skyrim morning in the Reach. Birds were singing, deer frolicing, and the fog had lifted. Rangar Proffit looked out from his little camp on the river bank, a quaint position hidden across from the main road. Wargul Gro-Gruumash, Rangar thought as he inspected his map. The man's wanted poster poking out of Rangar's pack, and Rangar had to whistle. This man was quite a piece of work. Five assaults and three murders in Winterhold city, resisted arrest multiple times, Banditry in Winterhold hold, and didn't pay the bard for the song Wargul requested. Rangar moved down to the river to bath, tracing mentally where his leads were pointing to.
It appears he ran to the Orc Stronghold of Dushnikh Yal, Rangar concluded. He dunked his head into the chill snowmelt, he had to sweep his blonde braids back as he wiped his warpaint off. Rangar smiled, remembering his foster father, a benevolent Argonian named Hides-Many-Knives, ranting about the uselessness of the custom. Hides said why paint yourself when your target should never know that your there? Rangar had the highest respect for that man, his own father missing and his mother death Hides had forged Rangar into the man he was. Rangar combed his short beard and picked up his warpaint brush. Through the reflection in the water and muscle memory Rangar applied a perfect nordic swirl on his cheek.
Rangar finished his bath and started to pack up his small camp. It was only a tent, bedroll, and campfire. Rangar used his pack as a pillow, that was how spartan Rangar lived. Rangar started strapping on his armor. His armor was an achievement. For you see it was soft leather akin to the Theives Guild armor, but wrapped in steel and corundum alloy bands. It wieghed as much as scaled armor but was as tough as steel plate. Lastly was his helmet, this was not an achievement. It was a piece of plops, honestly. It was just an iron helmet that when he tripped after he bought it the horns fell out and Rangar was to poor to fix them at the time. But all and all in the end it got its job done.
Across the river bank, Rangar could see what he marked on his map as Blind Cliff Cave. It will take a few days, Rangar predicted as he traced his path. Rangar had to avoid the roads, lest a talkative traveller spook his quarry. Rangar checked to see that he dismantled his campsite right before he kicked the remnants of his fire into the river. Rangar's armor barely making a sound as he worked his way south down the shore. He crouched as he reached the outskirts of what was marked as Four Skull Lookout.
Rangar unshealthed his massive dagger, it was joke Rangar was compinsating and it was said that it was made from a dragon's tooth. The blade was nearly two-feet long and four inches at the widest point. It had a yellow-ish gleam, and it's hilt was rough leather with blackened steel crossguard. It may not be as sharp as other metal knives but with enough force it was said Rangar could cut through steel. Rangar smiled, for this knife was known around Skyrim as The Giant's Toothpick was the only real weapon he needed. Now that is not to say it was the only weapon Rangar carried, on his back was a crossbow with steel bolts, a bandolier of other daggers, and his own steel encased fists.
Rangar approached Four Skull Lookout still crouched, but Rangar decided to just stride up to the structure. Rangar was partial to ancient Nordic archetecture, and with the view it was beautiful to him. Though walking normally and in armor, Rangar's approach was still unnoticed by the two bandits that had taken shelter in the ruin. Rangar smiled and loudly clearing his throat.
"Oye, Who in Oblivion are you?" replied the quicker bandit.
"You wouldn't happen to have directions to Bruma would you?"
The sarcasm was lost on the bandits, but Rangar's constant advance and Giant's Toothpick exsposed blade wasn't. The bandits tried to get thier weapons ready. Rangar still had a large smile. This is going to be fun, Rangar thought.
It appears he ran to the Orc Stronghold of Dushnikh Yal, Rangar concluded. He dunked his head into the chill snowmelt, he had to sweep his blonde braids back as he wiped his warpaint off. Rangar smiled, remembering his foster father, a benevolent Argonian named Hides-Many-Knives, ranting about the uselessness of the custom. Hides said why paint yourself when your target should never know that your there? Rangar had the highest respect for that man, his own father missing and his mother death Hides had forged Rangar into the man he was. Rangar combed his short beard and picked up his warpaint brush. Through the reflection in the water and muscle memory Rangar applied a perfect nordic swirl on his cheek.
Rangar finished his bath and started to pack up his small camp. It was only a tent, bedroll, and campfire. Rangar used his pack as a pillow, that was how spartan Rangar lived. Rangar started strapping on his armor. His armor was an achievement. For you see it was soft leather akin to the Theives Guild armor, but wrapped in steel and corundum alloy bands. It wieghed as much as scaled armor but was as tough as steel plate. Lastly was his helmet, this was not an achievement. It was a piece of plops, honestly. It was just an iron helmet that when he tripped after he bought it the horns fell out and Rangar was to poor to fix them at the time. But all and all in the end it got its job done.
Across the river bank, Rangar could see what he marked on his map as Blind Cliff Cave. It will take a few days, Rangar predicted as he traced his path. Rangar had to avoid the roads, lest a talkative traveller spook his quarry. Rangar checked to see that he dismantled his campsite right before he kicked the remnants of his fire into the river. Rangar's armor barely making a sound as he worked his way south down the shore. He crouched as he reached the outskirts of what was marked as Four Skull Lookout.
Rangar unshealthed his massive dagger, it was joke Rangar was compinsating and it was said that it was made from a dragon's tooth. The blade was nearly two-feet long and four inches at the widest point. It had a yellow-ish gleam, and it's hilt was rough leather with blackened steel crossguard. It may not be as sharp as other metal knives but with enough force it was said Rangar could cut through steel. Rangar smiled, for this knife was known around Skyrim as The Giant's Toothpick was the only real weapon he needed. Now that is not to say it was the only weapon Rangar carried, on his back was a crossbow with steel bolts, a bandolier of other daggers, and his own steel encased fists.
Rangar approached Four Skull Lookout still crouched, but Rangar decided to just stride up to the structure. Rangar was partial to ancient Nordic archetecture, and with the view it was beautiful to him. Though walking normally and in armor, Rangar's approach was still unnoticed by the two bandits that had taken shelter in the ruin. Rangar smiled and loudly clearing his throat.
"Oye, Who in Oblivion are you?" replied the quicker bandit.
"You wouldn't happen to have directions to Bruma would you?"
The sarcasm was lost on the bandits, but Rangar's constant advance and Giant's Toothpick exsposed blade wasn't. The bandits tried to get thier weapons ready. Rangar still had a large smile. This is going to be fun, Rangar thought.