Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20141125120454/@comment-5583506-20141208221227

Bori Fast-Hand wasn't named so for nothing. He was probably the finest archer in western Skyrim. Whatever target he wanted to hit, his arrow found it in the most peculiar ways. Even though he had fought many battles together with his liege Garm and the Gorehounds, he could never have expected to rise from the lowest of the archer rabble, actually become a commander of an entire unit. It seemed that the friendship with to-be-king back then had paid off. Garm was certainly a competent ruler and many were the people that looked up to him, although he wasn't really all that popular. Respected, but never loved as some would say...

"Practicing our dead aim, are we?" boomed a familiar voice.

Bori turned around to face a man sitting on a horse with a helmet similar to that which Garm usually wore into battle; a snarling dog's head.

The man opened up his visor. It was Black Tommard. A name fitting of a man with such a dark sides as this one. "Or do you simply just wave your bow around for show?"

Bori had never liked Tommard. The man was a poor excuse of an honourable warrior even if he was a berserker. He took no prisoners and even when he did, he made sure to use them as a way to amuse himself. Usually by practicing his cleaver... And even if the Gorehounds found pride in flaying their enemies, they only did so when their victims were dead. Tommard however seemed to enjoy the sound of men and women screaming in pain. He was truly a man to fear and to keep a watchful eye on.

"Of course it is for show", replied Bori with feigned courtesy. "It seems to have an impression on some people. Even you acknowlegded this fine bow of mine!"

Tommard's smile didn't fade as Bori had hoped for. There wasn't a single moment where Tommard hadn't smiled. And a mischievous smile it was, covered by a close cropped-beard just as black as his name.

Tommard took the reins on his horse and lowered his visor. He looked back at his berserker troopers. "Men! We have our orders! The Iron Hound has commanded that we are to position ourself in the western mountain passes! Move out!"

The berserkers roared in response and started to march after their commander, leaving the archer unit with Bori at the front row.

Bori worried how Tommard would handle the situation with the settlements in the western regions of Haafingar. The villages were independent and would most likely not favor an entire army preparing an ambush from their lands. If they objected Tommard would most likely respond in the only language he knew. With violence...

He sighed and just hoped that it wouldn't have to come to that. Right now they had a more important threat to eliminate. Someone had been raiding through Haafingar and plundered the king's mines and the situation needed to be dealt with severely.

"Archers!" commanded Bori and the entire unit cried out in response. "To battle stations!"