Wolves

Sorbithor wandered along the dusty road. Patches of wet mud littered the path, with the occasional dead branch and rubble forming an obstacle. After talking to The smith, Alvor, who gifted him some leather armour and a few gold septum’s, Sorbithor had headed off for Whiterun to talk to Jarl Balgruuf, intent on delivering the news that Riverwood and Whiterun was under threat from a dragon. The darkness of the land was consuming, as groups of bandits and raiders were now common appearance along these roads. He wandered on, as the plank wooden roofs of Riverwood faded into the distance. The trickling water alongside him served as a calming sound contrasted to the roars of the dragon before, and the screams of the guards who had threatened his life. Alvor had been kind enough to give him some food as well, and so he owed thanks to the people of Riverwood, thus his mission to get to Whiterun. But the sun was setting and there was no inn nearby, apart from a small cave carved into the side of the cliff. And so after rolling out a bed spread and some wood for a fire, Sorbithor placed his knife under the roll and began to sleep. But he was being watched by a pair of yellow canine eyes.

The low pitched growling. It woke Sorbithor. He slowly opened one eye, turning over while looking out at the cave entrance. He felt around for the knife, gripping his warm large hands around the cold hard metal hilt. There it was, a group of 3 wolves. Their eyes, yellow and sharp, they were slow lying creeping up on him, sharp blackened teeth dripping beads of saliva as he slept. Warm breath was pushing on his face, as he slowly sat upright, calmly keeping his eyes on the wolves. Then they lunged. The largest wolf, with its matted fur, bit at Sorb. But before the wolf could get him, Sorbithor released a swing from the side, smacking the wolf’s head with his fist, wrapped in leather cloth. It snarled, and whined as it got flown into the side of the cave, sending it’s ‘friends’ on the attack. They lunged, getting swatted off by the strong Wood elf. Sorbithor muscular shoulders tensing as he sliced at the dogs, keeping them at bay. The first dog was back on its feet now, but its eyes had become bloodied and desperate. It jumped, fangs bared, dripping in its own blood. Sorbithor sliced at it, cutting it right in the mouth, cutting the muscles holding its jaw in place. The Dog went limp, whimpering as it hit the ground. The others alarmed, turnt on their heels and took off, leaving the alpha for dead. The alpha got up, blood drained from its face, and limped off. Sorbithor felt the weight of his hands drag them down, sheathing the knife and beginning to pack up camp. First light, and he would move out.