- [@Awesomoman64]

“Wait!” 

A frantic and sharp response came from behind the rock. There was a rustling of movement paired with the slight grind of boots on gravel as a shadow crept across the ground from behind the rock. A grunting could be heard as a hunched over figure slowly shifted his way out.

He was an elf, a Bosmer. He was adorned in cheap leather armor that was spattered in blood. His hands and wrists were bare, his boots were rather rugged and one seemed to have a large tear on the toe. He was breathing somewhat heavily, a red stream of blood poured down his right thigh into and over his boot. He was armed but his hands empty, a steel mace swayed at his hip and a bow and an empty quiver hung at his back. 

He looked rather young, his face was clean shaven and a single large knotted braid of auburn hair hung down the side of his smooth cranium. “Wait…” he said again, raising his hands outward passively, “I’m no Forsworn. And certainly not a Stormcloak.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “I was… attacked. I came upon this scene before us when two Forsworn leapt from the brush nearby. I managed to kill them both…” he nodded to a pair of the corpses nearby ,”but not before they got me in the leg.”

He groaned roughly, wincing as he shifted his weight, forced to plop back onto his backside as his thigh gave way. “Please,” he said,”I… I need your help. I can’t make it to Whiterun from here. Not with all the Forsworn and Stormcloaks prowling these hills. I just need help getting out of the Reach. You… folks don’t look to be bandits. Who are you?