Rahn White-Eyes is reminiscent of the heroes of old. Men follow him. Women want to be with him. Armies would gather to swarm down from Skyrim to subjugate all of Tamriel, if only he were the kind of man who would be a conqueror. Instead, Rahn is a new hero for a new age. He counsels peace, he pushes for understanding, he champions the weak and protects the helpless. If he was chosen, he could have been a paladin... but the Nordic Gods don't choose such champions. So when war threatened his homeland, Rahn White-Eyes left his forge and gathered his friends, whipped the already spoiling Nords into a war-party, and marched south to make a line that no Imperial would be allowed to cross.
Sadly, while strong as a house and inspiring in the extreme, Rahn isn't actually as good a leader as men make him out to be. He has no experience. He laid waste to the first imperial scout unit that passed his sight, and Rahn himself did remarkably well, splattering men left and right, but his rag-tag rabble of undisciplined Nords didn't fare so well. During a night a Redguard bandit and his crew attacked and killed most of the remaining men in his group, and stole virtually all of their equipment. Again, Rahn distinguished himself, fighting back viciously with axe and shield, but even he was eventually overwhelmed, borne down to the ground and beaten, and eventually tied to poles. He was questioned at length as to the location of his village and where the best trade routes could be found, but refused to answer. Eventually the bandit leader, tired of his stubborn refusal, took the axe of his father and ... unmanned... one man of Rahn's party for every man the raid-leader himself had killed. The beautiful magical silver double-bladed axe he took with him as personal spoils, but not before being heated to near-glowing and slashing the heavily muscled warrior from wrist to wrist, along his back, leaving his muscle gaping open to the elements and the crows.
With twelve remaining warriors, he was plucked out of his predicament by morning, thinking himself crippled but saved. His flesh aches, his blood boils. The men went about the task of burying their dead, cairn-stones gathered as their ice-eyed hero looked on in despair. Vowing never to touch another blade until vengeance was satisfied and his father's weapon was returned to him.
When the Imperials came looking for their lost men, they found the poorly organized and wounded Nords entirely off-guard, and slaughtered them almost to a man. Their leader, crippled and broken, they demanded more from... and knocked him unconscious, taking him into custody...
