465 Nord Born

South of Falkreath at the crossing that branches off to both Cyrodil and Hammerfell, a lone well-built man wearing thick steel armour rides his horse towards Skyrim, his and his ancestor's home.

Surtr had been away for years, finally having committed to his dream of adventuring and growing strong enough to protect his home. Obviously, he'd heard of the Civil War that was splitting the Province in half, but he thought that it wouldn't last all that long, thinking that Ulfric Stormcloak would lay down his arms eventually.

Apparently though, that had never happened, leaving it in its current state... This was part of the reason Surtr was returning, well... Aside from his home-sickness, complete lack of coin, and slight discrimination of Nords in Cyrodil that'd started around when the Civil War had.

He'd learned a lot in Cyrodil, despite his relatively short time there he'd become one of the elite members of the Fighters Guild, where once he couldn't even wield a sword properly, now he could dispatch many men at once, all without taking significant injury.

He didn't know whether it was just inborn talent or something else entirely, but whenever he went into battle... He felt alive. As if that was where he'd always meant to be, his life's calling if you would.

Now, how did an elite Fighter's Guild member become basically penniless? Well, he'd been conspired against... Some of his 'allies' hadn't liked his quick rising through the ranks and decided to plot against him.

He had been invited to gamble in a card game, which he'd won relatively easily, mostly due to luck. Unfortunately, he hadn't realised as his 'friends' were filling him with ale and other alcohol that the gold they were using for the game originally belonged to the Guild's vault...

Once he'd won all of it, he'd passed out with a pile of gold at his bedside, which had quickly been discovered by the Guild Leader and his men. They kicked him out despite him explaining the situation, making him realise that one of the people who disliked Nords was the Guild Leader themselves.

Distraught and furious, he'd grabbed his shit and his horse, and left for home. Which leads him to where he is now. "Hmm... I hope Mother, Father, and Brother are doing fine..." he mutters, knowing that the Stonehills were under Imperial control, basically directly between Morthal and Dawnstar... He was worried that it was contested ground, as that'd put his family in danger.

He was also looking forward to meeting his saviour again, Michael was his name... Surtr had heard many things during his time in the Fighters Guild, including the mention of one upcoming mercenary called Michael Tahlin in Skyrim. He felt it in his gut that he was the same person, so he was determined to properly pay him back for the rescue.

As for what he'd do concerning the Civil War once he returned? He had no idea. He believed that Skyrim was better off together with the Empire, but could see Ulfric's reasoning for wanting to secede, among them being the Thalmor, who he imagined was more aggravating in Skyrim than the ones milling around Cyrodil...

He shakes his head and decides to cross that bridge when he gets to it. He'd stand with whoever had the best interest of Skyrim and his family at heart.

He continues along the road until he reaches the abandoned gatehouse that'd previously served to separate the Empire and Skyrim. He was surprised to see a few people manning however, each of them wearing thick furs and somewhat badly maintained weaponry. Some pop up with bows and arrows drawn while others wield spears, blocking the open gate and making it all but impossible to bypass without lethally injuring his horse.

"Stop there! You'll pay the tax if you wanna go any further!" a dirty-faced Nord who was wearing the best gear out of them shouts as he approaches.

"Tax? You dare tax travellers while this Civil War's going on!? Where's your honour!?" Surtr angrily exclaims, taken aback by the greed of these people... Most people who used this road were those fleeing from Skyrim or returning to see their loved ones to safety.

The man laughs, "Yeah, we are, what're you gonna do about it, boy-...?" he trails off as Surtr swings off from his horse, revealing his 6.5ft stout physique, one befitting a proper Nord warrior... To be frank, most people would look like warriors compared to the short snivelling thief before Surtr.

"I'm going to cut you down and display your heads to the Jarl of Falkreath." he growls, drawing his sword and shield while dropping the visor on his helmet.

The thief takes a step back at the threat but quickly recovers himself as he glances over his shoulder at his companions, "KILL 'EMMM!"

*Thwip!Thwip!Thwip!*

Three arrows collide with Surtr's shield as he rushes forwards, his sword angling for the retreating thief before him. The man flails his sword behind him in an attempt to delay Surtr, but it's for nought as the large Nord's blade first cuts his hand off, then severs his spine with a clean stab.

"GGAAHK!"

"Umber! DAMN YOU BASTARD!" a female thief shrieks in grief as she continues firing arrows, all of which are easily blocked by Surtr.

The next thieves rush forward to engage Surtr, the three men working together to whittle him down as a group... Only to find themselves getting pressed far harder than they'd expected.

Surtr quickly circles around them, forcing them to continually change their formation... Until one trip on some uneven ground, allowing Surtr to strike.

He steps forwards and blocks a slash with his shield while parrying another with his blade, afterwards flicking it upwards and cutting the carpel tunnel of one of the men, causing them to lose grip of their weapon.

Two more men go down in quick succession, Surtr only pausing when an arrow bounces off of his shoulder plate.

"I'll show you what predators of the innocent deserve!" Surtr growls as he changes his target from the tripped warrior to the archers. "No mercy for the wicked!"