Chapter 1 – The bandits.
Mountain peaks soar above the clouds, towering over the individual Nord, journeying though the province of Hjarlmarsh, making them look insignificant in compared to the cold harsh land of Skyrim. Snow, white as can be, surrounded, so that an individual saw but only white mist blowing in the bitter cold blizzard. The white out so strong, you can barely see the path leading to the safe haven of Windhelm, the safe haven for the native Nord, and guarded by the mighty Ulfric Stormcloak.
Three brave Nords venture through the blizzard, a mother a father and a teenage boy, forced out of their village north east of Whiterun, due to a combined force of necromancers and bandits, plundering, massacring and raping the civilians of mjorskrith like savage, wild dogs.
"Damn filth", cried the father, "they took everything, my cattle, my crops, everything", he continued.
The mother replied in a soft light hearted tone, "at least we still have our lives skjorl, and remember, Talos avenges those who have been victims of evil."
The young man cried "If Talos guides us, why did he let that happen to us father?", the boy sobbed.
Skjorl replied, "Harroc, let me tell you something, everything happens for a reason, Talos only permits these things to happen because he means too, because it was meant to be, it may not be in our favour, but I promise son, something good will happen, it is Talos' will, just you wait."
Suddenly, there appeared to be a small cave in a rock that looked quite inviting to stop and rest for the night.
"see son, I told you" Skjorl said with a chuckle.
"thank Talos", cried the mother.
"let's get a fire going".