Rahn had been burned before. He was all too well aware of the degree of treachery, to which people were capable of rising when their interests were served. His years in the Legion and, before that, the haggard old warrior who mentored him through his youth, had taught him that.
An orphan in practice, Rahn really didn't even know if that was true. He was found by a villager, brought to the center of the meager collection of huts, and promptly ignored as 'yet another mouth.' An infant, unable to care for himself, he was left to die. Wuulfgar changed that, the gnarled old veteran of the most violent battles in memory, he was the last person anyone would have expected to take on a child. But Wuulfgar was a widower, alone and empty, and to be depended on was just what he needed. And so Wuulfgar had raised Rahn, albeit in a predictably martial way.
Rahn learned many things in his youth, to read and write, to hunt and fish, cook and care for himself, and above all to defend himself. Rahn was VERY good at defending himself. This took Rahn to the darkest, most dangerous places the Legion could think to send him. It was not that they disliked Rahn. On the contrary, he was held in very high esteem by his commanders and peers, but Rahn was good and, when the stakes are high, you send the good ones.
In all, Rahn spent fifteen years in the Legion, finally quitting in anger, after his commander refused to allow him leave to see his child born. Rahn waited weeks for news, choked with excitement and dread. When news came, he accepted their deaths as stoically as he thought a soldier should. Inside, he died. Rahn neither reenlisted nor looked back.
He earned his "living" himself, sleeping in furs and eating of animals he'd hunted. He rarely went into towns, and when he did he made an effort not to be noticed. Thanks to first Wuulfgar, and then the Legion, he was also very good at that.
Watching the exchange between the various members of this mismatched group, Rahn shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Your talents could well save the lives of many," the letter had said, urging him to seek out this small camp and, in it, to train those who would cleanse the corruption in his beloved Skyrim.
He had found the camp fairly easy to enter unseen, and now lay in the shadows, covered in brush, watching the almost comedic exchange. Some of what he heard amused him. Some annoyed him. None surprised him.
