Okay, here goes - I haven't started the build yet, will probably do it tomorrow, but I'm already pretty excited. 
Jociel the Breton
Combat style: Archery
Specialty: Light Armor, Pickpocket, Smithing, Conjuration
Morality: Chaotic Good
Bio: Jociel was born to a Breton mother and Nordic father - when he was a young boy, his father died on a 'business trip' to Riften. The Guards found his body floating out to sea, a knife still in his back. When he was a young boy, he used to sneak out into the wilds around his home in Markarth, trying to hunt local game with a hand-me-down bow from his father. He was a decent shot, and soon found that the lighter clothing allowed him to move unhindered, quieter. When he slipped and cut his armor in half on one trip through the mountains, he returned to the city and sought out a way to repair his tired old armor - and in the process, met a young Orcish apprentice who was all too glad to share in her craft. Wearing lighter armor, and being accustomed to moving quietly to hunt game, led to another discovery - that rabbits weren't the only thing you could sneak up upon. With no father, and a mother who was drowning her sorrow in mead, Jociel fell to crime, stealing whatever he couldn't afford to buy - nothing much at first, but soon he realized that he could determine what a person was wearing, just by looking at them.
When the guards finally caught him - at just fifteen - they threatened to haul him off to the Mines as punishment, but his mother lied to the guard, protecting him. The guards accepted her excuses - but only as admission that she herself had stolen the goods. She was hauled down the mines, and that was the last Jociel ever saw of her.
Furious with the world, Jociel struck out on his own, leaving Markarth behind and crossing the border into High Rock, where he lived in the wilds, hunting animals for food, and hunting men for possessions. He wondered if the rumors of the Thieve's Guild were true, and whether the old whispers that his father had been a thief were also true. Only Talos knew.
One cold night, Jociel was freezing half-to-death, unable to make fire on account of the blizzard, and saw a light in the distance. When he approached, he met a fellow Breton, a gaunt-looking woman of elderly age, bent over a stone slab, a rotten skeleton laying motionless before her. Herbs and flowers, and a sacrificial knife, were on the slab, and she was slowly incanting from a tome. Lights flashed around the skeleton, and before his eyes, Jociel saw the skeleton rise to life, bones held together by pure magic.
The Conjurer might well have killed him then and there - but the old woman still had some mothering instinct left her, and seeing the young man, worn out from travel, she took pity on him - and taught him the only thing that might save his life out in the wilds. "Bows and knives can kill many a man," she had said, "But why should you get up close and personal, when the dead can serve you?"
Jociel tapped into his own Breton heritage and found that magic came easier to him than he'd thought - from all the times out the wild, he'd grown accustomed to animals, and found that summoning wolves - his ever faithful hunting foes - came easiest of all.
In the year 4E 201, Jociel made a fateful trip across the border from High Rock into Cyrodiil, skirting along the edges of the Jerall mountains. He could never say for sure what made him turn his back on Bruma, sitting so peacefully down in the valley, and wander back into Skyrim - perhaps the Gods had guided him. At least, he thought that until he ran into the Imperial checkpoint.
Now Jociel stands before an Imperial Captain, the headsman awaiting his next meal. Everything has led him to this point: he feels magic coursing through his bones, can feel the tightness of catgut string on his fingers, feels the familiar weight of the leather armor around his chest, and the heat of the furnance against his skin. But he doesn't have any of those things available to him.
Right now, his fate is in the hands of the Gods.
Is that a roar in the distance?