What the topic says. I will write a short-short story about your character in whatever style you wish. I need to write a short story for a creative writing class next week, but I am suffering from a terrible bout of the dreaded writer's block! Just leave a post with your character's name and any pertinent details, and I will write up a short story about him, hopefully getting my creative juices flowing. If you have any special requests about the story, such as setting, or a specific antagonist, just make a note in your post. I have to go to work, but I'll be back in a few hours to check on the thread and to write-up any characters I see. Thank you to everyone who contributes!

My characters name is Claudias, he is an older Imperial and a Warrior. He follows the nine divines and is relatively poor. He is almost max in all major skills as well. Perhaps you can write something about an assassination attempt upon him by the Dark Brotherhood.

The current character I am RPing is a Dunmer assassin from the Morag Tong, sent to eliminate the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodill.

The Morag Tong was hired by a http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:Adamus_Phillida who hates the Dark Brotherhood who had the idea, "To stop assassins, use an assassin."

She is an experienced assassin at "Knower" rank, her weapons are an Ebony dagger and an Ebony bow with Glass arrows. Her armour is Morag Tong armour. (from the Unearthing Mehrunes' Razor plugin) It is aethestically identical to Leather Armour. Feel free to think of good enchantments for the bow and dagger.

She knows that Writs of Termination are not good here, so she is as stealthy as possible.

Killing the Black Hand is her main mission, but the Cheydinhal order can be targeted, if you have time.

The Dark Brotherhood traitor can be involved, maybe how his plan is being ruined by an unexpected varible.

Even better, pick a character/NPC from the game and write a short story about them. In support of my character's journal, we wrote the life history of Dratik (the ancient vampire that caused Azura problems). We also wrote a small piece about King Rislav (the statue in Skingrad). It would be a blast to write a story involving a dynamic NPC like Mazoga. Or a mysterious NPC we know little about like Alawen. Or an ordinary NPC like Nilawen. Just a thought. Good luck! :foodndrink:

I like this :icecream:

I too like this.

The danger with writing someone elses character is that you won't portray the character quite how whoever's char it is, imagined them. If that makes sense.

Perhaps a short story about Honditar on a hunting trip? Although, for many lol points, you should poke fun at his archery skills
Or someone like Carahil, maybe what the Anvil guild hall was like before Traven left to become Arch Mage.

Wow, what a response! In reply to those who suggested writing a short story about an NPC, my intention with this exercise was to get my writing brain turned on, and to give something back to the Elder Scrolls community, from whom I have gained so much. My thinking was that people would be more interested in stories about their own characters than about an NPC, although there is always the danger of misrepresenting them. Of course I welcome all ideas, so if anybody out there has another suggestion for using the Elder Scrolls universe for literary pursuits, I would love to hear it. But I've gone on too long, without further ado, the two stories!


Slaughter of the Wolves

The wind rustles the uppermost branches of the trees around the worn-down cottage in the clearing in the wood. The slow clop of an Imperial Guard approaches, the Dunmer hunches down behind the bush, the cold glass of an Invisibility Potion pressed aginst her lips. In one motion she could be invisible, the orange glow of the Guard's torch appears around the bend in the road. The Dunmer pushes herself against the bush, branches scratch at her armor, she closes her eyes and listens. An owl calls from deeper in the wood, the rough-shod hooves knock past her cover, the horse snorts and the assassins eyes flash open.

"Hey..." the legionnaire calms the animal, stroking its mane, the horse shakes its head, and then trots on. In a minute they're gone. The Dunmer exhales in relief and replaces the stopper on the potion, places it clinking into her pouch and stands from her cover. The windows of the cottage are unlit, it is a moonless night, a weak bath of starlight washes everything in a pale luminosity.

The Morag Tong assassin approaches the house, she halts before the front door and extends her hand. Her face contorts in concentration as she mutters an incantation. A purple shimmer of magic floods over the door, A warding spell, she thinks. She reaches down to her belt and pulls a thin iron dagger from its sheathe. The assassin holds the blade in front of her face and runs her finger over it, leaving a trace of white magic on the knife. She runs the dagger across the entrance, the purple film begins to peel off of the door as she cuts through the spell. Satisfied that the warding spell has been dealt with, she grabs the knob and turns. The house is empty and covered in cobwebs, ancient debris pver what remains of the furniture. The house has long ago been stripped of its valuables, the Dunmer shuts the door behind her and creeps in, staying light on her feet.

She makes her way through the house, examining every room and cupboard, finding it empty but for a half-full sack of grain forgotten beneath a cabinet. The Dunmer stops her search and removes her gear, placing it on a table before taking a seat. Her face is expressionless as she reaches into her chest pocket and removes a tightly-fastened scroll. She slips it out of the string and unrolls it across the table. The letter is an assassination order, the Dunmer reaches back into her pocket and retrieves a quill along with a bottle of ink. She dips the nob and begins to write, Infiltrated Middas 12 of the Second Seed, house was deserted of- A low chanting reacher her ears. She stops moving instantly and listens. The chanting continues, almost a moaning, she stands and follows the sound. She pads through the house on the balls of her feet, finally reaching a section of wall where the sound is loudest. She hesitantly knocks against it, it knocks hollowly. The Dunmer's eyes shoot open, she moves like the night to her gear and fixes it to her person again, she scoops up the letter and ink and pen and stuff them back into her pocket.

When she arrives again at the door she presses her body against it, mouth a centimeter from the wood, she breathes out in preparation. A spell falls from her lips and the wall begins to contort. It drains from the center and piles itself silently in folds along the borders of the newly-opened entranceway. A tiny smile appears on her lips, but is gone in an instant as she moves through the door. Before her is a long tunnel that angles down and disappears around a turn at the bottom, she begins to walk. The chanting grows ever louder.

In three minutes she is at the entrance to the main chamber. Around a dark mahogany table are gathered the members of the Black Hand. Terrible hooded forms, whose nondescript black robes belie the evil that hides within. They have stopped reciting and are now talking amongst themselves, distracted by the conversation. the Morag Tong assassin silently readies herself. She pulls the bow from her back and retrieves a vial of poison from her pack. The poison is her own concoction, it contains powerful reagents that poison the body and silence the mind, she drips it along the head of a glass arrow. The arrowhead itself is imbued with a pale green fire that dances within its glass prison. Upon contact the head will burst in an explosion of fire, shrapneling venom and glass throughout the victim's body. The Dunmers face is as made of stone, she nocks the arrow and stretches the bowstring.

Tyrroc Valience is the youngest member of the Black Hand, a stealthy Orc known for his deft swordplay and his sociopathic tendencies. He is sitting back from the table, arms crossed, watching the debate. Suddenly a zip! and his head explodes in a gory phantasmagoria of green fire and blood. Poison and dark orcish blood splatter across the table, the headless form crumples to the ground. The remaining members are still for a moment, then all rise in a flourish of weaponry, enchanted blades erupting from sheathes and sparkling in the dim. The assassin is nowhere to be found. Lucien Lachance casts Detect Life, his eyes fill with a purple fire, there is no one here but the Black Hand. A puff of smoke and the Dunmer appears in the center of the table, she spins to face Lachance and extends her finger. There is a sickening snap as his head is wrenched to the side with a precisely placed Burden spell and in another puff she is gone, just as a deadly bolt of magic passes through the air where she was. Mathieu Bellamont is backing away from the table, the Listener has disappeared, and only Belisarius Arius remains, his hands full of magical fire. "Show yourself Morag Tong scum!" All he recieves in response is echoing, sourceless laughter.

Bellamont grabs his stomach, he looks down, then up at Arius with stricken eyes. Red blood leaks through his clenched fingers, and he falls forward. Behind him is the Dunmer, her Ebony blade smoking, the smell of burnt blood fills the room. Belisarius looks around and lowers his arms, in one movement the assassin is at him and stabs through his throat, as she removes the blade a fume of smoke spits from his throat. The Morag Tong member looks at her blade and casts a Destruction spell on it, cleansing it of blood with fire, then sheathes it. The Listener is still here, but she knows where.

At the top of underground path the Listener waits, his Elven Longsword ready at his side. His eyes are sunk deep in his face, but the glitter of fear is still visible. The dunmer assassin had closed the portal and locked the wall shut behind her. The Listners mouth barely moves as he talks, "Who are you, assassin?" In response she flips the dagger between her hands, her face expressionless.

"Very well," he readies his sword. She shoots a firebolt at him, with ease he deflects it but in a moment she is on him, a dark gold dagger in each hand. Blade bites blade as each thrust is met with expert parry. The combatants circle, each testing the other, clashes of metal spring magical sparks across the floor. The girl fights with eyes half-closed, lost in a battle trance. The older Listener grits his teeth with each swing, pushing to overcome the weaker assassin. With a sudden lunge he cleaves the air where she was, his eyes widen in surprise, the point of a dagger protrudes from his forehead. He falls to the floor, the assassin bends and frees her blade, firing it free of blood and brain matter and replacing it in her sheathe. She casts the Unlocking spell and strides through the pitch black house. She opens the front door and closes it, turns and places her hand against the wood. She speaks a word and purple magic flashes across the door, before disappearing to the original wood. The warding spell replaced, she pauses, allowing herself a moment of congratulation. And then, hitching her quiver and bow on her back, she is gone, back to the night.


Sunday Day

A scattering of rainbow light speckles the stone floor of the Bruma Chapel, sunlight piercing the stained-glass window. Claudius kneels at a pew, offering his thanks to Talos, the priest nods at him as he passes, Claudius returns the nod. He has been stationed in Burma for the last seven years, and is approaching the age of retirement for Imperial soldiers. Claudius stands and makes his way out of the Chapel, passing other praying figures. Behind him a man stands and follows him out.

The biting cold air fills Claudius' lungs, he slaps his hands at his arms to get the circulation flowing. The main gate guardsman salutes as he passes out, his chainmail clinking and shifting as he walks, he returns the salute distractedly. A man has been following him for days, he is sure of it, and he wants to find out who. The fence around the stable is covered with frost and a sprinkling of snow, Claudius knocks on the side of the house. A stablehand appears by the gate, "Oh! Hi Claudius, need the horse?" Claudius nods, smiling, "Yes, thanks." The young man retrieves his horse and saddles it up before leading it to the gate and handing it to Claudius. "Here you are sir!" Claudius mounts the horse and fishes in his pouch for a coin. The few septims he has clink together at the bottom of the pouch, but he nevertheless draws one out and hands it to the boy with a smile, "For your troubles." The stablehand doffs his hat and says "Thank you, sir, have a nice journey."

"I'm sure I will" Claudius says, looking back. A shadow disappears behind a pillar.

The Imperial halts in a clear patch of ground, about a mile from the city. The great walls of Bruma rise over the tops of the trees away to the east, Claudius looks down and moving as little as possible casts Detect Life. There, behind that pile of rocks, a hunched form, outlined in faint fire to Claudius' eyes. He steels himself and thrusts out his chest "Your game is up, reveal yourself." There is a moment's hesitation, and then a shrouded form appears from behind the boulders. The face is hidden deep in a cowl. Claudius dismounts and takes a pace towards the stranger. The stranger does not move. Claudius places his hand on the hilt of his sword, "You have been following me, why?" HIs query is met with silence. "I do not like it when I am followed." He draws his sword. "Prepare to defend yourself!"

The stranger stands motionless.

"AHhhhh!" Claudius charges, his sword uplifted. With a crash he brings the blade down over the head but it strikes nothing, the image dissolves. A shooting pain burns into his leg. WIth a grunt Claudius falls to a knee, and a grin crosses his face. With a roar he spins around, but there is nothing there, he looks down, an arrow protrudes from his leg. The assassin drops from a tree and begins to walk towards him. Claudius braces himself against the boulder and pulls himself up. He waits until the assassin is in the centre of the clearing then shouts, "Now!". In mottled camaflouge a team of soldiers burst from the surroundings, the assassin is taken aback, he spins to try to face each one.

Claudius stands unsteadily and reaches down, pulls the arrow from his leg. He runs his hand over the wound and it closes back on itself. He retrieves his sword from where he dropped it and limps towards his would-be-killer. He points with his sword, "Do you surrender?" The assassin merely laughs, and with a sudden movement a blinding flash fills the area. When all fades, the killer is gone, only a fist-sized stone is left where he stood. A soldier runs forward and picks it up, examines it, and brings it to Claudius, "It looks like you made some enemies in your time with Legion, sir". The stone is smooth and spherical, and almost entirely white, except for a small black hand etched into its surface on one side. Claudius frowns at the stone, and then raises his eyes to look about, "Indeed I have."

I did this with Alessia and Queen Tenyeminwe (whom she began the revolution against), in order to flesh out a chapter in the Teresa Fic that is all about the fall of the Ayleids. It worked out wonderfully. One of these days I am going to get around to writing it out as its own story.

He's my character which I also used for my creative writing piece. but I changed this so it wound make sense to people who has not played an ES game
Blackwyn
Blackwyn is an Argonian assassin from Black Marsh. He was getting paid tons of money to kill people. He killed Khajiit for free because a group of Khajiit thugs took over his village and beat his girlfriend Annaig to death. They knew that he was an assassin so he had to flee the country and try to restart. He went to Cyrodiil hoping his Black Marsh won’t go looking for him there.
Starting over in Cyrodill was hard for him because the Guard system is way more advanced than The Black Marsh. He couldn’t find a break. Then one day he saw the Khajiit who killed his girlfriend alone with none of his other thugs. Blackwyn took the opportunity to kill him. The guards saw it happen and then threw him in jail.
Then once the emperor was assassinated and Blackwyn escaped form the sewers he wanted to just lay low and hide until he was trained up enough and skilled enough to make his Assassin fame in Cyrodill. He crossed the river and decided to hide out at Vilverin. But after killing two people who occupied it, someone came with a not and gave it to him. When he read it explained his whole past about his ancestor Greywyn and how he is an exact descendent of him, And how Greywyn left him a lair called Deepscorn Hallow.
Blackwyn decided to go there and check it out. After he got it refurnished he found the gear that Greywyn was talking about. Blackwyn vowed to worship Sithis and the Crimson Brotherhood and take down the Dark Brotherhood.

Bacground
Sabinus Cullian: Imperial Crusader(sort of warrior-mage: see the premade class for info) born under the Mage.
Background
He and his brother Alan was imprisoned for aiding their uncle with small-scale moon-sugar smuggling. His brother Alan was taken too Morrowind a few years ago, being rumored too be something called "the Nerevarine". His brother was named Grandmaster of House Hlaalu and used his political power too free Sebanius.
Personallity
He is a confident warrior, but isn't very good with people. He is almost overconfident and that annoy a lot of people.
A good guy, but know when it is nessesary to do bad things
Okupation
Mercenary/Adventurer.


Hope that give some ideas on how too write about him.
Edit: Misspelled name... shame on me...

You've got a talent my friend. very entertaining!

My main character was a Nord but my second character was a Bosmer with a Khajiit name.

He lost his parents in an fatal accident as a baby whilst travelling and was raised by Khajiit. kinda like a jungle book type idea. Grew up in the dense tropical forest / jungle on the border of Valenwood & Elsweyr.

He was a master thief and a master with a bow. He could hide in the shadows or jump up out of danger and shoot people from a far.