My Character

Name : Link

Race : Bosmer Elf

Signature Apperal : Green Tunic And Hood (There Wont Be A Hat Like Links In The Game :confused: )

Backround : Saved The World Of Hyrule In His Past Life Now Reborn In The World Of Tamriel To Save Skyrim And The World From The God Alduin And The Recent Upheaval From The Kings Death.
Legends Say He Has Been Reborn Many Times And Saved Many Realms With The Help Of One Of The Most Powerfull Swords In The Universe But Now Without His Sword He Has Been Reborn As A Dragonborn Now Able To Harness The Souls Of Dragons He Is Ready,From The Day He Was Reborn He Has Bein Training For The Prophacies To Unfold And They Have But He Has Run Into A Set Back He Was Framed For The Murder Of The King Of Skyrim And Has Been Sentance'd To Execution ........He Needs You To Guide Him!

What Do You Think Of My Character? :happy:

First name: Cyrus

Last name: Dralas (family name of the adoptive father)

race: Nord (a more tanned skin than the average nord and dark hair due to dilluted redguard heritage)


personality:

A calm and intelligent mind contrast with his big stature and imposing demeanor. he learned from his adoptive dunmer father everything from combat to blacksmithing, although his father wanted to teach him more in the ways of fencing he found that Cyrus was attuned to use 2 handed blades and so he often sent him on specific hunts in order for his son to improve himself.


Parentage:

Cyrus's adoptive father was in his youth a wandering fencer and scholar, he often visited cities in order to visit their libraries and challenge passing warriors. approaching his 100 years of life he was sent to morrowind in chains as a slave and worked his way up until he was allowed by the argonians limited freedom to keep researching for them.


Brief Biography:

found as a baby on the shores of Morrowind in the arms of a dead nord captain. A dunmer passing by noticed this morbid scene and came near to take a better look, as he investigates the captain's body he finds an ancient medallion that seems to have been crafted in skyrim, in the back he finds an inscription with the name Cyrus. "Curious" -the dunmer thought to himself- though the medallion is from skyrim the inscription is written in the old redguard's language, he then takes a look at the infant and sees that he is on the brink of death. Unphased by its cries the dunmer turns back and starts to walk away... as he distances himself from the shores he is struck by a powerful force in the back, making him lose his footing and look back, he looks to the baby surprised to see a torn trail of ground rock with the unconscious infant at the end, "I can use him to leave this wretched place" - the dunmer though to himself - and brought the infant with him to the small town of Gnaar Mok.


Years have passed, and young Cyrus grew amongst the dunmer slaves and argonians learning everything he could from his adoptive father who often sent him on hunts and odd mercenary jobs and while Cyrus was a formidable fighter, he never saw him recreate that shockwave from all those years ago. the rest of the village shunned Cyrus due to his heritage and often warned the father to abandon or even kill him in fear of a possible betrayal, the father knew that in time the villagers would lose their patience and drive Cyrus, if not them both, out from the village in slavery or worse...
one night, the father called the young nord to their home saying he had something important to show him, he showed Cyrus all the books and scrolls he had collected over the years, all of them describing Nord and redguard history as well as culture, he told Cyrus that the time to leave the village was coming near and that they would have to prepare for the inevitable outcome.


after a few weeks, it was time to leave morrowind and head towards skyrim, in search of knowledge and a better life away from the slavery of the argonians.
weeks, maybe months later at sea, the father and his son reached the shores of skyrim disguised as a nord slaver and his dunmer slave. the ploy worked well enough for them and they managed to travel the roads fairly safely, until cyrus was ambushed by dunmer rebels who took his father and slashed Cyrus's face cutting out his right eye, the attack left Cyrus unconscious and the rebels disappeared as fast as they came leaving him with nothing but rags on his back. Cyrus then wakes up in a prison, apparently the guards recognized him when he came into shore and after a bit of investigation they learned that Cyrus was not a slaver but rather a mer sympathizer and was awaiting execution for it, this accusation left Cyrus laughing at the irony of it all.
what happens next is yet to be told...

I think your character is 100% not taken from any other game, good job

Name: Isolde von Lindberg

Race: Nord

Appearance: Slender, blonde, blue eyes

Background: She was born in Skyrim to previously-noble parents who were disgraced because of false accusations. When she was little her mother died of illness and her father decided to move out of Skyrim (to High Rock) because he wanted to protect her daughter from the people who wanted the last of his kin dead so that they would never rise to power again, and the only thing that kept them there beforehand was his wife, and now she was gone. So she was raised there in High Rock, where her father taught her the ways of the warrior, and the Bretons taught her the ways of grace, magic, art and stealth. She fell in love with and married a fellow Breton, and they were living all happily the three of them, when her father's feared adversaries tracked them down, and assaulted their home. They killed her father, and her husband when he was trying to defend her. She succeeded to run away, but swore and oath to avenge the death of her loved ones. So she stealthily slew every person responsible for it, and decided to make a return to her homeland Skyrim, where she was caught while crossing the border, and accused of the murder of her victims.

Name: Soren (considering soren storm but not sure if its overly cheesy)

Race: dunmer

Gender: male

Playstyle: battlemage

I haven't really thought up a backstory, although im considering being a rebel who was arrested by the empire for being a rebel :ninja:

Name: Shiari
Race: Khajiit
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Discipline: Warrior
Trade: Free lance Adventurer
Occupation: Smith
Alignment: Honourable
Prefered weapons and fighting style: Primary fighting style: Dual wielding - Sword and Mace, Secondry - Archery.
Armour: Heavy armour
Appearance: Brown fur, lioness look and slender.
Backstory: On the run from the Dark Brotherhood for witnessing an assissination and then killing the assassin in self defence. Gets caught crossing the border into Skyrim.

Name: Veylen Vhayil
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Appearance: Veylen is an old Dunmer man, with long Grey/White hair and a rough looking goatee, he also has several scars over his body due to his time in the Dunmer army.
Specialization: Battlemage.
Favored Skills: Destruction, Restoration, One handed(Sword), Light Armour, Enchanting, Alteration.
Factions: Undecided, might help the Companions and College of Whispers.
Backstory/How did you end up in prison: Veylen lived in a village near Mournhold during the events of the Red Year, he lost his wife and two daughters to the Argonians and was taken captive as a prisoner of war after he fought valiantly and killed several of the invaders but was finally bested in combat. Eventually after many years he escaped and travelled through Morrowind, to find nothing but a barren landscape, ever since these events he had a grudge against the Argonians, he travelled to the Imperial City, and lived there for a while. However, he could find no peace, often getting into trouble due to his new drinking habits and hate for the Argonian people. Eventually forcing him to travel around from place to place. After a while he decided to sober up and visit the Dunmer refugees in Skyrim. When he was near the border of Skyrim he came across a group of Argonians. They insulted and taunted him, this reminded him of the Red Year and his time as a prisoner. He snapped and killed them all without mercy, several travellers saw this and reported it to the guards who were stationed further down the road. He was arrested and sentenced to death.

Name: Thoros

six: Male

Age: 36

Race: Bosmer

Class: Glade Warden(Shock troops of Valenwood. Capable melee fighters, but users of stealth, bow, and illusion magics first a foremost.)

Appearance: Green-eyed. Short, built, and muscled. Covered in tattoos and a few scars. Scruffy looking. Wears a mohawk and a short beard. Goes with as little clothing he can for the sake of movement.

Personality: Gruff, wry, pragmatic, and a tad compassionate; except he hates Imperials.

Morals: Swings between Chaotic Good, Neutral Good, and Chaotic Neutral.

Factions:Anti-Empire.

Backstory: Was a devoted enforcer and follower of Thalmor, the new Bosmeri government in the Fourth Era. Some time ago, Thoros hunted an Imperial contingent of soldiers in one of Valenwood's shifty glades with his tribe, only to be captured, tortured, and imprisoned by retreating soldiers that left his kin's bodies to nourish Valenwood's roots. Using the same skills that he learned when little, he escapes prison and ventures north to Skyrim, only to be caught again when he ambushed a Legion supply line. Found guilty for assault, attempted robbery, treason, and murder, he is sent for execution.

Name: Dar'Yaki

Khajiit

Stealth

will use main dual wield daggers maybe bow use posion potion so will have alchemy pickopcket ofc.

Background: Outcasted from Elsweyr after caught stealing the blue tears from Ri'kjha, the highly regarded daughter of Dro'geth the lord of the eastern steppe horde.

my character will be an akatsuki.

Name: Jack De'Royeaux

Gender:Male

Age:23

Race:Breton

Profession: Magician and wandering Ronin

Backstory:
Dude had an Altmer girlfriend. They were young, fooled around, he got her pregnant. Her male Altmer relatives had a lot of influence in High Rock, and with the empire crumbling, our dear Breton's family had fallen into similar disfavor. Not only did the Altmer separate the two youngsters, they pretty much destroyed his families reputation, took his families wealth. His father died in 'mysterious circumstances' involved in an appeal, and his mother died of grief soon after. To add insult to injury, when his girlfriend refused to reject the baby and tried to return to him, the Altmer family killed both mother and unborn son.

Needless to say, my Breton used his swordsmanship and magical prowess to wipeout the entire Altmer clan.

Now he lives as a wondering magician; using his magic to entertain human villages, heal their sick, slay local monsters. In truth, he seeks to rid Altmer from human lands, and kills them wherever he finds them. He's a serial killer who targets Altmer- always on the move, to escape international law enforcement and angry Altmer and Breton clans who seek revenge for what he did in High Rock.

He gets captured by local authorities for the murder of two Altmer women in Skyrim, and await execution (this is preferable to being handed over to the Altmer). Then he meet a man named Esbern.

Some random prosttute with a dagger! I rest my case.

Taryn

Female Dunmer

Born Serila Hlaalu, she was a misfit since her birth. Her father, a proud warrior of House Hlaalu, wanted a boy, a successor, from his first wife and didn't even try to hide his contempt for the little girl supposed to be his offspring and the woman that gave birth to her. After her mother succumbed to the severe and repeated beatings when she was 5, her father turned to her. The beating weren't the worst he did to her.
The father had children with other wives, boys, and trained them in the art of the sword. She watched from the shadows and learned what she could. During the nights, when she was hunted by nightmares and couldn't sleep, she took up the swords scattered in the training grounds and practiced, unbeknownst to her family. She learned fast. With 13 years she tried to challenge her father in a duel, but he would have none of it; after all she was a girl. She attacked him anyway and he was forced to defend himself. Ironically this girl that he despised since her birth, was the best pupil he ever had and he didn't even know until it was too late. She could not defeat him, but hurt him badly. For the unprovoked attack on a senior member of House Hlaalu she was exiled.
Her brothers could not accept that their sister was supposed to be a better fighter than them and hunted her through Vvardenfell to prove it, but one by one they fell by her sword. Nowhere to go, she turned to the wilderness. She lived with the Ashlanders for a time, but the last surviving brother tracked her down while she was hunting with a small group of the tribe, and when they returned, the camp was burned down and between the ashes lay the members of the tribe, men, women and children alike. Her brother waited for her in the center of the carnage and after a fierce duel, he was slain. The remaining hunters blamed her for their predicament and exiled her.
Alone again she resorted to a life on the unguarded roads of the province and soon was feared as 'The Ghost of the Roads'. This was when she finally found an opponent that bested her skill with the sword and she was defeated. This man, an Exalted Master of the Morag Tong, saw the potential hidden under the dirt and decided to train her. In the guild she honed her skills with the blade, but also was taught ethics and morale. With 17 she was ready for her first contract. Her father.
She snuck into the Hlaalu Manor in Balmora at night and assassinated her father while he slept. Standing above the dead body of her tormentor she started to cry. For her mother, herself and even her father. But mainly for the life that lay behind her. She didn't return to the Morag Tong.
She wanted to leave everything behind and start anew, elsewhere, and somehow she was drawn to Skyrim, land of the Nords. Little did she know of her real heritage and the destiny connected to it.
She went by the name Taryn.

Name: "Mog" (Mogma gro-Baluk)
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Age: 37
Discipline: Stealth/Combat
Trade: Bandit/Highwayman
Occupation: "Muscle for Hire"
Alignment: Neutral/Evil
Prefered weapons and fighting style: Single-sword no shield, utilizes stealth
Armor: Light Armor for skirmishes, Heavy Armor for "business trips"
Personality: Mog is very confident and somewhat brash. He loves a good scrap and will even fight when out-numbered, but he doesn't fight fairly, so he often times catches his opponents off-guard.
Appearance: Stout and rough. Mogma bares the scars from many conflicts.
Backstory: Mog was born into a criminal life on High Rock. His mother was the matriarch of a small-time gang (Black March) and taught him what he needed to know to survive on the streets and in the wilderness, away from the prying eye of the law. As Mog grew older, his natural talent for extortion flourished and soon after becoming an advlt, he was operating his own branch of the gang. Mog and his mother made a great team and they managed to increase the reach and efficiency of the gang through force and cunning. For a decade and a half, the Black March terrorized High Rock. The life of a thug is dangerous and after black-mailing the wrong Breton nobles, Black March was hit hard in retaliation by a group of mercenaries and assassins. The assault on the Black March base ended when the entire organization had either been slain or fled. Mog's mother was one of those found dead.

Mog barely made it out alive and fled inland, toward the east. After months of evading capture by the noble family and the law officials of High Rock (who became involved shortly after the raid on the Black March base), Mog smuggled his way into Skyrim. Mog made his way to the outskirts of Solitude and set up a small camp in the rocks on the coast. Even after his near-death experience, Mog was soon back to his old ways after amassing a small group of followers (Orcs aren't known for their brilliance). A few months of living large in a cave in the wilderness came to an abrupt halt when one of the "marks" his Dunmer scout reported on ended up being a prison caravan instead of merchant caravan. The group of marauders were either slain as they tried to flee or arrested and happily added to the prison caravan. Mog was delivered to the authorities and sentenced to death after his past was revealed.

Mog is currently en route to his execution. :mohawk:

Name:Gabriel
Gender:Male

Age:27

Race:Imperial

Profession: Crusader/ traveller /

backstory: Gabriel came from a small village in the outskirts of cyrodil and from a very young age he took the good path always defending the weaker against the stronger but when his parents are killed in a goblin attack he is forced
to move into the city with his uncle who is a very wealthy because of his corrupt business deals and lynching of fellow competitors though forced to live with his uncle gabriel makes daily outings to a middle age man who befriends him and teaches
many things such as weaponry skills Smithing ,restoration magic etc there friendship last for many years right up until the day Gabriels uncle brutally murders the man for failing to repay a meager debt in his rage Gabriel decapitates his uncle but his forced
to run from the guards he spends his next years travellign the lands slaying evil creature settling dipsutes without violence and doing as much as he can but one day he is drawn north to skyrim for some unknown reason all he knows is that he must never strat from the path of good

http://myfacewhen.com/247/

Name- Valik

Race- Imperial

Signature Apparel- Some sort of eye covering at all times... The light hurts his eyes [signature weapon- Teacup]

Background- http://www.gamesas.com/index.php?/topic/1220492-the-sanity-of-the-soon-deceased/

Votes:
Bosmer / Mixed (stealth / mage)

Originally, I was going to be a Breton, but I think after the new racial photos, I'm going back to my first love of Wood Elf. Obviously, this is all subject to change as there are 3 months before the game releases, but here is what I am going with.

Name: Marr'Taan
Race: Bosmer
Style: Mage / Stealth
Focus Skills: 1-handed (dual wielding) | Conjuration | Enchanting | Sneak | Destruction
Potential Skills: Light Armor | Alteration | Illusion
Backstory:

Marr'Taan is the descendent of Aalaan, who 200 years ago would fulfill the Nerevarine Prophecies and end the plague that had taken over Morrowind.

Aalaan was a thief and an assassin, who also dabbled in some arcane arts (Conjuration, Illusion). He did not want to seek out the Nerevarine Prophecies, but when minions of Dagoth Ur set out to take out Aalaan, he developed a personal interest in seeing Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House destroyed.

200 years later, the honor that Aalaan brought to his bloodline has been forgotten, and his descendent, Marr'Taan, has gone along an aimless path in life. Unknown to him, however, he is Dovakhin, a Dragon Born, and just like his ancestor before him, is gifted with special talents and a destiny for greatness. The road for Marr'Taan will be a tough one, as his inner conflict tugs him in different directions; one towards greatness and honor, and the other towards giving in to temptation, and taking the easy way out.

-----

For comparison, my Morrowind character:

Name: Aalaan
Race: Bosmer
Birthsign: The Shadow
Attributes: Agility / Personality
Major Skills: Short Blade | Light Armor | Marksman | Security | Sneak
Minor Skills: Illusion | Conjuration | Speechcraft | Mercantile | Alchemy

^ Although much of the inspiration for Marr'Taan comes from the fact that, if I had it to do over again, Aalaan would have been the following:

Name: Aalaan
Race: Bosmer
Birthsign: The Shadow / The Atronach
Attributes: Agility / Intelligence
Major Skills: Marksman | Sneak | Conjuration | Mysticism | Enchant
Minor Skills: Short Blade | Light Armor | Security | Sneak | Speechcraft

Race:Orsimer
Name:Jarsh gro-grok
six:Male
apearence: a surprisingly human looking orc with pale-green skin and a stubble of a beard.
signature apparel: VERY bulky plate mail
Background: Jarsh was raised by a group of roaming barbarians in cyrodil, suposedly desendant of some great cyrodilic hero who saved the world from some Tall 4 armed demon. Jarsh was always the best at what he did: Chopping, crushing, and surviving, however, he always felt uncomfortable living like he did. He felt that living nomadicly the way his band of barbarians did was no better than how ogres and goblins lived. One day his father got very drunk and started beating him horribly, this pushed him over the edge and made him flee north. During his travels, he encountered a hermit who took pity in jarshes tale and taught him some restorative magic. Upon reaching skyrims border Jarsh was waylaid by a group of amed men claiming to be local guards. After a short struggle in which 2 guards were killed, Jarsh was imprisoned. He stayed in a dark and damp cell for 5 years before his captors remembered he was there and decided to excecute him.
constructive criticsism welcome.

Name : Arithyr Winterson
Race : Imperial
Occupation: Revolutionary seeking to create an egalitarian society
Appearance: Scruffy bearded Ranger, wearing some sort of cloak
Weapon skills: Dual wielding swords, and a bow in reserve
Backround : He is the descendant of the Champion of Cyrodiil, whose family and he had became great nobles within Cyrodiil after the Oblivion Crisis. When the Medes stormed the city, the Champion took his family, and his substantial wealth, to his birthplace of Skyrim. 200 years later, and the family were still among the wealthiest in Skyrim. Arithyr grew up in a luxurious manor in Solitude, every whim attended to. When he left home however, and saw the social and economic inequalities lying outside his front door, he forsook his noble lifestyle, gave all of his wealth to the poor, and took up the life of a ranger and revolutionary.

He met an old man named Thallun, who guided his training in both woodsmanship, and social revolution, primarily through the works of Lrak gro-Xram. Thallun was executed due to his role in various revolts, and Arithyr was left alone again. His first attempt at revolution was towards a Dunmer slaver in Winterhold, where he roused the slaves into revolt, but due to their malnourishment and fatigue from work, they proved no match for the guards, and he was forced to retreat. The memory of the mass killings of the slaves still haunts him, as he places the blame squarely on his own shoulders. His following revolts were mild succeses, still with casualties, but also great gains for the exploited workers and slaves.

Before long, he grew adept at planning, and staging revolts, and in less than 2 years of leaving home, he had taken part in over 50 revolts, 5 assassinations of exploitative bosses, and was in the midst of planning his greatest revolt ever. In collusion with other revolutionaries, he planned a simultaneous revolt of slaves and workers in Winterhold and Solitude, along with a mass escape to Cyrodiil for the slaves who didn't wish to fight. The revolution began when he sabotaged the local industries, bringing production to a halt, as his comrades did likewise in Winterhold. He fought with the workers in Solitude, street by street, closing in on the wealthy and political districts. As he passed his old home in the wealthy area, he noticed his father and brother crossing swords with the slaves and workers, and tried to stop them. They had no time for reason however, and his family turned on him, forcing him to kill those he once, and still loved. But he had no time to mourn. When he felt victory was close at hand, he left to assist the escaping slaves reach Cyrodiil. Upon reaching the border, he and many of the slaves were arrested. The revolution had been quelled in his absence, and he was sentenced to death.

Name : Fyrisi Llerayn
Race : Dunmer (Dark Elf)
Age: 28
Gender : Male
Body Type : 5'10'' Slender Muscular
Combat style : Dual Wielding Rogue
Weapon/s : Dual cutlass/short sword or Short sword/dagger combo
Clothing/armor : Dark Leather/hood (cloak if possible)
Hair : white
Eyes : red
Home : still searching

Story : Born to a mother and father, both members of the Dark Brotherhood, he was raised to be an elite assassin, the perfect killer. The dark faction honed his body and his mind into an instrument of death... But his heart was untouchable. An inner war between his morality and his existence came to a dramatic conclusion when he was given his first contract: The warranted death of a child. His heart held his blade. Knowing that his life as well as the child became forfeit by his decision to spare her life, he took the child and left Cyrodiil, to the land of Valenwood.
Days turned to months with no sign of pursuit. Eventually, he and the child found shelter in the town Woodhearth on the second floor of a 'hole-in-the-wall' tavern. But the dark faction were unforgiving. In the brotherhood's poetic darkness, it was Fyrisi's mother and father that tracked him down. Thinking their lives safe, Fyrisi left the child alone in their upstairs room, for just a moment, to purchase some bread and salted pork. As he entered the room, he found his father, blades drawn and his mother wiping the blood from her dagger. The child lay dead. The child he saved, the child he came to care for, was dead and his mother to blame. A shared smile crossed his mother and father at the vision of their son's broken spirit. With a nodding glance to each other, they stepped forward for their finishing blow.
A simmering rage burned within Fyrisi Llerayn, that has never been felt before. His parents both slowed their approach at the heat they now felt upon their own skin. With a final gaze upon the fallen child's body, Fyrisi screamed out in furious denial a word he knew not, sending his mother and father through the splintered walls of the second floor room, above the tavern. His parents' bodies fell dead before they hit the ground. His inherited vengeance was far from quenched. He returned to the place he once called home, he returned to the people that taught him everything he knew; the Dark Brotherhood. Death came to his native branch of the dark faction.
No one was left alive. Knowing the brotherhood would seek retribution, Fyrisi took flight.
In his studies as a pupil, Fyrisi was taught that in all the regions of Tamriel, there was none more primative than the lands of Skyrim. It was there, Fyrisi would seek refuge from the shadow of the Dark Brotherhood. As he crossed into the freezing borders of Skyrim, Fyrisi felt something tingle inside him. A tingle that sparked the memory of his parents demise. He never fully understood what took place that day, but at that moment, something told him that he would find his answers soon.

Imprisoned!

In the dark of night, Fyrisi crossed into the frozen borders of Skyrim. Seeking shelter from the cold, he happened across a lit campfire. Unsure of the men that surrounded the encampment, he circled the troupe hoping to gain a better understanding. Without too much examining, Fyrisi could tell the men were soldiers of Nordic decent. Weighing out his options Fyrisi, concluded that he was unsure of their intent, but was certain that if he didn't find warmth soon, he would surely die. As he slowly made his way towards the campsite, Fyrisi took note that the amount of tents displayed outnumbered the number of men surrounding the fire. Before he could react, four well armed soldiers surrounded him. He immediately scolded himself for such a simple oversight. Though Fyrisi was nothing more than a lonely traveller, but the men viewed him as a spy- a well known profession for his race. He gave no resistance as the men took him as their prisoner. No words were spoken to him and no explanation was asked of him. He was a spy, there was nothing more to say- Death awaited him now.



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Name : Kalibor Forseti
Race : Nord
Age: 26
Gender : Male
Body Type : 6'5'' muscular
Combat style : Dual Wielding warrior
Weapon/s : Dual wielding short swords/maces/axes
Clothing/armor : Heavy armor
Hair : bald+full beard
Eyes : emerald green
Home : complicated

Story : Skyrim was a land he never knew, though his blood knew it as his native home. His mother died during his birth. His father, broken by the loss of his love, bore his child South; to lands and tongues foreign to their own. They became nomads, travelling from land to land, from town to town. When it came time to gather up and travel to the next destination, his father would simply explain their direction with a single word, whether it be the territory, town, or country. His father, finding work of all trades, some jobs less desirable than others and a few he could never speak of without hanging his head. But he loved his son and desired to give him only the best. With the money he made, he spent on an lessons for his son that few people, and fewer Nords, received. Though he educated by great scholars in every tongue spoken in Tamriel, trained by some of the most esteemed fighters and rogues in all the lands, Kalibor's most valued lessons came from his father's own words of wisdom. He was taught the ways of a good man, true to be true to his own heart. As Kalibor grew to be a man, he noticed that from time to time, his father would look at him with saddened eyes. He could tell that his father desired to tell him what pain laid buried beneath... But he never did and Kalibor never pushed the point.
One day, Kalibor awoke to find his father was missing. Stepping out of the room his father and he shared, he made his way up the stairs into the tavern above. Their he found his father wrapping up a conversation with a fellow Nord. He turned from the stranger and locked eyes with his son . The look on his father's pale face was wrought with stress and fear.
"I must talk with you this night," his father exhaled, "but for now, I must make a small trip North, to the border and you WILL stay here." The stern tone of his father's voice at the end of the sentence told Kalibor not to argue otherwise. It was late in the night and his father still had not returned. Kalibor grew concerned to the point where he cared not for his father's subtle threat and gathered some belongings. Just as he turned to leave their room, the door burst open, with his father pale as a ghost, clutching his chest. Kalibor caught him as he fell to the ground. His father's breathing came with labor. As he gazed upon the man he grew to know as 'larger than life,' he knew, with weeping eyes, that his father was dying. His father's eyes beckoned him to come closer.

In a final breath, his father whispered a single word that gave Kalibor the direction of his next destination: "Skyrim."

lol Not sure if it was meant to be but I definitely get the teacup reference

Edit: Oh wait i get the entire reference hah very cool

Hey OP http://www.gamesas.com/index.php?/topic/1220781-unofficial-skyrim-background-story-thread/page__gopid__18340347#entry18340347

Name: Im-leet (also known as: Kicks-a**-faster)
Race: Argonian
Class: All
History: Descendant of Kiwoharu (I wasn't thinking of lore-consistent names at the time), who was Neravarine Incarnate, sent to teach the foolish Dunmer a lesson. This lesson being obvious in his form, as many Dunmer consider Argonians little more than beasts, but in reality, there is potential in any member of any race. It seems that Kiwoharu's family at one point gained dragon blood. Current evidence points to back before the Warp in the West, as Kiwoharu's own mother was involved in those events, and she claims to have been conceived with an unknown, though likely imperial, male. During her prison time before her failed execution, Im-leet had vivid dreams involving dragons and also words that she could not read, but her dream-self could.

Name: Lloras Telvayn
Race: Dunmer
Appearance: Long black hair, well groomed beard. Weathered, fierce face. Snakelike in appearance and motion.
Weapon Skills: Archery, stealth, and blades. Poison is a favorite, earning him the moniker the Serpent of Skyrim.
Background: Smuggled out of Morrowind during the invasion, his father and mother were killed defending their home. He went to live with relatives in Cyrodil, and was treated as more or less a retainer of the home. He lived in separate quarters, occasionally helped the servants, and was outright loathed by his uncle. His aunt was much more accommodating however, and one day she took pity on him. Since Lloras always had an interest in books, they sent him to school far away, to ease his heart through study. However, while he took in knowledge very well he was a poor student, dedicating his time to researching history and military theory than anything else. He also spent more time practicing archery and swordplay than academics. Eventually, his school had enough and prepared to send him back home, but he decided instead to steal a horse and travel the countryside. Soon, taverns ringed with tales of a young, stoic rogue who traveled Colovia killing bandits and doing almost any kind of work for some money and coin. Eventually, after a few years, he found himself on a smuggler's ship that terrorized the Iliac, then the Sea of Ghosts. After a violent mutiny took place, Lloras retired the next time the ship went to dock, and found himself in Skyrim. He was only there for about a week before a gang of Argonians mugged him, mocking and beating him just outside of town. He was left penniless, without anything but clothes to his name. Even so, he tracked the Argonians down, one by one, and killed them and recovered what little property remained. After killing the last, he was captured by the guard and sentenced to death.