Amnesia, Thats my back story!

Same.
My character has origins 200 years or so before Skyrim. He was born in an alternate plane of existence (Such as Nirn, Oblivion, or other realms)... Earth. When the gates of Oblivion were in the process of being opened, one of the Mythic Dawns Members mis-communicated, and accidentally called a being from our world. Hence my character came plummeting down through the sky, wiping out the entire group of MD members, who were disguised as mages guild members.
(So they wouldn't be disturbed during the ritual.) He then had many adventures, and with a strange connection to Magick was eventually able to make an (Illegal) Cross-Dimensional Reverse Summoning Ritual. Upon finishing the second to last stage, a guard grabbed him, causing the CDRS spell to act like a Time-Travel Spell (Even more illegal, surprisingly.) He then woke up, north of Cyrodil in Skyrim, again in a jail cell and incredibly weakened from the disruption.
(Time for more research... Again... )
Might not be very creative by some standards, but that's my (characters) story (and I am sticking to it.)

Name: Storn Blackburn
Race: Nord
Class: Warrior/ Archer

Storn started out an average life. He grew up in northern Skyrim, with both his mother and father. They owned a fair sized house, in the middle of the wilderness. It was there, Storn learned to hunt for food and fur among other things. Both his mother and father were very renowned hunters. The best in all of Skyrim, if you were to ask someone who knew them personally. As such, they've taught Storn to use a bow and arrow from a very young age. They've sent him to hunt under even the harshest environmental conditions. One night, he was forced to hunt a lone wolf that seemed to have been separated from the pack during the blizzard. It was no less than eight hours spent tracking through that blizzard, before he and his mother found what they were looking for... Or so he thought. At the first sight of the huge wolf, his mother told him to retrace his own footsteps as quietly, but quickly as he possibly could and not to look back. To keep going until he could reach his father where he would be safe. Storn was confused, but saw no choice. He was not the type to disobey his mother.

He began retracing his steps quietly, as his mother had instrcuted. He had barely made it out of view of his mother, when he heard her yell louder than ever before "Run Storn! Get away and find your father!". He stopped immediately, frozen in fear. His mother had been the toughest woman he had ever known, tougher than most men he knew. Yet why did it sound as though there was so much fear in her voice? He had to go back to her, and make sure she was alright. He began sprinting through the blizzard taward his mother, and when he came into sight of where she was, he witnessed something he couldn't even comprehend. Infact, he couldn't comprehend anything. He was just frozen once again, unable to even think. He was helpless. Through his fear, and the blizzard, he could just make out the biggest wolf he had ever seen. However, it was different. It stood on it's two hind legs, and was struggling for a moment with a women that could only be his mother.

His love for his mother instantly overcame his fear the instant he realized what was happening. He drew his arrow as far back as his body would allow, and fired an arrow straight through the back. Piercing the beast's heart. His mother quickly realized her son was in danger, and yelled again for him to get away while he could, but he would not allow someone to sacrifice themselves for his sake. Especially not his own mother. He was already drawing another shot as the beast whipped his head around and growled a horrifying snarl, which was quickly interupted by Storns concentrated shot through it's nose. It's head flung backward and slammed into a branch beside it. Angrily as ever, it overpowered Storns mother and sent her crashing down a rocky hill, and without wasting time, turned and charged forward taward storn. Storn already had another arrows aimed, and fired again. This time the beast was able to move slightly, so that the arrow only scratched past his neck. The beast continued charging as if the arrow hadn't affected him at all this time. He was not too close, and moving too fast for Storn to knock another arrow. He changed his footing, and braced himself for the attack.

As the beast came into reach, Storn took what he expected to be his last breath, however that would only have been the case if his father had not intercepted the attack. His father slashed at the beast multiple times with a silver dagger he always carried. The beast seemed confused, and overwhelmed, perhaps even frightened. It snarled angrily and cautiously, while backing away from Storn's father. The beast looked to the sky and became impatient, for it knew it had little time before it would become human once again and be vaulnerable. It began to look around impatient, and fearful. It's confusion was not something Storns father would hesitate to take advatage of. He lunged and stabbed the beast in the center of it's chest with the dagger. They both fell spinning in rage as Storn watched in disbelief. As the full moon began disappearing, the beast begantransforming, and stood up, facing away. Storns father, laying dead under him. The man looked over his shoulder at Storn, and was instantly recognized as a shop owner from a village nearby.

Storn now angry and crying, drew one more arrow. Trembling as he did so. The man spared no time darting away as fast as he could. Storn couldn't get a shot off through his tears and confusion. He dropped to his knees, sobbing. He knew his family was killed, and he was alone.

(I could keep going for a long ass time, I already have twice this much thought out but it's already too long. Didn't expect it to end up this long. Sorry if you actually read the entire thing, but basically he kills a guard who is protecting the shop owner later in his life and is set to be executed.)

Normally I just breeze on by stories where the character is a supernatural halfbreed. They usually feel like artificial means of making the character super powerful at very little cost or challenge. But I must say that your story was quite compelling, and I was pleasantly surprised. Good on ya, sir.

I have always thought of making my character very eccentric and colorful. I don't really like the silent hardass persona, they are always expecting them to be good at stabbing people in the neck.

Here I am thinking to myself how good my story was through sheer amount of detail, and then I read some other peoples backstories...

Uh, when it comes to writing backgrounds for my video game characters... they tend to be rather depthless and unextraordinary. It's totally different in the pen-and-paper RPGs I play, but in case of computer games, I often lack enough motivation to even bother with it, knowing that there's nobody but myself who cares about the character's background, and painfully aware that whatever I make up, the game's world won't be in the slightest aware of or affected by this. I suppose this is why I prefer to play characters with fixed or at least partially established backstories, like in Dragon Age or NWN2, than the tabulae rasae of TES (they seem to have no previous place in the world, no ties, acquaintances or even a family name that could be recognised by NPCs - as if they only sprang into existence five minutes ago. But... I'm going off the tangent, ain't I?).

For the above reason, I think my first Skyrim character will be like most of the ones I've had before - a pretty unremarkable, slightly shallow, and somehow still unmarried townswoman doing time for either tax evasion or public indecency not unlike everyone else. It's as generic a beginning as it can get - the rest is up to character development over the course of the game.

Oh boy! Character thread!! I have a few characters in mind so here they are.

Name: Mira'ili (no surname)
Race: Dunmer
Appearance: Her skin is a pale, ashen blue/gray with many small black freckles that form fitful waves across her face and chest. Her hair is silver, short and slightly curly, normally tousled and falling in fine wisps into her eyes. Those eyes are the trademark ruby red of her kin, though the shade varies dependent on her mood. She is quite short, about 5'2" tall and very curvy. Her style of clothing also varies from time to time; normally when traveling she sports form fitting corsets, trousers and tall traveling boots, with a great cloak and long hood for that dreadful norther weather. When in casual company she prefers loose and flowing clothes in bright colours, usually blues, reds and greens.

Background: I will spare you my usually long winded-ness and give you the short version. Mira'ili is the descendant of the Champion of Cyrodil, Sha'ir. Thus she was born into a far more opulent life than most. Having the Hero of the Oblivion crisis as a grandmother came with many perks. Such as a well furnished manor home just outside of Anvil, all the fine clothing and jewelry one could ask for, and never wanting for even the most outlandish luxuries. This easy life was not to last forever though. When Mira'ili was nearly full grown, her wealthy family was targeted by a group of organized criminals. The manor was raided from the sea by great brutish Nords and scattered Imperials, all looking to ransom and defile Mira'ili and her family. If only Sha'ir were still alive, the raiders would not have been successful, but an easy life leads to complacence. Mira'ili, her mother Iir'tu, her sisters She'sai and Mil'ora, and their young brother Hii'don were all captured and taken far to the north, to Skyrim, where they were to be sold for a hefty price to the highest bidder. Despret for escape, Mira'ili used her considerable talent for magic to free herself and her family. In the dead of night, when the lonely Nord guard again came to her cell to lessen his own pain and loneliness, Mira'ili embraced him, and silently formed a blade of pure ice on her fingertips. And while the guard distracted himself with her carnal delights, the ice blade found the base of his skull, nearly severing his head cleanly from his body. That night, her family made their escape, but freedom was not truly in the cards for Mira'ili. The murder of the Nord guard did not go unnoticed, and Mira'ili was hunted. She hid out, away from her family, in dessicated ruins, training herself further in her new art, which she dubbed Frost Scythe.
One clear Autumn night, Mira'ili chanced a visit to the nearest town for some supplies, unaware of the fact that the Nord crime lord had been searching for her in the area. Not known for their stealth, the Nord attacked her upon her entrance to the tavern. It devolved into an all out brawl, which ended with Mira'ili standing over the Nords decapitated body, with her frost blade stained crimson and dripping the Nords lifeblood on the tavern floor. It was a clear cut case of self defense, but such things don't matter in a land where racism is rampant. So Mira'ili was imprisoned again, this time for murder. There she sits, in a cold, damp cell, awaiting execution for a justified kill.

Yeah that's all I got so far, but I have other characters as well I will post up when I have the time.

Scar-Scale my Argonian Vanguard belongs to a clan consisting of descendants of those who were raided by the Dunmer in blackmarsh in order to be used for slavery. He has been brought up for a singular purpose, to exact a revenge older than himself, a blood dept so deep the annihilation of the dunmer race would not repay the generations of Argonians who suffered so that his race could be used as the labor that sustained their now destroyed society...but collect it he will. He has been sent to skyrim, to remind Skyrims Dunmers of their dept, and collect it without mercy.

Didn't they already do that when they invaded Morrowind after Red Mountain exploded and killed hundreds of people? I mean, they did that then pretty much did what the Dark Elves first did. Then maintained it for 200 years after. I think, perhaps, that it would make more sense if you made an inquisitor type person. Except, instead of being against other religions it would be against other races. Besides, good guys svck.

My first character will be a Skyrim born Argonian, who's grand parents took part in the take-over of Morrowind. He ended up going to jail because he was framed by a dunmer refugee. I still haven't come up with a name though.

Yeah, Maybe I should change it to Inquisitor, I'm going for that whole no mercy, soul of hate, thinks he's the good guy. A racist born out of racism.

Fernin the Vermin - Born of an Imperial father and Nord mother, he became a gaurd in Makarth Side. He learned to track down thieves with their own cunning and skills and became good a getting the truth out of accomplices through conversation ,skulking out in steakouts, and finding hidden secrets learning the arts of lockpicking. Mocked for his part Imperial background by some of the other Nords, he decided he wanted to prove himself by being the best at what he could and helping where he could to gain acceptance. He continued to thwart out small criminals and other underlings he never took down any one big but he caught many of the small timers though they said if he focused on the head of the problem the lessers would trickle out but Fernin didn't seem to take to the advice and ontinued to go after petty thieves than the king pens. He was decent with a knife and other small arms due to cramped taverns and poverty struck houses had little space to maneuver. Over the years the strife between the imperial loyalists and Nord rebels continued to drag on causing even more friction and people questioning his loyalty. He was asked by one of his close friends who had gain such revel contacts to help them sabotage an Imperial barracks a little ways out. Pressured he agreed, and helped to unlock and torch the place, but through missinformation they didn't know a small number of gaurds were actually inside though they thought they were all on patrol due to some rumors f werebeasts in the area conjured up by the rebels. They succeeded in burning the place and then heard the screams of the men inside just in time for the group of legionaries to return. Most ran off but Firnin nearest to the door wasn't able to get away and was sent to a cell to wait execution by beheading.

Well, I haven't put much thought into this yet, so here's the rough outlining of him.

Name: Gyrhj?rn
Race: Nord
Type: Warrior/Mercenary

Backstory: With the recent killing of the King, and the division of the region, Gyrhj?rn has joined with those who wish to secede from the empire and return to a traditional lifestyle. In his travels he's kept a journal of his victories and failures, so that he may better himself. Here is the entry shortly before the game would begin:

Well, it's been four days since I've last been able to enter anything at all, haven't been able to rest in the slightest. Reason being is that I've been followed by those imperialist bastards, three of them, Argonian, Dunmer, and some pudgy Breton, the Breton appears to be a caster while the other two seem keen to blades, no shields though so I best keep quiet. Whenever I tried to stop before I shortly after heard the crunching of snow and I got my [censored] out of there. I've just come to the mouth of a cave on the south-side of the Throat of the World, able to make shelter just out of the wind. Nothing appears to be down here save some dust and cobwebs. I'm going to take a rest for now, explore a bit later..

Well, this has now likely become the story of a mad-man, I don't know if anyone will believe this after such dormancy. Dragons, they're back. Let me explain. After the nap I surveyed the cave, searching for any signs of the imperialists' scouts. My findings were few and far between, there was an old cot, a burnt out fire which seems to have been long dead, and mere scrapings upon the wall, if anything this place would seem to be only home to spiders and lichen now. Near the rear of the cave though, I found something interesting, there were deep gashes in the stone, they seemed like runes. I looked about but found nothing and returned again, a new 'rune' fresh on the ground. I looked about for the Breton, thinking that he'd come, I drew my blade and shield, and backed against the rear wall. That's when I heard it, the dragon. Above me in the cave was a ledge, shortly jutting out but as wide as the room of the cavern. Upon it, resting almost humbly, were a dragon, it's breath rattling now against the walls of the cave, it seemed to grow louder and louder,I then realized that it was sleeping. Keen to live, I began to make my way from the cave with caution, trying to keep quiet but failing to do so horribly. My sword slipped against the top of the scabbard and I dropped it from my grasp, it clattered and echoed against the wide stretches of the cave, the dragon woke with a roar and dropped from its ledge behind me and I made a dash for the exit.
Outside, to my oh so wondrous luck, I found the imperialists that had been tracking me earlier, they charged at me, the Breton chanting and the other two blades drawn. They yelled as they got nearer and I threw up my shield to block their first strikes, just as I yelled in turn, from behind the dragon immerged, it cocked up its head in an almost royal fashion and tilted it to one side to view us clearly with its eye. At this point we all stopped and stared, the fight broken by the sight. After a few seconds the pudgy Breton began to run and the dragon's eye locked onto him like a hawk. You can guess what happened after that I presume, the trio no more, but the dragon now was locked onto me. With no weapon I ran to the nearest settlement I could see, luckily there was a hovel within a few hundred feet and as I finally came into it's vicinity I looked back to see that the dragon had given up the chase, I ran for the door still, and burst through. I landed, though, in the eyes of imperialists, they've since captured me and I am now sitting in Jail writing my final pages, I am to be led to execution tomorrow. So, here is my final statement to those that read this:

Imperialists: To you bastards, burn in fire and abandon hope, you may have captured me, but many more will rise in my place.
To all others: There is at least a Dragon in the world, so keep vigil or ignore my tale. I may have lost my battle running, but it certainly isn't the end of the war. The Sons of Skyrim shall rule our home and none else!

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And yeah, came up with that mostly on the fly actually, but I like the jist of it, may reform it later should the gameplay prove otherwise.
Depending on what's put into the game there's a few different things that I'd like to try out. Lycanthrope, if it's put in, (Confirm/deny?) and a couple small adjustments otherwise. Regardless, there he is.

Thrognarl and his twin brother Rowolf were born to Ida, a stern Nordic woman and Strongar a retired soldier and a vetran of many wars. The brothers lived on a farm in the province of Skyrim where there father taught them the art of combat and how to live off the land. While Ida reinforced in the boys a strong sense of Justice and duty. Living in isolation the family became very close. Ida passed away to illness when the brothers were 13, the boys felt a great whole in their hearts from the loss of their mother but her resilient spirit and parting words gave them the resilience to make it through. On here death bed she gave the brothers a strange ammulet inscribed with odd runes, she told them that as long as they had the amulet that she would always be with them. But Strongar was hit the hardest by the loss of Ida, he began to age quicker and no longer found joy in things that he once loved.

When Thrognarl and Rowolf were 15 they went out on a hike to explore some remote hills and valleys. The two boys walked carelessly unaware of the danger that awaited them, for out of nowhere they were attacked by a huge frost troll, the beast smacked Thrognarl to the ground and then went in to kill Rowolf. Rowolf had pullled his sword but the beast just swatted it away. Then it grabbed Rowolf and threw him against a rock face and got ready to charge. Thrognarl watched the entire specticle but was to injured to do anything, he then looked at his mothers amulet for guidence. Suddenly the he found himself able to read the runes, then he spoke them allowed. A huge blast of flame that took the form of a dragon erupted from his mouth and killed the troll but the amulet shattered. Rowolf was saved, the brothers were battered, bruised and confused by what had unfolded but they were still alive.

When the brothers were 17 they went out on a hunt to get food for their small family, when they returned they found their homestead ransacked and Strongar lying in a puddle of blood gasping for air. Strongar explained with his dying breath that marauders came in search of valuables, Strongar tried to fight them but he was overwhelmed. He then told his sons that they were men now, and how proud of them, he was, and how Ida would be too. Then he said "My time is over but now the world belongs to you". Those were his last words. The brothers decided to track down the marauders and avenge his death, so they buried their father next to Ida, packed what they could carry and burnt the remains of their childhood home to the ground. For they knew they would not return.


Two years had passed and the the nordic brothers were now 19, they had traveled across tamriel searching for the marauders and had become worldly an experienced. The brothers had learned some of the arts magic and stealth; they were now skilled warriors. By this time their search had taken then too Hammerfel. They entered a seedy tavern and saw an Argonian, Orc and a Dunmer sitting together at a table, an odd site in hammerfel. Then Thrognarl spotted his fathers sword on the back on the dunmer and knew his quest was at an end. He and Rowolf immedietly jumped on the trio, they killed them easily and rejoiced in the slaughter. Their father was avenged. But then a Black Khajit lunged out of the shadows at Rowolf with a dagger, he stabbed Rowolf through the heart killing him instantly. Thrognarl then went into a berserker rage and beheaded the cat with one swing of his sword. The battle was won but he had lost everything.

Over the next 4 years Thrognarl had wandered aimlessly through the world working as a mercinary and soldier for higher but only when the work was honorable. When he was 23 he had ended up in highrock where he became employed by a noble breton family as the body guard for a young noble woman named Brigette Laubell. Brigette was young, beautiful, inteligent and spirited. She was 19 when they first met. And while their was some animosity between the two at first because of their different upbringings they eventualy fell in love. However her parents wanted her to marry the unscutible but rich and noble breton Maxwell Lemont, and he pursued her tirelessly. Thrognarl and Brigette relized that if they stayed they could never be together so they decided to run away together. They ran for months and were pursued by Maxwell, his cronies, and mercinaries. Eventualy he caught up to the two lovers, 10 of his cronies jumped on Thrognarl but they could hardly keep him restrained. But then Maxwell grabbed Brigette and murdered her right in front of the Nord who had already lost so much. He screamed out in agony, but Maxwell was not done yet. While his cronies restrained Thrognarl, Maxwell beat him within an inch of his life. Then in one final act of hatred he used a spell to erase his memory, all of his experiences that defined his life were forgotten in an instant from the death of his mother to the first time he kissed Brigette. Then Maxwell had his unconcious body sent to Skyrim so that he could rot in a dungeon before his execution. By the time he awoke he was in a Skyrim prison and knew nothing but his name, he was scared and confused. But for some reason he could not explain he felt sad like he had lost someone very close to him. Maybe in time he may regain his lost memories but that's a story for another day.

Well that ended up being a lot longer than i expected.

I need some advice as to what Im going to do for Skyrim: Opinions welcome.

Lineage

PreMorrowind- Implied lineage of traditional Argonians with names like City-Swinmer, Tree-Climber, etc. If I ever play Arena/Daggerfall I will follow this.

Morrowind- ORIEN - Argonian warrior. He was captured by slavers in the Black Marsh and brought to work in Vvardenfell. He later escaped and freed an entire plantation of slaves in a bloody revolt against a family of Dunmer. On the way through Cyrodiil to return to his son, He was again captured, this time by imperial guards, and sent back to Vvardenfell because he was technically property. This is where the main quest starts (He was freed by the Emperor so he couldn't just return to his son). He manages to put aside his animosity against the Dunmer aside and becomes the Nerevarine. He is killed by slavers on his way home to the Black Marsh.

Oblivion- ERASMUS - Argonian Thief/Assassin. He is the son of Orien. He emigrated to Cyrodiil after his fathers capture. Because of his lack of education, he is forced into a life of thievery. He is put in jail after being arrested for stealing an heirloom from an Imperial City noble. This is where the main quest begins. Over time he becomes the Grand Champion of the Arena, The Grey Fox, and the Champion of Cyrodiil. He then travels to the Shivering Isles where he becomes a Deadric Prince. It is unknown if he conceived any children at any point after this.

Skyrim- ????

What should I do now? Should I make a Descendant of Erasmus, of should I try out a different race? If so, what do you think I should play as? I would probably like to try Imperial.

Cheers! Thanks for taking the time.

I'm a beggars son, born in the Imperial City. I wound up in the thieves guild and made a decent living. Eventually I was caught in the guards barracks. They were going to execute me when the emperor walks in and say "let him serve his Empire, not die for it!" So I'm made a guard and after a few years they send me over to investigate the unrest in Skyrim. I have my report finished and just as I'm about to go back, I'm caught at the border and taken prisoner. Then I'm told I'm going to be executed again...

Charon is a assassin trained from an early age when he was orphaned by his parents death. he was selected as an assassin because he actually managed to take down the vampires who killed them on his own before he was found half dead on the outskirts of his kingdom. he prefers short and long swords but is actually very capable with any one handed blade in his hand. he is skilled with the bow and prefers destruction (fire), alteration and illusion spells but also knows how to heal himself and how to use plants to make effective poisons. his personal quest it to find his way in life, where he is meant to be, where if feels whole.

Since Oblivion didnt have a back story of any kind for your character, I actually pretended that I was MYSELF and had just woken up in someone else's body in a strange horrible world of magic and monsters. I plan the same for Skyrim, luckily I wont freak out as bad, since this will be the second time it happens to me and at least its the same world.

Yup you bet.
I will play as Uilliam LaRouche, the great great great grandson of Timothee LaRouche, who is the great grandfather to Uilliam by five generation.

Well, since you seem to have a thing for Argonian, and the possibility of them becoming a lineage for you in the games, I would think it would be cool to have your first character to be one as well. Unless your opposed to having a magick centric character, that would be nice, perhaps with a focus on illusion? Of course I would also give him some weapon skills (definitely bows). As far as the reason he is in Skyrim, i'd leave the ideas to you...

Edit: As far as other races, a Nord is a must just for flavors sake, maybe not as your main, or first character, but im thinking they will be givin a lot of spotlight when it come to developing their culture in this game.

Kay'hera (my native American name) is a red argonian, born under the sign of the shadow. Her parents kept her hidden as a hatchling so she would not be sent to the Dark Brotherhood to be trained, and they ended up being killed in trying to protect her. She ran from the Black Marsh to Cyrodill, and lived as an orphan, taken in by the Thieves Guild. She got caught, and was taken to prison, and simply by chance... well... you know the rest. She became famous saving Cyrodill, and eventually grew tired of the fame, sick of it, and begged the Grey Fox for the power of his cowl, to become forgotten. He granted it in trade, and she became the Grey Vixen. But she remained angry, rageful as she watched guards surpress her fellow thieves, and planned a huge jailbreak of the Imperial City Prison. She ended up killing three guards in the process, innocents, and then ran off into the woods to hide from her fellow thieves in shame. As she fell asleep, well, you all know what happens when you sleep soundly as a murderer.

For Skyrim... I need to see. I had to play all the way through Oblivion to even want to make a story for myself. I lvoe games leaving it open to storytelling, stories make me interested

Name: Arendu Oren
Age: 20 (True Age: ≈120-220)
Race: Dunmer
Play Style: Undecided

Lineage:

A merchant family in the trading city of Narsis in southern Morrowind, House Oren was completely unheard of until the birth of Tedril Oren. Through business savvy and a mastery of political intrigue, Tedril, a battlemage of exceptional power, and his young wife Andali, who was cunning beyond her years, made House Oren into a wealthy and powerful noble house of Narsis, second only in wealth and power to House Hlaalu. Looking to expand their influence and control the slavery and smuggling markets, House Oren and House Hlaalu were constantly engaged in house wars, marking each other’s members for death, signing writs on each other, and constantly seeking to attain a much-coveted monopoly. Tedril’s martial prowess and Andali’s good business instincts made them unbeatable. The house war between Hlaalu and Oren came to a head when Tedril Oren personally slew the Hlaalu noble Uradas Dren, ancestor of Vedam Dren, in a rare public duel, summoning a pillar of flame and incinerating him; ultimately shaming House Hlaalu and causing them to lose great face.

Soon after, the Treaty of the Armistice was signed, and House Hlaalu permanently entrenched themselves into the political landscape of Morrowind. Using their newfound influence, and foreign trade access, House Hlaalu exacted vengeance of House Oren harrying them using strong arm tactics and innumerable writs, forcing them into a bankruptcy from which it never fully recovered. Tedril and Andali’s children were taught to be proud of their heritage, and the glory of their ancestors. One of the descendants of Tedril and Andali was Noldyn Oren, who was sold into slavery to Arenar Peleius, an Imperial noble working for the East Empire Company. It was not long before Noldyn caught the eye of Arenar, and she became pregnant. At her request, the child, Anasour, was apprenticed to Arenar as a businessman and administrator, much to the ire of Imperial and Dunmer alike. Anasour eventually because a powerful warrior and shrewd businessman, like Tedril and Andali before him. Anasour and his children carried the Oren name silently for over 600 years, until after the events of the Oblivion Crisis…

Bio:

In the early part of the Fourth Era, the Ministry of Truth crashes into Vvardenfell, causing Red Mountain to erupt, utterly destroying Vvardenfell, and devastating most of Morrowind. Being so far away from Red Mountain, Narsis escaped some of the carnage; unfortunately, its proximity to Black Marsh made it the first target of the Argonians, seeking to capitalize on Dunmer misfortune, and conquer the province. Arendu Peleius, a young man descended from Noldyn and Arenar, and a promising student of sword, bow and magic in the fashion of Tedril Oren, was a survivor of the eruption of Red Mountain but was enslaved in the sacking of Narsis. After resisting valiantly, Arendu was forced to join the growing slave train of the Argonian army and marched northwards, eventually reaching Blacklight, having conquered most of the Dunmer that could/did not flee to Solstheim. One night, seeing an opportunity to escape, Arendu summons the ghost of his ancestor, Andali Oren, beseeching her to use her legendary wisdom and cunning to sunder his magical slave bracer. She does so, and Arendu quickly flees. Unfortunately, the keen senses of some Argonian slavers detect his escape attempt, and raise the alarm; he is quickly surrounded by a score of Argonians, ready to kill this foolish slave for his impertinence. Desparate, and sapped of strength by his previous summon, Arendu attempts to summon the spirit of Tedril Oren, so that he may defeat the Argonian slavers; however, he is only partially successful. Once summoned, Tedril quickly obliterated the Argonian slavers, summoning a moving pillar of flame as he had hundreds of years earlier. However, Arendu’s freedom comes at a price; as a result of closely associating his spirit with those of his ancestors, part of his own spirit was torn away during the summoning, only to have it replaced by part of Andali’s and Tedril’s. Consequently, his life was unnaturally prolonged, and he was forced to endure the suffering and visions that resulted from power struggles between the souls of Tedril, Andali, and Arendu, for control of his mortal body. For over another 100 years, Arendu would lapse into dream-like states, in which Andali or Tedril would take temporary possession of his body. He stalked northern Morrowind, incinerating Argonians to cinders as Tedril, or vandalizing the long-abandoned property of House Hlaalu as Andali; the Argonians of Morrowind would whisper of a Dunmer man endowed with terrible strength and power, the Ashen Warlock. One time, Arendu was assailed by a chorus of voices which drowned out his thoughts, and he fell into a dream-like trance. In his dreams, he saw what appeared to be the silhouettes of nine people forming some kind of magical barrier around him against a fire-breathing dragon; he eventually concluded that these were the Nine Divines, but as for the identity of the dragon, he did not know. Unknown to Arendu, the Nine had actually conferred upon him the powers and title of Dovakiin, or Dragonborn.

Arendu quickly expanded his skills in bow, magic, and sword and shield. In the latter part of his 100-year torment, Arendu’s soul prevailed through sheer will, and fought to compartmentalize the souls of Tedril and Andali in his body, reaching an accord with them. In return, each soul would contribute its exceptional qualities to his person, and after changing his surname to Oren, a new Arendu came to be. However, on what was his birthday, Arendu was visited with severe visions of a massive dragon which devoured the world and his mind; he quickly descended into an incoherent, babbling state, in which he ranted about the “World-Eater”, and “The Roof of Tamriel”. After what seemed to be an eternity of agony, his age started to vanish rapidly, as if it was being devoured by the dragon; unbeknownst to him, Alduin saw the long-lived Arendu, and the souls he harbored, and saw him as a tempting meal. His age was quickly consumed, but before he was unborn completely, the Nine interceded, driving the dragon out of his mind; he was now approximately 20 years old. With most of his skills eaten by the insatiable Alduin, and having lost his unnaturally long life, Arendu felt helpless. Hungry for vengeance and now understanding the dragon was the World Eater, Arendu concluded that he must go to Skyrim. Compelled by a thirst for vengeance and the will of the Nine, Arendu crossed the Western border into Skyrim, but helpless to protect himself against the assailing border guards, was arrested, and transported to a prison whose location of unknown location, and slated for execution. Before he was to be executed however, Esbern, a Blade interceded...