Your Characters Story : V - Skyrim

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 11:37 am

I usually only have some basic ideas about background of my character before I start playing RPG and then develop rest on the way since I adjust it to the game that way and it ends up being much better story in the end.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 11:41 am

no one has commented on my story

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 1:24 am

no one has commented on my story

Very nice Lots of drinking and fighting lol

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 7:23 am

Nobody liked my story

» Mon Dec 28, 2009 9:50 pm

Hi, guys,

First, thanks for posting your stories. It looks like close to 400 people have crused through this thread.

I am one of those who enjoy the backstory threads. I have taken the time to read each story up to this post. I love these kinds of threads.

It is realized that feedback is important. It encourages creativity, and participation. I have also seen in similar threads, that if one comments on another's story, there us usually an exchange of ideas.

However, it is not convenient to comment on each one, as there are so many. I read quite a bit when not on my computer. Although many genres are read, my favorite types are those stories of an historical fiction nature and various types of fantasy. Even those short stories like found in these threads.

Again, I emphasize that I have read each story up to this point, and will continue to do so after. It seems that The Elder Scrolls fans have quite active imaginations.

I would encourage each of you to keep refining your stories, and making new ones. For some, part of the fun in a game series like The Elder Scrolls is the creation and reading of background stories for our various characters. The devs. encourage this. Overall, your stories tend to create a much richer thread experience.

Thanks again for your contributions, and keep writing your stories. :foodndrink:

That is what I am going to do.

» Mon Dec 28, 2009 11:19 pm

My character will be Mortimer Tittertwink who is a marginalized and stunted wood elf that grew up in the Northern Nibinay Basin.

Due to the high taxes and the repeal of the gluten laws, he took his cheese farming business to Skyrim where the corporate incentives allowed for more aggressive growth and a higher dividend return. After a laborious divorce and a series of assorted binges, he had no choice but to relinquish control of his cheese farm to Smurda, his ex-wife. He resorted to shaving wood grain effects into concrete slabs for extra money but soon fell into stolen silver goblet smuggling and the laundering of the resulting income. One night, after a drinking an entire jug of smelt varnish, he lost a hefty sum of gold on a mudcrab fighting bet to the local high-ranking custard smeller. Completely goldless and incoherent, he found himself, hazy and pained, on the confetti covered cell floor of a nearby Skyrim prison. And thus the story begins...

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 1:24 pm

Very nice Lots of drinking and fighting lol

yes i am giong to love my drunken nord and funny thing is im Irish well part Irish irl but cant wait to start drinking in a few months HAHAH

» Mon Dec 28, 2009 11:59 pm

I quickly wrote this a while ago and I don't feel like editing it.

So here's the Story of Sae-Kas the Argonian...

Part 1: The Ancestor's story (Prologue)

Spoiler

The story begins 200 years ago, in the land of Cyrodiil. An Argonian by the name of Sae-Kas, had just saved the world from utter destruction. After many years of adventuring, he decided to settle down with a kind Argonian lass in Leyawiin. After a few years they were married and had had a daughter. Sae-Kas wanted his adventuring legacy to continue with his children, but his wife didn't want their daughter growing up in the life her father had lived. So he planned ahead, and decided that his later generations would continue his profession. He wrote a journal containing all of his exploits. It told of both his pure actions, and of those that could curdle blood. He also detailed his vast knowledge in his writings, telling of his techniques in swordplay, sneaking, magic, and more, as well as detailed instructions on how to replicate these talents. He also left many blank pages at the end, so his descendants could add information that they deemed important. The only thing he didn't include were his motivations, firmly believing that his descendants should follow their own paths.

After the book was done, all of his life cataloged in paper and ink, he stamped the cover of the journal with his personal sigil, also embossed on his sword and armor. He then sealed the book with a spell that prevented it from being opened for fifty years, and even then it could only be opened by a direct descendant. Many years passed. Sae-Kas and his wife grew old, and he passed his book on to his daughter, who swore on his deathbed to keep it in the family line. She then married, and passed the book on to her son when she died, and he to his son, and he to his daughter. The book, despite the seal being gone, lay unopened, still covered in a scrap of cloth cut from Sae-Kas' funeral shroud. The family steadily moved northward to the border of Skyrim.

The name of their ancestor had become legend, but they avoided the public, and their name became anonymous, no longer linked to the hero. And as his family name faded, so did his story

The story of his great feat passed from news, to legend. Occasionally, one would hear whispers of the great Argonian hero in shady, smoke-filled taverns. Small hints of truth, surrounded by great mountains of embellished lies. The only place where the true story was kept alive was the home of his fifth-generation grandson, who shared the same name, nearly two hundred years after the events that created the story.

Part 2: The Forgotten (Character's youth)

Spoiler

Young Sae-Kas was exploring the attic of his family's house, when he found a chest with the family sigil on the front. He flicked his tail, wondering if he should open it. Why not? What harm can there be? , he thought. Inside the chest was a sword and set of armor, both made from a strange golden material and embossed with the same sigil. Wedged in the bottom, looking dusty and forgotten, there lay an object wrapped in dark green and purple silk. He reached towards it and took it in his hands, removing the silken cover, which gave of the faint smell of decay. Despite the smell, the object underneath it was perfectly preserved, the dark leather shining the the dim light from the window. It was a book. A book with the family sigil on the cover. At his touch, the book glowed faintly green, and gave him a small sharp pain in his palm, surprising him into dropping it on the wooden floor.

Once it landed, the book flew open to the first page. Sae-Kas looked at his hand, which had a small puncture, already healing. He looked at the back cover of the book, gingerly touching it to make sure it wouldn't hurt him again. There, dead center on the back, was a small red X forming. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was his own blood that had provided the color, though the symbol held no meaning for him. Deciding it was safe to touch, he picked it up once more and read the first page.

To whoever reads this, my name is Sae-Kas. I am the great hero of Cyrodiil who closed the Oblivion gates. This book is a complete retelling of every major thing I have done in my life, so I suppose it is a journal, though it is much more. This tells the truth of all I have done, good and evil, but not why I have done them. That is for you and any other descendants of mine to decide. It also details many of the skills I have learned throughout my life, and provides enough information for you to learn them as well, so that you too may master them.

I will be long gone before this book is opened, and my first daughter will be spared the truth of her father, but someone must know it. So I have sealed this book, so that only a direct descendant of my blood will be able to open it. The pain you felt upon touching this book was merely a test to discern this. The number of X's on the back cover, shows how many before you, and besides myself, have opened this. I beg that you read it, and live as I have, finding your own path. If you wish the life of the road that I had, know first that there will be hardships, but use this book as a guide, and you will triumph. I have faith in you... after all, it's in your blood.

Never forget the past,
Sae-Kas

Part 3: The Wanderer ( He actually gets arrested in this part.)

Spoiler

Sae-Kas walked into the tavern, eager to get away from the cold Skyrim air. He sat down at the nearest empty table, giving a polite nod to some nearby patrons. He noticed a small group in the corner that seemed to glare at him, then avoid looking at him altogether. He knew such looks, and paid them no mind. Racism was rare, but not unheard of even this far north. They would complain, and then leave or ignore him. And if they didn't, the ancestral sword at his hip and the matching armor under his furs would ensure his safety, as it had many times before. He briefly caressed the amulet he always wore, embossed with the sigil he had always been familiar with, and tapped his table to signal that he was a paying customer, and within seconds a fairly good-looking waitress appeared, asking him what he'd like. After telling her his preferences in food and drink, he smiled politely and thanked her. He noticed the group in the corner glancing his way again, but ignored them and went back to his thoughts.

After a few minutes, the food and drink arrived, and he absentmindedly ate, occasionally sipping his ale. His real thoughts were on the journal that was in his pack. The innocent book with words that when first read had shaken his very soul, and indeed still made him feel pride, shame, inspiration, disgust, and every other possible emotion that could be felt. Finding out that his ancestor had been not only the great hero, but under assumed identities had become the head of many of the Cyrodiilic Guilds, both reputable and infamous. It spoke of places that seemed so fantastic that they could scarcely be believed, like the realms of Oblivion and the Shivering Isles. Sae-Kas had become lost in thought when a drunken voice broke through his musings.

"Hey! You with the... *hic* ... scales!"

Sae-Kas sighed and looked at the lout standing over him. He was a Dunmer, that much was unmistakable with his blue-tinted skin and red eyes. He was slightly more muscular than most of his race, and a little paler as well, some white showing through the blue, which suggested perhaps Nordic ancestry, particularly here in their homeland. The man's red eyes, though glazed with drink, were angry, so instead of ignoring him, he answered as politely as possible, wishing to avoid a fight if he could help it,

"Yes? How can I help you my inebriated friend?" Sae-Kas couldn't quite manage to keep his tone entirely polite. He found it difficult to talk to anyone without being snarky, though in the elf's current state he was unlikely to notice.

"Ine-....inebri-...Whassat?" He scratched hid head in confusion, but then shook his head as though trying to muster up enough brainpower to form a sentence. "I couldn't help but *hic* notice that you....Erm... look... familiar. *hic* I think you ... *hic* have something of mine!" There was an edge to his voice that clearly suggested that he meant that Sae-Kas had stolen something of his. And while his pointed finger was actually aimed a few inches to the left of Sae-Kas, the effect was still palpable. The tavern went quiet with his accusation; clearly whoever this man was, he was respected in the community, though for what reason, Sae-Kas couldn't fathom.

"Yeah! That *hic* pretty amulet you have! That's mine!" The elf was clearly far beyond drunk by this point. Sae-Kas glanced down at the amulet engraved with his family's sigil; there was no way that this man had ever seen it before. but in his drunken mind, or the minds of the others in the tavern, that didn't matter. it seemed as though blood would have been spilled here this night either way, and he had simply been unfortunate. But still, Sae-Kas responded in his usual way to such accusations, though the situation was different. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

He began breathing more slowly, his mind shrugging off the little ale he had consumed and allowing him to focus on the man in front of him. His vision focused on weak points; the throat, the eyes, and numerous other mortal areas. This had been one of the most useful talents the journal had taught him, and he put it to use often. Time slowed down slightly as his reflexes increased. His grip on the sword's hilt tightened, and he flicked the point of his sword up to the man's throat, causing a slight trickle of blood to run down his neck. the tavern was dead silent. Sae-Kas then spoke; calmly, and with authority.

"This amulet is mine; it has been in my family for generations. I have never stolen anything from anyone in this town; in fact, I've never been here before. I have no wish to harm anyone here, but if you refuse to see reason then I will have no choice. So, I ask you all, can we just sit down, eat and drink our fill, and go home? Or are you going to take that option from yourselves?" His words had the desired effect on most patrons; the anger went out of their eyes and they resumed their business. But those in the corner, who'd been glaring at him off and on all night, stood up and moved towards him.

Sae-Kas tensed, identifying possible threats. There were four of them, not counting the man still at sword-point, and all were quite drunk, though two were armed with curved daggers. Again the bar went quiet, and the man who appeared to be the ringleader spoke harshly,

"I think we ought to take that option from you, you filthy lizard! Get 'em boys!" as the louts charged him, he felt the man at his sword's point move and saw him reach for the dagger on his belt. He didn't give himself time to think, he merely drove the point forward into his neck, ripped it out and proceeded to stab one of the armed men in the gut. He felt a knife scraqe his armor and looked down to see another armed man attempting to pierce the cuirass, which, despite its age, held up well. He cracked the man's skull with the hilt of his sword, which caused him to promptly fall down. The last man had fled, so he sheathed his sword and looked around. the area where he was standing was now a scene of carnage, and there he was, covered in the blood of four drunken idiots that should have been knocked out.

He had no words to say. He knew that he had done wrong, just as much as they had. Within minutes, several sober guardsmen appeared to take him away for four. He held out his arms and went without any struggle. Because of this, and his obvious regret, they felt obligated to grant his one request.

"May I keep my journal and amulet?"

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 10:37 am

Nobody liked my story

I liked it i liked the involvement of the Daedric prince (princess whatever) sounds like it could be a short TES film lol
:tes:

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 5:14 am

Name: The Changing one
Race: Argonian(true "dragonborn" lol)
Gender: Female

She is a master of hand-to-hand combat, magic in general(no alchemy), and she does not use armor. She is a vampire, werewolf, and werebear if they add those to Skyrim.

As a necromancer(not the evil kind) she was able to extend her lifespan indefinitely by regenerating when she dies. It gives her a different appearance every time although she is always argonian. She has no name because she goes by many.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 2:00 am

There are many paths I'd like to play so I will most likely have more than one post but here goes the first.

Name: Nasiiya

Race: Wood Elf/High Elf Hybrid

Gender: Female

Appearance: Slender and petite, complete with skin the shade of hazel, bronze pixie cut hair and golden eyes.

Back Story: Nasiiya endured a rough childhood within the Imperial City of Cyrodiil. Her father, a magically powerful and influential High Elf-head of the mages guild-, was cold-hearted and calculating. He desired a son, a man of his loins to be his legacy but instead he recieved a daughter, worthless in his eyes. Her mother, a beautiful and sweet Wood Elf died at an early age in Nasiiyas life leaving her alone with a father that became a monster. He made it a crusade to let Nasiiya know just how worthless she was to him, point out her every flaw and drilling them into her head until she felt she was nothing and to her father she was nothing until a brute of an Orc from a rich and powerful clan became captivated and obsesseed with her beauty. The Orc harrassed Nasiiya constantly and when her father found out he was not angry. He was glad. Infact he immediatly struck a deal with the Orc, offering his daughter as a concubine to the Orc for a large amount of Septims. Her father threw her away, with no goodbye, into the arms of a tyrant who beat and brutalized her whenever and however he pleased, constantly threatening to murder her if she ever ran away or bed another man. Nasiiya attempted to kill herself many times over but found herself to be a coward. She wanted to live. She wanted to be happy. Slowly but surely a deep seated hatred and desire arouse within her young troubled heart. A desire strong enough to move a deaf saint to learn the violin and play at the shrine of Umarill. A desire to kill her Master. A desire for divine vengeance against her father. Then the day came when her Master took it upon himself to beat, disrobe and humiliate her in front of an entire banquet at his estate after Nasiiya shot a scathing insult at the Orc. That night, she decided she would be weak and complacent no longer, she would become powerful, she would have her vengeance. That night she took a dagger and eviscerated her master, riddling his body with slashes and gashes. That night she killed a blight on her life. That night she murdered a Noble of Skyrim. She made a hasty retreat but could not remain hidden or survive within the wilderness of Skyrim for long. Eventually she was caught and thrown into prison...sentenced for execution...

Future Abilities: Considering her parents, her physical power is very weak because of her small frame so she has to work with her strong points. Because her lighter build she is well suited for the more agile aspects of combat such as Acrobatics, Evasion Tactics, Martial Arts, Bows and Arrows, Small Swords, Daggers and Throwing Knives. While this is enough to carry her through a fight her stamina and strentgh arn't as great as other warriors so she must compensate. In terms of magic she finds that she is horrible at nearly every school of magic except for Illusions and enchanting which she is a pure genius in. She also bulks up her offensive power by becoming a damn good alchemist, capable of making the most potent poisens and potions as well as grenade like concotions with various effects(ie. Explosions of fire, acid, ice shards, freezing bombs). Combine these skills together and she is no one to cross. The mightiest of foes fall before her because they can't kill what they can't hit and four throwing knives coated in lethal poisen all at the same time pretty much equalls death. So does a slit throat or three arrows fired at once at close range or an acid bomb to the head. Not to mention dragon shouts.

Example of battle(2cd Person POV) - You don't know how you always end up in situations like this but here you are at a dead end gorge in the middle of nowhere, firing arrows as fast as you can at the faster approaching frost trolls. Talos they're ugly, all thirteen of them, well, eleven now. Two just ate snow with arrow to their heads. You have to shoot faster! They're closing in fast! You pull two arrows from your quiver and fire them at the same time. The arrows pierce the abdomen of one of them, one in the heart and one in the gut. Its not getting back up. Things are getting hairy. The rest are about thirty feet away from you. Time to up the ante. You grab four arrows from your quiver on your back and pull them back at the same time, aiming for the biggest concentration of trolls. You release flying death, whispering a chant in the language of the dragons as euphoria grips you and your hairs stand on end. You watch as every arrow you sent out is multiplied thrice times over, decimating a group of five trolls. They are down to five. You smirk to yourself. Not to shabby. The rest are closing in. You toss your bow and quiver to the side and unsheath your enchanted dagger, flametongue. They are on you, the first swings for your head. You roll out the way and fiercly slash at the area behind its knees, crippling it as your flame red dagger burns through tendons, bones and flesh. You face the oncoming trolls just in time to avoid a viscious stomp to the head. You are surrounded now. This doesnt look good. They rush you at the same time. Death is upon you but you refuse to die. Not after all youve been through. You step inside the closest trolls space and step on its bent, furry leg, propeling yourself and grabbing on to its armpit hair. Its disgusting and sogey but you'll throw up later. You swing around to its back and sever its neck while flipping away from it. All three of the remaining stupid trolls are fighting amonst themselves, thinking you are somewhere beneath them. You land gracefully, or at least you thought you were until you slipped on a pocket of wet snow and banged your head. You sit up and witness the trolls stupor after your slick moves with dizzy vision. Uh oh. Looks like theyve caught on to you. One races to you, shaking the earth. Your in no shape to wrestle with the beast. A sense of exhilleration envelopes you as a word of power rushes into your mind. "FUS," your voice reverberates loudly, "RO," your voice builds in intensity, the earth is rattling around you. "DAH!!!!" you're voice pierces the heavens with its ethereal tenor and as the troll upon you is flung backwards with the force of the gods themselves. The force of your incantation is so powerful that the boulder the troll hits shatters into rubble! You stand, high off of the language of the dragons. This is your power! This is your capacity! A draconic roar rips through your chest, shaking the mountains themselves and challenging any foolish enough to stand in your way! The last troll charges at you. So do you. Quick as lightning you grab two of your poisened throwing knives and send them straight into the beast legs, breaking its balance, making it fall at the same time you flip over it grasping the hairs of its head and plunging flametongue into the back of its neck. Your momentum drags you and your dagger down its body, leaving a molten scar from its neck to its ass cheeks. You crouch, breathing heavily. Suddenly you hear grunts of pain. Its the troll you slashed in the back of its knee, bleeding profusley and crawling towards you. You stalk towards it high off of your victory, proud of your prowess. You can almost pity the beast, but somewhere within you, something bestial refuses to pity any foolish enough to attack you. You raise your dagger above your head with both hands and strike. Your blade enters the beast head as a surge of titanic power flows into the dagger. The beast is no more. Flames sear its body from the inside out, cooking it. The smell pleases you. You smiles as your chest rumbles loudly before you release another terrifying roar. "I AM DOVAHKIIN!!!!"

Well thats it. Its been fun. Hope you guys liked it. Ill do another one soon.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 10:51 am

Drikon Rjelavan
Imperial Knight of pure goodness who didint stop poor man who had to steal food for his family so was put to jail for while
using sword and shield equipped with heaviest of armor and having spells to heal wounds and sicknesses and creating light
he will right all wrongs and wont say no when some 1 is in need of help if he thinks these actions would hurt or othervice be harmfull to some 1 he would do it in away that no 1 gets injured (well maybe the bad guy will)

Mirkha
your avarage thief who wont start to cry if some 1 needs to die, using poisons is no deal for him,
wielding his dagger sword combo he is ready to take off everything that is not nailed on place, were it anything at all
well thats why he was put to jail anyway as he was stealing the money sack of guard captain and tried to escape(right into same mans not so gentle hug right away)

Shinarock
mage who does what ever pleases him, he needs soul of person? well no matter who it is the next person will not need his right? and at same time why dont we turn him into skeleton or so?
as his skill was not yet enuff to become a lich he had to settle being wampire, well blood rage struck at middle of street, well i dont need to finish that 1 do i

for why he is in jail? well he was researching teleport spell that went totally wrong, dropping on counts wifes pool when she was in was not part of the plan either (ill just have to put that idea to hold not ready to teleport around)

well thats it my 3 characters i like to use with Drikon Rjelavan being the "main"
none of these characters use fast travel (i so totally hate that system anyway)

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 12:00 am

My first characters name will be Gustav Sybbyl, an awesomely skilled Assassin, with dual knifes and a black cloak, he was put in jail for an assassination, you see he never knew his parents, they were very deeply involved with gods, almost demigod-like (being dragonborn), it was rumored that after Martin, last of the dragonborn was anticipated to perish, Akatosh sent three holy emissaries (HoK included) scattered throughout Cyrodiil, these holy men, thought gods, were not successful in their mission however, and Martin died, along with the septim line. But Akatosh now had an embodiment in the mortal world (statue in temple district), increasing his influence, allowing him to construct two new lines of Dragonborn.

Gustav Sybbyl is the most Powerful dragonborn in millenia, because he was a mixture between both families. Years later Akatosh, now Anduin, realized his mistake in returning the Dragonborn to the mortal world, and sent a band of secret monks to assassinate young Gustav and his parents, who sacrificed themselves for his life. Gustav began training to use a knife and thrown weaons immediately after his parents death, he realised that he must learn to survive in this harsh environment, and he trained in the art of being unseen as well, he took the chance whenever a bandit, or caravan, arrived at the house, to kill them. Years later, Gustav found the leader of the monks and exacted his revenge, not knowing anything about their order, or his importance, but for the murder, he was imprisoned.

He is a resentful, vengeful assassin who must change his ways in order to save the mortal world. His weapon of choice is dual daggers, or (if they are in) throwing knives, he prefers a dark-brotherhood type armor, he hates dishonorable and organized assassinations, shrouded by a black cloak. His hair is loose and long-ish, and white, his eyes too, are pale blue, and he is slightly taller than most Bosmer and more sinewy. However, none notice this because of his cloak. His motto is "Last thing you'll ever see"

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 12:41 pm

My character will be Grognak the legendary Orc mercenary sent from Orsinium to invade Cyrodill. He fought thousands of imperial legionaries on his quest but an imperial battlemage cast a paralize spell on him and he was captured. The elder council sent Grognak to a prison in skyrim to be executed. Grognak will escape and will try to start a new life in Skyrim.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 12:28 am

Race: Imperial
Hair: Brunette
Eyes: Brown
Name: Elena
Other: I MIGHT make her a vampire....... don't know yet.

The rest of my story develops as I play.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 6:42 am

Name: Casseus Clyde
Race: Redguard
Gender: Male
Class: Warrior

Casseus Clyde is strong, intelligent, skilled in the arts of combat, and above all else a natural born leader. He is royalty by blood, and an heir to the throne in Hammerfell. However, he has no interest, nor the patience to be a king or deal with the politics of the three factions of the kingdom. Ignoring his royal duties and putting his own interests first, he sets off with his best men by sea to explore the world, seek adventure, and bring justice to those who would wrong others. Ultimately, fate would lead him to be attacked and shipwrecked by unknown creatures in the harsh lands of Skyrim, that would lead to his life's true calling.

» Mon Dec 28, 2009 11:29 pm

Heimdall was a Nord who spent his whole life wandering the land looking for something, something that was eating at him deep inside, but through all the cold days and brutal nights he never found what he was looking for. With feelings of being forgotten by the Gods, he soon gave up his long & tiring search and turned to theft just to survive, unaware of what was waiting for him just around the corner. He soon found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, a simple thief being locked up for murder, how would he of known a murder just took place in the same house he was breaking into? And just his luck, he was spotted entering the house and soon found himself sitting all alone in a cold damp prison cell. Heimdall's mind was empty, he gave up on life and was sitting there waiting to die, but he never would have guessed his destiny was about to unfold.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 5:23 am

anyone else wanna post theirs?

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 9:18 am

Heimdall was a Nord who spent his whole life wandering the land looking for something, something that was eating at him deep inside, but through all the cold days and brutal nights he never found what he was looking for. With feelings of being forgotten by the Gods, he soon gave up his long & tiring search and turned to theft just to survive, unaware of what was waiting for him just around the corner. He soon found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, a simple thief being locked up for murder, how would he of known a murder just took place in the same house he was breaking into? And just his luck, he was spotted entering the house and soon found himself sitting all alone in a cold damp prison cell. Heimdall's mind was empty, he gave up on life and was sitting there waiting to die, but he never would have guessed his destiny was about to unfold.

Will Heimdall have a horn?

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 4:28 am

My character is a quiet bookworm. He practices regularly for the Mage's guild, and if he starts in jail it's because the guard was lording his rank over everyone. Apparently guards don't like the sneers and jeers of a humble Breton.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 9:05 am

Will Heimdall have a horn?

Yes he will.

http://www.clanrealm.net/Nord/Pantheon/Heimdall.gif

» Mon Dec 28, 2009 11:46 pm

Yes he will.

http://www.clanrealm.net/Nord/Pantheon/Heimdall.gif

you would probably freak if you could actually have a horn lol

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 11:22 am

Hraga Anklebiter was a young son of the feared Northern hill-clans. Assured of success because of his matchless goatherding prowess and reknowned cunning as a wood-cutter, he set off to the big city to make his fortune. He'd heard tales of a thousand people living in the same place, and wanted to determine the truth for himself.

On the road he met Aduelle, a petite Breton beauty. Said she was a maid, or mage or something like that, and he knew they were destined to be together, just like the old stories. As the hours turned to days of adventure together, her saucy use of big foreign words like oaf and half-wit convinced him that his first impression was right. One night, as they sat at the campfire, after his first half-dozen bottles of mead, he looked at her.
Whether it was his manly Nord chest that he'd taken to baring for her benefit, despite the cold, or his drinking prowess he didn't know, but the look of worship in her eyes was plain to see. He staggered in his most heroic fashion to his feet, and leaned over to her....
He woke up a week later, naked and alone in jail, bereft of even his favorite axe, cloud-peaver. His memory was dark, but he supposed it was at least 20 orcs who'd snuck up on them, and him being a bit typsy could probably only take a round dozen.
He knew what he had to do. He would seek out his pining Breton beauty and beloved axe, no matter what the cost.

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 3:47 am

Name: Artur
Race: Nord
Apperance: 6ft, 14 stone 6 lbs
Short un-kempt Light brown hair, short full face beard, blue-green eyes, broad shouldered and immensly strong

Background:

A loner who lives in the mountainous regions of Skyrim. Not much is known about this man other than whispers from passing travellers. He is an expert hunter and woodsman with the easy grace and balance that comes from an expert swordsman. He is deadly with a bow and is rumoured to possess an ancient curved blade and a beautifully crafted re-curve bow with green feathered arrows, similar to that of the elite Nord ranger regiment. He rarely comes into towns only when his winter food stocks are running low, his supplies are paid for in furs and deeds.
Two winters ago a giant male bear had ravaged a family from a farm on the outskirts of a town. A price was put out on the bear by the town council to stop any future incidents. A few days later the bears head was found on a spear outside the family’s home, with a green feathered arrow protruding from its ruined eye-socket.

And so it was with great surprise that the villagers found Artur in the tavern one evening with empty flagons of red wine and stronger spirits, gone was the secretive, stern looking colossal figure. Replaced by a talkative, charming, handsome man in his early 30's. It was with some hesitancy that others began to talk with him, unused to the man before them but soon charmed and entertained.
After some time a tavern regular Borak a big, cocky and arrogant man, known for his boasting and petty violence had begun to become annoyed with the attention Artur was attracting. Signalling to his companions he walks over to Artur.
"...and so then after struggling with the fish for 2 nights and 2 days the fisherman finally". Artur's story was cut off when Borak slams his mug of ale down on the table opposite."So why the loose tongue? After 6 years of the quite life you decide to grace us with your stories of fairies and lies." Borak bellows, attracting the attention of everyone there. All eyes now on Artur he replies "I do not lie, boy. Be more careful who you insult", all trace of the young charming man disappearing. "Might I suggest you take your ale and sit back down with the company of your friends?".
Angry now Borak blurts "No, you [censored]son. I think I will listen till you finish your story". Calmly Artur replies "I think the time for stories has passed. Now I am running out of patience and I will not ask you again, leave me be or suffer the consequences".
Borak had finally achieved the goal he wanted; the woodsman was clearly agitated and ready for a fight. "Now I will crush you and send you back to the mountains a broken man!". Borak moved in with 3 of his friends but just as he raised his fist, the woodsman almost painfully slowly stepped clear of his seat and instead of retreating he stepped forward. Suddenly a lightning fast blow exploded on the side of Borak's head against his ear, Borak begun to fall only to see a vicious right cross smashing his lips and teeth to pieces, sending him into merciful darkness. Spinning on his heel Artur faces the other 3 opponents. The ginger burly man in the middle pulls a knife at the sight of Boraks still form slumped against the bar. Lunging he aims a murderous slash to Artur's belly in an attempt to disembowel him. Pain flared in his knife arm, followed instantly by a crack. The blade now in Arturs hand slams into his chin, under the mouth into the spine. The ginger falls limp to the floor oozing precious life blood. With the battle rage on him Artur steps forward again shattering the knee of the skinny bald man with the face of a goat from a kick and at the same time blocking a blow from the fat pig eyed man to his right. Delivering another bone crunching blow to the nose of the goat face he turns to pig eye. Quick as a diving hawk Artur hammers a straightened hand to pig eyes throat, pig eye died before he hit the floor.

The environment in the tavern was silent, all eyes still on Artur. "I think its best you leave" says the inn keeper. Just then the tavern door opens, in walk 5 of the village guard. With 3 dead men at his feet and blood over his hands and clothes, Artur’s conscience after killing again after 6 years is overwhelming, 3 more faces to add to the sea of people he has sent to the underworld. He has little choice, whishing not to spill more blood needlessly. He is escorted to the village jail to await trial.

This...my friend, is AWESOME! Very nice...

» Tue Dec 29, 2009 11:57 am

Yes he will.

http://www.clanrealm.net/Nord/Pantheon/Heimdall.gif

Oh hellz yeah. I'm glad we were on about the same