Please forgive me if this is already been made. If it has, lock this thread and perhaps direct me to the already created one?

Anyway, so wether you have Skyrim or not, post your character's backstory here!
I'll start.

Name: Angovle Darsev
Race:Nord
Age:38
Backstory: Angovle was born as the fourth son of the Darsev family. He had 3 older brothers: Kohlock,Fralgin and Ashweer. He also had 1 younger brother and 1 younger sister: Stokren and Honlette. His mother was killed by a rich Imperial, whom was being pestered by her begging, when Angovle was just 10-years-old. Enraged, Kohlock and Fraglin(who were 16 and 17 at the time) broke into the imperial's house and brutally murdered him and his wife. Fraglin was killed by the authorities, while Kohlock was sent to prison for 10 years. Urvan Darsev, the father, set up a small fur and meat stall, 3 years later. During this time, Urvan taught Angovle and Ashweer how to hunt, so they could also contribute to their small stall. Angovle excelled in this. 4 years later, on Angovle's 17th birthday; he was given his grandfathers axe, while Ashweer was given their grandfather's bow. 1 year later, Stokren was 13, so the two decided to take him out on a 2 month hunting trip. During this time, however, a family friend travelled out to them and informed them that Honlette had been [censored](she was 16 at the time) and was now pregnant with a imperial's child. After hearing this, the 3 hurried back home. On the way, however, they were attacked by bandits; who gouged out Ashweer's left eye. But, Ashweer and Angovle managed to kill the 7 bandits with just a pepple and a deer bone. Ashweer then wore a eyepatch for the rest of his life.

The three returned home, also finding out that Urvan was very ill. 9 months later, Honlette gave birth to a little girl, but the baby died two days later. 3 months later, Urvan died at age 52. Before he died though, he told Angovle and Ashweer to teach Stokren to be a great hunter,Honlette to bear them a baby NORD boy, and that them two would take over their buisness. 2 years later, it was time for Kohlock to be released from prison. He emerged as a very big,bulky,grizzled 27-year-old.The three brothers did their work as usuall, until they decided to expand their buisness. They had gained enough money for Angovle to travel to bruma to set up a shop, for Kohlock to travel to Winter hold and set up a shop, while Ashweer stayed in Whiterun with Stokren and Honlette.

On his way to Bruma, Angovle was attacked by several grizzly bears; that had created a scar across his eye. He thought them off with his grandfather's axe though. In Bruma, he bought a small house and converted the bottom floor into a hunting shop named: Urvan's Requiem. He stayed there for 10 years, going back to Skyrim every year for a month to see the family and converse their buisnesses. Ashweer's branch of the buisness had been booming, allowing for him to buy a house for him, Honlette and Stokren to live in. Stokren also began going out on hunts for ashweer. Kohlock, however, had only made enough money to live on; but had settled down with a wife. Angovle(now 30) was doing well in bruma, also. However, one night; a group of angry bretons and imperials burned down his shop after Angovle had six with leader of the group's 24-year-old daughter. With his shop ruined, Angovle broke into the leader's house and kidnapped him and his daughter. Here, Angovle would often beat the father and sixually harass the daughter(but not having six). After a week, the daughter died of starvation and dehydration. Enraged, the father broke loose and attacked Angovle. However, in response, Angovle clubbed him to death with a table leg. With the Legion after him, Angovle fled back to Skyrim; where he lived with Ashweer for 4 years. Honlette gave birth to a legitamate son with her husband. But the son of the Imperial who had been murdered by Kohlock and Fralgin found and killed Honlette, her husban and their son in revenge. Angovle and Kohlock then hunted down and killed the Imperial, his wife and kids,his brother, and his friends. Finally, Angovle was captured and put on death row for the crimes he had commited in Skyrim AND in Cyrodill. Kohlock was also captured, but was hung 2 weeks later.

Now, he is 38 and is on his way to be executed, when the game starts....

my character was born in a toilet

his name is zug smash

zug likes big hammers and axes


dragon make fire like copycat , dragon die

i never RP on my first playthrough of anything, don't see the point

I don't quite understand why people like backstories so much... But hey to his his own.


But what would mine be if I had to make one up?

I am a (good) demon sent down by azura to handle the upcoming dragon situation

I dont either, but I felt the need to this time. I dunno, makes it more fun, and gives you something to do.

Here we go again...

Name: Dovahkiin (or Dragonborn... the character simply adopts the name later on in the game as his first language is Dragonish, seeing as he has no other given real name, and this is his title bestowed upon him by the people anyway)

Race: Nord

Gender: Male

Place Of Birth: Skyrim

Language: Dovahkiin see's his first language as Dragonish, as he is able to pick the language up unaturally easily, hence the reason he adopted the name "Dovahkiin". His only other language is Tamrielic, which he also can speak fluently just like everyone else. Dovahkiin speaks in a tone of grunts, as was picked up from living with wolves for years, this singles him out as savage and strong by Tamrielic speaking people, but aids him in perfect pronounciation of Dragonish words.

Personality: Being raised by wolves, and surviving on nature, Dovahkiin is a hard to break, brutal, but calm and intelligent character, he is a kind-hearted person who will do anything to help others, same as he used to his old wolf family. His immunity of rough environments come from the 22 years of being raised by nothing but harsh nature. Though he isnt paticularly bad at any weaponry he finds himself more attuned to the more brutal and forward weaponry; dual handed blades, and the battle-axe.
He does not use spells of any kind, and avoids wearing and using enchanted weapons and armour. When the time comes, he will awaken his Dragon soul and become a master of the Dragon Language and the Dragon Shouts. His growl/grunt tone he picked up from being raised by wolves has helped him perfect the pronunciation of the Dragon Language. Though he seems the serious and calm type, he does enjoy a good drink and sing-along at the tavern.

Religious Veiws: Dovahkiin is a firm believer in the common Skyrim religion and beliefs, such as that man was born when the sky breathed onto High Hrothgar. Though he can see common sense when something doesn't make sense, but believes the gods to be tied to the mortal realm greatly. The old Dragon worshippers interest him, and though he sees Dragons as powerful, and in some sense friends, the ones pledged to Alduin must be stopped at all costs. His favored god is Ysmir, and he believes when great warriors die, they are sent to Sovngarde.

Story: Dovahkiin was left at birth at the top of a cold mountain by an unknown and unwanting Mother. Freezing, he was taken into a warm cavern by the wolf mother and looked after and raised by wolves. After a few years Dovahkiin very quickly realised he was different to the pack, he noticed the wolves would use claws and teeth for weapons and fur for warmth were he had none, though also found he had the ability to stand up-right at an early age were the Wolves could not, this gave him an advantage in combat compared to the wolves later on in his life. Watching the creatures of the mountain and forests Dovahkiin then started experimenting and making his own things. Using clubs and other sharp weapons he made himself he would defend the family from invaders and large predators, he would also go out and hunt rival wolves and other animals and wear the leathers and furs of them to keep warm. He grew up to be the best warrior of the clan and was only able to communicate in grunts and roars like his wolf brothers. He was able to fight larger creatures in order to defend his family, like mountain lions, bears and many other tresspassers. He learned to become immune to the rough environment of mountains, forests and caves and very skilful in the creation of his own weapons and armour and he grew in great skill using them, he knew how to live off nature and go for days without food or sleep just like a wolf and became faster and faster, up to a point where he could keep up with his wolf brothers on hunts.

At the age of 22 when the wolf mother had finally passed away and her children ran off to lead lives of their own, Dovahkiin was left to fend for himself, he set off exploring and surviving on what he could until he came to the border of Skyrim, directed into High Rock, the guards came close to him with swords drawn curiously, Dovahkiin seen this as a sign of hostility and went savage, attacking the guards with his custom blades, it took many to keep him strained but when he was finally roped up and growling at the frightened guards around him, Dovahkiin was taken to the next city to be kept in Jail under "suspicion of crossing the border for illegal reasons". Seeing as he was very resistant and hostile he was kept for 6 years, after a few of those years however he learned fluent English from other prisoners, guards and villagers (but still had a slight grunt and growl tone left over from living with the wolves for years), even though he liked to remain silent when he could and only would reply when spoken to, he would listen to the stories that guards would tell of (On the days were they were allowed to drink ale on duty, which they would do so in front of the prisoners once a month to tease them, whilst singing and telling stories and tales) and in books the prisoners were aloud to read once a month, about warriors who would roam the land and fight epic battles and save and defend villages, and many other tales, such as the past of Nirn and its many races and history... Dovahkiin however took alot of interest from Tiber Septim's stories, born in Atmora, and could rally and destroy armies with the power of the Voice which he learned from the great Greybeards, he taught himself to read and write by carving his favorite stories into the cell wall with his fingernails, using this he also came to know alot of the basic Lore of Nirn. Dovahkiin knew all the prisoners, most where dirty criminals and murderers but one or two of them where innocent, whom Dovahkiin would act less threatning too. On occasion the prisoners would be taken to nearby towns and villages for community service, Dovahkiin excelled at Blacksmithing within his first few tries, but was still given other basic things to do for his service, and enjoyed helping the Villagers with their work and lives like he would help his own wolf mother and brothers, however he couldnt help but watch the villagers carry on with thier normal lives, with thier families and children, and noticing how defenseless they would be if they were to ever be attacked, like when predators used to raid Dovahkiins wolf pack.

When back in Jail, the guards would pit the prisoners against each other in home-made arena combat, Dovahkiin had no moral problem with this as all combatants were murderers and criminals, but Dovahkiin was forced to fight by the guards for entertainment as his skill with the axe during woodcutting labour was noticed. Dovahkiin was the best fighter in the prison, and quickly learned great skill in most all weaponry that they shoved him into the arena with, though he still had an animalistic and brutal technique, he used these skills with style. One day Dovahkiin noticed an innocent prisoner being purposely beaten to death by a group of corrupt guards after refusing to take part in the prison arena, justly but brutally Dovahkiin attacked one guard from behind and threw him ferociously against the jail bars, killing him, taking his sword he turned and drove the sword into one guards gut, the last tried to run but Dovahkiin quickly shoved the blade into his spine and instantly killed the guard, the innocent prisoner was overjoyed that he had been saved and Dovahkiin felt better inside... a while later more guards came in and seen the bodies and the blood soaked Dovahkiin. The Guards, not believing the story of the innocent prisoner, threw Dovahkiin quickly into his cell untill the news reached him, that five months later, that he would be executed, under the trial of murder and more importantly, still remembered by the guardsmen, illegaly crossing the border... but what actually happens after that point, is yet to be told..

Racial Dispostion: Though he does his best to give all races a chance, like all people, he still has his preferences. The real preffering however is that, if any person, of any race, is dishonourable, they are not worthy of respect, however if a person is honurable, my character tries to look past thier veiws and beliefs, and sees the person as worthy of respect. The only type of thievery that is respected is to feed families and steal from the rich to help the poor, the only type of killing of people allowed, is to kill bandits, other murderers, or any other dishonourable low-lives who commit these acts for wealth, enjoyment and other dishonourable reasons. He does not like that some people veiw his race as unintelligent, but in the end what can he say, the Drunken Nord always sitting on his own table in the local tavern with a pint in hand isnt exactly giving of the right impression, he respects the eldest of the Nords and wishes all races would respect their history and loyalty in past wars as he does. Dovahkiin tries to co-exist with all races of Tamriel, this includes wildlife, he will simply let them get on with thier own things, unless of course if he need meat or hides, however intelligent wildlife he will not attack, one example is Giants, he respects their culture and intelligence, he will only attack a mammoth if it is not part of a Giants herd.

Nords- My character has the best relationships with Nords, he connects and communicates with them well as they follow the same interests and beliefs. However since he has been in jail long enough for him to hardly notice the civil war, he has yet to take a side, and most likely will not, but will just do whatever possible to make Skyrim and Tamriel a better place.

Orismer- Dovahkiin respects Orcs alot, mostly about their fierce tribal loyalties and generous equality of rank and respect among the sixes and also thier great skill in craftsmenship, in which he takes inspiration, as Orcs being among the best of Nirn.

Redguard- Their skill in battle is honourable but traitors of the race who have delved into banditry and piracy, should be slaughtered.

Khajit- My character really enjoys hearing about their odd culture and the way they change sub-race depending on the positions of the moons, and enjoys the company of these strange beast-races, but dishonourable highwaymen and killers must be punished.

Argonians- He is fascinated by their mysterious culture, but a shady Argonian with a mysterious agenda must be cautioned, one of thing respected about these races is their ability to stay strong even after thier long history of slavery, and how they have proven this by taking over most of southern Morrowind in retaliation, and there is almost nothing better than an out-in-the-open Argonian comrade who knows some good jokes.

Altmer- My character does not respect the Altmers natural tendecy to see themselves as superior and other races as "lesser". Though on some occasions if an Altmer can put others before himself and is willing to do the right thing then he/she has full respect.

Imperials- The past history of conquest is greatly admired by the character, especcially the tales of Tiber Septim, but on their occasions of traitorship and not being there when parts of the empire needed them is frowned upon greatly, but individuality is what its about and my character will always lend a helping hand to an honourable Imperial.

Bretons- Sympathy for the veiws upon them by other races as 'weak', but a Breton who uses both his Mer and Men blood to its full advantage and not one side preffered, is respected, as Dovahkiin sees this as being respectful to their own culture and history instead of focusing on the culture of Men or Elves seperately.

Bosmer- Funny little fellows, a small Mer with a big heart to do the right thing is very deeply respected. And their strength to restrain from falling back into cannibalism is also seen as honourable.

Dunmer- Sees thier history of slaving the Argonians as a sign of weakness rather than depending on thier own race, though he feels most of them have learned from their mistakes and feels sympathy for them in their time of war against Argonians. He sees the Dunmer as ambitious and tenacious, and respects this and will always help a good-hearted Dunmer, but when one is so tenacious that he will do anything to get what he wants, thats where Dovahkiin has to begin drawing lines...

Wow, nice one.

Skyrim Backstory

Name: Adomas Redskarr
Age: 20
Race: Breton
Favourite Colour: Red
Specialities: Destruction, Restoration, Light Armour, Mysticism
Weapons: Dual-Wield Magic
Personality:
Adomas is a generally quiet person. He keeps himself to himself and tries to remain neutral in the affairs of the world. Though venturing into towns occasionaly, in which the locals find him a generally nice man, he prefers to wander the land and study the art of Magic whenever he can.

Backstory:
Adomas is from Evermor in the province of High Rock. He had a peaceful childhood and at the age of 13 he was allowed by his parents ( Bredam and Viennete ) to start studying the art of Magic. He immediately took to it with skill and he showed a certain flair for destruction and restoration magic especially. He chose to practice these two more than others. He was also trained with a sword and shield. He spent his teenage years training, practicing and learning. But at the age of 19 he was in for a surprise.
He was meditating on the mountaintop near the village one day when suddenly a piercing scream broke his concentration. His eyes snapped open and widened in shock as he gazed down upon the village. There was a large dragon flying dangerously low to the village and the worst part - it was spouting dragonfire from its mouth. Half the village was in flames in seconds. The dragon let out a large roar and scooped up at least 10 villagers in its grasp. Now with Adomas's eyesight greatly trained he could half make out some faces and he gazed on it horror as he saw his mother and father's faces there. They were both screaming and trying to cast spells against it but it was having no effect on it. Adomas started forwards but a voice inside his head told him "Stop. Go down there and you'll have no chance of seeing them again. Watch the dragon." And so Adomas paid attention to this voice. The dragon circled the village once more and swept off North East. Towards the land of Skyrim. After taking as much detail of this dragon as he could he sprinted to the village and into his house. Nobody stopped to talk to him. They had their own problems to deal with. Once he was in his semi charred house he when over to the chest with all his possessions. Upon himself he clad himself in an iron helm and armour. He took his iron sword and iron shield and took all the gold that was in the house.
After a moment of looking round and saying goodbye he headed out of Evermor. It took him 2 days and 2 nights to reach the border of Skyrim.
And one night he was sheltering in an Inn due to harsh weather conditions when two soldiers burst in. Heading straight to him they said
"Adomas Redskarr?", Adomas replied "Yes". The guards said "For crossing the border into Skyrim illegaly during a time on civil unrest you are under arrest and are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead"

Arriere was a child of indeterminate birth and indeterminate race. His pale blonde hair and pale grey eyes screamed Nord, but his slim build, slightly upturned eyes and preternatural agility seemed all Bosmer. Found on the street at a young age he was taken in by the local duke. It was not an act of kindness. Arriere was taught to read, socialize, and enjoy the finest food and drink. He was also kept from society and taught to kill with no emotion. Lessons were strict and failure would have been fatal. Arriere did not fail.

There came a night, when Arriere was still an unblooded young man, that the duke's residence was sacked. Arriere was taken in with the rest. Caught up in in events he was about to be hanged when a sudden repreieve came his way. Loosed on the world with no practical experience, he finds himself unsure of where to go next.

Arriere has no sympathy for his former benefactors and therefore no desire for revenge. He is conflicted between a natural urge to enjoy life and long training as a cold blooded killer. The latter is strong but the former will become dominent over time.

Arriere will play through the dark brotherhood and thieves guild. DB will come first since that is his inclination at his release. After finishing the DB he will reject it and begin freelance adventuring and thieving. I will play him as an intelligent but quite naive person. His back story gives me an excuse to play through the DB quests but he will reject that path after completion. As his real personality is allowed to come to the fore he will change from the killer to the care free adventurer. There is always a great deal of carelessness about him. He will go down any path that offers adventure but reject it as soon as it requires responsibility. He has no lust for power and no lofty goals, just the next thrill.

It's on my blog, click the Backstory link.

Enjoying the sort of "quest to Skyrim" theme of this. Nice one!

Why, tank ye ^^

Here's my character. Hope you enjoy.

--------------------

Uriel Nocturne et Indoril

Race: Dunmer
Age: 275 (as of 4E 43)
six: Male
Born: 3E 401
Roles: Assassin, Warrior, Mage
Factions: Morag Tong, formerly of the Mage's guild (not sure of he will join either of the Synod or the College of Whispers at the moment)
Deity: Not known
Nickname: The Assassin of Shadows
Signature Weapons: Nevermore (Long Sword), Lifethorn (Dagger), Flight of the Raven (Bow)

Skills (Most accomplished):

Stealth (Master)
Blade (Master)
Security (Master)
Destruction (Master)
Illusion (Master)
Alteration (Expert)
Light Armor (Expert)
Marksman (Journeyman)

Minor Skills:

Conjuration (Apprentice)
Restoration (Apprentice)
Mercantile (Novice)

History:

Born to House Indoril in 3E 401, Uriel quickly distinguished himself in his Warrior and Magical training at an early age. As a young advlt Dunmer, his thoughts and interests turned darker, and he used his Mastery of his many skills to his advantage as a freelance Assassin. After avenging the assassination of his father by assassinating a Noble in House Hlaalu, his talents were recognized by a major player inside House Indoril who took him on as her private assassin.

For twenty years he served this noblewoman until her unfortunate death due to poisoning (rumored to be because she was actively working to free Morrowind from the blight that is the Imperial Annexation). When he returned home from an assassination contract in the province of Skyrim to find his employer was no more, he used his extensive knowledge of her holdings to retrieve many weapons, valuable books of magical might and learning, and took ownership of one of her minor holdings in the Hirstaang Forest on the Island of Solstheim. There he made his home, as well as his base of operations as he returned to freelance assassination.

Using the wealth and knowledge he had looted from his former Master, he refined the training he had begun in his childhood and early advlthood quickly becoming a Master in the arts of the Blade, Destruction magic, and Illusion magic. With his Mastery of these new skills, used to augment his naturally lethal Mastery of Sneak, he has become a well know assassin in the circles of intrigue amongst the Tamriel underworld. He has used his knowledge of the magical arts to extend his life beyond the Dunmer average of 300 years, and even though he is 275 years old, he only looks as if he were in his late twenties. Unless he dies by violence (which is the typical end for any assassin), Uriel sees his life extending well into eternity based on the strength of his magic and pure Dunmer blood.

After another fifteen years as a very successful assassin, he was attacked one night by five assassins. They broke into his home, but he was not caught unawares for he never slept much, and was enraptured by a recently "acquired" text on the intricacies of Destruction magic. That and decades of training with sleep deprivation has left him with the need to sleep once every three days or so.

Alerted to the new prey stupid enough to invade his home, Uriel used his stealth and Destruction magic to dispatch four of the invaders at one time. They never saw the Fire-trap spell laced along certain boards of the floor. Uriel had purposefully inscribed them in front of every door and window of his home for just such an occasion. The only beings that could pass them freely aside from Uriel were friends that he actually brought into his home. Since Uriel had no real friends, it was a moot point anyway. Nor in their wounded state, did they see the incoming Life Drain spell that Uriel had woven and launched at them from one of the many secret passageways that honey-combed his domicile. As their bodies shriveled to lifeless husks and Uriel fed his immortality on their essences, he sought out and discovered the last interloper. This final invader was proving more of a challenge.

The assassin sprang from the shadows as a blur of black and blood, and lacerated Uriel's arms and chest with a flurry of initial strikes. Bleeding from more than a dozen deep slashes, Uriel kicked outward in pure reactionary instinct, sending his attacker flying across the room. The attack had filled Uriel with a righteous rage and indignation, and the ether between Realms rippled with his eldritch words of power. As his opponent slammed into the wall opposite Uriel, he had already finished his spell casting and sent a white hot bolt of fire and life-draining magic lancing across the room so that it slammed into his attacker, melting his ebony-colored chain-mail to his flesh, while healing Uriel at the same time.

With his constitution restored and the slashes healing, Uriel drew his dagger Lifethorn, and his long sword Nevermore, and launched himself across the room engaging his enemy in a furious battle of flashing blades. For half an hour they battled across Uriel's home, destroying countless artifacts and trophies of Uriel's conquests in the way only a fight to the death can accomplish. His enemy called for Uriel to cease, and despite the fact that with this pause Uriel could get in a lightning quick kill stroke, he did pause but kept his weapons at the ready. The assassin praised Uriel for his vigor, tenacity, and skill, and informed him that he had well passed the test before him, and that he was offering Uriel a place in the Morag Tong, Morrowind's most feared of Assassin Guilds. Breathing heavy and weary from the battle and magical energy he had thrown around this night, Uriel contemplated the offer for another five minutes as he listened to the invading Assassin tell him of the multitudinous benefits to being a member of the Morag Tong. Convinced that the offer would not be made twice, and that only the Tong could offer him targets that would be a challenge, Uriel sheathed his weapons, then accepted the generous offer. He continues to work within the Morag Tong to this day, and with the end of the Oblivion Crisis, the Argonian Invasion of his homeland, and with the rebuilding of the Dunmer Nation on the Island of Solstheim, the Morag Tong has been more than happy to keep Uriel's contracts and pockets more than full as they retaliate for the injustices done to Dunmer everywhere.

Now that the 4th Era has dawned upon Tamriel, Uriel continues to work behind the scenes, taking out the toughest contracts and the highest rated kills that the Morag Tong can throw at him. In this time, Uriel discovered that his favorite contracts involved killing Vampires and Were-creatures of all types. The skill necessary to extinguish their lives was always a welcome challenge, and also a potentially lethal way to continue to hone his already legendary skills. With the King of the Nords now dead, Uriel has started accepting contracts and longer adventures into Skyrim, and the Volikihar are now his most cherished prey. Also he enjoys hunting the greatest of Nord warriors as they are such highly skilled, lethal fighters. Truly Uriel has found no foe that can take as much punishment as a Nord, and yet still keep on fighting. Of all of Uriel's victims, the Nords have his highest respect. But now a new prey has returned to Mundus, risen from the depths of the indomitable mountains, and returned from lands unknown.

The Dragons have returned, and Uriel wants to add their heads to his trophy wall. Skyrim calls, the Assassin of Shadows answers.

--------------------

Imperial named Jacobus son of Volumnius Gallus, aged 21, Good with 2/1h weapons, smithing, great hunter, honourable and respectful man.

Backstory
He left small town of Kvatch in search of a adventure, his father Volumnius Gallus was a true warrior who killed Daedric Princes and closed oblivion gates. When his father came back from Oblivion he spend there over 179 Cyrodiil years but he didnt get old, the Oblivion was a cursed place in where time would be slowed down and when warriors finally exit oblivion they will suffer because the people that they known and loved would be long dead. He was very proud but a different man, he changed. When he told the story of how he defeated the Daedric Princes everyone was so fascinated that they worshiped him, he married an Nordic woman who no one even knew, they had 1 child together, they called him Jacobus. They didnt know that Volumnius carried deadly disease, disease which changed the most strong and honourable man into a bloodthirsty villain who murdered half of the village and his wife. In Oblivion Volumnius Gallus was cursed by strong Mage, when Prospero the most powerful Wizard in the whole Cyrodiil found out he was sent to abolish the curse and free Volumnius from suffering. Prospero tried everything on Volumnius but the curse was too strong, before Volumnius died he whispered into Prospero's ear and he said ''Tol Kiin Lost Fus Do Kruziik Dova'' which meant '' That child have force of ancient dragons'' Then he caught a glimpse of his son and said ''Im proud of you son, I love you'' and passed away. Nobody knew what Volumnius said before he died, not even his son.
After loosing his father, Jacobus became a smith, for a long time he worked with Skjelluv who later became his friend. Skjelluv was born in Skyrim in a Nordic Village but he moved with his parents when he was 8 years old. One day when Jacobus sat with Skjelluv and talked for few hours, Skjelluv told Jacobus a great story, story about Alduin, a great god of destruction, a DRAGON! When Skjelluv said ''Alduin'' Jacobus collapsed for few seconds and then quickly got up, Skjelluv questioned him and asked what happened, Iacomus responded quickly to that question ''I..I dont know, I...I had a feeling, I heard someone...'' -''Someone? What did he say?'' -''Umm...It was very unclear...he said ''Dovahkiin'' -''Dovahkiin? What does that mean?'' said Skjelluv -''I...I dont know...I must go'' Jacobus left Skjelluv house. He packed his rusty sword, bow, arrows, boar meat and left the village. Jacobus walked and walked, he walked day and night but he wasnt tired, the ''voice'' guided him, the ''voice'' told him where to go and so he arrived. Jacobus crossed the Border through The Jerall Mountains into Skyrim. When Jacobus walked to the bottom of the mountain he was assaulted by 2 warriors, two big Nordic guys with axe in each hand, Jacobus was a skilled warrior so he dealt with them without a single spill of sweat. Later that day, 8 big men attacked Jacobus, they disarmed him and told him that he committed a great crime and that he will be punished.

Can't copy and paste because i'm on a Cell Phone, if anyone actually cares my Backstory is on my "About me" Page on my Profile ._.

You know what, just to get into the spirit of Skyrim, i'm going to make my character in Oblivion. Just for the lols.

Why thank you

My character was a mild mannered subway employee living in New Jersey, the land of farts and hair gel.

Then, suddenly, without warning, out of nowhere, completely unexpectedly, shockingly, he was teleported to skyrim after the subway sandwich toaster shocked him.

Now he lives a quiet life of murder and flatulence.

I am Jon Remillard of Castle Remillard
Born forty years ago in the highlands of Daggerfall,
I am Dovahkiin, and I am not alone.
Now marks the return of the World-Eater,
When the stroke of an axe will release the power of the Dragonborn!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6ySefEuW84


HEEEEEERE we arrrrre
Born to be kiiiings
We're the princes of the Uuuuniverrrrrse

----

The PC is getting led to execution, right? For border hopping? I'll pretend he was a smuggler. Man's gotta eat.

What follows is an extract from 'The Saga of the Dovakiin: a complete history' by Thorrick Halgrun, Chief historian and Master scribe of the college of Winterhold 4E 247- 263.

'
'...However when one achieves such feats of heroism, it is all too easy to forget that beneath the shroud of glory lies the fallible flesh of a man.
It is for this reason, I believe, that the majority of annuls and history's recording the deeds of the Dovakiin are concerned only with his actions in the days the Dragons darkened our skies.
They ignore the humble beginnings of Yorvald Aracairn in their haste to paint the image of him as a demigouge, not realising that by denying the more human aspects of his character,
they forgo perhaps the greatest lesson to be learned from his tale. His story teaches us that greatness can arise from the most unexpected of places. That even the most withered and
stunted seed still holds the whispered promise of a towering pine.

I'm sure my esteemed colleagues have heard some of the tales surrounding Yorvalds origins. From the ridiculous na?vetés offered by the pious claiming him to be an incarnation of Talos
to the frankly disturbing tavern yarns regarding a giant copulating with a frost sprite. The truth unsurprisingly is somewhat less far fetched. The Dovakiins origins were neither
miraculous or supernatural but in fact quite ordinary. His is a tale shadowed with injustice and the pain of loss. Hardships that are perhaps familiar to us all in these harsh times.

Yorvald Aracairn was born in Bruma on the 4th of Rainshand 4E 182. His father Ursivald, son of Sjornvald, served as a member of the city watch under the fiefdom of Lord Malneth the third.
His mother, Clarineth, an imperial, was a serving wench at one of the citys many taverns. The early years of his life were normal by all accounts and before his passing he confided in
those close to him that most of his childhood was spent in the tavern with his mother. Yorvald listened eagerly to the tales shared by the patrons. Stories of adventure and war that filled his
young mind with dreams of glory, but it must have seemed inevitable to him then that he was destined to follow in his fathers footsteps as a member of the city watch.

Alas life is never so simple. When Yorvald was just fifteen, a paltry few years shy of manhood, his world was cruelly torn apart. He often was heard to say that his famed sense of honor and
justice came from his father. For sure Ursivald was a respected member of Brumas guard and its citizens knew him well for both his integrety and kindness. But mens virtues can become
their undoing. One night, as the story is told, Ursivald was out on patrol when he came upon a group of men harassing a young women. Fearing for both her virtue and her life the maid lashed out
at the ringleader, cutting his cheek with a pocket knife. The man then drew his own blade and slew her outright. Outraged Ursivald set upon them in a fury, slaying three and mailming the
murderer. He hauled the coward to his feet only to realise, to his horror that it was lord Malneths own son. Needless to say the law does not apply to beggars and lords in equal measure.
The next day Ursivald and his wife were hanging from the gallows, the lordling flaunted his wounds like a badge of honor and boasted how he had fought off the crazed guardsman after watching
his men butchered.

How Yorvald escaped the lords wroth is unknown but he fled Bruma that very day. Wandering alone in the wilderness he was forced to grow up fast and soon learnt to fend for himself, scavenging what he
could and stealing what he couldnt. However the next episode of his life is perhaps the hardest for those of us who idolise him to accept. Yorvald was roaming one day in the mountains of northern Cyrodill
when he was captured by a notorious group of bandits called the White crows. Still only seventeen at this time he became the bandits dogsbody. At first the menial tasks and harsh treatment were akin to slavery and
he sought many times to escape, but as the months turned into years the white crows became his family. He earnt their respect in the only way they understood, by the blade.
They were Nords like him. They respected strength and soon he became the strongest man amongst them. What followed was a dark time in Yorvalds life. One in which he and his companions
became infamous and feared. Eventually even those white crows that had resented him came to know him as a brother.

Rumor has it that one day the bandit named Darvaln convinced Yorvald that it was his time to lead the crows. As per the groups custom his worthiness for the title was settled by a long and bloody duel.
He replaced the legendary Henrik Whitecrow himself and proceeded to plunder his way across northern Cyrodill with Darvaln at his right hand. However soon enough the life of the outlaw caught up with Yorvald.
Darvalns jealousy had festered slowly like a bad wound and knowing he could not hope to best Yorvald in an honest duel, the craven resorted to trechary.
Leading Yorvald far out into the wilderness to hunt Daraln struck him with a poison arrow and left him for dead. Awaking half dead and freezing cold, poison still coursing through his veins
the Dovakiin stumbled aimlessly for days. Eventually Yorvald, the notorious white crow bandit, was apprehended by an imperial patrol trying to cross the border into Skyrim. He was barely standing and in no
position to resist arrest. The imperials must have not been able to believe their luck and they took him north immediately to answer for his crimes on the headmans block...'

Really enjoyed reading these so far!
Yorvalds going to be a Nord ranger type of character (he decides to change his bandit ways) focusing on One handed, Block, Archery, Light armour and Stealth.

Name: Lilith Arys
Race: Bosmer
six: Female
Birthdate: 3E 412
Class: Rogue/Assassin

Backstory:

Let me tell you a story, story of a man who wants to be a god, god of the wind. He dressed in brown, brown leather clothes, he used a bone mace and ate mushrooms. He lived in the woods, the trees are huge. Only friends were trolls who were all the time drunk. He saw a nightmare, the big bad bear who ran behind him and shouted these words: "If you want to be a god of wind you have to beat me. If you want to be a god of wind you must take my skin. If you want to be a god of wind you must use my nails. If you want to be a god of wind you must be like me, must be like bear."

Name: Gortrag gro-Bologra
Race: Orc
Age: 22
Class: Two-handed Beserker
Fighting Style: Blood rage
Proficiencies: Heavy armour, two-handed, smithing, archery, enchanting, (cooks up a mean steak as well)

Description/Backstory (I struggle to write proper short stories without the experience of the game itself; my secondary and tertiary characters have more fleshed out backstories after first playthrough as I have a solid understanding of the world I'm placing them in):

Fiercely loyal to those who give him an opportunity, Gortrag will do anything to protect those who have shown him faith. His one flaw perhaps... his relentless search for glory and self-adulation. Ultimately, he wants to prove that the Orsimer are not crude, beastlike peoples who only know how to follow orders and kill. For him, Orsimer transcendence into a race of true power in the Empire is paramount... or is it simply that he wants power for himself? Will his loyalty to his race or those who have shown him favour tear him apart? Where will the lines blur?

Gortrag gro-Bologra... Dragonborn. Orc. Hero? Villain? The answer is unknown at this stage.



Some great character backgrounds here by the way guys. A lot of effort and thought has gone into a lot of them and I'm enjoying the reads. Spent most of my day off today with Battlestar Galactica in the background reading up on Skyrim! Massive geek out Saturday!

The light is weak and dim, it caress the carriage of the prisoners, melting with the starlight. The guards are around the fire, chanting racist hymns and laughing loud, enjoying the trip, with the help of a pair of naked women dancing before them. The prisoners, instead, are chained at their seats. They seat still, looking at the moon, thinking about death. Death, it is truly what they deserve, the last gift a life of crimes, or even a single one, will give to them. It's all that remains for these sinners.
But they're not silent, of course. There've been stories, many ones, in the pale night. Every doomed one whispered his torment, his sins, his wicked life, trying to free himself from the cage of memories, to face the journey to the end without regret. It's vain, true, but what can they have now if not a shadow of hope?
But one have not spoken, not yet. He is far from the others, sitting in a corner, alone. The others leave him there, forgotten or maybe feared, for he isn't like them. In the mass of blonde and pale Nords, tanned Imperials and lizardous Argonians, he is the only shade of grey, the only Dunmer. Streaks of thin scars scratch across his face, visible only when the light hits them, and his white hair cover his face, hanging loose and touching his shoulders, covering the eyes.
He is silent. He hasn't spoken, he waits. But he knows he will. He will wait the dead of the night, the time when the friendly, shiny stars have turned to burning eyes watching to your soul, when the gentle breeze is a demonic whisper. Then he will speak.

And the time come. He looks up, watching his companions. And they all shiver in fear, for his eyes are not the ones of a human or a mer. They're burning in a terryfing lack of faith, red and violet and black, every colour lasting only a couple of seconds. His rough, raspy voice breezes through the air, telling a story.

"And now, it's my turn to repent, to look at my past and cry and beg for mercy, like you scum. Am I right? Well, I don't want to. But I will tell you my tale, my life, my revenge, for I will die tomorrow and it will live only in your memories, and in the ones of who you will tell my story. Probably, you will die too, but it doesn't matter. Nothing does, anymore.
I was born in Morrowind, like many of my kin. I don't remember a lot about my hometown, my homeland, even my first days.I guess they were thoughtless, maybe even happy, if I know what this word means. But I remember one thing: the pillage. One day, I think something like twenty, twenty-four years ago, a band of mercenaries, but I think that slavers will make more sense, attacked my village. They [censored] the women, they killed the men, they took everything. Very traditional pillagers, weren't they? Of course, they enslaved us: everybody was locked in chains, and we were taken away, to the Nord, to this very corner of Nirn. The journey was, to say the least, a torture. Many of us died, others were injered and were left behind, for the wolves, and even one or two of the slavers got lost in a torment and never returned. But we arrived in one city, after many days of struggling, and things begane to be worst. We were exposed in the markets, we were tried by potential costumers, you know the drill. My mother was [censored], again and again, in front of me... yeah, I forgot: my father died along the path. But he has always been a weak one, I never missed him too much. Oh, and they [censored] me as well. Dozens of times. By the time, a was a young boy, still androgine like all the children, and many men liked me... I cried a lot, during these raqes, but as they beat me, I learnt to cry silently. It was the only way I had to suvive.
Well, to be honest, it didn't last for a long time... After a few months, I was bought. My new owner was a young Altmer, his name Azius, like I've learnt afterward. He was violent, a brute. He puched and kicked me, many times a day, and my time with him was another step closer to hell. But he was only a fa?ade, a grunt of a big organization. I don't know its name even now, but it was a scourge, a blight of this land. It was a coven of necromancer, a breeding lair for zombies and other undead atrocities atrocities. And Azius took me in their hide, a deep cave connected with a desecrated and forgotten temple, hidden somewhere in the mountains. Don't ask me what mountains, I don't know. I wandered so much from then, mindless, without memories.
And there I lived for many years, more than a young boy can count in a lightless pit. I served as a dog, guarding their home, eating the remaining of their food from the floor... I was a toy, either used to fight in a pit with other desperate kids, or in a bed, [censored] again, like before. I had no friend, for I didn't trust anyone, and I didn't talk either. They taught me that with the whips, they said that an animal didn't need words.
And indeed an animal I was. That's the only reason why I'm still alive. Like a beast, I lived upon their remains, and my wounds closed by themselves, with the time. I developed many abilities to survive, in that time. Growing up I became a being of raw wildness, built to survive. But I won't say more about my youth, if you can call it so. I won't talk about the abuses, the violence, the boiling hate that filled my veins for many years. I will instead talk about the most important event of my life: in fact, it was my death.
Yes, it could seem a joke now. I'm here breathing, am I not? But I'm not the same one that I was...
What a mess. Let me start from the beginning of my resurrection: one day, a pair of years ago, the necromancers decided to create what they called Raa'Zared, the unliving champion. I don't know what they intended to use it for, but it was an unholy, monstrous abomination, and they needed a living being to create it. Because it wasn't a normal undead, raised from the dead. To create it, they had to perform surgeries and enchanting on a person, someone resistent enough to survive all of this madness. Well, they chose me. Like I said, I was strong, I survived for years. I was a rarity, a beast of raw hate and toughness. I was perfect.
And so, they had fun on me. They broke my bones, cut them out of me and replaced them with better ones. They rip my muscles off, placing troll ones in their place. They gave me the mouth of a vampire, and its curse, mitigated. I can svck blood, but I don't need it, and neither the sun can kill me. They enhanced my brain, cutting it open and placing some xenos pieces in it. I don't even want to think about what I have, literally, on my head.
And they've got a final surprise. After a week and two days of unbearable pain, in which I fell to madness, they cut my chest open a last time. They opened my heart, very carefully, making sure I would have survived, and they placed a bone shard in it. I've never seen a thing like that, it was long and thick, pulsating with violet energy. It was, at the same time, terrible and beautiful. It was, thus they said one another during the surgery, a shard of a dragon bone. It was a relic they've found in the forsaken temple in which their home was. It was powerful, they said, a great conduit for magic. It was the mean with whom they intended to raise me.
After the surgery, when I was still lying on the table, mi chest still open, my heart pumping blood directly into the air, they killed me. They slitted my throat, laughing in triumph.
After that... well, I was dead, like I've said. And I've seen things... gods... No, I won't talk about this. I won't remember.
But, suddenly, a light. I bliked my eyes and I were alive, again... but something was wrong. I felt my heart beating through my chest like I've never felt it before. It was amazing, it was pure power leaking in my veins every second. And only after some seconds I realized that I can think again, after many years of bestiality and madness. I was alive, again, and my mind was back! For the first, and I think the only, time in my life I almost cried in joy!
But there was more. I noticed, as my skin returned sensible, that I was dressed with a big, heavy steel armor, and I had a fabulous sword in my cold hands. It was magnificent. I stared at it for only a moment, before my now conscious mind darted back to the present. I was still in the hide of the necromancers, and they raised me. I was an undead! But I was capable to think, what happened? While I was wondering about these questions, I heard a whisper. And I looked up.
I was in the hall of the temple, standing still on the altar. The necromancers, all of them, were watching me. They were kneeling before me, the Raa'Zared, the unliving champion. I was their self-created simulacrum, a blasphemous god.
One minute passed, then another, and they still was kneeling. And suddenly, I realized that, now, for the first time in many years, in my whole life, I was in control. I was the one with the whip, they were the slaves. I was the master, they were the toys. I grinned, my scarred face tending up. I was truly a god.
And I jumped on the nearest of them. Of course, it was Azius. Destiny's a [censored], isn't she? I cut him in half.
And thus began the slaughter. Not any one of them escaped the rage of their god, I killed them all. And I felt, maybe happy.
Hours later, when the blood on my cuirass and sword was cold and dry, I stopped and thought. I was alone, in the mountains, in a dungeon of necromancers. I didn't know anything of the outside world. But it didn't matter. I was free!
I will spare you the details of my wandering, the light of the sun that burnt my eyes when I looked up outside, the terryfied gazes of the people that saw me. I was a monster, and indeed I still am one.
I couldn't bear their looks, their hate. So, I did what I felt more natural. I killed every living being I posed my eyes on since I left the hide.
And then, the Legion caught me, and I'm here. And tomorrow, I will die, and you will see the death of an undead god.
Enough talking. I'm tired, as someone who can't sleep is. I hope the voices will let me sleep on this last night I have on Nirn. I want all this to end. But they're still talking, like they did since I was reborn. Their voices... the dragons... I can understand them..."

The mer's last words, addressed to the other prisoners, or maybe to no one, were caught by the wind, and were carried away, in some foreign land, maybe in the lands where long forgotten gods wait someone to join them.
And this is the tale of Raa'Zared, the unliving champion, or, as he will be known soon, the Dovahkiin, dragon born.

Yay, it's a me, Raa'Zared, a warlock (mage destruction/warrior), a psychothic undead dunmer! Hope you enjoyed!

Skyrim Backstory
"Revised" Version

Name: Adomas Redskarr
Age: 20
Race: Breton
Favourite Colour: Red
Specialities: Destruction, Restoration, Light Armour, Mysticism
Weapons: Dual-Wield Magic
Personality:
Adomas is a generally quiet person. He keeps himself to himself and tries to remain neutral in the affairs of the world. Though venturing into towns occasionaly, in which the locals find him a generally nice man, he prefers to wander the land and study the art of Magic whenever he can.

Backstory:
Adomas is from Evermor in the province of High Rock. He had a peaceful childhood and at the age of 13 he was allowed by his parents ( Bredam and Viennete ) to start studying the art of Magic. He immediately took to it with skill and he showed a certain flair for destruction and restoration magic especially. He chose to practice these two more than others. He was also trained with a sword and shield. He spent his teenage years training, practicing and learning. But at the age of 19 he was in for a surprise.
He was meditating on the mountaintop near the village one day when suddenly a piercing scream broke his concentration. His eyes snapped open and widened in shock as he gazed down upon the village. There was a large dragon flying dangerously low to the village and the worst part - it was spouting dragonfire from its mouth. Half the village was in flames in seconds. The dragon let out a large roar and scooped up at least 10 villagers in its grasp. Now with Adomas's eyesight greatly trained he could half make out some faces and he gazed on it horror as he saw his mother and father's faces there. They were both screaming and trying to cast spells against it but it was having no effect on it. Adomas started forwards but a voice inside his head told him "Stop. Go down there and you'll have no chance of seeing them again. Watch the dragon." And so Adomas paid attention to this voice. The dragon circled the village once more and swept off North East. Towards the land of Skyrim. After taking as much detail of this dragon as he could he sprinted to the village and into his house. Nobody stopped to talk to him. They had their own problems to deal with. Once he was in his semi charred house he when over to the chest with all his possessions. Upon himself he clad himself in an iron helm and armour. He took his iron sword and iron shield and took all the gold that was in the house.
After a moment of looking round and saying goodbye he headed out of Evermor. It took him 2 days and 2 nights to reach the border of Skyrim. Not soon after crossing the border Adomas found himself in a forest travelling through. Without warning, Soldiers sprang from the trees and before he could react, he recieved a blow to the head, knocking him into oblivion.....