Hi all guys, I am re-registering on these forums for basically the sole purpose of playing a DID in Skyrim!

So, here's what I'll be playing:
Level of difficulty: Expert.
Plugins that affect gameplay: Deadly dragons, balanced destruction, realistic running speed.
Additional rules (I'm kind of a roleplayer):
- Only for the dragon fights, difficulty will be raised to master. That is to ensure dragon fights get the epicness they're supposed to have. No bandits will be as though as dragons.
- I can only use one potion at a time, and I need to have a little time at my disposal (not right under a power attack form a draugr overlord!). I'll stick to this general rule: it takes around 2-3 seconds to drink a potion, in my idea. So, if I think I have that time, like if I just shouted enemies away, or if I ran away a bit, I'm going to drink a potion. Otherwise, I am not.
- I can only open the map if I am not in combat.
- I can only change ring, helmet, gauntlets and amulets if I am not in combat. I can only change armour (or robe) and boots if I am in a safe position.
- I need to sleep around 8 hours a day. I can go without sleeping for some time, if it's really needed, but I need to sleep as soon as I can then.
- I will be eating and drinking three times a day.
That's pretty much all, I guess. If something else comes to mind, I will add it here.
Now, on to my character:
Name: Tyrig Lokzoor
Race: Nord, male.
Born: Hearthfire, 4E 175
Background: Tyrig was found in front of the door of a remote monastery in the state of Northpoint, in High Rock. He was wrapped in a blanket, and was obviously just a few days old. The only thing he had was an amulet he held in his hand, a triangle with a strange symbol made of three vertical notches on the front, and his name on the back. It was the 17th of Hearthfire, 4E 175, a warm fredas. The Ramas* knights who lived in the monastery, as they were called, took him inside and raised him as if it was their child. They were all-round individuals, and trained him in their ways, teaching him how to fight, as well as history, geography, and how to deal with every kind of situation. He grew stronger and wiser every day that passed.
Until... Until that slimy altmer showed up. A servant of the Thalmor, he claimed to be. He was kind at first, gently asking the knights if he could come in and take a look at the amulet which Tyrig was always wearing around his neck. But after some minutes spent watching the amulet closely and whispering strange words, a satisfied sneer appeared on his face: "Thank you", he said, and held his rod up in the air. The moment later, he was gone. In his place, a bunch of hooded figures appeared, and started summoning daedras, atronachs and every possible kind of monstrosity. The battle that ensued was a cruel one indeed. The knights were outnumbered, and although they were fighting bravely, they were falling one after the other. Tyrig was fighting his way through a hallway when a powerful spell hit the wall behind him, making it cruble above him and knocking him unconscious. When he woke up, everything was quiet. He had suffered a bad injury at his face, under his right eye. As soon as he managed to burrow his way through the stones which had buried him, he was shocked by the vision of all of his masters, of his friends... All slain. There were many altmer corpses as well, all over the place... But that was of little comfort. Bitter tears fell from his eyes, as he swore to avenge that bloody slaughter. As a sign of his oath, he painted the left part of his face red, to remind himself of the blood of those who fell that night.
Four years have passed, and for all that time Tyrig has been tracking down the movements of the group of attackers, and of their leader in particular. They are very skilled at hiding their movements, and many times he lost his trail, but always managed to find it again. Yet, they continued to elude him in such a way that he was never able to confront them directly. Until now. His journey took him across a big part of Tamriel, leading him from the mountains of High Rock through the deserts of Hammerfell, on to the mystic Summerset Islands and, finally, to snowy Skyrim, his ancestral home. Here, he has found a track that is going to lead him to his enemies, he is sure.
There is a Nord fellow, whose name is Lokir. He is a small-time crook, but apparently met their leader and made a deal with him. About what, Tyrig does not know. But he is going to find out soon, since he tracked down the position of this thief. The idiot has got himself caught while he was trying to steal a horse from a Stormcloak camp. He has been held captive for the last few hours.
Now it's night, and the camp is just behind the hill from Tyrig's position. Taking advantage of the shelter offered by the thick forest, he observes the camp for a few minutes before approaching. He takes a mental note of the position of the sentries, and then starts to sneak between the trees. Paying attention to stay away from the light of the torches, he reaches the tent in which Lokir is held. With a single hit of the pommel of his sword, he knocks the guard unconscious, and then enters the tent unseen. After telling Lokir to stay quiet, he is about to cut the rope that binds him, when many shouts burst into the night. The fear of being caught is just temporary: when the unmistakable sound of a battle reaches his ears, Tyrig dares taking a look out of the tent, just to spot a large number of imperial soldier swarming across the camp. With the adrenalin rushing through his veins, his mind working as sharply as a blade, it takes just a few moments for him to realize he is not going to fight his way through this. In an instant, he takes a decision and starts to strip himself of his clothes and equipment, put them in a chest nearby, and put on a worn prisoner tunic he finds: after all, if the imperials find them as prisoners of the Stormcloaks, they might as well let them go.
"Ha, Silus, come over here! Look at what I found! Scums being held by those 'Cloaks! By the Nine, how can someone be so filthy to be trashed even by these slug-breaths?!". The pommel of the soldier's sword is the last thing he sees.
... But we all know this is going to be continued.
* this name is actually taken from the italian edition of a series of books I've loved since I was a child. Not very hard to figure that out even if you're not italian, since the story of our hero is somewhat similar to the one of these books hero. Until now, that is...