I'm new on the forums... Hello...

Er, yeah but this isn't the place for introductions. I've been lurking for quite I while and I have yet to see a topic where everyone cohesively took time to write down their Dovakiin's back-stories. Not that you have to have one, mind you, but it would be nice for all the roleplayers to bring out their creativity on this forum - a change of pace from all the "OMG DIS GAME IZ BORKEN!" and "I HAET BETHDESA!!!!1!111!!1" threads that seem to populate the forums now-a-days.

So, without further ado, my Imperial's Character Profile:

Name: Harold Thornsburg
Gender: Male
Age: 47
Ethnicity: Imperial
Preference: Females (Heterosixual)
Specializations: One-Handed Melee Weaponry, Heavy Armor Usage, Blocking/Shield Usage, Smithery, and Speechcraft
Weaknesses: All Magic Disciplines and All Thief Disciplines

Background:

Originally hailing from Cyrodiil, Harold joined the Imperial Army following the death of his father, Theus Thornsburg. He had little combat experience at the time and his constant questioning of orders and vocal opposition to the Thalmor regime kept him from attaining any rank higher than Captain for years. By the time he was 45, with many of his fellow friends having retired or taken high-ranking positions as Imperial Legates, Generals, or other officials, Harold was still a lowly Captain. His chance came, however, when a Legate in Skyrim died skirmishing with the Stormcloaks while on patrol. Harold, who's age had mellowed him out quite a bit, was seen as a sensible choice for the next Legate. Though many in the Imperial City protested when his appointment was made public, General Tullius assured them that he would be able to keep Harold's fiery and combative nature under control. In reality, Tullius knew that he needed Legates he could trust not to betray him. Harold's father had been Tullius' mentor, and Tullius had known Harold throughout his years as Legate, carefully watching over the Imperial City and its outlying lands. Knowing that Harold knew of him well, Tullius chose him over several other candidates - all of whom were more qualified, but who also had Nordic relatives in Skyrim. Harold, ecstatic about his promotion, bid his wife and children farewell and rode out for Skyrim the morning after hearing of his promotion.

On his way to Skyrim to assume command of his troop detachment, he was detoured by a fellow Legate who was assigned to investigate a series of ruins on the outskirts of Cyrodiil. The business was to be unofficial, as the Thalmor ordered that only their archaeologists were to be allowed to examine the ruins. Thus, Harold and the other Legate led a small detachment of Imperial troops into the strange ruins in order to salvage what they could in the name of the Empire. In the ruins, the men discovered several caches of what looked like Imperial-style weaponry. Confused as to why such modern designs would be left in ancient ruins, the Legate and his men left in order to alert their superiors in the Imperial City of the bogus findings. Harold and his men, however, continued their excavations, confident that something of value could be found in the mysterious ruins.

Harold's late arrival concerned the cohorts in Skyrim, who thought he might have been intercepted by bandits or possibly Stormcloaks. After three days of waiting, General Tullius grew sick of Harold's absence and assigned his men to assist Legate Rikke's forces. He also scratched off Harold's name on the list of Imperial Legates, and ordered that Harold be brought before a military court should he arrive, to answer for his lateness.

As Tullius maneuvered his troops and bid his time in Skyrim, Harold and his men completed their digging, having tunneled into an ancient burial room. Inside were dozens of mummified remains, all with spears, shields, and strange-looking helmets next to them. The helmets held Imperial markings, but were unlike anything the men had seen before. One of the men in Harold's detachment, a warrior-scholar, deciphered the pictures and words adorning the walls of the crypt and determined that the men buried there were Imperial soldiers - soldiers of a lost regiment, much like the fabled Blades. The man went on to say, though, that their armor and weaponry did not match those of the Imperial Blades, and deduced that they must be the rumored Lost Legion - a group of 700 Imperial soldiers who fought long ago, during the Third Era. The Lost Legion was said to be among some of the best troops in the Empire, but they mysteriously disappeared following the death of Uriel III and their position was never replaced. The men wore special Imperial helmets with horse-head crests, much like the steel-crested officer helmet that Harold himself wore.

Excited about their rediscovery of the fabled Lost Legion, Harold's men left the crypt and marched at double-pace back to the Imperial City in order to report their findings. Harold himself stayed behind with two men to guard the crypt. It would not end well...

A detachment of Thalmor scouts soon discovered the Imperial breach, but were quickly dispatched before they could get word back to the Aldmeri Dominion. However, in the process, Harold was grievously wounded and two of his men killed by stray arrows. What was particularly cruel, though, was that the men died slow, painful deaths. Poisoned arrows, shot by the Thalmor scouts, missed the men's heads but instead pierced their knees. Harold tried his best to care for himself and the men, but the poison was too great. His subordinates did not survive through the night. Come daybreak, Harold's strength returned and he decided to leave the crypt, pinning a note to the body of one of his men to alert anyone who passed that he lived. Before leaving the crypt, he took one of the horse-head crested helmets to replace his dented officer's helm and to remind him of the great discovery he'd made. Deciding the Imperial City was too far a walk, and thinking his men would be back in only a day or two, he ventured onward to Skyrim, hoping that his post as Legate would still be waiting for him.

Alas, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. As he was walking down the road to Helgen, he was spotted by a detachment of Imperial troops. When he walked up to greet them, several Stormcloaks charged out of the brush, intending to butcher the men. After the Stormcloaks were defeated by the Imperial patrol, Harold was imprisoned among them. They accused him of working alongside the Stormcloaks to provide a distraction. When he insisted that he was a Legate, the men ordered that he be accounted for by General Tullius. Not immediately recognizing Harold, due to Harold's significant aging (Tullius had last seen Harold over 30 years ago, when he'd been under Harold's father) dismissed him as an imposter and ordered he be executed among the other Stormcloak traitors.

Things were not looking bright for Harold Thornsburg.

Picture:

http://www.freeimagehosting.net/newuploads/fd42b.jpg

(Apparently I can't post pictures...)

Bump... No one's going to post? o:

That's one hell of a nice story actually.

Now if I could just FINALLY decide on which background to take for my dunmer...

Thanks for the comment. I took like 3 hours deciding Harold's story (all of which were spent staring at his face on the character creation screen, as well as using the console commands to force-equip him with his armor, minus the helmet, to see how I could shape him into a gruff, Legion-faced character).

I'll play along. This is a post copied from a related thread a little while ago:

Name: Davos
Race: Khajit
Class: Smuggler (focus: stealth/archery)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Difficulty: Master

Restrictions:

- No magic of any kind, the only exception being special staves such as Wabbajack and Sanguine's Rose
- No points in Light Armor: I HAVE to stay in the shadows, if I'm seen I have two options: Run or die.
- I will not buy crafting ingredients from merchants-- I only use what I hunt/gather/mine.
- I try to eat 2-3 times per day and sleep once per 36ish hours.
- No fast travelling, if I must I'll use a cart outside a town/city
- Staying true to alignment: I am careful to play on a "whim," and accept quests with my moods. I try to keep the balance between good and evil quests.
- No companions-- it's against the smuggler's code


Background: Davos is a smuggler by trade, making his name in Elsweyr as one of the most successful smugglers it the south. Everyone knew his name, few knew his face. He became so renowned at his smuggling that he had been tasked by Lords to run shipments of goods to evade the piracy that was consuming the seas. One particular night, Davos was sailing up the southwestern coast of Skyrim with a hull packed with Skooma and Moon Sugar. His small ship was spotted by an Imperial Frigate one night, and in desperation he tried to elude them along the treacherous coast. Davos knew he could not outrun the frigate, so he searched for some hidden cove or cavern to sail into. Miraculously he spotted a hidden cove beyond a reef, and in his careless haste he collided with a massive rock only a few feet below the surface of the water. He was found unconscious, washed up on the beach, among thousands of bottles of Skooma and Moon Sugar. "These ain't mine" didn't suffice, so he was brought to the headsman along with his fellow prisoners. And that's where out story begins...

That's rather creative, Risky. I like that he fits the Khajit stereotype of being a drug trader/illegal dealer. A lot of Khajit characters I've seen on art sites are too... what's the word... "innocent" for their race.

Background is in my character's diary (see sig), namely the first two entries.

And nice story. Will he try to clean his name or become disillusioned with the Empire and join the Stormcloaks?

Oh, and here's a pic of Davos-- the res was wack when I took the ss but you get the idea: http://i.imgur.com/70AMg.jpg

Name: Darvena
Gender: Female
Race: Dunmer
Age: 28
Preference: Females (lisbian, she can't stand men anymore)
Specialization: One-handed swords, shields, heavy armor, alchemy, enchanting, destruction
Weaknesses: She goes berserk when a nord disrespects her. REALLY berserk
She's also VERY scared of undead, and she hesitates on what to do when she sees some.

She was born in a makeshift camp near Windhelm. The local nords were always suspicious of her family, but other than the usual brawl, they would leave them be. Well, until the day she hit 28. On that exact day, there was a blizzard outside, and everyone would go inside and wait for it to end. A group of nord bandits decided that their camp looked rather comfortable, so they raided the camp.Poor Darvena ran away, as they killed the men in the camp and enslaved the women. A lone bandit decided that she wasn't getting away, so he came running after her. The chase went on for quite a while, but ended up on top of the mountain near Kinesgrove, as an arrow whistled 2 inches from her shoulder, lodging itself right in the eye of her pursuer, who died instantly.

A minute of silence followed, after which she learned that the nord man who saved her was only a hunter,saying he just came back from visiting his family for the first time in a few years. "come with me" he said. "We're going to Helgen". Without a question, she followed the man, remaining silent, turning back in time to see the bandits who attacked her family be wiped out by a wandering troll, which killed EVERYONE in the group without exception.

When the night came, they set up camp, and drank a bit of mead. "here, try this stuff. You might like it". She drank the whole bottle down without even looking at it, exhausted from the trip. Suddenly her vision blurred and darkened, until she collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

She woke up naked at the bottom of some old nordic ruin. Her mouth tasted strange, her head was aching, and she had literally NOTHING left. Theo nly thing that could have told her where she was, was that note besides her. "Skyrim doesn't need your kind. You'll be doing the world a better service tending to our dead than by doing anything else". Right as she finished reading that she heard some growling, along with the sound of footsteps. Without hesitation, she ripped off the arm of a skeleton besides her, held it as if it was a sword, and moved forward slowly.

Luckily for her, she didn't face any opposition on her way out, though she DID have to hide a few times in order not to be killed. The problem now was the door. It was locked. It literally took her DAYS of smashing the lock with the bone to FINALLY break it. Now she was out, and the only thing on her mind was to leave Skyrim as fast as possible. She then made her way towards Cyrodill, which, luckily, was only 10 minutes to the south. But it was so cold that she couldn't stand up anymore, not named. She crouched, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. An imperial soldier soon came over, asking if she needed help, and it was at that moment that the stormcloaks attacked. The imperials fairly easily defended themselves, taking them all prisonner. Of course, Dravena was suspected to be working with them, so they took her too.

And that's where the story starts...


Pic coming soon

Here's mine...

Alvor Indalas was a Nord loyal to the Empire. He fought in the Battle of the Red Ring and struck down many Altmer. After their hard-earned victory, he was shocked and angered by the Empire agreeing to the Thalmor's conditions and ceding of Hammerfell. Alvor was proud and stubborn; even though the Empire had abandoned Hammerfell, he would not. He deserted the Legion and crossed into Hammerfell, joining the Forebears in their fight against the Thalmor. During a daring raid on a Thalmor camp, Alvor was injured terribly, ending his soldiering days. The nurse who tended to his wounds was a beautiful half-Redguard half-Imperial woman named Anora. A romance blossomed between them and Alvor helped her tend to the wounded since his injury prevented him from fighting anymore.

A year later, Alvor and Anora are married in Whiterun where Alvor has friends and family, wishing to escape the fighting and chaos of Hammerfell and seeking a safe place for their future family. They have two children, Nakota and Freya, but things took a turn for the worst when a rebellion began to develop in Skyrim. Looking for somewhere safe to raise their family, they returned to Hammerfell where they established themselves in Sentinel. With the war over and Sentinel untouched, it is an island of stability, peace and prosperity in Hammerfell. Life is good for many years as they raised their children as citizens of Hammerfell, but Alvor decided to take a short trip to Falkreath to visit old friends and fellow veterans from the war. He is captured as part of an Imperial raid on the tavern, suspecting Stormcloak activity. Instead, they learn that he deserted the Legion and is sentenced to death and executed.

Nakota Indalas, Alvor's son, is a capable Agent in the employ of King Daron of Sentinel. Outraged at his father's murder, he begged the King to let him go to Skyrim to avenge his father and monitor Imperial activity in the province rather than continuing the information-gathering mission in Bruma. The King gave in, and Nakota crossed into Skyrim from Cyrodiil, where he was ambushed and taken prisoner along with several Stormcloaks. He may not know it now, but his adventure is just beginning.



So yeah, my main character is a Hammerfell native who is spying on the Empire, the Stormcloaks and the Thalmor and trying to subvert these factions. He has no love for the Empire that capitulated to the Thalmor, nor does he love the racist Stormcloaks who have threatened all of Tamriel with their actions. He's in Skyrim to kill his father's murderers and to assess the situation in Skyrim.

Name: Nakota
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Redguard
Class: Agent (Sneak, Security, Speechcraft)
Alignment: Neutral Good

Since Redguards frown upon magic, I will not be using magic of any kind for this character. I used the console to change his stats at the start (since he already has experience as an Agent, so having such low stats didn't make any sense) and I try to play him as an Agent of Hammerfell, so he goes by various nicknames and disguises and doesn't feel beholden to the Empire or the Stormcloaks.

Well I'm doing the Imperial quest line, mainly because Harold himself has a strong moral compass, and after seeing the treatment of the Dark Elves in Windhelm he can't stand the Stormcloaks. He still hates the Aldmeri Dominion, though.

As for the rest of the character profiles, keep 'em coming! They've all got great backstories to them. I like how all you guys are pretty much neutral on the whole thing: No one was really supporting the Stormcloaks and no one really took part in the ambush. Makes it more believable that, like Lokir of Rorikstead said, "We shouldn't be here! We're not rebels!"

I'll just copy and paste what I already have. Warning; it's a lot.



Movisa was the scion of House Indoril. Like all good daughters of the House, she was raised to become one of Almalexia's Handmaidens, a position even the Hands of Almalexia pined for. Whenever she gazes back to those days, a vague sent of exotic flowers, sunlight, and something alien, like sweet blood, wisps past her nose, as she remembers when she'd spend her days in the Goddess' private gardens with her sisters and cousins.

Taught the arts of the salon, the shrine, and the ways of the knife to both sevrve and protect her Mistress, her skills with the flute were only rivled by her talents in blades.... and beguiling the dead to do her bidding. That was more of a past-time of course, but like any decent Dunmer noblewoman, she only used the bodies of humans.

Sadly, her mistress was found dead. In Sotha Sil's city oddly enough, also dead much to her despair. Apparently, Nerevar, her ancestor reincarnated to pay their dues in full to Azura by ultimately ruining anything and everything that made the Indoril name one of magic and fear. Then came the Imperials. Then the Daedra. Then the Infernal City. Then the Red Year. Her entire life built upon centuries of devotion and study, was torn asunder in matter of decades.

Ever since the Red Year, Indoril has become a four letter word to say the least. When the Tribunal was reveled for what they were, and their non-existence leading to the destruction of Vvardenfell, their closest associates couldn't really expect better treatment, now could they? She didn't need to know the specifics. She hadn't seen her cousins in years. Chances are, they were mugged by angry peasants or slaves, or a combination thereof at some point. Made no difference to her. When your entire belief system and way of life is proven to be a lie, apathy has a terrible habit on wiggling its way into ones motives.

She and her family, the central house that could be called Indoril by blood, found closure in the arms of an obscure Ashlander clan. Well maybe, they could've been a troop of bandits. Any true Ashlander would make black Morrowind sand red with their blood. Still, she learned some things in those centuries like herb-lore, smelting and forging, along with an uncanny affinity for archery. She hated the callouses though. It was worth it when Elves launched themselves upon the camp.

To this day, she can't discern who what it was. No matter how many times she rubs her immaculate chin with those worn nails, nothing comes to mind. Again, they were Mer clearly. What breed however, well that's hard to guess. The camp was pitched near Skyrim's boarders, so maybe Falmer? No, impossible. They haven't been seen in ages. Plus, these elves radiated power and pride, even by Dunmer standards. Must've been Altmer. Effete fops. They also donned black robes and armor that shined like pale moonlight, so Thalmor then. That explains the strange glee she felt every time a High Elf fell or became a thrall by her hand. Still, she swears there were some other Dunmer among them.....

But I'm getting ahead of myself. What's important was that Movisa ran. She ran. She ran. She ran. A storm of red blood and fire roared behind her. Even she couldn't stand against it. As her parents, siblings, elders, and even children cried for Azura's terrible mercy, Boethiah's bloody hand, or Mephala's webs of shadow, all of the Daedra's ambiguous interventions, she fled to the steep mountains ahead of her. Her hands leave marks on the armrests when she things of this great shame. Her legs weren't hers she says. They had mind of their own then. Why else would a dark elf flee to the homeland of those vulgar brutes called men?

And of course, those vulgar brutes lived to her expectations.

At the very moment the harsh, clean air of Skyrim hit her face, she was ambushed by Imperial guards and stuffed into a cart filled with the things. One did catch her eye however. He was proud, grim, predatory even. Indignation flared in his eyes. He was also far better clothed than the other beasts..if you consider clean furs superior to dirty rags. Despite the clear boundaries, the legionaries treated him no better than a Khajiit. Politics was about she realized, and politics is her profession. You learn a few things when you must serve as the herald for a Goddess-Queen.

In time, after all those unimportant events like the journey, Helgen, the dragon, Movisa decided to use the political turmoil to her advantage. Her people, disfranchised they may be, and her house (or what's left of it) a pariah within pariahs, needed a home. Solstheim could barely feed a village and an outpost, not an entire nation, and how Windhelm treated her kin didn't even brush her standards. Plus, there is her own glory to worry about too. Handmaidens aren't born really. They're made, and its that reason why Indoril had always have a dearth of women. She's used to competition and impossible situations to say the least. Be it steel, spell, or shadow, Movisa will make the Indoril name one of regal terror once more.

The Thu'um, the dragons, the Prophecy, much to the unfortunate chagrin of the Greybeards, is only a means to an end.

True, but I'm also planning on eventually starting a Nord character who starts off being strongly Imperial but switches over time to supporting the Stormcloaks.

Is this by chance based off the smuggler Ser Davos of the Song of Ice and Fire Series?

The name is, yeah. I love those books dearly