UberCharger11
Member
i do role play at every RPG
this time i play Arch-Mage who will be a Grand Magician and get respect from people. everyone will admire him. do not never harm inocent people.
this is pretty fun.
Do you role play in Skyrim
- Thread starter UberCharger11
- Start date
i do role play at every RPG
this time i play Arch-Mage who will be a Grand Magician and get respect from people. everyone will admire him. do not never harm inocent people.
this is pretty fun.
Deadhand
PLEASE DON'T EAT THOSE SOCKS!
Not on my first character, but others I try to follow character guidelines (mage do mage stuff, assassins do assassin stuff, and so on.) First character I try to do everything they'll let me, so I've joined all but the thieve's guild and Dark Brotherhood so far, and I'll get to those, too. =)
Next character (I'm currently thinking) will be a Stormcloak Orc Assassin. =)
Next character (I'm currently thinking) will be a Stormcloak Orc Assassin. =)
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Absolutely! I even write backstories for my characters (English major here lol).
My first character is a female Nord who was the last survivor of her tribe that was raided by Imperials. She uses two hand hammers and supports the Stormcloaks mainly out of spite against the Imperials who tried to force their ways on her home. The irony is that she married an Imperial, thus making her struggle with reconciling her alignment and where she stands. She usually takes contracts to take out raiding bandits. Wearing light armor she's very agile and usually defeats humanoid enemies with one or two blows. Her appearance is an atypical Nord, she has a brown mohawk with warpaint, pretty yet very unusual looking in appearance, also wears forsworn armor to accentuate her look.
My second character is a male Argonian who was once a former assassin. He was born a slave in Morrowind and lived in Leyawiin for a time with his wife and children. A fellow member of the Blackwood Company sold him out and took a contract to kill his children and ship him back to Morrowind as an illegal slave. He was in the Dark Brotherhood until they betrayed him. Now in Skyrim he's hunted by the Dark Brotherhood and is trying to turn his life around. He still remembers his assassin ways but also has been studying magic at the College of Winterhold. He usually quests for rare books and those who threaten the innocent, sort of like Thane from Mass Effect 2. He wants nothing to do with Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood and is sweet on Shahvee. He has grey-black scales with red eyes. Despite being mostly good there are times his ways just...come about...but fortunately they are on the less savory people of Skyrim.
My first character is a female Nord who was the last survivor of her tribe that was raided by Imperials. She uses two hand hammers and supports the Stormcloaks mainly out of spite against the Imperials who tried to force their ways on her home. The irony is that she married an Imperial, thus making her struggle with reconciling her alignment and where she stands. She usually takes contracts to take out raiding bandits. Wearing light armor she's very agile and usually defeats humanoid enemies with one or two blows. Her appearance is an atypical Nord, she has a brown mohawk with warpaint, pretty yet very unusual looking in appearance, also wears forsworn armor to accentuate her look.
My second character is a male Argonian who was once a former assassin. He was born a slave in Morrowind and lived in Leyawiin for a time with his wife and children. A fellow member of the Blackwood Company sold him out and took a contract to kill his children and ship him back to Morrowind as an illegal slave. He was in the Dark Brotherhood until they betrayed him. Now in Skyrim he's hunted by the Dark Brotherhood and is trying to turn his life around. He still remembers his assassin ways but also has been studying magic at the College of Winterhold. He usually quests for rare books and those who threaten the innocent, sort of like Thane from Mass Effect 2. He wants nothing to do with Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood and is sweet on Shahvee. He has grey-black scales with red eyes. Despite being mostly good there are times his ways just...come about...but fortunately they are on the less savory people of Skyrim.
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Thank you Deadhand. :-). As a treat I will post the full backstories I've written for you guys to (hopefully) enjoy and get some ideas!
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Brunhilde's Story:
"How about you sister? What brings you to the Stormcloaks?" Stone Fist, the large, muscular housecarl to Jarl Ulfric asked. "I want to defend my homeland!" Brunhilde responded. Her fellow Nords eyed her up and down; she was tall, sinewy and lanky, not having an exceptionally feminine figure for a woman. Her hair was shaved on all sides save for a large, bushy brown mohawk that topped her head with a single braid that made its way on the left side of her face. Her pretty, youthful face was decorated with bluish-brown war paint that covered a part of her cheeks and darted through her large brown eyes. She didn't look like the archetypal fair-featured Nord save for her milky pale skin. She was the only woman in the room which brought her more than her share of attention. "Reports tell me you are not native to Skyrim, what makes you wish to defend your brethren here?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked. "I...I was from a tribe on the outskirts between the Imperial Cyrodiil and Skyrim. The Imperials destroyed my tribe and caused me to go without a home. They took my kin and forced their ways. They need to pay!" Brunhilde responded. "Ah such a typical sad story among our brethren," Jarl Ulfric said sadly, "well we will welcome you among our ranks given you've proven yourself agaisnt the ice wraith with ease .Stone-Fist was impressed with your work!".
That was months ago. As she woke up this very morning she could see Camilla, the beautiful brunette Imperial she took as her partner merely a week ago. Could she really risk losing Camilla and her brother for the sake of Skyrim? Was she a true Nord for being with an Imperial woman? These questions raced in her mind. Just what was she fighting for? Aside from collecting gold to put towards home decorations by going out to kill swarthy bandit leaders and fearsome monsters that terrorized places, she felt as though she settled. But she continued to aid the Stormcloaks. Perhaps they'd understand the Imperials who truly support Skyrim and not the Empire could become kin. Maybe Camilla would understand. What if Camilla's brother Lucan, who peacefully lived in Riverwood alongside Nords, was killed and Camilla blamed her for her support of Ulfric? She sighed as she put on the light fur armor she always wore and took her warhammer in hand in preparation for another day out in Skyrim. Today she would help the Stormcloaks claim another Reach that was owned by the Empire.
"How about you sister? What brings you to the Stormcloaks?" Stone Fist, the large, muscular housecarl to Jarl Ulfric asked. "I want to defend my homeland!" Brunhilde responded. Her fellow Nords eyed her up and down; she was tall, sinewy and lanky, not having an exceptionally feminine figure for a woman. Her hair was shaved on all sides save for a large, bushy brown mohawk that topped her head with a single braid that made its way on the left side of her face. Her pretty, youthful face was decorated with bluish-brown war paint that covered a part of her cheeks and darted through her large brown eyes. She didn't look like the archetypal fair-featured Nord save for her milky pale skin. She was the only woman in the room which brought her more than her share of attention. "Reports tell me you are not native to Skyrim, what makes you wish to defend your brethren here?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked. "I...I was from a tribe on the outskirts between the Imperial Cyrodiil and Skyrim. The Imperials destroyed my tribe and caused me to go without a home. They took my kin and forced their ways. They need to pay!" Brunhilde responded. "Ah such a typical sad story among our brethren," Jarl Ulfric said sadly, "well we will welcome you among our ranks given you've proven yourself agaisnt the ice wraith with ease .Stone-Fist was impressed with your work!".
That was months ago. As she woke up this very morning she could see Camilla, the beautiful brunette Imperial she took as her partner merely a week ago. Could she really risk losing Camilla and her brother for the sake of Skyrim? Was she a true Nord for being with an Imperial woman? These questions raced in her mind. Just what was she fighting for? Aside from collecting gold to put towards home decorations by going out to kill swarthy bandit leaders and fearsome monsters that terrorized places, she felt as though she settled. But she continued to aid the Stormcloaks. Perhaps they'd understand the Imperials who truly support Skyrim and not the Empire could become kin. Maybe Camilla would understand. What if Camilla's brother Lucan, who peacefully lived in Riverwood alongside Nords, was killed and Camilla blamed her for her support of Ulfric? She sighed as she put on the light fur armor she always wore and took her warhammer in hand in preparation for another day out in Skyrim. Today she would help the Stormcloaks claim another Reach that was owned by the Empire.
thecelticlatino
Active Member
A sample of an adventure with Brunhilde:
"Ha! You undisciplined Talos worshiper! Come at us with all you got!" the Imperial archer atop the Legion's hovel challenged. "By Kynareth I shall!" Brunhilde shouted as she came towards the Legion. Several phalanxes armed with swords and shields charged the barbarian warrior. She took them down with ease with a few swings of her warhammer. "Let's see how you deal with this!" the archer yelled as he fired an arrow from a distance, pricking the right thigh of the fair Nord warrior. "Damn you! Use your weapon with both hands!" Brunhilde shouted. "You will not get to me!" the archer remarked haughtily as he fled to higher grounds. Brunhilde grunted loudly as she charged after the archer. More Imperial soldiers came in the way of Brunhilde. The barbarian warrior leapt with great agility and slammed her hammer down into the guard in the front, smashing his brain in. She swung her hammer wildly and took the guards out one by one, each killed with a mere swing of her hammer. The winds of Kynareth guided her every blow. Within taking out guards she felt arrows prick the back of her neck and arms, growing more angry as she can hear the guard laughing, unaware of the taunts the guards she fought in melee were shouting. They were all merely rocks to be removed to get to the top of the mountain. She leapt atop the highest point of the hovel. The guard fired another arrow which narrowly missed Brunhilde's eye. As she drew closer the guard realized he no longer had arrows and fumbled through his pack in search of a proper weapon. He then got on his hands and knees. "Please! Mercy! I give up! I will bother your people no more! I'll...I'll return to Cyrodiil! Please!". Remembering the very day she was tried with fellow Stormcloaks for speaking out against the Empire, watching a fellow Stormcloak in Helgen meet the axe...or that day her small, nomadic tribe refused to accept the Imperial ways and met their blades when she was a mere girl, each beg and plead refused by the savage Imperials. They were in Savengarde with the gods, dying in honor during their physical life in Tamriel. All the guard-archer could do was close his eyes as Brunhilde swung down her hammer, hitting his head so hard it fell off his shoulders.
"Ha! You undisciplined Talos worshiper! Come at us with all you got!" the Imperial archer atop the Legion's hovel challenged. "By Kynareth I shall!" Brunhilde shouted as she came towards the Legion. Several phalanxes armed with swords and shields charged the barbarian warrior. She took them down with ease with a few swings of her warhammer. "Let's see how you deal with this!" the archer yelled as he fired an arrow from a distance, pricking the right thigh of the fair Nord warrior. "Damn you! Use your weapon with both hands!" Brunhilde shouted. "You will not get to me!" the archer remarked haughtily as he fled to higher grounds. Brunhilde grunted loudly as she charged after the archer. More Imperial soldiers came in the way of Brunhilde. The barbarian warrior leapt with great agility and slammed her hammer down into the guard in the front, smashing his brain in. She swung her hammer wildly and took the guards out one by one, each killed with a mere swing of her hammer. The winds of Kynareth guided her every blow. Within taking out guards she felt arrows prick the back of her neck and arms, growing more angry as she can hear the guard laughing, unaware of the taunts the guards she fought in melee were shouting. They were all merely rocks to be removed to get to the top of the mountain. She leapt atop the highest point of the hovel. The guard fired another arrow which narrowly missed Brunhilde's eye. As she drew closer the guard realized he no longer had arrows and fumbled through his pack in search of a proper weapon. He then got on his hands and knees. "Please! Mercy! I give up! I will bother your people no more! I'll...I'll return to Cyrodiil! Please!". Remembering the very day she was tried with fellow Stormcloaks for speaking out against the Empire, watching a fellow Stormcloak in Helgen meet the axe...or that day her small, nomadic tribe refused to accept the Imperial ways and met their blades when she was a mere girl, each beg and plead refused by the savage Imperials. They were in Savengarde with the gods, dying in honor during their physical life in Tamriel. All the guard-archer could do was close his eyes as Brunhilde swung down her hammer, hitting his head so hard it fell off his shoulders.
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Talon's Backstory:
Talon sighed sadly as he lied on the haystack bed inside the Candlehall Inn in Windhelm. He couldn't stop thinking about Shahvee, the beautiful Argonian maiden he met on the Windhelm docks earlier. She was so bright and cheerful as she tanned leather hides outside in the frigid weather. The Argonian people had never had it easy and neither one of their lives was an exception. They didn't look like the human folk, in fact it was really hard to tell them apart. Talon just knew Nords for being the most common stock in Skyrim, Bretons were the ones with the fancy names and the magic spells, the Redguards were the dark skinned ones, and the Imperials were somewhere in-between the Nords and the Bretons. The mer were an entirely different story. High Elves were the gold-skinned ones, the Wood elves the short ones...and the Dunmer...they stood out like a sore thumb, a painful, sore thumb. But the Argonian people...they were bipedal reptilian humanoids...often called a 'beast race' by the ignorant. As a result Shahvee and her fellow workers on the docks were paid significantly less by their Nord boss. Talon took matters into his owns hands and ensured they would be paid better wages...it didn't win him friends among the human folk but at least Shahvee can be paid what her labor was worth. He wondered what life was like for her before he came to Windhelm. Windhelm was the stronghold of the Stormcloaks, a faction dedicated to Nord purity...and a limited toleration and disdain of other races. Talon remembered fighting with Raloff the drunkard the other night after the Nord called him a 'pair of boots'. He knew those insults all too well. Talon won the fight but it did little to change the Nord's mind, who accused Talon of 'not fighting fair'. Really though, the Nord couldn't fight. This would make things harder...if Shahvee were to notice Talon he would have to help the people who barely tolerated him...including her boss. But Shahvee was his chance to start anew, and Talon was determined to win the maiden's hand in marriage...
It was funny as his memoirs of his life flashed before his eyes. As a hatchling he was named 'Hides-in-Corner' by his parents. He was born in Morrowind to slaves of Dunmer. Despite such a rough upbringing his parents raised him with the best love they could. Their slavemaster wasn't such a harsh mistress either, her tongue was sharper than her whip. As a teenager their Dunmer mistress was murdered due to the House wars in Balmora. The new slavemaster that came was much crueler, much colder...and a Daedra worshiper. Usually he was stocked away in his attic pouring over dark tomes that contained the darkest occult secrets. One day he summoned a demon that killed his master and almost everyone on the farm save for a few of the slaves. 'Hides-in-Corner' was one of those few. His parents were not so fortunate. He took flight from Morrowind and headed into Cyrodiil where he settled in Leyawiin. There he found his niche among fellow Argonians but there was constant fights between them and Khajiit, a feline race. Wanting to protect his people he worked for the Blackwood Company as a mercenary. He would eventually fall for a young Argonian maid named Neesha. The two would marry and Neesha blessed him with two delightful hatchlings, a daughter named Onasha and a son named Deevin. Life was wonderful for several years...'Hides-in-Corner' even took on a new Argonian name, 'Haran'. But a ghost from Haran's past would come into his life...descendants of the deceased slavemaster who wanted to claim Haran and his family. It turned out they paid the Blackwood Company to provide intel on Haran...a fellow Argonian named Jasaiin sold him out for extra gold. Haran didn't want to lose what he had...and took the slavers out one night with no one the wiser while infiltrating the inn they stayed at. But this was at a price. Jasaiin killed Haran's family as marks from the Dark Brotherhood, paid by the slavers to ensure Haran's return. Haran fled Leyawiin in pursuit of Jasaiin...who was known as 'Reaper' in the Dark Brotherhood. The Dark Brotherhood took notice of Haran's skill and assured him they did not endorse Reaper to commit this deed. Blindly trusting them, Haran found work as an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood...using the faction as a means to pursue Reaper. Once he found...and dispatched...Reaper, the Dark Brotherhood exiled Haran and feigned the incident as murder to the Imperial authorities. They took Haran in as prisoner...
Years later Haran had never forgotten the deception the Dark Brotherhood put him through. But he wanted a new life. He took to studying magic at the College of Winterhold, learning the art of Destruction magic, specializing in fire and shock magic. But his old ways as an assassin never died...but he would take to using his skills to dispatch bandits and those who would harm others...especially Argonians. He was still stealthy and handy with a lockpick. His constant encounters also made him a skilled duelist with a blade. One day after a group of thugs hired by the Dark Brotherhood attempted to take him out, Haran knew he was still a mark by the assassin's guild. He took on a new name, 'Talon', and devoted himself to finding ways to undermine the horrible guild, all the meanwhile taking to his new interest in magic.
Shahvee's sunny disposition reminded him of Neesha. But this time no one was taking what he fought so hard to keep. Arming himself in light armor, a dagger and spells that induce shock or flame, whether streams of electricity or well placed rune traps, Talon knew who he was now. The past was what shaped him. And this knowledge will shape his future. The Dark Brotherhood was going down for sure...
Talon sighed sadly as he lied on the haystack bed inside the Candlehall Inn in Windhelm. He couldn't stop thinking about Shahvee, the beautiful Argonian maiden he met on the Windhelm docks earlier. She was so bright and cheerful as she tanned leather hides outside in the frigid weather. The Argonian people had never had it easy and neither one of their lives was an exception. They didn't look like the human folk, in fact it was really hard to tell them apart. Talon just knew Nords for being the most common stock in Skyrim, Bretons were the ones with the fancy names and the magic spells, the Redguards were the dark skinned ones, and the Imperials were somewhere in-between the Nords and the Bretons. The mer were an entirely different story. High Elves were the gold-skinned ones, the Wood elves the short ones...and the Dunmer...they stood out like a sore thumb, a painful, sore thumb. But the Argonian people...they were bipedal reptilian humanoids...often called a 'beast race' by the ignorant. As a result Shahvee and her fellow workers on the docks were paid significantly less by their Nord boss. Talon took matters into his owns hands and ensured they would be paid better wages...it didn't win him friends among the human folk but at least Shahvee can be paid what her labor was worth. He wondered what life was like for her before he came to Windhelm. Windhelm was the stronghold of the Stormcloaks, a faction dedicated to Nord purity...and a limited toleration and disdain of other races. Talon remembered fighting with Raloff the drunkard the other night after the Nord called him a 'pair of boots'. He knew those insults all too well. Talon won the fight but it did little to change the Nord's mind, who accused Talon of 'not fighting fair'. Really though, the Nord couldn't fight. This would make things harder...if Shahvee were to notice Talon he would have to help the people who barely tolerated him...including her boss. But Shahvee was his chance to start anew, and Talon was determined to win the maiden's hand in marriage...
It was funny as his memoirs of his life flashed before his eyes. As a hatchling he was named 'Hides-in-Corner' by his parents. He was born in Morrowind to slaves of Dunmer. Despite such a rough upbringing his parents raised him with the best love they could. Their slavemaster wasn't such a harsh mistress either, her tongue was sharper than her whip. As a teenager their Dunmer mistress was murdered due to the House wars in Balmora. The new slavemaster that came was much crueler, much colder...and a Daedra worshiper. Usually he was stocked away in his attic pouring over dark tomes that contained the darkest occult secrets. One day he summoned a demon that killed his master and almost everyone on the farm save for a few of the slaves. 'Hides-in-Corner' was one of those few. His parents were not so fortunate. He took flight from Morrowind and headed into Cyrodiil where he settled in Leyawiin. There he found his niche among fellow Argonians but there was constant fights between them and Khajiit, a feline race. Wanting to protect his people he worked for the Blackwood Company as a mercenary. He would eventually fall for a young Argonian maid named Neesha. The two would marry and Neesha blessed him with two delightful hatchlings, a daughter named Onasha and a son named Deevin. Life was wonderful for several years...'Hides-in-Corner' even took on a new Argonian name, 'Haran'. But a ghost from Haran's past would come into his life...descendants of the deceased slavemaster who wanted to claim Haran and his family. It turned out they paid the Blackwood Company to provide intel on Haran...a fellow Argonian named Jasaiin sold him out for extra gold. Haran didn't want to lose what he had...and took the slavers out one night with no one the wiser while infiltrating the inn they stayed at. But this was at a price. Jasaiin killed Haran's family as marks from the Dark Brotherhood, paid by the slavers to ensure Haran's return. Haran fled Leyawiin in pursuit of Jasaiin...who was known as 'Reaper' in the Dark Brotherhood. The Dark Brotherhood took notice of Haran's skill and assured him they did not endorse Reaper to commit this deed. Blindly trusting them, Haran found work as an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood...using the faction as a means to pursue Reaper. Once he found...and dispatched...Reaper, the Dark Brotherhood exiled Haran and feigned the incident as murder to the Imperial authorities. They took Haran in as prisoner...
Years later Haran had never forgotten the deception the Dark Brotherhood put him through. But he wanted a new life. He took to studying magic at the College of Winterhold, learning the art of Destruction magic, specializing in fire and shock magic. But his old ways as an assassin never died...but he would take to using his skills to dispatch bandits and those who would harm others...especially Argonians. He was still stealthy and handy with a lockpick. His constant encounters also made him a skilled duelist with a blade. One day after a group of thugs hired by the Dark Brotherhood attempted to take him out, Haran knew he was still a mark by the assassin's guild. He took on a new name, 'Talon', and devoted himself to finding ways to undermine the horrible guild, all the meanwhile taking to his new interest in magic.
Shahvee's sunny disposition reminded him of Neesha. But this time no one was taking what he fought so hard to keep. Arming himself in light armor, a dagger and spells that induce shock or flame, whether streams of electricity or well placed rune traps, Talon knew who he was now. The past was what shaped him. And this knowledge will shape his future. The Dark Brotherhood was going down for sure...
thecelticlatino
Active Member
An adventure story with Talon:
"Ey Jorud, me da told me I should be thinkin' about college. Learn something. But what would I wanna learn when I can simply take to survive?" the Nord bandit told his partner in crime. "Aye but at least yer da suggested dat to ye. Me parents kicked me out when I was barely a man. Said I gave de clan a bad name. Damn Battle-borns...". Talon knew these lowlives were skulking about town, harassing innocent passersby. One of them actually had the audacity to gloat about forcing himself on a young lass the other night. But Talon was watching them from afar and knew they had to pay for their misdeeds. Talon crouched down to remain out of sight. The green elven armor he was wearing made little sound as he took small slow, careful steps. The bandits continued to laugh amongst one another when Talon stepped on a loose plate that was on the floor. "What was that?" one of the bandits asked. "Probably a skeever runnin' about!" the other bandit said. "Aye Jorud you and dem damn skeevers...they're harmless!". "Aye you know what I think of Steevers Kaleb! Please! Go check!" the bandit said. "Ay you're such a wee babe! I'll go check!" Jorud said. Talon hid in the corners as Jorud approached. "I don't think it's a skeever Kaleb..." Jorud said under his breath as he raised in blade. Talon stayed perfectly still and silent, eyeing the two bandits as they eyeballed the dark alley suspiciously. After about a minute or so they turned away and resumed their conversation, dismissing Jorud's earlier claim. Talon began to approach the bandits from behind carefully. Kaleb went over to the opposite end of the hall to check on the bubbling stew that was broiling inside the dungeon. Jorud watched from afar when out of nowhere Talon leapt from behind, grabbing the bandit by his head, pulling it back as he sliced his throat. "What th-" Kaleb turned around after hearing Jorud's yelp. "Why...an assassin? Well I'll make some boots out of ye fer killin' my mate here!" the bandit yelled as he charged him with a giant axe. Talon unsheathed his dagger and backstepped cautiously. "What's wrong lizard?" the bandit taunted, "ye think yer dagger is stronger than my axe do ye? I'll show you true Nord power and slice ye back to the Marsh!". With those words the bandit hoisted an axe over his head. Talon reached out his unharmed hand and pointed it towards the ground, concentrating momentarily as he stepped backwards. The bandit laughed as he charged, "lookin at where yer hide's gonna be stepping eh?!" he taunted. But then as the bandit took another step, a large burst of lightning came up from under the ground, giving the Nord a mighty good shock, felling the tall human to the ground immediately. "We'll get you for this!" a voice cried out from behind. Three more bandits approached. The first swung his sword violently but Talon sidestepped gracefully thanks to the feather-light armor he wore. Talon countered the attack with a brutal stab that went straight into the bandit's chest. The second charged with a pair of daggers. The Argonian sheathed his dagger and stretched out both hands, channeling a stream of electrical energy from his claws, slowly felling the bandit as he flailed wildly with his daggers. But then all Talon could feel was a giant spike of ice hit him like an orcish brute wielding a warhammer, sending the Argonian back several feet. "Obviously my lackeys couldn't do away with you...but you will never have the tome!" the third bandit, a wizard, screamed. Talon rubbed his scaly chest in pain...he wasn't very good with taking magical hits...or hard hits for that matter. Talon turned and fled as fast as he could, holding his pounding chest in agony as he tried to survive. After going up two flights of stairs, he managed to find a little corner to turn in. He pulled out a small vial, gulping the bright blue liquid with a long, loud gulp. He then pulled another, this time drinking a warm, red liquid. The combination didn't feel so good to swallow but it would do for now. And just in time as the wizard was headed in Talon's direction. Talon outstretched his left palm, magically channeling a red-colored rune into the floor. He hid around the corner with his dagger unsheathed, ready to strike. The wizard stepped on the rune, yelling loudly in pain as embers swelled up from under his feet and burning through his robes. "Why you..." the wizard-bandit yelled as Talon lunged out with his dagger, swiping the bandit several times. The bandit fought back, channeling streams of icy frost from his palms that stung Talon's scales. But ultimately Talon would be victorious as he plunged the dagger into the bandit's stomach before falling to the floor on his knees in pain. He searched the dead bandit's body to find the tome the orc running the Maegarium back in Winterhold was looking for. Hopefully he had a good spell as a reward...
"Ey Jorud, me da told me I should be thinkin' about college. Learn something. But what would I wanna learn when I can simply take to survive?" the Nord bandit told his partner in crime. "Aye but at least yer da suggested dat to ye. Me parents kicked me out when I was barely a man. Said I gave de clan a bad name. Damn Battle-borns...". Talon knew these lowlives were skulking about town, harassing innocent passersby. One of them actually had the audacity to gloat about forcing himself on a young lass the other night. But Talon was watching them from afar and knew they had to pay for their misdeeds. Talon crouched down to remain out of sight. The green elven armor he was wearing made little sound as he took small slow, careful steps. The bandits continued to laugh amongst one another when Talon stepped on a loose plate that was on the floor. "What was that?" one of the bandits asked. "Probably a skeever runnin' about!" the other bandit said. "Aye Jorud you and dem damn skeevers...they're harmless!". "Aye you know what I think of Steevers Kaleb! Please! Go check!" the bandit said. "Ay you're such a wee babe! I'll go check!" Jorud said. Talon hid in the corners as Jorud approached. "I don't think it's a skeever Kaleb..." Jorud said under his breath as he raised in blade. Talon stayed perfectly still and silent, eyeing the two bandits as they eyeballed the dark alley suspiciously. After about a minute or so they turned away and resumed their conversation, dismissing Jorud's earlier claim. Talon began to approach the bandits from behind carefully. Kaleb went over to the opposite end of the hall to check on the bubbling stew that was broiling inside the dungeon. Jorud watched from afar when out of nowhere Talon leapt from behind, grabbing the bandit by his head, pulling it back as he sliced his throat. "What th-" Kaleb turned around after hearing Jorud's yelp. "Why...an assassin? Well I'll make some boots out of ye fer killin' my mate here!" the bandit yelled as he charged him with a giant axe. Talon unsheathed his dagger and backstepped cautiously. "What's wrong lizard?" the bandit taunted, "ye think yer dagger is stronger than my axe do ye? I'll show you true Nord power and slice ye back to the Marsh!". With those words the bandit hoisted an axe over his head. Talon reached out his unharmed hand and pointed it towards the ground, concentrating momentarily as he stepped backwards. The bandit laughed as he charged, "lookin at where yer hide's gonna be stepping eh?!" he taunted. But then as the bandit took another step, a large burst of lightning came up from under the ground, giving the Nord a mighty good shock, felling the tall human to the ground immediately. "We'll get you for this!" a voice cried out from behind. Three more bandits approached. The first swung his sword violently but Talon sidestepped gracefully thanks to the feather-light armor he wore. Talon countered the attack with a brutal stab that went straight into the bandit's chest. The second charged with a pair of daggers. The Argonian sheathed his dagger and stretched out both hands, channeling a stream of electrical energy from his claws, slowly felling the bandit as he flailed wildly with his daggers. But then all Talon could feel was a giant spike of ice hit him like an orcish brute wielding a warhammer, sending the Argonian back several feet. "Obviously my lackeys couldn't do away with you...but you will never have the tome!" the third bandit, a wizard, screamed. Talon rubbed his scaly chest in pain...he wasn't very good with taking magical hits...or hard hits for that matter. Talon turned and fled as fast as he could, holding his pounding chest in agony as he tried to survive. After going up two flights of stairs, he managed to find a little corner to turn in. He pulled out a small vial, gulping the bright blue liquid with a long, loud gulp. He then pulled another, this time drinking a warm, red liquid. The combination didn't feel so good to swallow but it would do for now. And just in time as the wizard was headed in Talon's direction. Talon outstretched his left palm, magically channeling a red-colored rune into the floor. He hid around the corner with his dagger unsheathed, ready to strike. The wizard stepped on the rune, yelling loudly in pain as embers swelled up from under his feet and burning through his robes. "Why you..." the wizard-bandit yelled as Talon lunged out with his dagger, swiping the bandit several times. The bandit fought back, channeling streams of icy frost from his palms that stung Talon's scales. But ultimately Talon would be victorious as he plunged the dagger into the bandit's stomach before falling to the floor on his knees in pain. He searched the dead bandit's body to find the tome the orc running the Maegarium back in Winterhold was looking for. Hopefully he had a good spell as a reward...
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Thank you Zeplhar! :-) I try my best. I'm writing my own rpg world and take great inspiration from the fantastic works such as Skyrim, the worlds that Bethesda, Bioware, and many other rpg greats take. I will say Skyrim is by far the most inspirational game that fuels my imagination with characters. I've yet to be a DM, having never played tabletop rpgs in person but I'd love to someday.
UberCharger11
Member
Bioware also great
Eturnus
Member
While not as FREKIN AWSOME as Celtic.....i do try and keep my toon in theme. Being ap ure magic build Destro/Conj/Resto/Alch i have joind the College and become Archmage, refused to do any of the theives/brotherhhod/companions quests (which will be on my next playthrough). Also i didn't take part in any of the stormcloaks vs Imperials issues untill certain events in the college quest chain has led me to no longer like the Imperials. i have just joined the stormcloaks as a result. Also Lydia who has been gaurding my back since day one practicly (and is now sporting full Dewemer armour, some of which is enchanted, and a two handed glass axe), she and my flame atronarch tank and i spank. I'm secretly hoping that once this entire "save the world thing is over," i can marry her and we can both settle down and open a small shop and pursue more trivial thibngs. I have grown quite attached my nordic warrior woman lol
thecelticlatino
Active Member
I like your idea Eturnus. Lydia's quite a beautiful housecarl. :-). Plus I'd love to do a conj build. Nord warrior women rule!
thecelticlatino
Active Member
Here's the backstory for my Breton, Emile:
"Well done my servant!" the daedra prince said as Emile dispatched the Dunmer priest of Mara. He was just going to betray him, right? Was he really a priest of Mara like he claimed? Or was the Breton deceived? "Take the skull...," the daedra implored Emile. The mage was confused as he took the idol off of the ebon-carved altar and ran out the Nightcaller Temple. Emile kept trying to reason his actions in his mind. Many deaths must have occurred under Erandur, Divines know he must have sacrificed innocents in his past under serving the daedra. Maybe he really wasn't a priest of Mara. Eventually Emile came to the conclusion that at least Dawnstar was saved, it wasn't like the Vigilants were there to witness what had transpired. It wasn't like he wanted to do the Daedra any favors...considering he's spent the past few years hunting their worshipers under Stendarr's merciful banner. Still...he just felt wrong.
It has been almost a decade since Emile has served the Vigilants of Stendarr. Before then he was just a scrawny lad in the High Rock Mage's Guild. His father was a high ranking arch-mage of the guild and his mother a priestess of Stendarr, raised in a world of both magic and faith. Back in High Rock Emile couldn't stop apologizing for his own existence. Maybe it was his father's stern, constantly critical gaze that constantly humbled him. Or his mother's strong faith and harsh discipline. There was a straight, narrow road that must be followed. Upon his eighteenth birthday he decided to journey out of High Rock to join the famed College of Winterhold. Two years later he found himself among the Vigilants of Stendarr after being saved from a group of vampires while journeying alone outside of Vvardenfell. He learned much among the Vigilants. His magic was an asset to a group that primarily consisted of warriors. Most Daedra worshipers had started in necromancy, summoning, and all products of the darker aspects of Tamriel's occult, who better to ferret them out then a fellow mage who can defend against such magics?
He was now thirty years old. He was slim, always wearing hooded magical robes and circlets that accentuated his magic. His black hair and well trimmed beard contrasted his pale complexion, having bright green eyes that shone like magelights. He was neither ugly nor exceptionally attractive although more than one was drawn to him. But he was always too shy or too focused to really settle down. He still served the Vigilants but was ready to branch out now that he was in Skyrim. Taking jobs hunting vampires, Daedra worshipers and demons to save for Winterhold's College, Emile takes up his bound sword and accumulated knowledge and traverses across the harsh lands of Skyrim.
"Well done my servant!" the daedra prince said as Emile dispatched the Dunmer priest of Mara. He was just going to betray him, right? Was he really a priest of Mara like he claimed? Or was the Breton deceived? "Take the skull...," the daedra implored Emile. The mage was confused as he took the idol off of the ebon-carved altar and ran out the Nightcaller Temple. Emile kept trying to reason his actions in his mind. Many deaths must have occurred under Erandur, Divines know he must have sacrificed innocents in his past under serving the daedra. Maybe he really wasn't a priest of Mara. Eventually Emile came to the conclusion that at least Dawnstar was saved, it wasn't like the Vigilants were there to witness what had transpired. It wasn't like he wanted to do the Daedra any favors...considering he's spent the past few years hunting their worshipers under Stendarr's merciful banner. Still...he just felt wrong.
It has been almost a decade since Emile has served the Vigilants of Stendarr. Before then he was just a scrawny lad in the High Rock Mage's Guild. His father was a high ranking arch-mage of the guild and his mother a priestess of Stendarr, raised in a world of both magic and faith. Back in High Rock Emile couldn't stop apologizing for his own existence. Maybe it was his father's stern, constantly critical gaze that constantly humbled him. Or his mother's strong faith and harsh discipline. There was a straight, narrow road that must be followed. Upon his eighteenth birthday he decided to journey out of High Rock to join the famed College of Winterhold. Two years later he found himself among the Vigilants of Stendarr after being saved from a group of vampires while journeying alone outside of Vvardenfell. He learned much among the Vigilants. His magic was an asset to a group that primarily consisted of warriors. Most Daedra worshipers had started in necromancy, summoning, and all products of the darker aspects of Tamriel's occult, who better to ferret them out then a fellow mage who can defend against such magics?
He was now thirty years old. He was slim, always wearing hooded magical robes and circlets that accentuated his magic. His black hair and well trimmed beard contrasted his pale complexion, having bright green eyes that shone like magelights. He was neither ugly nor exceptionally attractive although more than one was drawn to him. But he was always too shy or too focused to really settle down. He still served the Vigilants but was ready to branch out now that he was in Skyrim. Taking jobs hunting vampires, Daedra worshipers and demons to save for Winterhold's College, Emile takes up his bound sword and accumulated knowledge and traverses across the harsh lands of Skyrim.
KayO199X
Member
My character is an Imperial man named Titus Octavion (just Octavion in game). The story i made up for him is that he was an aspiring blacksmith who was heading from Cyrodille to Skyrim in order to train with the Nordic masters. That was when he was arrested for crossing the boarder starting the game.
Most of my iin game roleplaying relates to simply taking care of my character, like in The Sims. I send him to bed at night, eat something twice a day, and always use a horse or carriage for fast traveling.
I also swap out my character's heavy armor to fine clothing whenever he is in a city. Lastly, i saved up a lot of money, bought the house in Solitude, and had him marry another Imperial in Skyrim (that woman in the Riverwood general store). Now if only they would have a son or daughter...
Most of my iin game roleplaying relates to simply taking care of my character, like in The Sims. I send him to bed at night, eat something twice a day, and always use a horse or carriage for fast traveling.
I also swap out my character's heavy armor to fine clothing whenever he is in a city. Lastly, i saved up a lot of money, bought the house in Solitude, and had him marry another Imperial in Skyrim (that woman in the Riverwood general store). Now if only they would have a son or daughter...
thecelticlatino
Active Member
An adventure story with Emile:
It had been a long trek up the snow-capped Elderblood Peak. "Hopefully this bounty is good," Emile told himself as he clutched the lower ends of his hood to cover his head. It was a good thing Emile had worn the tight-fitting garments he had taken from High Rock despite the looks the local Nords gave him. They may have looked funny to the fur and bone-covered barbarians, but they kept him warm and at least had some refinement to them. Still, he wore his robe over his clothing to prevent further ridicule. It was enough fighting with the Nord nationalist who went into a tirade over having a puny mage...and a mixed breed, 'impure' man-mer, 'pollute' Skyrim. That would certainly be the last time he'd go to Windhelm that's for sure.
As he came across the final spiral that lead to the top of the peak a large, menacing screech could be heard. All Emile could feel next were tiny bits of frost pricking his skin. He tried to ward off the magic but he attempted too late. Lucky for him he had cast the Oakflesh spell earlier that protected him. It was as imperative as eating and breathing considering he shunned wearing armor. Emile waved his right hand, conjuring a bound sword in his hand. He raced up the top of the mountain when just as he reached the peak, he was stopped by an ice troll. The dragon swooped down, knocking the fearsome beast off of the mountain as Emile made his break for the top of the peak. It certainly saved him a potentially dreadful fight, but at what cost?
Emile headed towards the shrine filled with draconic writ carvings atop its stone wall. The dragon had returned to the peak, screeching. It breathed a wave of ice that Emile staved off with a magical ward. Mother's restoration magic sure came in handy. The dragon swooped around the mage, encircling him before momentarily reaching the ground. Emile took his bound sword and slashed the dragon several times. Ten years of practice with bound weapons made Emile practically a warrior in mage robes. Still he would never bother with physical weapons. They didn't banish summoned creatures and bind souls anyhow. The dragon perched itself atop a ledge, hissing at Emile as it winced in pain. Soon the beast came after Emile again, breathing a frosty breath that Emile warded off. However the dragon broke through the ward, hurting the mage. Emile waved his left hand, healing himself. "Thank you mother, thank you mother..." he chattered to himself. Fortunately the magic didn't affect him too badly considering his innate resistance. Must be the elven blood Bretons had. The dragon encircled him again but Emile was able to take cover. Tired of playing chase, the dragon landed on the ground again. Despite his usually reserved demeanor, Emile took a very daring risk as he came towards the dragon full throttle, Slashing the dragon's neck, he climbed aboard the nape of the beast's neck, stabbing it several times before going for the back of its head. Emile stepped off of the beast, astonished with his feat. As a lad he would have been lucky if he had the bravery to even step outside his own home. His upbringing may have been harsh...and strict...but it paid off. He would return to Morath to speak to the Jarl for his bounty. The mission was a success.
It had been a long trek up the snow-capped Elderblood Peak. "Hopefully this bounty is good," Emile told himself as he clutched the lower ends of his hood to cover his head. It was a good thing Emile had worn the tight-fitting garments he had taken from High Rock despite the looks the local Nords gave him. They may have looked funny to the fur and bone-covered barbarians, but they kept him warm and at least had some refinement to them. Still, he wore his robe over his clothing to prevent further ridicule. It was enough fighting with the Nord nationalist who went into a tirade over having a puny mage...and a mixed breed, 'impure' man-mer, 'pollute' Skyrim. That would certainly be the last time he'd go to Windhelm that's for sure.
As he came across the final spiral that lead to the top of the peak a large, menacing screech could be heard. All Emile could feel next were tiny bits of frost pricking his skin. He tried to ward off the magic but he attempted too late. Lucky for him he had cast the Oakflesh spell earlier that protected him. It was as imperative as eating and breathing considering he shunned wearing armor. Emile waved his right hand, conjuring a bound sword in his hand. He raced up the top of the mountain when just as he reached the peak, he was stopped by an ice troll. The dragon swooped down, knocking the fearsome beast off of the mountain as Emile made his break for the top of the peak. It certainly saved him a potentially dreadful fight, but at what cost?
Emile headed towards the shrine filled with draconic writ carvings atop its stone wall. The dragon had returned to the peak, screeching. It breathed a wave of ice that Emile staved off with a magical ward. Mother's restoration magic sure came in handy. The dragon swooped around the mage, encircling him before momentarily reaching the ground. Emile took his bound sword and slashed the dragon several times. Ten years of practice with bound weapons made Emile practically a warrior in mage robes. Still he would never bother with physical weapons. They didn't banish summoned creatures and bind souls anyhow. The dragon perched itself atop a ledge, hissing at Emile as it winced in pain. Soon the beast came after Emile again, breathing a frosty breath that Emile warded off. However the dragon broke through the ward, hurting the mage. Emile waved his left hand, healing himself. "Thank you mother, thank you mother..." he chattered to himself. Fortunately the magic didn't affect him too badly considering his innate resistance. Must be the elven blood Bretons had. The dragon encircled him again but Emile was able to take cover. Tired of playing chase, the dragon landed on the ground again. Despite his usually reserved demeanor, Emile took a very daring risk as he came towards the dragon full throttle, Slashing the dragon's neck, he climbed aboard the nape of the beast's neck, stabbing it several times before going for the back of its head. Emile stepped off of the beast, astonished with his feat. As a lad he would have been lucky if he had the bravery to even step outside his own home. His upbringing may have been harsh...and strict...but it paid off. He would return to Morath to speak to the Jarl for his bounty. The mission was a success.
