Origin stories

RAGUNAnoOne

Everyone has a story, this thread can be used to tell the story of their characters lives before the whole coldharbor experience. i believe this will lead to some very amusing stories

My story it may not be the best or 100% lore friendly as I am not a writer but please tell me what you think:

Hatched on a slave plantation on the island of Vardenfell young Skaleel was barely old enough to walk when an uprising accured and the slavers where killed. Unfortunately all the other slaves killed as well, the only reason he survived is because a Khajiit slave took him and a few other infants and children away from the farm despite his serious injury. the poisoned arrow that hit him eventually did its job and he collapsed and died halfway to Balmora where a guard patrol found them. Skaleel was then raised in the poor family of Maerwen Arethi and her brother Talvos. Maerwen loved Skaleel as if he was her own and even taught him a few tricks of her unorthodox job as a Marag Tong assasin while Talvos tried to be a good uncle and teach him about the Three along with his wife Dralora. one peaceful day many years later he was sent to buy some scrib jelly very reluctantly he went, scrib jelly is the worst and Vivec only knows what what culinary abomination Dralora would make with it. The shops where sold out so he knew what the family would say to do so he got a few bottles and went to hunt scribs. After getting 3 bottle fulls of jelly he returned to see smoke coming from the city center it seems to be spreading people are screaming deadra are on top of a frightened Talvos "Skaleel UGH is that you, dont jus-ARGH RUN YOU IDI-GAH!" dead... then BAM a sharp pain and everything went dark...

well, that's it, now please share your character origin stories I look forward to reading a few.

Totalitarian

Hey there, I also have an origin story for my character that leads up to the events right as the game starts. Mind you it is a bit long (several pages) and I'll share the Google Drive link for it.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v6aK4Rsev2EXQzqNhOSdt8-cxCkG-0E41XebZdP8DCo/edit?usp=sharing

As for your story, the unique upbringing of your character really shows just how violent and unstable the Ebonheart Pact is, and your character is someone who has suffered from it. Perhaps you should think about expanding on it. Your writing really made the story short, and there is a lot of potential for expansion.

Rioghnan

I would like to post a link to my character's back story, which I finally put on fanfiction.net, but the very beginning of it is pretty much NSFW and rated M so I don't know if it'll get me into trouble. If anyone knows, tell me.

Abridged version:
Rioghnan was born in Balmora 330 years after his mother fled Artaeum. The reason for the time lapse is explained in the full story but suffice it to say she effectively disappeared from Summerset Isles and reappeared on Vaardenfel while still carrying him. His mother was extremely overprotective of him because he was all she had and she's forever in love with (almost idolizes) his father, who ran off suddenly just before she vanished from Artaeum. Rioghnan looks like his dad and she's just desperately clung to him all these years since she lost her one true love. He grew up on the poor side of Balmora and when he could escape his mother's overprotective clutches, he ran with a bunch of rowdy Dunmer and was quite popular with the girls being as different-looking as he was from all of them. He is a bit of a punk kid and very sheltered. He never learned magic because his mother was strictly against it, and knows very little about combat or the world in general outside of Balmora and a few nearby towns. He enjoyed a little too much local booze one night and passed out under a stilt strider platform only to wake up having been sacrificed, by some low level follower, to Molag Bal in Coldharbour. Worst hangover ever.

Rioghnan pic

RAGUNAnoOne

@totalitarian thanks for the kind comment your story looks pretty damn good yourself it also seems to show a character that has the potential to be good or evil. I just wrote that draft this morning and it is my first written fanfiction , I know it is short because I have some problems when I write longer stories so I have to take it in stages. I am thinking about adding some events to show daily lives and flush out the other characters and possibly change it to 1st person so look for edits every now and then. the hardest part is sticking to lore and not accidentally put something from the 3rd or 4th era in it. possibly tomorrow I will write more but for now I want to play not write.

Totalitarian

Oh, Sola's perfectly good (well, not perfectly good, but she's not evil). I understand perfectly having to write in stages. I'm not a fanfiction writer, but I do original writing of my own, and I have several hundred pages of original material. I wrote it in chapters, which helps a lot. Honestly, the best thing you can do to help your writing is to write. I look back on my older parts of my own work, and I see the difference (I have even rewritten parts of my own things, retconing quite a bit of my own stories).

The reason I didn't write in 1st person is because I modeled my writing style off of my original works, which involved me writing separate characters in different chapters, so 1st person would not be as fluid in a multi-character point-of-view. In addition, 3rd person allows me to use omniscience and fully explain things.

However, I seriously considered writing my fanfictions is 1st person. It is easier to characterize someone through 1st person, and adds an overall charm to it. I, however, started a discussion with Sola in 1st person, along with the roleplaying group I'm a part of on the forum here: http://forums.elderscrollsonline.com/en/discussion/200250/sot2a-letters-of-war#latest

And in terms of staying canon, I also have that problem. I'll leave it to you to look through Sola's backstory to find the one major error I made in terms of timing. But even on my original works, I have trouble keeping track of events and places. In the end, you could probably blame a minor canonical error on a character's lack of knowledge (in 1st person).

I write when I get a good idea. And trust me, I also feel like playing right now.

SedoUmbra

All throughout his life, Deurin was taught to fear the Ooze. He followed the Green Pact carefully. If someone violated the Green Pact Deurin would refuse to acknowledge that as an entity. Raised just outside of Elden Root, Deurin lived with his brother and mum. His dad was killed by a Troll while hunting. Deurin was the oldest man in the house ever since his dad died. From and age of 10 he did all of the family's hunting. This has given him a keen eye and an expertise in Marksmanship. His brother, Annor is quite and shy. He is also a pacifist. 2 years ago, when Deurin was 16, and his brother was 14, his mum violated the Green Pact. Scared of his own mother Deurin left with his brother. They moved to Dune, in Reaper's March. They were as far away as they could be from their mum, while still being in Dominion territory. When out hunting Deurin was attacked by a Werewolf and infected against his will. Since leaving Grahtwood Annor had starting pray to Aedra. Particularly Y'ffre and Auri-El. Deurin hates Hircine for his cure. He hates what he is. He fears showing his inner self to anyone so he holds back on getting cured. Deurin believes the gods shun him. With his father dead, fear of his own mother, fear that his own brother would turn him away for what his is, hate of the Deadra, and fear that the Aedra shun him Deurin was left completely alone by his Curse. With no where else to go, Deurin left Reaper's March. He headed North and signed up to fight in the War under the Eagle Banner.

Krist

Please, sit. I apologize for entering your home in such a manner. No, do not be frightened, I mean you no harm. I apologize for my appearance, but we shall get to that soon enough. I assure you, you are in no danger from me. Very good, relax. Have some more of your wine. No thank you, I do not par take of wine.
I have come to you because it is I who you sought. You asked who I was. I wish you to know, as I wish others to know as well. Your reputation as a scribe proceeds you, ergo, I would love for you to be my biographer.

(pages missing)

I found out some time in my youth that I was named for my great great grandfather, Jerrin the Bloodletter. This of course brings me to our last name that you questioned. Bloodlette. My father and most of my grandfathers were physicians of sorts. They mixed sorcery with doctoring. It was quite effective, and they were able to heal most ailments, even up to and including many curses. You can imagine what a noble would pay for a sickness that their god refused to heal, or those that served no gods. The name derives from the method. One of the procedures involved blood draining, and replenishing. Not only will I not bore you with the details, it is a family secret that even today I keep. I can assure you it involved nothing nefarious.
As I was growing up in our manor, I remembered looking out over the fields and thinking of how as far as my eyes could see, it was our family dwellings. My father had used very shrewd political methods to insure that our home was kept safe. It did not matter who was in rule, they knew our family had no claim nor wished one. We remained loyal to the empire, and let the emperors worry over rule. As a young man, not yet an adult, ........

(pages missing)

So my marriage with Palina was strong, and our house was in order. Palina would host wonderful parties, keep our place in social standings. She was not, however, of the same mind as most of the upper class. She thought much of how to make life better for the working class. She was something of a physician herself, and would assist the servants and lower class in child birthing and injuries. Of course I did not volunteer much. I kept us in wealth with my talents, the talents of my fathers. She kept us in good standings with all others. She was beautiful, and in a time when time mattered, it stood more still than it does today when I was gaze at her on the balcony, the wind blowing in her dark hair.

I am sorry if I seemed to drift, time slips from me. In my condition, it matters little. I need to finish the tale because I will need to leave before morn, and I shan't return.

(ink is smeared from being wet making the next few pages unreadable)

As Palina and I walked through the apple orchard, in hind sight I can say I heard the wisp of many wings above us. Doves, black birds, I could not tell at the time and it mattered little. Palina was talking to me about how great the party was going, but how pleased she was that we slipped away for a time to ourselves. Even after the years of marriage, we were still as much in love as we were on our wedding night. I was looking into her eyes and barely noticed the stranger walking in the moonlit path. He seemed to almost not notice us at first, then stopped and bowed with a greeting. I offered my own greeting and nod. He spoke to us of pleasantries, and of course we assumed he was a member of the party. He was well spoken, though I did not recognize his accent. Now I think it was because it was from another age, another time.
He came to us as if to introduce himself, but he locked his eyes upon my beautiful Palina. She seemed entranced by him, a strange smile forming on her lips as if she knew him as a friend. I dare say, it seemed at the time, even more intimate than that.

I apologize, I seemed to drift again. Do not be frightened, my demeanor had nothing to do with you. My anger is still toward an ancient enemy, from a time long ago. Please, sit back down.

I caught the man's features in the full moonlight, and understood he was not a man at all. He was pale, a deathly pale. His lips were slightly parted to reveal long teeth. As you can guess, he was vampire. I quickly pulled Palina to me, and covered her eyes. He had ensorcered her, and felt I was of no real danger to him. This of course made him agitated, and he turned that gaze to me. Though I felt his will pushing at my own, I suppose the sorcery running through my own veins was enough to hold him at bay, if even for a moment. My walking stick was filled with magic, a mage's staff if you will. I called upon a fire ball to blast him to Oblivion. He was too fast, and I missed, setting a tree on fire instead. Before I knew it, he had circled me and shoved me to the ground. The force of his blow knocked the wind from me, and the fall disoriented me as my head struck the ground. I was dazed for only a moment. I saw him holding my Palina in his arms, she was awake yet did not move. I saw horror in her eyes, yet she could not scream. He had ripped the front of her ball dress opened, exposing her, and bit her neck. I could see the blood running down to her chest. I pulled myself up with every bit of strength I had left in me, and rushed to him. I struck a blow to his head, empowered by the magic in my walking stick. The blow must have harmed him because he quickly turned into a mist and moved away. I could not see him, and thought he must have fled.
Palina was sobbing now, and holding on to me. I covered her nakedness with my coat, and held her to me, while I covered the two puncture wounds to her neck. I know not what I thought that would help, but the .....

(missing pages)

So we had her locked up. My dear dear Palina, a blood cursed. She was lucid only hours after feeding, almost seeming herself again, but it was fleeting. Even then she remained hungered, and would tell me how she wished to drink blood. I would have offered my own, but of course I could not do that.
The servants began to leave us. Of course they did. They knew quickly why so many were missing. They knew what Palina had become. Men came to release her from her curse, meaning to kill her. I refused them and sent them on their way. Some by force if necessary. I had to hire mercenaries to keep people away, even while I spent my nights with Palina.
This went on for months, until Palina lost all sense of who she was. She was only in some control around me, unable to feed off of me, her love, and once lover. Till a time when she was no longer Palina. She was a monster.

My own mind had began to lose the senses of love, though desire still remained. I felt no kinship to humanity, only to my Palina, and now, not even to her. I left the manor one night, and never returned. As I was leaving I noticed what poor shape it was all in. The fields were either over grown, or dust. Someone must have salted some of the fields thinking it would destroy the evil within the manor. It of course did not.

So I remain. A traveler through time, cursed by Molag Bal, or whatever evil god that brought that monster to the apple orchid. I still remember the sobs of my dear Palina that night, even as her humanity was leaving her and the curse was taking over. I remember the vampire's presence being felt even before I saw him return. I remember his cold hands wrap about my body from behind, in an embrace that I could not break. Palina, once again in deep horror, as the teeth sunk into my own neck. My humanity being drained away.

I see by the candles our time is running out. I will leave you with this. I have regained much fortune, but I shall never regain my humanity. I have tried the cures, but they seem not to work. One servant of Meridia said it is because I am not ready to release my curse. He feared I blamed myself, and unlike most of his kind, seemed to feel sorrow for me. As a show of mercy, I insured he was drained completely of his own blood, and would not return to this curse. I have kept my secret well, always moving, always changing. There are few who know my real name, so no, your writing shall not unveil me.
Maybe this will help people understand, we are not all monsters. We are simply no longer human. Your human ideas of right and wrong are only a fleeting memory. We desire, we crave, we will things, we are happy, we are depressed. We even love, in our own way. It is simply different.


With that, the vampire was gone. I as the writer cannot tell you that anything he said was true. I was able to find some vague references to some Bloodlette family, but unable to find Jerrin. It is just as likely that he found the same tome as I, and made up his story based on it. I can tell you that he was vampire, and that I did sense a deep loss from him. While he may or may not have embellished the name, this scribe can tell you that his story was very real to him.

(name of the scribe is smeared)

Nichordius

It's in the signature. He aligned himself with Mannimarco, became a worm eremite, and began teaching cultists about necromancy, while standing ready and guarding secrets, along with all the other eremites you never see. My character actually wears the Signet of the Worm ring OOC all the time. I plan to make it legendary quality, when I can.

Atrix_Tussand

Here is my story. Yes, yes its copy paste from one other topic.


Atrix Tussand

Race: Nord
Age: 26

Epilog: The night was dark darker than anyone in whole Skyrim could remember. Heavy blood-freezing rain was falling and Myneria Tussand in heavy labors, stuck inside his husband family house under heavy layers of snow caused by the blizzard from last night. In that dire moments, laying there in bed of straws in great pain and fear she though that this could be her last night in this world. Then all of the sudden her husband Joel entered the front door by smashing them as they were stuck and froze from last blizzard. Joel charged in and picked up his wife loaded her on a cart and set horses through the ragging storm in direction of Winterhold. The trip was short but hard. After arriving in Windhelm a local healer took them in. After the scariest night in the life's of Myneria and Joel a baby boy was brought to this cold world. Having his father eyes, father call him...Atrix.

Bio: Sixteen years from that night Atrix turned to be very smart and strong little boy. Spending his mornings with his father in small forge just outside Winterhold. His father Joel was working as small time blacksmith. <It gives me piece forging tools and weapons, rather than using them.> Atrix didn't know why his father is more away from home than he is home. When he asked him why he is he leaving again his father answered. <Such is a life of mercenary, you will understand one day my boy. Now, help my with this blade will you.>

As much Atrix father was...distant person that much his mother was warm and kind person. Myneria was a member of Mages Guild and many years ago she was assigned to help their collages from Collage of Winterhold to work as substitute for professor Valys who was spending his time rather in the ancient ruins than in classroom.

So, thanks to his mother profession Atrix came in touch with magic. That knowledge inspired the boy. The shock magic, the flames the destruction potency. It was all interesting but even than how dangerous it can be if one not knows how to use it properly. So he focused in the arts of Restoration helping her mother with healing sloppy and careless student who from time to time managed to fry, freeze, or electrocute themselves...or Others in their surrounding.

Time passed and after two years of not hearing a word from his father a grave news came when a man wrapped in steel and fur entered in their home. The man name was Jofnir the Ice Bringer. He came to the Atrix with tears in his eyes. That moment Atrix didn't need to hear anything he knew. His father was gone...forever. Jofnir spoke of Joel as a true friend and a brother. <He saved me, from the grasp of the Undead. The best man ever knew.>

Consumed by anger Atrix wanted to leave his home and join the Companions just in the name of revenge. But, his mother stopped him in that decision. After, when rage silenced, Atrix told his mother that they should leave...back to Daggerfall to her home. <Father is gone, there is nothing left here, mother.> Heavy heart Myneria knew that her son is right. Staying here would fill them only with pain.

Two years after moving to Daggerfall, life finally seemed to be better. The weather was always pleasant the people were interesting and kind. All in all life was good. Atrix worked in local forge and trained with low level members of the Fighters Guild. They were impressed with his skill in wielding two handed sword and hammer. Atrix was not even aware that a new tragedy is just around the corner.

After his day of work he entered Mages Guild great hall to visit his mother and check upon book or two about healing and enchanting. Not even suspecting anything a mage named Sandor Cottret, approached him with sad look on his face. When Atrix saw his face his whole world stopped for what seemed eternity. It all happened all over again first father now mother there is no one left he is all alone. Atrix, stood there petrified in his own world of reflection. Not even hearing Sandors words he simply in his absent state of mind walked out thru the door not saying a single word.

For the six years after that event Atrix wondered the Tamriel doing small jobs here small jobs there trading what he could. Healed whomever was in need. Joined and left dozens of mercenary group until one night when he setup his camp close to Wyrd Tree in Glenumbra. He entered his tent and sinked into deep dark. When he woke up he woke in cold and dark cell of Coldharbour prison.

More determined than ever this is where his story...just began.

newtinmpls

Ohhh I love all of these!

More fiction! More please!

My first characters origin/explanation for how she got to Cold Harbor is here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10586847/1/Obligation

Rioghnan

Here's Rioghnan's biography:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11382177/1/Little-King
Don't read it if you're a little kid or you like your stories PG rated. It's about to get worse too, just fair warning. It's very long. I mean the story you pervs. Hahahahah

Krist

Krist looked around, wondering what trouble he would get into today. It was a nice clear warm day, not something they experienced too often in Skyrim. There were only so many weeks of warm weather, and Nords, especially young ones like Krist, knew how to spend them. The clear lake on the outskirts of Whiterun was where he would surely find Jorn and Yryl. He was 15 winters old, and they all had the bravery and vigor of any youth that age.
Krist could hear the splashing and laughter as he came to the end of the path that lead to their best swimming spot. Many of farm community youths came here, where they could take a running jump into the cold water.

Krist didn't bother to look, he just ran and leaped. He felt the cold water cover him, a stark contrast the warm air. He swam under for a moment, letting his body get used to the water. He did not have on a shirt or shoes, only the old britches that his mother always told him made him look like a beggar. They were comfortable, and just like he liked them.
Krist came to the surface and looked around, expecting to see Jorn and Yryl. Oddly they were not there. He could have mistaken their voices for coming from the lake.
He surely just missed them.
Krist swam about for a moment then climbed out. It was a great day.

Krist followed the path back toward the farm. He could hear his friends chatting away ahead of him, though he could not make out what they were saying. Jorn was probably bragging on how much stronger he was, Yryl probably scoffing at him as she always did. The funny part was that while Jorn was stronger than her, she would whip him in a wrestling match if he pushed her too hard. That always left the big teen mad, but he always got over it. Jorn swore he took it easy on her because she was just a girl, leaving Krist and Yryl laughing.

Krist picked up his pace a bit, until he saw old farmer Lutas plowing the field. Krist stopped and waved, drawing a wave back from his friend. Lutas was 70 winters or more, but plowed that field better than men half his age. Krist's father Bram always said that Lutas just came from good stock.

Freshly baked apple pie caught Krist's nose at this time, and it sure smelled to be coming from the direction of his house. If he did not hurry, Jorn and Yryl would get first cut. He gave a smile and a final wave to farmer Lutas, and ran off toward his house.

Krist came up on the old farm house. He could see his daddy's wagon was ready for fishing. The lines hung out, the bait squirming. He could hear the laughing from inside the house, and sure enough, the smell of the pie drifting out. Krist walked up to the door, and began to push it open.......

Krist was awakened unexpectedly, regretting that he woke up from the dream. He was dreaming of home again, something that he did often since joining the Imperial Army, something he was regretting. He signed up to help keep the lands in peace, believing this was the way to do it. He never signed up for working with undead and Daedrae. He would leave soon. Many would leave soon.

ArrerBoy

Armellus. No one cared for his given name, or his title name. No. In his legion, he was simply Armellus. The only Armellus with them. The only Armellus to not follow family tradition leading soldiers as generals fighting and dying for the glory of the Empire. He wanted none of that. He even went so far as turning down a position in the Shadow Legions, convinced his magical prowess would find better use inside Cyrodiil's borders.

He was placed in command of a group of Orcs, Nords, Bosmer, and various other rejects that didn't fit in the Legions, but still grew up serving Cyrodiil. A small, under-supplied, underfed, miserable band of irregulars patrolling Cyrodiil, clearing out bandits, trolls, and whatever threatened the Imperial homestead. This is was perfect. He wasn't fighting for some warlord who may or may not have been fighting to carve out his own little kingdom, he was fighting to protect the Empire. The fact he was attached to such a pathetic joke of a legion made the challenge even more gratifying. As it was, the local brigands were a far greater threat to Imperial citizens than the bickering warlords surrounding Cyrodiil. With every nest of criminal scum cleared, Cyrodiil was made a little safer. The loot was a nice bonus of course.

If Armellus was stuck with this band for the rest of his career, he could die happy. Instead he died shouting curses at his captors as they killed his comrades off one by one. What was supposed to be just another hideout of malcontents turned into a highly organized conspiracy! Armellus's legion was no match for such a large and organized group of necromancers fielding a nigh endless army of daedra. Before the knife sank into his chest, Armellus promised revenge. A Colovian doesn't die such an ignoble death without retribution.

Maybe the fire of his hatred kept him going. Armellus likes to think that. Maybe that's why he managed to retain his sanity in Coldharbour when his comrades were content to lie down and wait for a death that would never come. When the prison riot broke out, he was one of the first out. He quickly found a rusty old sword and gave it a few practice swings. The fencing lessons from old Scotti came flowing back. The old man always said his form was well balanced. Time to see how well...

//Maybe when I get around to playing him again, I'll finally get him out of Coldharbor.

wskill

Name: wskill
Race: breton
Faction: daggerfall
Class: nightblade
Skill focus: bow, shadow, assa, silver bolts.
Weapon Type: bow purist.
Armor Type: medium, cloth hood.
Crafting: alchemy, woodcrafting, tailoring.
background: wskill is packleader of the elusive botanist club, most of them nature lovers and actual botanists with focus on poisons and potions, hes also secretly a killer for hire, functioning no different than the brotherhood. Just specialising in alchemy contrary to the more dark art abusing prior. You could see his group as a combination between the wyrd and the brotherhood if you had to compare. His club is infamous for quickly swiping complete camps in ambushes, roided up with potions picking off enemies simultaneously and swiftly. Therefore.. if you really need someone to die.. hire the botanist club, bouquet on your enemies grave included.
Other Notes: wskill is not the man's real name but a codename he got for being a master of the cross bow, shouldnt come to a suprise the guy has silver bolts on his active bar. His real name is and will remain unknown. He might not even have one, as hes an orphan with no registered parents, those who dare to speculate about his origins tell tall tales of him having been raised by a pack of crocodiles or snakes rather than humans. But thats not very realistic.
Role so far in tamriel: wskill has alligned with the fighters guild hunting undead and werewolves, by this he hopes to one day catch their nocturnal superior known as Agnimukha orma and slay her. This might seem like a pointless striving by a mayhaps underequipped inferior humanoid, but make no mistake; wskill is a weapons artist with his stars alligned for greatness.


Name: Haobziba
Race: Nord
Faction: ebonheart
Class: dragonknight earthen oriented. (tank)
Skill focus: dualwield, earthenheart.
Weapon Type: dualwield axes, 2haxe 2ndslot(maybe).
Armor Type: heavy.
Crafting: blacksmithy, cooking.
background: Haobziba is the split personality of a used to be modest woodsman blacksmith called Azboah, nicknamed Abizboah for often going deep into the mines to get his preferred metal known as "verite" wich he is specialised in. Hes decorated with a majestically large beard, a shining bald scalp and a barrel shaped belly that wants to be filled with cooked boar.
One early morning on his return from the mines after a long nights hoard he found his self build house burned down together with the rest of the woods that once surrounded it.. Demoralized he left for the city where he met the same.. nothing had remained.. an army had ploughed through the lands without caring about its inhabitants and their property.. Now infuriated he snapped.. tore off metal plating from his verite remains, bended it into the shape of a wrangled armor with his bare hands, equipped himself with the heaviest axes he could find and set off following the tracks of the army that had destroyed his life.
Other Notes: Haobziba could be considered a berserker, hes flipping mad and will bash everything into the ground that dares to stand between him and his goals. He may still sometimes switch back to his original personality when people are kind to him.. but when battle starts theres no stopping the man.
Role so far in tamriel: Haobziba has had little interest in the pleading king's of tamriel, instead he has remained in ebonheart hunting what he considers to be "extremely pesky knights that 'resemble' the animals that ruined his lands, and thats enough". When his lust for smashing their heads will be quenched is impossible to predict.


Name: Ipos
Race: Redguard
Faction: daggerfall
Class: sorceror storm oriented (tank)
Skill focus:storm magic, onehanded and shield.
Weapon Type: one handed and shield purist.
Armor Type: heavy, cloth hood.
Crafting: enchanting
background: Ipos was originally a celestial genie summoned by the high command of whailing moon, the royal army under the veil of a long forgotten kingdom, but he was cursed and bound by its mages for eternity. Unable to ever return to the aethereal realms he was forced to roam the human domain even thousands and thousands of years after the whailing moon had existed. Now all that remained of it were cracked artifacts and warped legends.
Being this ancient; Ipos had all the time in the world to master his magical power of electrical affinity, but his bound body was frail and though Ipos was immortal regardless of no longer being able to connect with his own domain.. easily incapacitated.. in danger of being reduced to the likes of the undead.
Therefore Ipos was forced to protect himself with knightly armor and shield, for without it.. his magic would last as but the ringing of a bell.
Other Notes: Do not be mistaken by his frailty and age, facing a small amount of opponents he is a lightning tower unlikely toppled. Ipos also prefers to wield a mace over a rod or staff, wich adds to his close quarter combat potential.
Role so far in tamriel: Ipos walks tamriel no different than he walked any and all place he has been in, tending to his ancient and frail body preventing it to decay into undead or even worse skeletal states.. Every piece of armor he can earn is welcome. At the same time hes starting to enjoy life in stros mkai, and makes boattrips back there inbetween doing errands for interesting folk in daggerfall.

Name: Agnimukha Orma
Race: Dunmer
Faction: ebonheart
Class: dragonknight ardent oriented. (mage)
Skill focus: Ardent flame, destruction staff.
Weapon type: destruction staff.
Armor type: light, medium chest, no helm.
Crafting: -
background: Agnimukha Orma, meaning "red face blue" is an iconic creature from the void, she has no understanding of humanoid reasoning and should be considered an emediate threat. She cannot communicate with anyone or anything except in rune language.. She originates from the primal days where she used to be a genie of dusk and dawn and therefore could be considered an elemental.. However shes a particularily dangerous elemental by her extreme isolation and affiliation with nocturnal nature.. She's a single focus huntress though not for any specific prey.. She hunts everything and everyone that threads the moonlit meadows, woods and even streets. Worshipped in ancient days as the trophyholder of the nocturnal hunt since the tribal age, throughout the age of kingdoms, then forgotten. If you look at any torch, it holds reference to the fear of her creeping pressence.
Other Notes: She holds powerful elemental magic, that of both heat ánd cold and can switch between these forms at any time. Also, considering shes a genie.. you should be weary of finding her together with Ipos, probably the only one she would not attack nor would he attack her, and find yourself overwhelmed. She's hunted in return by the hitman guildmaster wskill, although its unlikely he would ever manage to take her head bounty.
Role so far in tamriel: -