Elder Scrolls Characters: Show yours off here!, The story, the weapons, the personalities, the lifestyle! Options

[Lycanthropic-Legend]

Hello! Here you can show off and share your characters from your games and stories! This is mostly for Skyrim characters, though if they were used in Oblivion or the older games, that's fine too! Write their habits, their choice of weapons, personalities, magical abilities and history!

Character Sheet(doesn't have to be the exact same as below):

Name:

Race:

Gender:

Age:

Sign:

Home Country:

Faction and Rank or Guilds(if none, tell us what they do for a living):

Faction Description:

Class:

Class Description:

Skills and talents:

Physical Appearance:

Eyes:

Build:

Weapons of preference:

Clothing:

Miscellaneous:

Magic abilities or powers:

Mental Profile/Personality:


Biography/Life History:

[Captain Hammer]

Sorry, but I'm doing machine upgrades right now, so Skyrim and Oblivion are now located only on my Steam account.

Name: Angus MacThurrin, Ysmir Strundu'ul, Dovahsebrom

Race: Breton (half-breed, Breton mother, Nord father)

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Sign: Atronach (Skyrim, assume born during Sun's Dusk for story elements)

Home Country: Born in Cyrodiil, raised in Solitude, then Northpoint.

Faction and Rank or Guilds: Member Ex-Officio of the College of Winterhold. Member-Emeritus of the Companions. Rose through the ranks during respective crises, resigned positions with the selection of proper, more suited candidates. Associated with the Dawnguard. Student of the Masters of the Voice, the Greybeards of High Hrothgar.

Faction Description: Trained and served with distinction as both a mage and soldier-for-hire. Combined the training for good use when learning to hunt and kill vampires. Regularly and frequently spends time hunting down monsters and criminals for the Companions, finding and neutralizing magical anomalies created due to events involving the Collegium, as well as participating in regular extermination missions for the Dawnguard. These are side-jobs. Primary effort has been spent maintaining peace in Skyrim, suppressing the Civil War, and above all else, hunting down and eliminating Thalmor operatives in the province of Skyrim.

Class: Battle Mage

Class Description: Heavily armored, shielded, and armed, capable of using melee combat skills as well as proximity- and distance-based arcane attack. Favors extensive defensive load-out with a mentality of "Your rage is your own undoing."

Skills and talents: Heavy armor, One handed (sword), Block and Smithing in the Martial field. Alteration, Restoration, Destruction and Enchanting in the Arcane field. Trained in other skills, favors mix-and-match talents (perks that do not require matching set pieces) for the anticipated situation. Relies heavily on blocking, wards, sword-work, and killer lightning spells.

Physical Appearance: Big, broad, and agile. He's over six feet and weighs close to 250 lbs. Scarring from foolish/reckless behavior has been kept to a fortunate minimum. Heritage from both sides of his family shows: he has grey eyes resembling clouds and dark blond hair accurately described as 'strawberry blond'. Swinging a shield and sword has given him seemingly oversized shoulders and upper back, but he's not going to win a competition for having the prettiest body. Maybe if the judges liked a man with a short, full beard and body hair to match.

Eyes: Storm grey. It's easier to see the blue under sunlight or white light, but torches and arcane lamps tend to wash the color and leave his irises looking like "a dense as wool fog."

Build: Fighter. Thicker than a sprinter, thinner and more streamlined than a backwoods wrestler.

Weapons of preference: Custom enchanted longsword (fire and shock damage) and mace (shock and soul trap). Carries a couple of daggers as well, for those times when dealing with an opposing battlemage that knows what he's doing. Carries Auriel's Bow, but uses archery less emphatically than others.

Clothing: Armor. Custom enchanted Daedric plate with school-reduction and magicka regeneration-boosting enchantments. Will wear Dragon armor (plate or scale) for situation dependent occasions. Uses Spellbreaker, exhaustively so. Wears appropriate silk and cloth padding under armor (silk is good for reducing the risks posed by the occasional arrow that hits him), and has wool and leather garments for any necessary public functions (hidden chain backing a must).

Miscellaneous: Fully realized Dragonborn. Thu'um Master.

Magic abilities or powers: Master of Alteration, Restoartion, and Destruction. Able to absorb bloody near any arcane attack thrown at him, not bothered by the arrows he can block with his shield. Likes to take it and throw it back, usually in the form of Lightning Storm, cast long, cast hard, and cast often. Uses appropriate Shouts in combat, preferring Slow Time to out hack and slash anything with a weapon, Storm Call for opposing mages, and Become Ethereal just to taunt archers whilst closing on them. If busy or pre-occupied, just whistles up Odahviing or Durnehviir to deal with the issue.

Mental Profile/Personality: Centered. Between the raw emotion of passion and the resolute determination of duty, there lies the serenity of purpose. Between the madness of dominating control and burden of submissive acceptance, there lies the tranquility of inevitable victory. The indecisive individual cannot decide on the action to accomplish anything. The overbearing tyrant finds control slipping through his fingers the more he clenches his fists. The unyielding martyr loses sight of the deeper reason to act. The carefree pixie sees no change of anything for the better.

The wise masters not the world, but himself. In doing so, he turns the world's pressures back against themselves, and breaks the bonds that would tether him. The wise asks himself "Why?", and knows his purpose is examined, and worthwhile.

Biography/Life History: Angus was born Sun's Dusk 08, 4E 175. It was nine months and a day after the signing of the White Gold Concordant, and Angus's father took his family from Bruma County north to the family's farm in Solitude. Still, things were difficult for Thurrin Frost-Roar, and so he agreed to take his wife and young son to Northpoint, where his wife had been raised and where a dissatisfied former soldier could find work. Things went well there. But Thurrin remembered killing Aldmeri elves on the Red Ring. And Thurrin taught his son the lessons any Son of Skyrim should know. And Thurrin reminded Angus, that the Concordant was not the ending of the Great War, but the first thrust of the dagger of the next conflict. Thurrin taught his son caution and care. But all the caution in Tamriel cannot slow the passage of time. All the care in Tamriel cannot prevent an old soldier from losing his hearing. And all the dooms and fates of Tamriel must be accounted and reckoned.

So when a troll gets too close to a fifty year old man in the forests of Northpoint, a man with a slow ankle and an old hip injury, Sovngarde cannot be held at bay.

Angus buried his father. His mother was in tears, but Angus could not stay. Bretons lived longer than Nords, everybody knew that. Even at fifty, his mother was technically just shy of middle age. And so, when Meghain took her sister's advice and began going to services at the Temple of Dibella, Angus packed his possessions, and journeyed to the land of his birth.

Cyrodiil was not what he expected. His father told him of the destruction wrought during the war. But his father also told him of the resilience of the Imperial province. The industry of its inhabitants. It was lacking when Angus arrived.

So Angus realized it wasn't Cyrodiil where he was supposed to make himself. His father's homeland beckoned. Another Son of Skyrim had to go home.

Fate, it seems, enjoys the irony that threads coincidence. Helgen was a terrible place to receive a welcome. Dragons were worse.

There was one part that puzzled Angus when he escaped Helgen with a Stormcloak rebel. That dragon, it was...speaking. He didn't understand it, but the noises were patterned, and there was something behind it.

Learning that he could use Thu'um was frightening. Being enveloped by flaming energy at the death of a dragon was terrifying. Hearing the world shake, and finding out that it was the Greybeards of High Hrothgar that wanted to speak to him, was an inconceivable horror.

To learn that he was Dovahkiin? Dragon, made flesh in human form, rather than wyrm? Discovering his grasp of the Thu'um made it easier. Finding battle kin in the Companions and learning not to fear, but to wonder at the unknown with the College of Winterhold made him realize what it was he fought to preserve. The Thieves had no use of him. His machinations against their crime lords would eventually come to fruition. His dealings with the Dark Brotherhood, less so.

It started simply enough. Rumors of a child trying to perform the Black Sacrament. A visit in good faith to try to sort him out. Learning of a great injustice being perpetrated by a truly horrendous monster. An attempt to show the misguided child a different way. A better way. Why did the old woman insist on getting violent? Angus did not even draw steel. She kept trying to hit him. He pushed her away. She tripped. She fell. She did not rise. The orphans jumped for joy. Had she really been that terrible a person?

The guards listened. The Jarl judged. "Justified force during investigation by a ranking member of the Companions." Charges not even recorded. And a letter, with a note, and a hand print. "We Know."

They found him. They brought him somewhere, and told him nobody left until somebody died. Three victims, waiting for one to be chosen. One assassin, sitting on a piece of furniture. Nobody left until somebody died. No bargaining. No threatening, at least none that Astrid would take. Kill or be killed. Nobody leaves until somebody dies. Who? It was Angus's choice. Right, Left, middle, what did it matter? Nobody leaves until somebody dies. Who to choose? Who to kill? Somebody dies. Anybody? Anybody in the room? Astrid!

She should not have underestimated a Dragonborn. She was slow. Oh, she was fast, for a mortal. She was not Dov. She was not of the nature of Akatosh. Time was not a plaything for her. Angus had no such limitations. And after her, her "family." It was a bloody night. But it wasn't enough.

Alduin was fought. First winning, then retreating, then finally losing. Sovngarde made him see the reward that waited, if he proved continually worthy. Allies, fellow Dov, were found, for aid in battle and instruction in Thu'um.

Angus returned triumphant. Meanwhile, Tamriel mourned, as an emperor had died. The Dark Brotherhood couldn't follow a man to a warrior's paradise. They chose the next best thing.

The Civil War had been halted. It threatened to flare up again. Nobody claimed the Jagged Crown. Nobody could. Angus had agreed to retrieve it, but realized that Ulfric could not have it. Nor could Elisif. He left it at High Hrothgar. The Greybeards understood. It was appropriate. The Blades couldn't be trusted. They had forgotten humility in his presence. It was a lesson badly needed. But he was not the one to teach it to them. Insubordination could not be turned to open hostility. They were left alone, and kept alone, that events would pass them by. Without a Dragonborn, and without a welcoming Empire, they would be forced to change themselves. Or die.

A vampire tried to blot out Magnus, spelling the end of life. He was stopped, killed by the very weapon he thought would deliver him a final victory. It wasn't a victory for him.

A predecessor, tyrant, monster, one that had lost control over himself tried to come back. He too, was killed. Betrayal begat betrayal. No tears were shed.

Skuldafn was revisited. Inhabited. Fortified. None but a Dovah could find it. Other Dov heard Angus's Thu'um. Some challenged. Most were beaten and gave in. Some would not give in. They were consumed. A few chose to master themselves, as the ancient brother of their race on the Throat of the World had done. The old wyrm gained a few more disciples. Most agreed to serve the strongest among themselves. That it was a man was not at issue.

Conflicts were stopped. Battles prevented. Parties of Thalmor Justicars and their ilk were hunted down and slaughtered, their grisly remains a testament that could not be traced to the man that left them. Behind the scenes, several Jarls rose or fell (and one was deposed in one city only to be placed in charge of another). A friend who had served well was evaluated. From Skuldafn, Angus looked out over all of Skyrim. He would place the Jagged Crown on the head of the man most worthy of wearing it, and dare any to oppose him. Ulfric and Elisif would be surprised when they realized they were each alone. It was a start.

From the Throat of the World, Angus looked over all of Tamriel. He meditated. He knew what would come next. His mother's homeland would follow Skyrim's lead. Two provinces, and with them, two thirds of the Elder Council. Angus looked south. He would be tried. They would fall. He could raise armies. So could they. He had an air force of dragons. They did not. The Thalmor would lose.

He breathed, and looked south. His seat was there, waiting. Waiting for him to come. Waiting for him to take it. The Ruby Throne. The Seat of Sundered Kings.

For the first time since the Septim Dynasty, a Dragonborn Emperor of Tamriel would reign.

What to do during the interim. Talos worship was illegal, but people would not respect that. They wanted their gods. But how does one suppress the worship of a deity so much like yourself without drawing backlash? He didn't want to join the Church of the Nine Divines, or the Church of the Eight Divines. It was, in a sense, a feeling of inevitability. He would take the Ruby Throne. And then, when he died, it would not be the Church of the Nine that he joined.

He would join the Pantheon.