Here is my backstory for Jericho Valtarius an Imperial Mage. Jericho is a close friend of Albrecht Brodoran, Roger Pickard's character.
It was night. The moon wasn’t
visible but the evening fog had an eerie glow to it. As Jericho had recently
learned, the nights in Skyrim were cold. Deathly so. He had already passed a
few doomed caravans, stuck in snow banks or without horses to draw them. There
were no people in sight, but a few wolves circled the halted carts, some
already gnawing on, what he recognized as, human bones.
“Poor souls.” He thought, “Probably
eaten alive, but too cold to fight back.” Jericho Valtarius wasn’t a fan of
being helpless, and he nearly never was. Being a mage gave him access to not
only spells and runes, but also enchanted items. Most of which had saved him
when his life depended on it.
“Damn this cold.” He snapped to
himself. “It’s impossibly persistent.”
Jericho had donned heavy black cloaks, and even magically heated them, but the cold bit at him anyway. It had been slowly sinking into his bones over the past few hours. He’d have to find somewhere to stay soon, as he hadn’t reached his destination. He walked briskly on a path of trodden snow, his boots slipping every few steps. The snow covered pines loomed over the narrow path he was on.
His trip had been a long one. He
began in Cheydinhal, in Cyrodiil where he had based his operations. Jericho was
an Imperial Assasin. He worked closely with the Guard and would spend most of
his week in the Imperial City working alongside his best friend Albrecht
Brodoran. He made the trek from Cheydinhal to the Imperial City every time they
called on him, but he enjoyed the walk and even refused when the Guard offered
him free housing in the City. He liked Cheydinhal. He had a home there, a home
he was proud of, and the city itself was quiet; he liked quiet.
Jericho quickened his pace; he
wanted to get to shelter soon. He was now at a light jog and had to be careful
not to lose his footing completely. There was a bridge fast approaching and
Jericho planned on running right across it. He quickly checked it, its
stability obvious. It was a few thick cut trees spanning a small ravine. He was
sure it could handle his weight.
As quickly as he had placed a foot
on the bridge, someone had placed a hand on his shoulder. Jericho was pulled
backwards with incredible force and was flying through the air head first. His
shoulder blades hit first and took the brunt of the blow, the rest of his body
followed behind. He slid a few feet on the packed snow and came to a halt about
thirty feet from the bridge.
He had been followed. Whoever was
hunting him had been following behind the whole time, and they didn’t want him
to advance much further. As soon as possible Jericho was back on his feet, his
hands already aglow with lightning. The man that stood before Jericho couldn’t
have been shorter than eight feet, wore full plate armor and had an obscenely
large battle axe in his hands. The monster started towards Jericho, preparing
the axe for a swing...
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That's what I've got so far. Criticism welcome, but excuse the stupid spacing issues; it didn't paste from Word very well and I'm much to lazy to fix it. Otherwise I'd like to hear what you think of it. There's a second part on it's way.
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