Kaarthar was a nord who was told of a prophecy... The Last Few will be born... The planes of Oblivion will grow stronger... If the last few are prevented from stopping it... Tamriel will cease to exist... You are the first of The Last Few... once the last few are gathered... Talk to Paarthurnax at the throat of the world... You know what happens if you fail...

(The first two people to join will be part of the last few...)

My name is Tilmar. I am a spellsword hailing from Cyrodiil. When I left home at fifteen, my grandfather told me of his grandfather, the bastard son of a royal affair. I am one of the few still alive with traces of Septim blood in my veins. Over the past decade, I have traversed the length and breadth of Tamriel. As tales of civil unrest came from the North, I journeyed to Skyrim, my mind basking in the allure of war-time profit, confident in my skill, my sword of ebony, and the fiery magic I wield. And now I sit at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, drunk off my ass and telling my story to any who will listen.

Name: Zork

Origin: Skyrim, Dawnstar

Class: theif

Abilities: blends in with shadows, pickpockets with ease, strong enough to duel wield longswords.

Weapon: two longswords.

(One more of the Last few cause if there is, I am)

A Khajiit hailing from the province Elsweyr. He used to be a barbaric khajiit and leader of his lion pride.

(Just type in skyrim werelion, it is the first row and fourth picture)

He uses his claws and teeth and he uses a spear. He is known as J'andri the Fierce. 

*Tilmar sits in the barstool adjacent to Kaarthar* Quite drunk, I clap Kaarthar on the back saying, "Welcome to my fav'rite drinkin' 'ole. I 'aven't seen you 'ere before, but you look like you could 'andle yourself in a fight." I smile amiably. "150 gold says I knock your sorry 'ide to the ground" 

*An astonished look flashes on my face, due to my surprise that this Nord, unlike his kin, doesn't want to fight*

"Are you all right? Most Nords would pay to fight."

J'andri's three wives are tyring to steal some food from the Bannered Mare, as they have no home, they live like real lions so when they can't hunt, they must steal. Ma'dar, one of the wives grabs a nord. 

"You, chef, give us all the meat, and water!". The chef did so, and put it in a sack. Ma'dar let go of the nord and they ran off. They back to J'andri and the pride. 

"This one has the food, my love." said Daro'zakha, another wife said. (J'andri has three wives because lions actually have three wives). The pride sat down as they devoured the meat. 

As this goes down, I am having a nice mug of mead.