(( I've been planning this fic for a few days now. Writing something set in Tamriel has been on my To-Do List for quite a while, but this is the first time I've gotten around to writing it. I have a bit of a storyline planned for it.

Things may be a little different from the canon lore in Morrowind and Oblivion because I need a bit of wiggle room to work with (and I don't remember a lot of how the story goes, heh...), but I'll try and keep things as close to the facts as I can.

This fic is set after the Main Quest in Morrowind ends, but some time before the storyline in Oblivion begins.

Writing in first-person present tense seems to be easiest for me. I hope no one minds.))
---




Usually right about now is when a guard comes down to the prison and gives us jailbirds our daily ration of bread and water. It's the time of day we all look forwards to, seeing as it's the only time we get fed.

But today, it's different.

Keys rattle on a chain, the lock that keeps me from escaping makes a satisfying click as it opens, and rusty hinges creak as the door to my cell is opened. I glance up to see a soldier standing there, but he's different from the one that usually brings us food. He's a little shorter, and he's clean-shaven. His uniform's all bright and shiny, sharply contrasting his darker Redguard features.

My eyes instinctively dart past him, guessing how easy it wold be to escape, and then I notice that his left hand is resting on the hilt of his sword. He's standing there casually enough, but I have a feeling that if I try to bolt he'll dice me up into little bits.

"You're wanted by the warden, boy," the guard says gruffly. "Get up and get moving."

My eyebrows automatically raise in surprise. What could the warden want me for? I'm just a petty thief. I didn't kill anyone or rob the Temple, no. I'm not that kind of criminal, thank you. All I did was lift purses and break into houses. I've been caught stealing twice before, and after a couple days in jail they just let me go.

Well, this time, I got caught trying to break into the armory in Fort Darius...

"Stop gawking and come with me, boy," the guard growls, crossing his arms.

I haul myself up with a grunt and follow him.

He walks fast, and it's tough keeping up. The inmates are giving me angry glares from their cells, and they're hissing and spitting at me as I pass by. Lucky boy, getting out while we're left to rot here, they're probably thinking.

I want to smirk at them and gloat in their faces, but the guard probably wouldn't allow it, so I just keep my head down and keep walking.

It's minutes of marching through dark, musty-smelling corridors and climbing twisty staircases until we're in the warden's office. The warden's there, idly shuffling a stack of papers with a bored look on his face. He doesn't look up to examine me with his sharp Dunmer eyes. After all, he was the warden in charge of this place the other two times I got caught, and I've been the target of his icy gaze before. It's not very pleasant.

The guard clears his throat in a businesslike manner, and the warden's head jerks up.

"I've brought the boy you asked for," he says, and goes to stand by the double doors that lead to the outside world and freedom - ensuring that I can't escape without getting past him. And I'm pretty sure that Guars will sprout wings and fly before I'm skilled enough to beat a member of the Imperial Legion.

"Yes, I can see that. Thank you, Anton," the warden replies, and then he turns towards me. "Come here, boy. I'm not going to shout at you from across the room."

Actually, I'm in the middle of the room, but I'm not gonna argue when there's that no-nonsense Redguard staring at me like I'm about to lift someone's purse. I step forwards carefully until I'm a couple paces away from the warden's cluttered desk - just out of his arm's reach, so that he can't suddenly get up and hit me.

What do you want me for? I want to say, but that would probably earn me a blow to the head or worse. I've tried asking questions to the guards here before, and it never turned out well.

"Normally you'd be sentenced to a month of labor in the mines for your crimes," the warden drawls, and he barely manages to hide a smile at my shocked expression. "But according to this letter -" he holds it up and waves it in front of me before putting it back on his desk "- you've been sentenced to something else. You should be thanking the Tribunal that you aren't being sentenced to the mines, you little rascal."

He pushes the letter across the desk to me, even though he probably knows that street kids like me can't read.

I take it and pretend that I'm reading it, so that he doesn't get the chance to land some snide remark about uneducated brats. Not my fault that I don't have the money to get sent to school. If I did have enough money to pay for education, I wouldn't be picking pockets in the streets.

While I'm running my eyes over the hastily scrawled script, I'm thinking up a storm. What's this task assigned to me? Is it really that much better than the mines? I'm still a criminal to them, after all. And don't I get a trial where I can prove my innocence?

"The letter isn't yours to keep, boy." The warden's snappy voice cuts through my thoughts. "You've had enough time to read it. The silt strider isn't going to wait all day."

Silt strider? The letter flutters out of my hands. I pick it up nervously and quickly place it back on the warden's desk. They're those giant insects that take rich folk from town to town. Does that mean I'm going somewhere?

There were so many questions I want to ask the Redguard - I need to remember that his name's Anton, according to the warden - that's escorting me to the Gnisis silt strider. But I just barely manage to gather up all of my self-control and keep quiet, looking just like a good little prisoner being transported somewhere.

The caravaner keeps giving me these angry glares, and I can't figure out why. According to the folks in town, he's a pleasant sort of fellow - unless it's raining. But there isn't a single cloud in the sky...

Just as we're several hours away from Gnisis, I suddenly realize why the caravaner doesn't seem to like me very much.

The first time I gotten caught stealing, it had been his purse that I was trying to lift.

((This is the first chapter, which I wrote during a 9 hour ride in the car. Is it good enough to continue, or do I need to overhaul what I had in mind?))

I like it, and I'm sure no one minds about first person a lot of people here write like that including me.


This made me laugh that certainly is a funny twist of Fate.

I think it's interesting, because most stories I've read take place during the happenings in Morrowind, or during the happenings in Tamriel. I haven't encountered any that takes place in between before. And the plot seems interesting. I can only imagine how it is being sent away on a mission and not know what you're supposed to do. I liked that remark at the end to, about that caravaner. I'm certainly interested in reading more.

Indeed - I wrote one, but even that still centered on the Nerevarine. (I am considering rewriting that story, BTW).

Nirn is a great big world, and there are a lot of untold stories inside it. I tend to prefer these kinds of "lower deck" stories, to tell you the truth.