Well, I lost my login information for this forum, so it's time to start over, ground up. This is good, because I like starting things over.

Anyway, this is something I had knocking around for a while...I haven't written anything remotely resembling fanfiction in years, unless you count all of those sentences I wrote about the Baltimore Orioles having a season over .500...*rimshot*

It's a serial fanfiction, split between journal entries and some short first-person accounts. Just as in competitive Irish dance, you dance in short bursts, I write in short bursts. I'm not sure if this is good, or a dreadful habit. If it's the latter, I'm sure someone will let me know one way or another.

It takes place 31 years before TES IV: Oblivion, and the goal here is to shed light on something that had always bothered me from the get-go. Just what happened between Earana and Teekeeus? I am not sure, but I have a feeling it was uglier than someone taping over the other person's copy of that day's episode of General Hospital.

I have to say, up front, I am not a loremaster, but I'm trying my best to be accurate. I like doing research, but even I miss things.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v668/kicklecubicle/SummerMontage2.png

3E 402, Hearthfire 27, Morndas

My summer holiday came to an abrupt, and quite rude ending. I had been holed up in Aleswell for three days straight. My mind had finally been neatly liberated from anything even remotely guild related when out of the blue, as I was laying in bed this Morndas morning, I remembered that not only was University back in session, but it had been for at least two weeks.

I blame the Cheydinhal guild for my tardiness. It was their fault, really. I'm not sure why Falcar decided to take up residence in that hall, since he hates the town so much...not to mention everyone living there. Before the end of last semester, he told me that he had to get away from the university. A week later, he was gone. Perhaps he was worried that he wouldn't pass his ranking exams, or perhaps he was sick of the arbitrary rules and choking bureaucracy. Yet, my intuition screams at me- he's up to something. I'm not sure what it is, and I don't intend to find out.

But oh, the pearls! Those blasted pearls....first, he needed twenty. Then it became thirty more. I damn nearly chucked the bag into his face when he told me he required another one hundred and fifty. Perhaps he failed to realize that I had been ripping clams open for three months (wasting my precious holiday time...time I was supposed to be spending in the depths of Sercen)...and right then, Falcar's mouth was beginning to look just like another clam. I counted his teeth. If only he were paying me more than ten septims per pearl- I could have made a fortune then and there.

"But these are all irregular," he argued. "Irregular pearls are less useful." Do you know what else is "less useful"? A guild resident who had his anol-retentive head ripped off and thrown down a well. We then sat up all night in the basemant of the guild hall, grinding pearls into dust. He kept making vague hints at something, putting me at unease. I somehow managed to suppress every instinct screaming at me to bolt for the door. Finally:

"Earana, you have access to the restricted section of the library, right?"

Doesn't he know how many times I am asked this question in one week? "You know I do," I replied, and yes, I knew exactly what he was after. I sighed...my first job, and the academic year hadn't even started. How tiresome. "What book do you need?"

He named it.

As I said, he's up to something.

So, already, I have a job to do, and this really was the lone factor in my decision to eventually make my way back to the Arcane University. I know Falcar well enough to know that he'll wait for the information- for however long I tell him he has to wait- so I'm taking my sweet time returning.

Sunsets and summers along the Rumare are like no other, after all...in the brisk chill of this Hearthfire dusk, I took one last swim...strapped on those heavy old waders once again, gathered some more pearls and got a nice haul of very round ones.

It's a shame I wasted so much of my holiday. Sercen will have to wait.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Well, thanks for reading. I hope you like what I've done. If not, constructive criticism is always welcome. Even under-bus-throwing is welcome, as long as it is constructive.

This is, as you probably could tell, just the first part in the serial. Each part will have a picture...that's the idea, anyway. Photobucket squishes the images terribly, so I will find a better place for them.

I'm not the kind who gives up too easily. Though I picture a whole group of people screaming..."Please, give it up already..."

In other words, I don't know if anyone is even reading this, but thank you, if you are.

Anyhow, here's the next bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3E 402, Frostfall 8, Fredas

"And you claim that you...work here?"

He's trying to make a fool out of me now, as if I should be ashamed for showing up to the University semester nearly one month late. As a lady of patience, I must say, this upstart at the door is testing it.

"That's correct," I respond. "I told you. I'm a graduate student at rank Magician, and I supplement my tuition by working in the library. This library." And what if I'm late? What about it? My credentials are legitimate- who is this Argonian to dare question them?

Which leads me to the next question- just who is this Argonian, anyway?

He bristles at my response, baring just the tips of his teeth. "Very well, Earana. If you are, indeed, a magician of some status here, I will take you at your word. I can only assume the transgression was accidental, because I doubt any responsible caretaker would knowingly and willingly abandon their duties at the Mystic Archives for weeks on end," he says, hardly masking his skepticism. He then lowers his voice as if he has some big secret to share with me. "And whether or not this was unintentional, if you think that I am not going to report this to the council, you might want to think again."

Begrudgingly, he drops the key to the library in my waiting hand. Me, I'm wearing my sweetest smile, even long after his back is turned to it.

---

In the interest of protecting what the guild has deemed an "irresponsible public", the council meticulously reviews each book that comes either through the University gates, or into the hands of any of its members. Any book determined to be dangerous has one destination: the restricted section of the Mystic Archives, where hopefully, everyone will eventually forget that the book even existed at some point in time. While some books have a definite..shall we say...theme to them, the criteria for this designation is arbitrary (in line with the usual governing style of the council).

While the banished The Nineteenth Hex was, of course, directly responsible for killing many, many people (simply opening it will release a fatal curse), I seriously doubt even the arch-mage himself could do any damage with The Junior Book of Conjuration.

Then again, I have seen the arch-mage in action, and I also seriously doubt that he could do any damage with The Nineteenth Hex.

Though while we are on the subject, not only is the door to the restricted section well hidden and triple-locked, but each book is magically sealed shut. "Permanently" was the idea, but while basking in their own smarmy fog of so clever inventiveness, the Council completely neglected to consider that there are still those who can crack those things open like so many mollusks.

I was taught how to do both, by the same man. He was my mentor, my employer, a fisherman and clam-digger, and a great magician...though you'd never guess that from the way his gnarled hands worked the nets and lines, from the way his body had been weathered by the violent waters of the Abecean. He was a student of the Ayleid civilization, a master of their language...and their magic. Without going too deeply into the details, this is what ultimately got him expelled from the guild, many, many years ago. So, instead of conjuring fantastic creatures from beneath the delicate surface of tangible reality, he and I conjured clams, oysters and other sediment dwellers from beneath the Anvil sludge-sand, day in, day out.

Anvil was a fair town- I had no desire to become a sailor or a shore man (and definitely not a clam-digger), but I had very few options available to me, being a non-native orphan with little coin and even fewer connections. As we worked, the man gave me a unique education. I memorized his books by night, became fluent in the surviving Ayleid language. It took a few years, but my hard work paid off. I broke anchor. I had finally received a recommendation to undergo the entrance exams for the University.

You can imagine my disappointment when they told me (at the gate- they couldn't even wait until I was actually on campus) that most of the things I had been taught had been banned by the Mage's Guild. That's what you get when your teacher was an expelled student, I guess.

They let it slide since I was a freshman. I was ordered to forget everything I knew, so naturally, I made sure to keep practicing in secret, so those skills would never get rusty.

I don't believe in the restriction of knowledge, for this is the action of the ignorant. It is easy to teach someone a spell, but to teach someone to be responsible with it goes beyond the skill of any professor. To take away that power removes the burden of being responsible for it, and as a whole, the Mage's Guild is not exactly known for assuming responsibility. I find the whole attitude quite loathsome. Frankly, it's cheap. An easy way out, and yes, exceedingly dangerous, far more so than the things they have restricted.

As soon as I secured my position at the Mystic Archives, I learned how...and when...to access the restricted section. If nobody else wanted to care for the unwanted books within, they would become my charges. I became a hungry dock cat who could smell the haul of fresh fish, voraciously poring over the shelves, memorizing the titles, their locations.

In my hands, those books were just like the oysters we forced open. The pearl, of course, was the knowledge that had been forgotten for decades...

Very good! I really like you writing style! Keep em coming