Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls: Oblivion. Bethesda Studios does.

The Adoring Fan Chronicles Episode 1: The Adoring Fan Goes to Jail

"Now stand here," the Breton said, unfastening his weapon holster. "And take this."

He placed an intricate Daedric staff into the Adoring Fan's hands. The awestruck wood elf ran his stumpy fingers across the artifact's glimmering finish. "Golly, Dragonheart, this is such a great present! Where on earth did you get this? Did you fight legions of monsters to claim a gift just for me?"

"Um…yes, of course. This is—er—one of my most prized possessions, so please treat it well."

The Adoring Fan fell to his knees and kissed Dragonheart's boots. "I'll never let go of it ever. I'll even sleep with it!"

Raising an eyebrow, the hero shook his fan away. "Alright then. Uh, could you wait here for a little while? I have a few errands to run. I shall be back soon."

"You've got it, sir! I'll be right here waiting for you."

"Right here?"

"Yes."

Dragonheart turned and hurried out the city's front gates. The Adoring Fan watched his idol leave. In a swell of excitement, the fan ran to a bench nearby to further examine his present. A strange shimmer near the top of the staff grabbed his attention. He leaned in to see it more closely. It's an inscription. He thought. Wouldn't Dragonheart be proud of me if I cast an amazing spell with this staff? Oh, how delighted he will be when he returns. By golly, I could become the next Arch-Mage with my ingenious incantations!

The Adoring Fan read the tongue-twisting Daedric chant with much difficulty, but he finally managed to pronounce it. The staff shook and hummed the moment he finished speaking, and three scamps materialized before him.

"Aiiieeeee!" Clutching his new gift, the wood elf jumped to his feet. The hissing scamps crept closer to him. "Get back! Get back, I say!" The Fan shouted as he beat them with the staff. Each tiny monster disappeared the moment it died. The Adoring Fan sighed in relief. What a story I can tell Dragonheart. I just saved the whole town of Anvil from a menacing Daedra siege! My valor will be known throughout Cyrodiil. Before he could celebrate any longer, he looked down to find three pairs of beady eyes watching him. "More scamps? Where on earth did they come from?" A metal hand wrenched him around to meet the face of an Anvil guard.

"Stop right there, conjurer scum! You've violated the law. Pay the court a fine or serve your sentence. All your stolen goods are now forfeit."

"But—But I have no money. Wh—What did I do that was illegal, exactly?"

"You were planning to attack Anvil with the legions of Daedra you've summoned! I won't let my city become another Kvatch," The overzealous guard snarled. "Come with me, sir. You're under arrest."

The scamps followed the Adoring Fan as the guard pulled him to Castle Anvil. Dragonheart won't be happy about this…

***

The hollow clang of the cell door stung the Adoring Fan's ears. He grasped the bars and poked his nose out of the cell. "How long will I be in here, mister guard?"

"Now sir, the fine for assault on the city is ten thousand gold, which equals three years in prison."

"Th—Three years? I didn't know I was conjuring Daedra, sir. I didn't know that staff was evil. I got it as a present."

The guard slapped the cell bars and left. The nearby prisoners snickered. The Adoring Fan rattled the door and screamed, "But I'm telling the truth! Let me go, please. Dragonheart will be gone long before three years are up. I need to talk to him."

The jail door crashed closed. He sank to the floor and wept.

"Hey, look. A Bosmer."

Sniffing and wiping his eyes, the Adoring Fan looked up. A Nord stood in the back corner of the cell.

"I don't see much of your kind around here. It's usually just us drunken Nords and some smelly seamen that get locked up. And forget about that Dragonheart you keep yammerin' on about. He won't come for ya."

"Yes he will. He's my hero! And he gave me that great staff—"

"That got you thrown in here? Boy, do you have bad taste in friends," The Nord chuckled. The Adoring Fan frowned. "You know what? You're a real meanie. How about we start things off on a good foot, Mister—?"

"Long-Lance. Holdis Long-Lance."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Long-Lance. My name's—"

"Hey, you've got some meat on ya, right?"

"Yes, of course. I think I have some jerky in my back pocket, if you want some."

Holdis took a few steps toward the Adoring Fan. "Well, I've been pretty lonely down here in the dungeons. Do you mind if I mince your meat? I think you'd like it, as would I." The oblivious wood elf took the food from his back pocket and handed it to his cellmate.

"Golly, you're the best!"

Holdis bashed him over the head.

***

The Adoring Fan awakened to a cool breeze on his cheeks. He rested on his stomach, his face freezing on the stone floor. Blinking, the Adoring Fan rolled onto his back. He grabbed the waist of his pants, pulled them back up, and asked, "What happened? Have you minced my meat, yet?"

"Yes, I did. It was quite good, really."

The Adoring Fan crossed his arms. "And you didn't share some with me? It was my meat, you know."

"Oh, you got some, trust me."

"You're surely one dumb Nord, Mister Long-Lance. You don't have a clue what's going on at all. You keep talking about us having a meal that I never took part in!"

Holdis chuckled.

The wood elf stood up. "I won't be here long, Mister Long-Lance, so you won't be stealing any more food from me. I'm gonna escape, by golly. You'll see!"

"Huh. Good luck with that."

And the Adoring Fan started digging the hole in his dungeon's floor. At first, he used his hands to claw the floor away, but once he got too many "boo-boos" on his fingers, he decided to start using his teeth instead. After realizing it was much harder to eat the stale jail rations without any front teeth, the Adoring Fan knew he needed some new ideas. He spent many long nights thinking of alternatives but could only daydream of his reunion with Dragonheart. Finally, he got fed up with brainstorming and asked his cellmate for advice.

"What new itemths thould I thrie? Mah fingerth an' teef aren't working tho well."

Holdis Long-Lance, sitting cross-legged in the corner, cleared his throat and spoke over his shoulder. "Have you ever tried your food bowl? That would make a good shovel."

"Thankth!"

And the dedicated fan continued digging. This time, his new tool proved to be very effective. In only six months of day-and-night work, the Adoring Fan, crouched in his tunnel under the cell, dug laterally to find a thick brick wall blocking his way. His dirt-caked face stretched into a grimy smile. "I just found the outer wall! I'll be free! I'll be free at last! I just need to chip this wall away…"

Snatching up a loose rock nearby, the Adoring Fan struck the wall, then again. And again. And again until a jet of warm, salty water shot him in the eye. His free hand covered the leak.

"Ouch! That wasn't nice, Mister Wall. Bad wall. Bad wall," he said, hitting the stone angrily. "Shame on you for hurting a poor little prisoner like me." Cracks formed around the breach in the wall, and the mortar between the bricks groaned. A torrent of sea water burst through the stone and filled the tunnel in an instant.

The Adoring Fan yelled for help, but he soon realized that Bosmer could not breathe water, nor could sound travel through liquid well at all, so I am sad to say, my friends, that our beloved, daring, intelligent Adoring Fan met the Nine Divines that tragic day...and Holdis Long-Lance continued his mincing of newcomers' meat for the rest of his days.

THE END.

Next Time…

The Adoring Fan Tries Skooma