Premise: This is an idea of what would happen if players could actually use their journals... to write in, I mean. Yeah.

The Real Tinuviel

16 Last Seed (Day 1)

Been having rather strange dreams lately, ones involving tinny disembodied female voices and some twaddle about being "chosen." This all is most disconcerting.

The whole waking-up process this morning wasa bitdisconcerting, actually. I was having one of those odd dreams again when some Dunmer in his underwear shook me awake, pulled me to my feet, and expressed a sudden interest in my name. I rattled off "Tinuviel" ratherabsently, and then it dawned on me that I was standing in a boat. I don't remember ever getting on a boat!

Fortunately, that was when Mr. Uppity Purple Skirt Man decided to come down into what I assumed to be the brig -- I mean, me being a prisoner and all. I recognized him from the carriage, and for once I was somewhat relieved to see him. That is, until he practically dragged me up on deck, barking at me most uncivilly to "keep things as civil as possible."

Please. At least I don't wear a purple skirt.

That reminds me. My clothes. They suck. Dirty off-white is so not my color. I'll remember to look for a clothing shop when I get to Balmora -- that Altmer Arille doesn't stock crap. Crap clothes, crap weapons, crap potions...

Yeah. Course, I have next to no money anyway.

So after I got up on deck I found another purple skirt guard man, whose only job (it appears) was to direct me to yet a third purple skirt guard man. This third one was so thick he couldn't even tell I was Bosmer. He said to me, in this smug little self-satisfied voice all Imperials seem to have, "You've finally arrived, but our records don't show from where." Ooh, wouldn't you just love to know it, too. Evidently, the Imperials think that every race has special "abilities" that make it different from the other races. I dunno. It sounds like profiling to me. If only my lawyer wasn't still in Valenwood...

Then I followed purple skirt guard man number three to this strange fairy-tower-looking building that happened to be the Customs and Excise Office. There was another purple skirt guard man inside, but this time there was also an old fart who asked me a lot of pointless questions. "If you found a bag of coins on the side of the road, blah blah blah..."

He spent a couple of minutes frowning and furrowing the remains of his eyebrows at my answers, and then told me rather portentously that I am a Thief (with a capital T). Then he went into this little lecture about the rashness of modern youth. Oh, like he wouldn't keep a bag of coins he found on the side of the road.

Then he asked me what sign I was born under. I couldn't for the life of me remember -- it's the Altmer and Bretons who are all into that astrology stuff -- so I picked the Shadow 'cos, well, I guess it sounded good. Evidently, I can turn invisible at will.

Why did the old fart sound so dreadfully impatient? From the way he talked, you'd think he processes random parolees like me twenty times a day. And I'd be willing to bet the rest of his hair that he doesn't.

I continued on to the next room, which I then proceeded to rob bare. What the hell, I'm a Thief, right? Anyway, I strongly doubt anybody in the Customs and Excise Fairy Tale Castle is going to miss an iron dagger and a couple of loaves of bread.

Just to further my Thief-ness, I robbed the barrel outside too. Found a very pretty ring.

After one final purple skirt guard man encounter with a chap who looked to be the head purple skirt guard man, I was out. I have instructions to go to Balmora -- wherever that is -- and deliver a package to one Caius Cosades. Perhaps another purple skirt guard man?

Well I can't wait to leave. Seyd -- Sod -- whatever -- is extremely boring. The locals here are all so mean! Perhaps this has something to do with my level 35 personality... not sure.

The only other Bosmer here is about five feet shorter than I am, and even he was mean until I gave him back what turned out to be his ring. So now it's me who hates him, not the other way around.

And for some reason that wrinkly Altmer Eldafire (or whoever she is) thinks I'm a tourist, and she doesn't hesitate to voice this clever theory of hers with the most annoying patronizing air. Dammit, I am not a tourist! Unlike a tourist, I have no particular wish to be here. And these brown leggy things I'm wearing attached to stripy socks are definitely not Bermuda shorts.

Honestly. It makes me wonder how these people treat their actual tourists. And that's when I realize just why this "damp little squat" is so underpopulated.

Ugh. I'm going to the bar now. Might as well put these septims to some good use.

Sujamma...

A/N: I have this sinking suspicion that "Tinuviel" is LOTR related... but whatever. Forgive me, Tolkien + fans, if I have unwittingly started a crossover of sorts. Mreh.