I learned something interesting. Another in a long line of life lessons that keep coming at an alarming rate these past weeks. This newest lesson is never to get into drinking contests again. With the ring in hand, I returned to Whiterun with Kharjo for my next lead. Ysolda mentioned I spoke of the wedding I was to have taking place at a ruin named Morvunskar, and the staff was supposedly there. It was a long trek through a valley, the only event being a lost woman escaping from a bandit stronghold - I'll keep that place in mind when I want to let off steam.
We arrived under cover of darkness. Remembering my last encounter, I wasn't sure what to expect, or who I may have wronged in my drunken stupor. As it turns out, the place was a haven for wizard. The kind of wizards who did not seem happy to see me. Kharjo moved around the ruins to flank them as I took shots at them with my bow from above. Between the two of us we made short work of the mages outside. Kharjo began to question if I had ever been here before, and truth be told I remembered nothing of...well, anything that night.
My doubts were put to rest upon entering the ruins. I can only describe it as a literal trail of empty wine bottles, winding its way through the ruins. Kharjo could barely contain a snicker before questioning exactly how much I consumed that night. I was almost numb with shock. There had to be hundreds of bottles strewn amidst upturned chairs and smashed tables. It was a moment before I realized I had pocketed several half empty bottles in my pack. I wisely decided to stuff them in a nearby cupboard, and Kharjo nodded approvingly. Several more apprentice wizards roamed about, and I felt it best if I left Kharjo and his clanking armor behind and moved ahead to dispatch the magick users myself. I had become increasingly adept at becoming one with the shadows, and my skill with a blade...well it's not often my daggers aren't covered in some kind of blood. I entered the largest chamber and began stalking 2 mages, moving in quick succession and dispatching them without a word. I silently drew my bow and set my sights upon what was no doubt their leader, who stood at the top of a grand stair before a raised chair. My arrow flew through the air, and to my dismay turned to ice before reaching the wizard. Still, it found its way into his body, but not enough to kill him. I began to reposition myself, but not before the mage guessed my position from the flight path of the arrow. I felt a searing cold pain as an icicle shard hit my leg. He was rapidly approaching my position and I felt my movements slow from the cold. I only had once chance left. Taking one vial from my pocket I applied a magick poison to my dagger, and with another vial, drinking potion to dull the effects of the frost. Very glad I did not mix those two up. As the mage rounded the corner, I planted my knife in his chest and knocked him to the ground. He tried frantically to cast more frost spells upon me, but the posion had done its work.
As he lay dying, a portal suddenly appeared, right where the trail of empty wine bottles had seemingly run out. Kharjo, who had approached at the sound of combat, asked if I knew where it led. Only one way to find out. With a flash of light I found myself...in a seemingly tranquil grove. The air was calm, and a river trickled along in front of me. I could not make out any stars in the sky as they appeared...blurred out, as though I were looking out of a very distorted window. I slowly followed a path in front of me, not sure what to expect. I did not have far to walk before coming into a clearing where a party of sorts seemed to be taking place. Several men sat around a table with lights strung up the nearby trees, and waiting for me at the front with staff at hand, was Sam. He expressed admiration at my ability to make it back in one piece. Noting my confusion, he laughed and offered the staff to me. I asked him what was really going on, and Sam confessed that not all is as it seemed. Before my eyes Sam dissapeared - or rather - the thing wearing Sam took off its disquise. In his place stood a humanoid, black and red, with horns and armor. "Sanguine, Daedra Lord of Debauchery" it spoke with a grin. This entire lunatic endeavour had in fact been a grand game for a Deadra Prince. He seemed quite pleased, as he had never witnessed anything as hilarious in several mortal lifetimes. And just like that he waved his hand, and I found myself back at the tavern in Whiterun, with a bewildered Kharjo at my side.
Never. Again.
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