QUOTE(stargate525 @ Sep 10 2005, 02:02 AM)
good, so am I.

*walks away*
*walks back*
here's more...
Chapter 3
I woke up again, this time without the annoying little details that a monstrous hangover entails. Whatever it was those men had given me, I would have to find the recipe. I opened my eyes, expecting to still be on the boat, but instead was greeted by a large wooden plank a mere foot from my face. I was lying in something soft, so I decided I was either on a very tall stack of hay or in a bunk bed. Since I wasn’t sneezing, I deduced via careful process of elimination that I was, indeed, in a bunk bed. The significance of this revelation, I feel, did not impact me as much as it should have.
I looked at my feet, and again saw my new appendage wrapped around my odd-shaped foot. I tried, failed, tried again, then failed to succeed in forming a question to nobody in particular. Ignoring my new tail, which had decided to abandon its embrace of my leg and eagerly explore the bedpost, I looked about the room.
All I could see was that I was on a raised platform, with a ramp leading down onto a lower floor, on which stood a writing desk and a cabinet. Across from me was an alcove, inside were a number of potions bubbling in a foreboding manner.
“Massive overdose,” A voice came from outside the room, harsh and gravelly, “strange that, most scaly… er,
Argonians, can hold their liquor better.”
An Argonian. I tried to remember why exactly this should be so frightening. I tried to remember what I knew about Argonians. Native to Nirn, beast race, often enslaved to the Dunmer… Argonians.
Argonians?
Argonians!? I tried to get up, leaving me with a nasty bump on my head. Argonians don’t exist, they are imaginary creatures from Morrowind, there is no reason why a grown man would talk about one not being able to drink.
My tail, however, begged to differ.
“Most interesting. Very odd case.” said the gravelly voice, now moving into the room, “I will, of course, keep you informed.” I could see now to whom the gravelly voice belonged. A dunmer, white hair tied back into a ponytail, brown robes faded and stained with twelve too many potion accidents. He walked up the ramp, sat on the edge of the bed, and proceeded to take my pulse with his finger. “How long have you been up?” He asked, pulling a long tube out of his robe.
“since about…” He stuck the rod into my mouth and clamped it shut, “amuu mimm mimmumem amo.”
“Good, good.” He said, looking at the tube, placing it back into his robe, and then proceeding to hold my tongue out of my mouth while he looked in, “The fuzziness gone?”
“ah gah nuh dee at iss as oo it ine ong!” I chocked on the words as they came out.
“That,” The Dunmer replied, “is none of your concern.” He pulled two large beakers from under the bed, “I’ll need you to fill these up.”
“with WHAT?”
This post has been edited by stargate525: Sep 13 2005, 12:08 AM
these forums taste almost, but not quite, completely unlike tea.