Chapter 16: An Oblivious Encounter

What now? Castorius thought.

Probably he should head back to the Stormcloak camp to report. Maybe go punch Roggie in the face, just for the sheer satisfaction of it. But the weather out there did not call to him at all. Heavy raindrops were now pounding hard on the windows, and water had started to leak through some cracks in the sealing, received by strategically placed buckets underneath. Thunder rolled in the distance

On the other hand, the mood inside had not suffered a bit from the worsened weather, but even seemed to have picked up a little. Several people were standing around the front, waving their tankards, and singing together with the bard. The cacophony didn't really do much to improve the overall sonic quality of the performance, if not exactly lowering it either. One man was even dancing. Sort of.

The bard struck the last chords of Ragnar the Red, and stopped to tune her lute. It was really too bad she couldn't do it to her throat, too. But, by gods, did she start to look appealing in Castorius' eyes! Maybe it was the aesthetic challengedness of his earlier company, or perhaps the still present sense of being about to put himself in danger, but he was feeling that warm glow about his abdomen just looking at that form of hers.

He felt a sudden urge to approach. There was even a chance she'd still remember him, had perhaps wondered where he'd been. Maybe this would even be the night. And if it were, he might even take it as a sign of sorts. Reassurance, even.

His eye then caught a man dressed in dark robes, leaning on the innkeep's counter, and leering at the Bard. It was an Altmer man, tall and lanky as they usually were, with thin flaxen hair hanging unkempt down to his shoulders, and an unhealthy gleam in his filmy, yellow eyes.

The elf made to move towards the woman, and Castorius took that as his cue. No doubt this creepy bastard was going to harass the fair minstrel—an approach less then welcome in her book. This was likely a common occurrence too, given the sorts of places she worked in, and the usual clientele. A sober and handsome young man such as Castorius hurrying to a maiden's aid was sure to be noticed as a reward-worthy act of heroism!

He let the weirdo get to the woman first and spew out his opening line before springing forward to save the day. To his immense satisfaction, the expression on the Bard's face was every bit as displeased by the visitation as Castorius had hoped. This is going to be so good!

But, as he'd barely reached the edge of the fireplace, someone grabbed his arm. Castorius turned, irritated, to whoever it was, ready to tell them off. Some other fellow in dark robes, it seemed. "I'm sorry," he said. "could you—"

A familiar face grinned at him. "Well, look who it is! Fancy meeting you here."

"Sam!" said Castorius. "What are—" But of course; the man had mentioned coming this way in the midst of his lecherous tirades. Then again, he'd also mentioned visiting a strumpet, and to Castorius' knowledge there were none in town.

"Come to join me for a drink after all?" Sam asked.

"Well, no," replied Castorius. He then remembered where he'd been heading. The Altmer was still talking to the Bard, with no warmer a welcome. There was no time to waste. "Sorry, Sam. I'd like to chat," Oh, yes! You have no idea how much that would please me! "but I'm sort of in the middle of—"

Sam laughed. "Don't worry. Karita can well take of herself. And she's not really your type, doesn't really go for the self-appointed hero sorts."

Karita—apparently—looked to be replying now. The irritation in her eyes, and the hard set of her mouth gave some indication as to the nature of her words.

"Yes, but—" Castorius frowned, and turned to look at Sam. "Wait, what?"

A mischievous gleam about the corner of his drooping eye, Sam smirked at Castorius. "Not to mention that she's really not the type to requite an act of so-called heroism by granting free access to her fleshly charms." He turned to eye the mentioned charms. "No, I'm afraid she's quite chaste. Shame, that." He shook his head softly, nearly wistfully.

"How do you— What are you talking about?"

Sam did not move his gaze, but grinned wider. "See?"

Castorius looked. The Altmer was walking towards them now, his face sagging and his eyes cast firmly on the floor in front of him. There appeared to be something of a pink tint to his sallow face, and a near-perceptible rain cloud hung above his head.

Behind, Katria still frowned after him, and the folks around him were laughing gleefully. Not long after, she picked up her lute again, and started singing some folk song with crass lyrics. This also seemed to much tickle the crowd's fancy.

Sam looked at the visibly humiliated High Elf—not looking so high right now—passing them on his way towards the door, followed by mocking pairs of eyes.

He grinned with all of his teeth. "He's a piece of work, that one. Real curious appetites. I like him."

Castorius stared as the man exited into the pouring rain, seemingly uncaring about the fact that he was about to get soaked. "I'm sure," he muttered. Then turned to regard Sam through narrowed eyelids. "How do you know about his appetites?"

Sam shrugged. "How do I know that when you were but eight years old, you gave a Septim to the girl next door to get a look underneath her unmentionables. And when you asked for her to look at yours, she ran away." He gave a mirthful laugh. "And the next day you had the gall to go ask for a refund, earning you your very first bitch-slap! Oh, little Janus had stones on him, for sure!" Sam held his belly and giggled.

Castorius had no reply besides his wide eyes and gaping mouth. Had he been talking about that? He hadn't even remembered it!

Sam looked very pleased. "Yes, I know things, alright. Ol' Uncle Hermie is not the only one privy to . . . hidden knowledge, if you will."

Castorius blinked. "I'll just pretend to understand what you just said."

Sam had a smirk from ear to ear, and a somewhat cruel gleam to his eyes. "You do what you have to," he said. "I know you always do."

"What's going on here? How do you know these things?"

The mischievousness dropped off of Sam's face, it's place taken by a kind of delight. He raised his index finger. "Well, see, the thing is—"

And then he exploded. Or not exactly, but his form was suddenly obscured by a strange, purple and black light phenomenon, like he was consumed by an unnatural sort of flare. It happened so suddenly, Castorius hardly even reacted.

As the light disappeared, so had Sam. Or at least in the place he had been standing there was someone very different. He had appeared to become considerably larger. Also, considerably less human-like, with an ebony complexion adorned with blood-red war-paint, and two sets of bovid horns that had also definitely had not been there just a second before. He wore massive obsidian-and-blood armor, the spikiness of which made it look like a deadly weapon in its own right.

It took a while for Castorius to find a proper response to this vision. Then he got it. He leaped backwards, and let a out a shrill scream—so high-pitched, he himself wondered if it had truly been him or one of the women in the place. Surely everyone would be as shocked as he was!

It only occurred to him a split second later that his right hand probably should have instinctively gone for the hilt of his sword. Instead, it was pressed tight against his chest.

The apparition was still there. "Aah!" Castorius added—in a slightly more manly tone, but not by much.

It got really silent, then. He looked around, and, sure enough, found everyone staring. It took him a moment to make a disconcerting realization, though: the people, instead of staring at this seven-foot monstrosity, were gaping at him. Drunken frowns, raised brows, and glassy eyes seasoned with interrupted irritation, all pointed at his direction—like he was the one standing out in this picture.

The Bard had also stopped playing, and was giving him a look half vexed by the uninvited interruption, half worried whether this was some raving madman someone accidentally let in. The look certainly contained no trace of amorous potential.

Sam—or what ever this creature was—turned to the crowd, holding up his hands in a calming way. "Don't mind my friend here," it said with all the joviality of a kindly uncle from out of town. It did still seem to have Sam's voice "He's had a long day, and is—well—quite easily excitable by nature. And though a little jumpy he may be, I assure he's quite harmless."

Slowly, the eyes turned away from them. Some mutters, shook heads, and mild curses aside, nobody seemed too dispositioned to make much of this mild disturbance. The Bard picked up from where she left off, but not before giving Castorius one more frown of bemusement. No recognition was discernible in it, let alone affection.

Well, so much for that, Castorius thought, though only passingly.

Nobody had as much as blinked at the sight of Sam, but he was most definitely still of a very noticeable appearance. At least by Castorius' standards. No amount of blinking changed that.

The thing previously known as Sam flashed Castorius a genial smile of glistening ivory teeth "Now, where were we?"

"Who—" breathed Castorius. "What are you?"

"I'm glad you asked," the creature said. "My name's Sanguine. Daedric Prince of debauchery they call me. And with good reason, I may add."

Oh.

Daedric Prince. Castorius was not a man easily surprised, had not been for some years. But this was certainly something he had not anticipated. Being pressed about it, he might have even gone as far as to say he did not believe in things such as Daedric Princes and whatnot.

But here apparently was one now.

He felt he should say something. Something insightful. "Um . . . what?"

Sam/Sanguine tipped his head back and laughed. "I know, I get that a lot!"

Despite himself, Castorius found himself leaning forwards, stifling an urge to reach out and touch. "Are you . . . real."

Sanguine shrugged. "What's real? You real?"

"I'd . . . like to think so."

Sanguine gave a mildly amused grunt. "Indeed, so you would."

"Well, are you?" Perhaps he was simply losing his mind. That might have been a comforting explanation.

"Well, let's find out, why don't we," Sanguine said, and grabbed the shoulder of a man walking past. "Hey, am I real?"

The man frowned. "Yeah, real strange," he said, tore himself free, and walked on.

Sanguine shrugged at Castorius. "You see?"

"Maybe I'm dreaming," Castorius said. He tried slapping himself on the cheek. Nothing. A little harder, perhaps. It stung, but still nothing.

"You might as well stop doing that," said Sanguine. "After all, I'm not Vaermina. I don't tend to come to you in dreams."

"'Come to you'? Is this what this is? You're here for me?" What would that even mean? Castorius' knowledge about the supposed purpose of Daedric Princes was a bit shaky at best, but certainly it wasn't their job to drag away the souls of sinners, was it? Right?

"Don't flatter yourself," Sanguine replied. "I come here for the good times, is all. Me running into you, and especially now again, is just lucky chance."

Castorius frowned. "Lucky, how?"

"Well, I happened to overhear your little conversation with the little seamen there. Said you were heading to Solitude to do a bit of pirating. And I thought, that must be as good as coincidences get!"

"Uh, huh," Castorius said.

That feeling was slowly starting to rise up again. The one he'd gotten uncomfortably intimate with in the course of the day, the one where somebody was likely to tell him things he did not much care to hear.

"Oh, by the way!" Sanguine blurted. "If you're interested, you could still try to approach Karita if you like." He glanced at the busty Bard, grinned at Castorius, and winked. "Might be worth the trouble, don't you think?"

"Thought you said she was not my type," said Castorius. "And, what was it, chaste?" Somehow the taste of the word was foul in his mouth.

"And I meant it, too. Likely you'd be lucky to avert the same treatment our little carcass-fiddling friend got just a minute ago. Though you may smell a bit nicer."

"What would be the point, then?"

Sanguine shrugged with a wide smile on him. "It'd be really entertaining."

Right, that's it.

Castorius tried his best to straighten himself up, though he was still obviously dwarfed by his company. This made him uncomfortable, as he simply was not used to looking up at people. Of course, this wasn't people. That, however, did not mean he should have to take just any treatment.

He cleared his throat, and said with as level a voice as he possibly could, "No thank you. I'd like to retain at least some level of dignity."

Sanguine raised a brow. "Dignity?" he said. "You're basically a flesh-tube that processes food into shit. What possible dignity could there be in that?"

More dumbfounded than properly insulted, Castorius groped in vain for an astute response. "I'd like to think there's a little bit more to me than that," he mumbled.

"Yes," Sanguine mused, looking down at Castorius' crotch. "You do have your . . . urges."

"Hey, now—"

"Look, man," Sanguine said, placing a hand on Castorius' shoulder. Many a supposedly reassuring hand had already rested there during the course of this long day, but none with quite so decisive a grip. "I'm not here to lay blame on you for your obvious failings as an entity."

"That's nice of you, " Castorius muttered.

"No, what I'm going to do is give you an offer. I happen to believe that you could help me with something, and in return, I can help you." His smile had all the conviviality of a man offering to dig your grave for you. "How does that sound?"

Castorius tried to think about it. His brain was just not working too well. "Um, well, that depends—"

"Hey!" Sanguine interrupted, perking up, and slamming his hands together. "How 'bout we sit down and talk about it over a drink!"

"I don't really drink," Castorius said. It was true, of course. Wine was the exception, but even that he only ever had for the flavor, and never more than a little at once, eschewing the intoxicated effect.

Besides, he very much doubted a dive like this even had anything to suit his palate.

Sanguine stared at him blankly for a while, blinking. "Hey," he said then, perking up, and slamming his hands together. "how 'bout we sit down and talk about it over a drink!"

Castorius, in turn, stared at Sanguine. "How do I get the feeling you want me to go out of my way and have a drink with you?"

Sanguine cocked his head, smiling almost innocently. "Would you?"

Sounded like a bad idea, no matter which way you looked at it. How might he be able to turn it down? "Well—"

"Alright then!" Sanguine chirped, slapping Castorius in the back, and nearly toppling him. "I'll have an ale, myself. No need to bother with a tankard. Have yourself what you like." He placed a few coins in Castorius' hand, and then sat down at the table closest to him.

A deeply intoxicated man already vacating that spot gave him an irritated, drunken glare. Sanguine replied by simply staring at the man with a friendly smile on his lips.

After a while, the man shook his head, like he wasn't quite feeling alright. He got up, and staggered towards the door.

Sanguine started to whistle, and strum the table with his large, gauntleted fingers.

Castorius simply stared at the enormous creature for a while. It such an absurd sight in these circumstances, yet nobody had as much as blinked.

"Are you sure nobody else can see you?" he asked.

Sanguine grunted. "Of course they can see me! I just addressed several of them, didn't I? I doubt they would have taken so nonchalantly to a disembodied voice. Do you?" He shook his head. "No, they can see me, alright. Just not quite the same way you can, that's all."

Castorius thought about it for a while. "Alright."

Yeah, sure.

Why not.

The short walk to the innkeep's counter went in a sort of a haze, like he was drunk out of his mind. Such a short walk too, and it felt like it took ages. What was he doing here? Having drinks with a demon? Maybe he should say something to the innkeep, ask for help.

No, Castorius had already had quite enough of people staring at him like a madman. They'd likely end up throwing him out, which might otherwise not have been such a bad thing in itself, but the creature was more than likely to follow him. At least here there were other people, in case things started to go south.

And what good would the others do? Well, they might not be any help, but at least there'd be . . . witnesses?

Yeah, witnesses to my murder. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, they'll also turn up for the funeral. If there even is a funeral.

So, sighing, he simply got to the counter, ordered two ales from the innkeep—who gave him a wary eye but served him nonetheless—and made his way back to the table, where Sanguine was still strumming his giant hand against the tabletop, fluting away.

"Ah!" Sanguine said upon receiving the drink. "Shall we?" He lifted the bottle, fishing for a toast.

Castorius unenthusiastically clinked his bottle against Sanguine's.

"To good times!" Sanguine said, and took a big gulp.

"Mmm," said Castorius, and lifted the dusty thing to his lips.

As disgusting as ever, it seemed. The liquid managed to reach that challenging balance of being too sour and too sweet at the same time. Prevomited was the word that sprang to mind. It was simply incomprehensible how folks could swig tankard after tankard of the stuff!

Now, mead was maybe a little better, but certainly not by far. It had the problem of being too sweet, like a drink meant for children. The idea behind it was in itself absurd: yes, let's leave a bunch of honey in the bottom of a barrel of water, and let it spoil. Then we can get wasted! That's what it all amounted to. Cheap thrills for cheap people. There was no celebration of man's sensual nature there; quite to the contrary. It was all about dulling the senses to a point where even reason itself faltered. And that's how they liked it, too, lord and peasant alike.

Though, to be completely honest, there had been one ale Castorius had tasted that would qualify as proper sustenance, and that was a specialty brew he'd gotten from the Cyrodiilian master brewer Falco Horatius. Now there was a man you could respect, who had an art about his trade, and who would do more than simply cater to the troglodytic tastes of the unwashed—and, to be frank, in matters of taste, it was quite staggering to realize how many of even those supposedly "washed" had simply no idea of finer things, or any quality to begin with.

Castorius had had the pleasure of talking with Horatius on numerous occasions while he was still positioned in the Imperial City, had had the honor of getting the first taste of his finest products, and was even proud to have called him a friend. In fact, just thinking about the man's fine ale made Castorius a bit melancholy. The pale golden color of it, a bitter taste achieved by heavy use of hops . . . perfect when paired with aged and sharp hard cheeses. Nothing like this swill, in short. What might one pair with this? Skeever was the only thing to come to mind.

Sanguine, picking up on Castorius' mood, leaned closer. "What's on your mind, friend?" He nodded towards the front of the room. "Still thinking of her, huh?"

Before Castorius could reply, the giant Daedric Prince already had his consoling hand resting on his upper back. "Don't worry yourself over it. Can't bag them all, now can we?"

"I wasn't—"

"Though . . . " Sanguine said, looking at the troubadour who, by popular request, launched into another round of Ragnar the Red. The white-toothed grin on his dark-ebony face got ever wider. "I do love me a challenge."

He turned back to Castorius. "That's really the trick, ain't it? Pushing the goody-goodies over the threshold, to get them to loosen up a bit. To have a bit of fun for once. People like you, already far-gone and depraved, you're the easy ones. Hardly even any fun, to tell you the truth. No offense, of course."

"None taken," muttered Castorius, and tried another swig. The taste had not improved at all.

"Yes," Sanguine continued without pause, "but to take the buffet of debauchery to those nourished on the salutary diet of virtue. To have them have a taste of it—to have them enjoy it!" He leaned over the table, grinning like a particularly puffed-up wolf. "Now that's what I call a successful day."

He leaned back, resting the bottle on his stomach. "But really, all it really comes down to is getting people to do what they were already inclined to do in the first place. For some, it simply takes some more effort, to find those impulses buried under so much righteous and moralistic conditioning. But trust me, they're there. We're all made of the same stuff, in the end."

Another big gulp, and Castorius had almost gotten halfway through his bottle. If he could just get this one down, then he would be off the hook.

He frowned at Sanguine. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Why not? Do you find my narrative tiresome?"

Castoirus stared at the creature for a few seconds. "Yes."

After another stretch of heavy silence, Sanguine let out a rowdy laugh. "Well, you're honest at least, I give you that. A not entirely unbecoming characteristic, I may add."

The ale was apparently strong stuff, for already it had seemed to do away with Castorius' sense of prudence. He looked Sanguine deep in his pitch-black eyes, and said, "What do you want with me?"

Sanguine nodded. "To the point, eh? By all means!" He leaned closer. "As I recall, Blinky the Sailor told you you were to meet with the Blackbloods at Solitude?"

Captain Salt-Plank, presumably. "I believe he mentioned as much, yes."

"Excellent!" Sanguine said. "See, it seems as if I've misplaced something of mine with them."

"'Misplaced'?"

Sanguine shrugged. "Misplaced. Lost in a gamble. The bottom line is, it was taken from me with deception, and I want it back."

"Losing something in a fair gamble and being deceived are not the same thing, you know?"

Sanguine slammed a hand on the table. "Gamble, yes. Fair? No!" He grinned. "Oh, I've been known to bamboozle once or twice in my time, but to dupe me? Ha! That actually takes some gall, you know!" He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Nevertheless, one of the Blackbloods has something of mine, and I want it back!"

"Then why don't you just go get it? I don't see them stopping you."

Sanguine wagged his finger. "It's not so simple, you see. Unlike you, they don't know me for who I am. For them, I'm just Sam Guevenne, a plain old good-time fellow. Not anyone they'd find particularly intimidating, at any rate. And I can't just go around blowing my cover to everybody can I? That would just about spoil all the fun!"

"You can't just go back as Sam?"

"I'm afraid not. See, I got out in a bit of a hurry. It seems as if I may have, well, boinked the sister of this individual in question. I don't think he took it too well." He chuckled to himself.

That was not particularly surprising. Castorius could somewhat relate, though wished not to linger on it. "Well, just pick another disguise then."

Sanguine clicked his tongue. "It's tricky. For reasons I myself don't entirely—or in fact at all—understand, I can only appear in one disguise to the same people. Should I choose another, they'd still recognize me."

Castorius wondered for a while whether to take this deceptive giant at his word. It seemed like a very implausible excuse. "So, I suppose you want me to go get it for you."

"Oh, not so!" replied Sanguine. "That would be a bit too dangerous, for these are no cats to be toying with. I don't get off on getting people killed, you know." He shook his giant head. "No, all I need you to do is to find out the place where they're hiding, and I can sneak in later myself to go get back what belongs to me."

"What is it you're looking for, anyway?" Some incredibly valuable Daedric jewel perhaps.

"A rose."

Castorius gave a blank stare. "A rose?"

"A very special rose!"

Well, of course. Castorius nodded. "Alright, I'll take your word for it. How is it that I'm supposed to find their hideout?"

"You follow them, obviously. Here." Sanguine reached inside his chest plate, and placed something on the table. It was a jewel, and a very large jewel at that. Red as a ruby, jagged edged, and about the size of a child's fist, it had an odd glow about it, more or less marking it as not from this world.

Now this was more what Castorius had had in mind, something actually worth wanting back.

He looked around urgently, and leaned forward as to cover up the jewel from any curious eyes. "Are you crazy?" he hissed. "People can see!"

Sanguine shrugged. "I don't see why they shouldn't."

Luckily, no one was seeming to pay any attention to them. Still, Castorius took out his satchel, and placed it on top of the shining rock.

Sanguine smiled at that, but made no comment. "Anyway, this is what you'll do: after your 'job' or what ever you call it, you go to Jaree-Ra—"

"Who?"

"He leads the Blackbloods. He scammed me for my rose."

"And so you humped his sister?"

Sanguine waved his hand. "An unrelated incident. And yes." He shrugged. "In any case, together they lead the pirates. So, as I said, you go to him, and you present him with this. You tell him some story how it's something you found recently and are looking to sell. Something like that."

"Don't you think he'd be curious about where I got it from?"

"Let's just put it this way: when you fool around with someone, do you concern yourself with where or with whom they've previously been?"

Castoirus thought about it for a second. "Go on."

"So, he will show interest, but downplay it. He's going to offer you a much lower price than it is actually worth; come up with some lie about it being impure or some such nonsense. You are going to accept it."

Castoirus raised a brow. "Really?" It was hard to imagine anyone thinking the jewel was not ridiculously valuable, let alone expect to convince somebody else of it. But then, pirates and criminals were generally a bold breed of bastards. "How much is it worth?"

Sanguine shook his head. "You have nooo idea!" He did not seem to care to elaborate, however, and it was probably better not to think about it in the first place.

Castorius nodded. "Alright. What then?"

"Then he is going to make an excuse, and leave. You will follow. Unnoticed, of course. Ever tagged anyone before?"

"I assume you know that I have."

Sanguine grinned. "Indeed. So, that shouldn't be too much trouble then. He will be heading back to their hideout somewhere on the coast. Just stick around long enough to see where their hideout is. There's no need for anything more dangerous than that. When you see it, just come and report to me, I'll handle the rest. Doesn't sound too bad does it? I'll make it worth your while."

Castoirus rubbed his temples. Sound too bad? Not in theory, no. "I still don't understand why you don't just find out the hideout yourself?"

"I can't explain it, I'm afraid. Besides, aren't you glad to get a chance to help out an actual Daedric Prince? Not many get that sort of honor, you know."

The expression on the creature's black face was a strange mix of unrivaled arrogance and something like a child-like anticipation of recognition.

There was really nothing satisfactory Castorius could say to that. He just shook his head, and blew air through puffed cheeks. "I guess."

At least he'd gotten though his bottle of ale. After just one, he didn't even feel too bad, despite the fact they'd seemed to try and cram as much alcohol in it as they possibly could.

Then, just as he was contemplating the proper parting words, Sanguine looked at Castorius' empty bottle. "Ah, looks as if you're done. Go fetch us another one, eh!"

"You know, I'd rather—"

"Great! Another ale for me, please. They're really tasty here!"

Castoirus opened his mouth, then closed it. He sighed, got up, and humbly started towards the counter.

Perhaps he would try the mead this time around.