Not far from the Falinesti Autumn Site is a graveyard we have absolutely no good reason to visit. Since the place is full of undead, though, it’s a good excuse to go in and hit some stuff. Can’t leave a graveyard full of undead un-hit after all.

As we head inside, a ghost waves at us as if to get our attention and runs off down a corridor. Ah, so this is going to be one of those mysterious silent ghosts trying to communicate by pointing again. It would really suck to be a ghost that couldn’t talk.

I find a Skyshard in a side tunnel I almost miss and might not have bothered to look down if I didn’t sense a Skyshard nearby. Just as well, though! There were more undead that way, too.

We find the ghost again, standing and pointing at a dusty old flute laying on the ground. I pick it up and examine an inscription denoting it as having once belonged to someone named Valencia Nasica from Dune.

“I’ll have to see if she has any relatives in Dune when we get there,” I say, shoving it in my bag.

I wonder if Shalidor’s Eidetic Memory includes inscriptions, and try to think back, but this one apparently wasn’t included for whatever reason. Does it just count paper or vellum? I’ll just have to test it out myself, seeing as I really don’t care to go back to that pretty little island and hang out with antisocial mages on the off-chance Shally’s ghost is still around to ask.

We get back to Rawl’kha in due order. By which I mean I teleport us directly to the wayshrine in Rawl’kha once we can’t find anymore undead to hit. (I totally forgot I could do that, but Ilara reminded me since she’s smarter than me.)

“I came upon a note advertising a reward for senche fangs,” Eran says. “I grabbed it since I figured we would wind up killing a number of them anyway. And then shoving their entire bodies into Gelur’s pack to be turned into food and raw materials.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure we can spare a few teeth.”

We head south toward the location marked as Thormar on my map, where a note had mentioned some sort of event was taking place. It sounded like fun, and it’s in the general direction of where we were supposed to be going.

Along the way, we run across Atrius the Merchant sitting at the side of the road looking rather scuffed. In between Gelur healing him, he tells us about how that claw necklace was actually sacred to Hircine or something and some werewolves robbed him and he only survived by playing dead.

“I’m sure they could have smelled that you were still alive,” I say. “They probably just didn’t care.”

“True, they got what they wanted,” Atrius grunts. “They said they were heading to a cave east of Willowgrove. Weeping Wind Cave. If you’re feeling heroic, you ought to go stab them, set them on fire, shoot them, and dismember them.” His eyes pause on each of our weapons as he speaks. “I’m going to retire from this traveling merchant business and go buy a nice, safe inn somewhere. I’ll give you a discount.”

“Willowgrove, huh?” I say. “We were heading that way anyway. Werewolves are always fun to fight.”

“We totally weren’t,” Eran says. “But we totally can.”

Atrius stands and brushes himself up. “Thank you for the healing. I think I can make it back to Rawl’kha alright.”

We continue on down the road to Thormar. I sense a Skyshard at the top of a cliff and can even see its blue light shaft from here, but there doesn’t appear to be any way up the cliff from this side. Rather than immediately take up rock climbing, my friends convince me that I can just see if there’s another way up first.

Thormar is an Ayleid ruin perched atop a hill, up approximately forty steps of stairs. There’s a Bosmer woman sweeping the steps for some reason, who introduces herself as Aniel and tells us more details about Baan Dar’s Boast that the note I’d come across somewhere mostly already covered too. Drinks and tricks. Drunken pranks sounds like a delicious opportunity for fun.

Apparently, the winners get to have a party in something called the Five Finger Dance (or was it Five Fingers Dance?), which from the way she describes it sounds like Baan Dar’s pocket realm of Oblivion. I wonder if Malacath’s blessing covers minor gods like Baan Dar and Rajhin who aren’t one of the Eight Divines or the Sixteen Daedric Princes or the Three Betrayers. Although I don’t see why it couldn’t and he just didn’t see a need to mention it. Then again, I don’t know why Baan Dar would care who I am one way or another. Alternatively, he might be a version of Sanguine, but the Khajiit already have their own version of Sanguine, Sangiin.

My friends and I decide to split up and enjoy the event unless something ridiculous happens like being attacked by Daedra, undead, cultists, or everyone here turning into mathra, or the entire party being trapped in Oblivion, or…

“We get the idea,” Eran says, chuckling. “I’m going to go get a drink. Have fun.”

A Khajiit woman by the name of Daifa wants help in setting up a prank for someone named Aldeth. And she mainly needs help with it because it will require canis root, which can be found nearby but is surrounded by stranglers and giant snakes. This is probably why she thought a passing Orc could help her with something sneaky. (Joke’s on her, I’m plenty sneaky when I want to be. Really.)

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Canis root, huh?” I say, sifting through my bag. “Hmm. I’m amazed. You managed to pick something I don’t have on me. Admittedly, I cleared out a lot of stuff the last time I went home, but still. Oh, hey, Jingles.” I pull out the monkey and set him on the ground. “I’ll let you out. Have fun at the party!”

Thormar turns out to be stunningly easy to get lost in. It takes me far too long to figure out how to actually get over to the cliff that Skyshard was sitting on, across a bridge near the Bosmer camp. (There’s mostly Bosmer on one side of the ruins and mostly Khajiit on the other side. Apparently they’re divided into teams. I think I’ll just have to be my own team.)

I spot a book in the Bosmer camp, swipe it when no one is looking, and replace it with a copy of The Red Book of Riddles in the laziest “prank” ever. It’s titled Crow and Raven: Three Short Fables. (Summary: Talking Crows are stupid. It might just be Talking Raven propaganda, though.)

If I want to do some sort of prank, I can definitely do better than that, and consider some options as I go collect some canis roots and kill some snakes and stranglers. Aniel had some suggestions, but I didn’t like them and I’m a little tired of people talking me into their “brilliant” plans.

While scrounging about for ingredients, I come upon a book titled Myths of Sheogorath, Volume 2 near a large broken arch. (Summary: Sheogorath invented music from a corpse and drove a fool mad by doing nothing.) I also stumble upon one of those sites I was supposed to be retrieving relics from and retrieve them uneventfully. I was expecting a little more excitement here.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a wayshrine reasonably close, so I’m limited in what sort of nonsense I can come up with unless I want to be taking a hike back and I’d rather not miss more of the party than absolutely necessary. Not that it seems like the sort of party that’s only going on for a very short time. It’s not like they just started when we arrived.

Fortunately, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of stuff on me still even if I did stash some of it, along with plenty of mundane ingredients available around the ruins that I can help myself to when no one is looking. I hate to use some of my moon sugar stash on a prank but sometimes sacrifices must be made. And Jingles makes the perfect partner-in-crime for this.

…

“Neri, you brought hallucinogens to a religious event again,” Eran says.

“But it is a Khajiiti religious event!” I protest.

“Yes, and that’s the only reason why I’m not more annoyed about it,” Eran says, chuckling. “Because I’m pretty sure we all wound up in Oblivion.”

The realm resembles Reaper’s March, aside from the sky. The horizon is misty lavender and the sky is a shade of deep blue that the skies of Nirn only ever get just after sunset, but the color is oversaturated and vivid. And I’m pretty sure that’s not just because my… experimental alchemy is making me see pretty colors.

“… how did we get here again?” I wonder.

“It is entirely your fault, I assure you,” Merry drawls casually. For some reason, he’s clad only in shorts. “Do you even remember what you put into that alchemical mixture?”

“… no. Do you? It would be nice to repeat or refine it.” I check my journal–no, my memory of my journal, I don’t even need to get it out of my bag–to see if I wrote it down, but no such luck.

“I’m afraid not,” Merry says. “Most likely, you combined all of the drugs in your bag with all of the drugs both the Bosmer and Khajiit brought to the party.”

“I hope I didn’t use all my drugs,” I say, and actually have to look in my pack for this. “Aww… I used all my drugs.”

“Can we talk about where exactly we are?” Eran asks.

A feminine giggle approaches us, attached to the mer I’d encountered sweeping the stone steps on the way in to Thormar. “You’re in the Five Fingers Dance. And that was hilarious. I haven’t had that much fun in years.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Who you were again?” I clear my throat. “Who were you again… Is this Oblivion?”

“My name is Aniel,” she says. “And this is indeed Baan Dar’s own pocket realm.”

“Did everyone at the party get trapped in Oblivion?” Eran asks with a touch of alarm in his voice.

“Nonsense,” Aniel says. “There’s a portal in the inn over there. I’ll leave the way open for people to come and go as they please. This is a party, not a prison.”

“Oh,” Eran says. “Well, that’s alright, I suppose.”

“Do we actually get to meet Baan Dar?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s here, if you can find him,” Aniel says with a grin. “He’s a god of trickery, after all. You wouldn’t expect him to be too obvious.”

I look out at the gathered revelers. “He could be hiding in plain sight as any one of them, couldn’t he.”

“That he could.”

“Perhaps he could tell me where I left my robes,” Merry mutters. “And my staff.”

“Good luck,” Eran says. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’m sure you’ll find your staff soon enough,” Aniel says. “But for the moment, how about this?” She holds up a wand with a playful grin. “It cooks chickens perfectly every time. Are you feeling up to getting us some lunch?”

“Now why don’t more mages make things like that?” I say.

“Oh, very well,” Merry says, taking it. “It’s not like I have anything better to do at the moment anyway.”

There are quite a lot of chickens in the Five Fingers Dance, scratching and pecking at the sand. Baan Dar must really like chicken. Merry points the wand at one of them. A zorch of lightning and a burst of feathers, and there’s a perfect chicken dinner laying in the sand. Probably would be more perfect if it weren’t laying in sand.

I find Gelur cheerfully tending bar for some reason. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“Great!” Gelur replies. “Just wish my husband were here, but he’d probably not be up for the dancing.”

“I could probably go get him,” I say. “How much longer is the party supposed to last?”

“No idea! I don’t think he’d enjoy climbing up all the steps, either. But don’t tell him I said so.”

“Maybe Aniel would be willing to open a portal?” I suggest.

“There’s an idea!” Gelur says. “I’ll ask.”

“What about this one’s beer?” a Khajiit complains.

“Oy, here!” Gelur practically throws a mug at him.

“How did you wind up tending bar, anyway?” I wonder.

“Nobody else was doing it and I wanted a drink,” Gelur says with a shrug. “And then people thought I was the bartender. I do hope Baan Dar isn’t charging for food and drink.”

“I’m sure he can figure it out himself if he’s so inclined,” I say.

Jingles shows up and ooks at Gelur. She tosses him a banana.