Splattered dots of focus, super imposed fractals, and interweaving images: This best described Sarel’s vision for the first few moments of his time at the table. The Moonsugar was incredibly strong and had distilled very little in the boiling mead. It had a completely hallucinagenic effect, something Sarel hadn’t experienced since his years in High Rock. He smiled dully as he remembered those years of rebellious youth.

He was just beginning his serious training with Beilin and was still on the fence about his decision. He would sneak out of the apothecary's shop where they’d taken residence, and head to the nearest tavern. Usually he’d find some salacious Breton or convenient Khajiit who he’d whisper playfully to. Eventually he’d be whisked away to a party in a mystical cave, or in a river boat, or in an abandoned shack somewhere in the mountains. Sarel was a confident man then, living the life of a travelling adventurer essentially. He did not yet know the humility of the Order or the responsibility set upon him by Boethiah. He was unburdened and unblemished, the whole world yet unkown. Akavir was still just a distant legend separated by the whole continent and the span of history. Unlike now, where he and Akavir are merely seperated by the ocean of fear and a life bygone.

When he was bumped into, Sarel simply shuffled, pushed the young man away slightly, and grumbled, looking beyond the boy. He felt something physically different, but couldn’t quite place what it was. He sobered up quite quickly then as he checked his swords and equipment. His weapons were still on him and the things in his bag were still there…

Sarel watched the boy fall to the floor and would have laughed if he weren’t so confused. The coin purse crashing on the table solved everything rather quickly. Sarel placed his hand on his forehead and cast a quick incantation. There was no physical manifestation of it, but he did mutter the words quietly under his breath. The world was suddenly set right and Sarel felt like he was thrown from secundus straight down to Nirn. The sobering effect of the spell was instantly nauseating, but Sarel knew how to keep it down. After what felt like a year, Sarel lifted his head and looked at the Bosmer. She was quite beautiful, yet Sarel was instantly thrown off by something in her appearance, perhaps it was the after-effects. He picked the coinpurse up from the table and slid it back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “And…” he continued before raising his index finger. He felt around his torso, which was now clothed with a rather fine looking doublet, and then his bag. He reached into his boot and found the pipe he’d been searching for. He placed it on the table and then looked back up at the Bosmer, “Uh, please, join me,” he gestured to the seat next to him.

The Dunmer had a daunting look about him, his eyes a piercing crimson that appeared to peer straight through her. He was dressed somewhat adequately for someone committing illegal acts and that impressed Ilta to some degree. "It is not your first time drinking moonsugar, am I correct in thinking so?" Ilta asked rhetorically, not waiting to listen for an answer. She walked over to the chair that he was referring to and sat, eyes glued to the pipe that he had shown her. A fine instrument it was, there was no denying the quality just by sight and it had a slight inexplicably nostalgic effect over the Bosmer that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Your name, Dunmer, what is it?" Ilta asked, balancing the chair on it's back legs. She was rather unsure of how to address to this man as his age was hidden in the way that he carried himself. He looked quite young, but Ilta knew better than to judge a book by its cover. After all, looks were deceptive nowadays.