Fear and Loathing in Vvardenfell

The Old, Paranoid, Skooma Addict

Here we go again, I thought as I stood outside [REDACTED]'s door for the second time in two days. I gave the door a polite but firm knock. There was silence for a few seconds and then a muffled "Yes?!" shouted from inside the home.

"Hi, it's me again. I was here yesterday. I want to ask you some..."

"DAMNIT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" came the muffled shout.

"...questions. I have a gift of sorts for you, if you'd like to see it."

"What kind of gift?"

"Nothing much, sir. Just some...sugar...that I heard you might possibly be interested in."

"Sugar? What kind of sugar. I have plenty of sugar."

"But do you? This is a special kind of sugar."

I heard furniture being moved. Apparently he still had the door barricaded from yesterday. The door opened a few centimeters and his eyes glared at me but curiously this time.

"Let me see it." I held the tiny pouch up to his door and opened it to show him the contents.

"It's the best I could find. I don't know how good it is, but..." I shrugged.

"Give me the bag." He said. There was something in his eye that wasn't quite right. A primal want glowing on his face. I had seen the same look in people dying of dehydration or starvation. The same visceral need upon seeing water or food.

"I'll give you this sugar if you agree to answer some questions for me." This time he looked really pissed and infuriated, but the craving on his face softened the anger. Or made it worse, I couldn't tell. He didn't want to help me, but he needed his sugar more than his hostility towards me would allow.

He mumbled this time. "You bastard...damn sugar." And then he sighed. "...going to be the death of me. Lose my damn job. Curse it all to Oblivion." Then he opened the door regretfully. "Well, get your ass inside. Shut the door too!"

Inside the door I turned around to face him, and he looked like a man who was broken down. Slouched shoulders and wrinkles on his face framed the dark circles around his eyes to where he looked almost like a draugr. The poor guy. But he had information and I needed to get that information. Yet he still looked hopeful for some unspoken reason. I wondered how long he had been without his moon sugar/skooma fix.

"Okay, gimme the damn bag," he said. I handed the bag over to him. "Don't ask any questions for a few minutes though; let me relax a bit." He walked over to his bed, sat down, and picked up the skooma pipe that was buried under the sheets. "Can I ask you a question?" I nodded. "You don't have any alcohol on you by any chance, would you?"

I remembered the ever present sujamma I had on me and gave him the half-filled bottle.

He said, "Oh yeah. This is the stuff!" He opened up the water reservoir on his pipe and dumped the water into the only potted plant that was toppled over. My eyes might have been messing with me, but I could've sworn I saw the plant shiver from the harsh chemicals that we're added to its dirt, the poor plant. Then he filled the reservoir with the sujamma, closed it up, and lit the tiny candle on the pipe. And crumbling up some moon sugar, placed it into the top of the pipe directly above the candle.

"It's not as good as skooma, but close enough. I swear, you add some alcohol to this baby and it hits nearly as hard. Leaves you with a mellow high, takes the edge off it, but in a good way." He took a massive pull from the pipe and his eyes rolled back into his head. Then he moaned, scooted back on the bed with his legs crossed, and sat with his back against the wall. "Oh man...here's to feeling good all the time." He then held the pipe up as if to toast me, and then took another massive pull from it.