Garden Of The Abyss

Swirling in his gut, the warmth of the intoxicating liquid built a warmth within his body. His cheeks became flushed and cherry red as his vision swayed, but he wasn't ready to stop.

It was because the dwarf across from him was swaying even more, side-to-side as if the chair he sat in would soon be empty.

I've got this…! He thought.

Bolstering himself with that confidence, he chucked down another two mugs with the cheers of the crowd supplementing him with the will to swallow the liquid that now began to come down arduously.

…Wait a second, he thought.

Trying to focus his gaze as it spiraled and spun, he realized a fatal flaw in his intoxicated logic: Hanorlig wasn't swaying, it was his vision.

Just as he came to that realization, he also came to realize his own body couldn't be felt, as if a blanket of warmth completely bound his movements while he swayed, side-to-side, forwards and backward.

"---?"

The words, unintelligible to his ears, came from the red-cheeked dwarf, though he could hear nothing as all he could see was the dwarf's lips flapping.

"Gimme…me…another," he slurred his words.

He raised his empty mug as he said this, leaning heavily against the table as just the balancing act of raising the glass was a herculean trial for him.

But, the next refill of alcohol would not come.

As he sat there, half-laid against the table, awaiting the next wave of beer, his eyelids became so very heavy, inevitably closing as he couldn't fight against the weight of their exhaustion.

…Ah, crap. I'm tired, he thought.

He blinked a few times.

"Are you feeling alright, Sir? Do you need help being brought back to your room?"

–Though he could hardly make out the words, the question came out from a man he could hardly make out through his swirling vision; he had a face as pale as snow, and locks both blue and green with peculiar makeup on his expression. The man spoke to him with blue-painted lips, curled into a smile.

With a simple pat on the shoulder, the pale-faced man nudged him.

He was a very odd-looking man, but he chalked it up to his drunken state to explain the man's appearance.

"...No…I'm fine…" He answered.

Soon, it all fell to black.

It felt like just moments after, he was conscious again, faced with complete darkness.

Though it was just the result of his eyelids not responding to him reawakening.

"Huh…?"

He blinked a few times, opening his eyes once more after an unknown amount of time. Against his cheek, he felt the smooth, yet uncomfortable surface of the table pressing against it as he slowly raised his head.

Drool had trailed from his mouth to the table, sticking to his cheek as he wiped it with a brief hint of disgust.

"...Well, I definitely drank a bit too much," he muttered.

The word left his mouth because of the unordinary loneliness of the tavern that was just a moment ago for him, roaring in celebration and filled to the brim with loud-mouthed, partying men.

Looking around, the tables were empty, and not only that, they were spotlessly clean as if not a single patron had entered the tavern.

Beyond that, not even a single waitress could be seen–there was nobody occupying the tavern.

"Did it close…?" He muttered to himself.

​ It was deathly quiet, enough to perplex him completely as he sat there for a moment in absolute confusion.

What's going on here? Did I sleep through the entire day or something? He thought.

Leaving his seat, he slowly walked across the creaking, wooden floorboards while scoping out the establishment, finding no trace of a party just occurring.

That's not it. They wouldn't just leave me inside if they closed, either, he thought.

Past the windows, he could see it was still daytime, but the light from the sky seemed peculiar from the portion he could see from the radiance pouring through the glass panes.

It wasn't just silence that occupied the liminal tavern, but instead, something could be heard; it was faint, and hardly something that could be registered as noise, but it met his ears nonetheless, as if it were the very manifestation of the solitude he found himself in.

"...Weird,' he rubbed his head.

I don't have a hangover at all, he thought.

After pausing for a moment to adjust to the empty tavern, he finally decided to leave its bounds, pushing the handle-less door open before stepping outside without hesitation.

Immediately, he found his suspicions about his unorthodox awakening to be proven correct.

"That's definitely not normal," he mumbled to himself, looking up.

The sky itself could no longer be called as such; inhabiting what should be the vast, empty space of blue up above was a sea.

It hung above, vast and ever-reaching, yet no water fell from its mystical form. In place of clouds, large, white bodies of coral swam through the sky ocean as he watched, caught in its fantastical nature for a minute.

For him, it explained the weird shade that hung over the city, despite being seemingly daytime, from what he could gather as beams of sparse sunlight struck through the body of the overhead ocean.

"...Interesting," he smiled small, putting his hand to his chin.

This is definitely magecraft, no doubt about that. Is it territorial magic? I doubt somebody managed to conjure a sea above the entire city–doesn't seem very efficient. And it wouldn't make sense why the city is empty all of a sudden…I definitely got myself caught in something. I doubt it was anybody in the tavern, either. There was no magical pressure even close to belonging to a mage capable of this, he deduced.

Besides that, the air itself was completely different. It was cold, but fresh, like the wind given off of the beachside on a foggy morning, yet it hung dense with something akin to mana, slightly deviating from the norm.

"...Or maybe, I'm just dreaming," he said out loud, shrugging his shoulders.