|Found in the following locations:|
I was two days into my journey from Markarth when the ataxia struck. I thought if I bit down on a piece of cloth it would distract me from the pain, but eventually my joints could bear the weight no longer.
I stopped at the Roadside Ruins looking for a place to rest. It was there, in the briars of an autumn fog, that I came across a strange altar rooted in the ground. Beside it stood an old woman, who I took for its keeper.
Taking note of my apprehension, the old woman beckoned me forward. Wordlessly she raised her hand, and directed it toward the altar. She was asking me to choose.
In my travels I have passed through hagraven camps and seen many a twisted thing, but none like this. Placed in its gnarled hands were three empty bowls, and a cup to fill them.
At last the old woman spoke, with an accent I couldn't place. The first bowl, she said, would grant you power. The second would bring you fortune. The third, however, would offer you nothing at all.
Looking back now, I can't tell you if any of this was real, or some hallucination I dreamt up to cope with the fever. Or it could be the altar was no different than a standing stone, a tribute to a god long forgotten. Still, I felt compelled to ask the woman how and where I would find my boon. She said it would come to me.
Unfortunately, the ataxia has cursed me with sleeplessness. Worse yet, the disease has progressed to a point that I fear I will not live to see the outcome of my choice. A shame, as I wonder even now if I have made the right one.