The portal now attuned becomes an open doorway to another world.
The trouble with portals, especially a Daedric portal, is that one never truly knows where it will lead. Sure for the trained eye there may be sigils, or runes that could be read, but wouldn’t it just be the Dremora thing to do to put up a sign saying ‘Through here for free tea and Colovian crumpets’… only for the portal to lead directly to a Deadland’s alter, a Coldharbour prison cell, or an Eastmarch tavern hosting a Nordic wedding feast.
I stand before the swirling gateway trying to espy some hint of what lays beyond; It is like watching fire reflected in marble. As I stare entranced by the flurry, the world about turns a molten gold hew, and the air tastes crisp as if charged, tingling my skin from pate to toe.
Unknowingly I step through, adrift between two worlds, briefly I hover like a star upon the horizon’s verge, and then suddenly I arrive… But where?
Please Divines, let it not be Eastmarch.