Stretch across the bed for your sword

You don't trust an improvised weapon with your life. You lunge out of reach and throw yourself across the bed, reaching out your hand for the handle of your sword. Your fingers touch the metal pommel, but in your boozy haze you've misjudged. You barely touch the sword and it rolls away.

Koorips laughs and grabs your ankle, dragging you towards him. Your heart sinks as you sense the inevitability of your fate. A moment later the agonizing coldness of the blade pierces your back and you manage a final, panicked scream.

"Shouldn't have fought it," Koorips says as he finishes you off with another stab. "But the pain will make your steaks all the sweeter."

You've died on your quest and ended up skewered on a spit and rotating over the fire of the wugs. They'll enjoy a nice feast, but even they will kneel when the dark lord comes to their lands. By then what's left of you will be in a garbage pit, just bones heaped atop the long-forgotten shining stone.