Journal Entry Eight

I awoke in the grey light of the early dawn. Perhaps no more then three hours from my little excursion in the early hours of the morning. The fighters guild being a paramilitary organization, arose at the early hours, despite lack of discipline and late drinking in this particular outfit. Eydis was insistent on at least this one rule. And she was notorious for her ability to rouse the heaviest of sleepers from their slumber.

As I broke fast that morning at the sound of clinking redware and iron tankards, I reveled in the feeling of no Hlaalu Guards rushing in to arrest a recently arrived outlander for theft of a valuable diamond. I still maintained my quiet resolve to not speak to much with my guildmates, but instead, I took mental notes on things Caius might ask me about, which hand they used, whose armor was worse then the other. What part of Hammerfell might Wayn's accent say he was from.

As said to me the prior evening by Wayn, I got the egg mining contract. Eydis was her usual
cold self as she gave me a rundown of the mission: Shulk Eggmine a short distance south of Balmora on the west bank of the River Odai was having troubles with egg poachers. My mission was to seek out the poachers and stop them from stealing valuable Kwama Eggs. Not that I knew what Kwama were, and the definition of 'stopping' them was left to my discretion.


A short while later, I left the southern wall of Balmora to the Shulk egg mine, making good time as I hiked through the West Gashes lusher region, the smell of the salty swamps of the Smugglers Coast thicker in the air as I descended.

The mine itself was not hard to find, as the operation was a large one, being the operation of Dram Bero, a wealthy Hlaalu Councilman, and their were a small group of Egg Miners taking a break outside. I started a conversation, identifying myself as Fighters Guild. The psychological effect it had on people seemed to be an immediate iota more of respect.

They had no idea who or where the poachers were, but the suspicion among the consensus was that it was a pair of miners that were let go a few months ago, and knew the ins and outs of the massive Shulk Cavern. They were probably somewhere inside the caverns themselves and while I was welcome to search for them, I needed to be wary of the kwama forager. Whatever that meant.



Plodding through the dimly lit cavern I passed through with a slack jaw as a creature that was about the size of a small horse breathed out in a sound that resembled a slight rumble. Nearly attacking it, it went about its way tending to egg sacks, a kwama worker.

Then a small, grey, spider-like creature creaked and clacked its way past me, stopping at my feet to look up at me with insect eyes before tapping the ground with its abdomen and also going on about its way. A scrib I would later learn they were called. It was almost cute.

Then I received my next lesson in native Vvardenfell zoology as I felt an acidic spray splatter on my shoulder, reacting in an instant, I unsheathed my sword, and sliced a wormlike creature that resembled the head section of the worker, the dangerous Forager.

I began to explore the deeper sections of the cave, often slicing the foragers, careful not to hurt the docile workers and scribs, then finally, I began to find evidence of molested egg clusters, not plucked by the careful hands of the experienced miners, but rather a slip-shodded indifference to the fragile ecology of the cavern.

I followed the trail to a pocket of the cavern seldom visited by either Kwama or Miner, viewing a small campfire from a distance, a man and woman, both Dunmer, sat around eating on scrib jerky and eggs, drinking mazte.


Crouching into the shadows, I slowly approached them, and after a few minutes of listening in, I confirmed that they were indeed the poachers. I picked up a small pebble and flicked it into a cross section where the tunnel met the pocket. The two of them perked up, the woman picked up a miners pick resting up against the rock wall, and slowly walked to the source of the sound.

I unslung my short bow, my leather gauntlet meeting the leather wrapped grip. I felt the tension rise in the shaft as I pulled the arrow back, the bow groaning in anticipation of its next shot.

The arrow flew, and granted her quick death.

The man was next on my list, and he had disappeared to the other tunnel in the pocket, I tracked him down, walking slowly, switching to a dagger for greater mobility in close quarters. Finding him, with his back to me, he met an equally quick end with throat slash from behind, falling to his knees, hands on his neck unable to scream, and then laying on his chest, blood pooling underneath him. How many people had I killed just like this? When I was a person far worse then he. Whatever this couples story was, it was over now.

I was often peoples last page.