Hunters Log - Shallows-Lurker

11th Moon, 26th Sun
Arrived at sleepy villa known as the Shattered Grove after my informant gave me news of possible Hircine and Molag Bal activity within Auridon. To say my first day here was eventful was an understatement. They are not only unaware of the risks involved in maintaining the peace they desire, but how attractive it is to beasts that would hide among them clear as day if only to feast on them... But I'm rambling. Stick to the reports, Shallows.

Altmer slaver using tactics similar to the Ebonheart Pact when engaging with goblins arrived at Shattered Grove and created a commotion with a goblin that arrived beforehand. I entertained the notion of controlling the goblin through its totem, but the goblin lied through its teeth and feigned it lost its totem. I have never experienced a goblin who lost their totem before, I've seen them murder their parents over totem disputes. Strike One: Lying.

The goblin 'Chargo' evaded his Altmer slaver by sprinting northward, with his captor giving chase. The Altmer of course proceeded to insult the villa in characteristic Dominion mannerisms. I am ashamed to say I pulled my crossbow out at him for his insolence, but thankfully he departed soon afterwards. Strike Two: Luring prey into solitary.

After we all decided to finally meet up with the screeching goblin to the north of the villa, we found... Him bludgeoning the Altmer to death with a rock, ripping his head off, and feasting on his eyes. Because of course it would, it's a goblin. Strike three: Murder.

What surprised me the most was how swift they were in chastising the only person to handle and eliminate the goblin, a human named 'Cantose Coinpurse'. Despite the goblin basically eating the dead elfs eyeballs right in front of them, they almost immediately made ramblings about justice and forgiveness for the fiend. I can only thank the man for slaying it before more nonsense occurred.

Sidenote: Noted a Khajiit reacting negatively to my belladonna and wolfsbane crossbow oils. I have worked with plenty of the skooma-drinkers before and even the most hardened hunter barely reacted to my herbs. I will be keeping an eye on this one.

Discussed with the Argonian head of security about ordering a shipment of herbs and tools for the trade and gave them a hefty sum to commission what I need with. The most difficult being a keg of Arkay blessed water, but it shouldn't be too difficult to seek a priest in these times. I intend to speak with the village leader in discussing on some pro-active warding of the physical variety: Simple canis root pouches minced with poultices of belladonna and wolfsbane paired with a small cage of rat tallow soaked in fermented, soiled blood with cloves of garlic. It would make detection infinitely easier of the Hircine and Molag Bal variety, but would do little for the just as insidious threats of Daedra worship and Necromancy.

It still amazes me to this day how I've gone from the days of my youth delving Ayleid ruins and Dwemer fortresses to skulking cities hunting the Four Abominations. Perhaps if that vampire in Morrowind didn't give me such mercy I wouldn't be on this path of ridding them.

Sithis Bind You,
Shallows-Lurker

The Brotherhood Calls, and the Shadowscales listen.

Urgent business on the orders of the Speaker took me from the Grove to take care of some contracts in Murkmire. As much as I enjoy and welcome Black Marsh, I have to say that it becomes ever more apparent that I grow deaf to the Hist the longer I stay within the lands of the Mer and Man. The once comforting whispers of the words upon leaves and the tell-tale singing of the wind-chimes that carried its words far and wide barely registered to me. It was a tumultuous time and I am sad to say that it was more frustrating than it was satisfying to take the traitor-scales throat.

It didn't help that I came at a time when the Bonding Ritual was happening. It's always a stressful time for me during that part of the season, and I specifically avoid the marshlands when it approaches. I've never been one to admire the bright frills of the men and their predatory eyes, nor their carefree songs and dance. Nor was it ever a proper time to be approached by the dull luster scales of the women who shirked the needs of the Hist to focus on love and bonding. I do not know why the Dread Father brought me down to Murkmire during this celebration of virility when I don the red and black leathers and bear His fangs upon His foes, but I assume its for some sort of cosmic comedy.

Murkmire has changed since I was last there in my early scalemolts. Far more Mer lingering about, and the Blackguard incursion seems to be a recent threat. I'm used to it. Wherever men and mer gather, conflict strikes on a national scale instead of the usual inter-hist strifes that occur within our own tribes. I'm sad to hear the Laketreader and Mudfallow tribes were wiped out, as I used to have many nestmates and blood-bonded among them. The Hist will preserve them however, and a new tribe will be reborn in time.

I make my way back to the villa this week. I should investigate that Khajiit-who-flinched as well as approach the town leaders about my wards. I should also check and see if Burdens-Many-Blows has received my shipment. For some reason my excursion to Murkmire makes my scales itch. I feel as if I'm one of those zoo-caged alligators in Summerset Isle, yet I can't find the reason as to why I hold that feeling. I have a feeling this won't be my last trip to Murkmire.

Sithis Bind You.

This Villa is not so sleepy after all.

I've been getting too distracted lately and too high strung. My informant is asking me a progress report, and I've barely even been able to set foot within Skywatch. My actions have become brash and my patience is running low. I believe Murkmire may have been affecting my thinking too much, as I've been focusing on why I cannot hear the Hist and why my emotions and needs are so jumbled. By Sithis I almost stole the life of a milksop mage for letting a loose tongue slip his threat towards this village. That is not the Shallows-Lurker I am, nor is that the Shadowblade I know.

Burdens-Many-Blows chewed me out for my actions and treated me as if I was an Afflicted in how swift I was in solving a loose end. I can't explain how hard it was to keep my anger in check, and they were one of the few that were more than willing to accept me. This village has a history and so far my tongue is not silvered enough to get lips speaking about it.

My initial doubts of a Hircine cult having activity in Shattered Grove are so far becoming more credible with each passing day.

Khajiit Bard: Black furred, initial meeting had him recoil from my canis root and belladonna weapon oils; I have been suspicious of him ever since. Mistakenly threw a belladonna oil at him in the tavern after the majority of the party concluded and he jumped as if an explosion rocked near him. He maintained his composure after swigging that odd moon-brew those Khajiit so frequently imbide, and I learned from a leftover patron that it has a calming effect upon Khajiit... Very different from how its raw form or its processed 'Skooma' variant affects other races of Nirn; IE an overarching, addictive stimulant. It's very likely he had that moon sugar brew on him in just a case, but he was swift to compose himself as well as remove himself from the belladonna fumes.

'Alijham', Bosmer with Eyepatch: I do not know much of this mer except that he was confirmed as a werewolf by the village long before I showed up. Came in contact with Katirae, who immediately placed a fear spell upon him and sent him scurrying back into the woods; but not after he declared he was seeking out someone in particular. I can't count on green-as-grass villagers to detain and capture a werewolf, so there was no point in chastising Katirae. However, this lead me to a new contact...

'Estre Ohtarona': I'll admit, I was not prepared to suspect her initially as a member of the Hircine Cult and even now I hold a bit of doubt despite every instinct in my spines and frills telling me she either knows of or is apart of them. A sympathizer in the least, a full blown abomination the worst. Her reactions however cast her fully into the realm of suspicion when I questioned her.
Her and Alijham not only know each other, but the Abomination was at one time her superior! They left whatever village they worked at and went on their own ways, but now she says she never knew he was a werewolf and quite vehemently opposed a silver test; declaring the ring upon her finger was proof enough.
Guarscat.
There are very few things in the natural world that cause a werewolf external irritation. Canis root and wolfsbane being the few, with the former so prominent that Skyrim quite frequently uses it to deter werebears and werewolves from villages by rubbing the juices of that root around their village. Silver is not one of those things. Silver does nothing if it merely rests upon the skin of a werewolf, with the only reason most confinement manacles for werewolves being made of silver is so they don't attempt escape by gnawing their hands off. Contact of silver and blood creates the deathly catalyst that has formed silver piercing and slashing weaponry as the staple of abomination hunter regalia.

Something suspicious runs in the history of the village, and I fear it may tie directly into my informants lead. The key to this begins with Alijham, no doubt. I have no love for Grahtwood, but I feel as if my investigation will have to start there.

Sidenote: This is at least the fourth time the female khajiit has tried to shirk her presence in front of me and go still and quiet. I pretend to not notice, but these villagers have a habit of lying as efficiently as a hatchling who still holds fruit behind his back when caught. I'll be keeping an eye on her, but I don't mind keeping up this game of ignorance. I have too much on my plate as is to investigate a fourth lead.