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Never Dice With A Dark Elf Nov 17, 2011
Never dice with a dark elf, Osric. One of the only bits of good counsel my da ever had for me. Probably one of the few sober moments the bastard had during my 14 years in that hole. Always just one job from that big score, he said; it turned out he was always just one job from paying his tab at the tavern and buying just enough food to keep ma and me from starving.
I guess the one thing he did right was make me learn letters and numbers. The rest of the lads snicker at me when I scratch out thoughts in this journal, but only me and the chief can read maps or letters. Chief says that makes me a valuable man in our little band, but still pisses on my opinion when I make them known.
Take this bloody golden claw. Trinket is solid gold. Worth a fortune. We take it to Whiterun or Riften and move it there, share up the coin and go our ways. Id have enough to live right comfortable for months, enough time to set up that next job. Maybe even buy a small farm and do something honest for once. Maybe.
Cold today. The chief and two others went into the Barrow. Hes on about power and wealth beyond imagining inside. I say bird in the hand, but the greedy bastard wouldnt have it. So Im out with Yna keeping an eye on the road. Like someone in their right mind is going to come venturing through this cold to a thrice-damned tomb filled with spiders and dust and old tales.
Been three hours and the chiefs still inside. Yna walked off after something she heard. Like as not a deer or rabbit, at least maybe shell bring back dinner. Chief said
The journal ends here, the bottom of the page spattered messily with blood from the cold corpse nearby, a quill in his left hand and an arrow through his throat. Not far away, a Nord woman lies slumped over a small stack of rocks, an arrow buried above her right eye.
Far, far to the North a wood elf emerges from the Barrow, his pack laden with gold and treasures found within, including a large golden claw.
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