A small, bloodstained journal.

"Duke says he heard a rumor there's a group in town with enough gold to see us all the way to the Sword Coast and then some. Party of adventurers sitting pretty on loot from a goblin camp. Spent all night drinkin' and celebrating, says they'll be easy pickings.

Duke sent word to Artur, but he's worried it's too big for us. He said he needed a cleric, told us not to make a move until he got here, but Dutch says this is our only chance. They'll be in the city by tomorrow, safe behind the walls and guards."

"He says this is the last job. I've heard that before... but we're struggling out here. I don't know how much longer we can last like this. Something's got to give. One more winter, one more orc raid, and we're finished."

"If you're reading this, I'm sorry Artur. I don't know where Jarn and his family went, but you find them. Keep them safe. If you ever manage to reach the loot we stashed in Waterdeep, you make sure to use it on living softly, instead of dying rough."