Find anyone in Dun Kithas who would be interested in this journal.
<The journal is bound in worn, cracked leather. Most of its contents chronicle the mundane routines of a hardworking dwarven farmer—weather reports, planting cycles, notes about livestock. Yet, toward the final pages, the handwriting begins to shake, the lines become erratic… the words darker.> She tells me to stay here, yes. She tells me to stay. Magistrate... they want to take her from me. I won't leave, no. I will keep her safe. Yes. I hear voices. Oh, I hear them. They tell me to stay. I must. I will.
What is it? You found it at Brangar's old farmstead?
<Historian Sternhand reads the journal in silence, flipping the final pages with furrowed brows. He exhales slowly, then closes the book with a firm thump.> Hmm. I suspected something went wrong out there... but not this. Brangar was once a proud dwarf. A good farmer. It's a tragedy what happened—whatever did happen. <He gives you a long look.> For the sake of his legacy, I'll... omit these final entries from the official records. Some things are best left forgotten. Thank you for bringing this to me, hero. You've done a service to our history, even if it's a grim one.
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