The note is dropped off by a short, stout dwarf-man with a horny helmet.
Boys,
The air is changing, and it smells sweet as roses to me. Barely escaped my head on the chopping block, and I'd like to see things put right. I don't want no trouble, just happened to be the flavor of the week, you know?
Leave a note at the Crone for Horny Henry, I'll pick it up.
-Gurtog