*An elegantly decorated giftbox, tall as an average man's knees, is delivered to The Prancing Pony. Barliman leaves the giftbox beside the front door, visible to anyone who's spacially aware. The note reads as following.*
Dearest patrons and greatly-missed friends,
Inside this box is an assortment of gifts that i've gathered specially for the patrons of The Pony. I would like to inform you that I am very safe, and enjoying myself quite frankly down here. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal my whereabouts for classified reasons.
However, I do have some special gifts for the fellows who've kept me company at the inn.
Lavenderia - my favourite hobbit lass. A silver pen with the finest ink is yours to keep. I hope you're still the infamous matchmaker of Bree.
Awiergan - the all-too proud Rohir: A potion of hair growth lays at the top of the pile.
Hushed - A well-aged satire tome of the history of Durin is wrapped in the white cloth and blue ribbon.
Ceou - If you're still alive, a fine vial of elven perfume lies amongst the jewels. (Take this as either a compliment or insult, whatever tickles your fancy.)
Chesterbrand - A wooden pipe that I carved personally sits in the leather satchel.
Threland - An albino Craban feather that I picked up. Sit it in that hat of yours! (If you've earned it back again.)
Alolira - A small poking knife. Assuming none of those bandits have taken revenge.
Pegro - a massive heap of exploding confetti.
I remain,
Gythmona Watchblade.
