You reside in the Rusty Lantern. An inn on the outskirts of Turin, a noble and active city about a days travel away. The sun has long since passed beyond the western horizon and the night has brought a chilling breeze and a cold rain. You can hear the rain pour upon the roof. The inn is relatively active; a fire remains burning bright and a gathering of men and dwarves sit at the bar consuming ale, meats, and breads. Rumbustious laughter and yelling emanate from the bar, most likely a result from an over indulgence of the ale. Nevertheless, everyone seems to be in good spirits. Within a few hours the inn's door kicks open and hits the wall. The downpour outside can be heard and in walks a halfling male. He's wet from the rain but he also appears to be bruised, bloodied, and beaten. He holds a silver amulet in his hand and in the middle rests a magnificent red stone. He speaks, trembling, and voice stuttering, "Som...somone...please....take...it..."