Villard, you old bastard!
I ken where you can drub up the coin to pay off your many debts - Velen. Now, blatherheads say those bogs ain't worth a muffled fart from a saggy sow, but don't ye believe them, mate, they dinnae ken shite from sugar! A man can make a killing there - and a dwarf can do twice as good, I'm sure.
So here's the craik. While crossing Velen a week or so past, I spied a few well-dressed stiffs laying about the forest, travel bags untouched. Refugees, see, fleeing the war - and whoever flies up to them first gets all their worldly belongings. You ken what I'm saying, mate? Grab a chest, head off cross the Pontar posthaste and strip those stiffs of rings, necklaces and everything else afore some nimbler prick does! Oh, but keep a sharp axe round your belt all the while, for Velen's pure heevin with monsters. But hey, it's all in the name of a good cause - filling your pockets!
Your ever-loving Gruggen