Lord Thérowan at Bree Town Hall
Reciving a written message from Lord Erkenbrand of Helms Deep through northbound courrier to Bree Town Hall.
I trust you are well and sound. The news you bring are most dire. If it were not for the importance of your mission and the waning of our king I would call you back to the safety of the Mark and Westfold. I cannot delve deep into the matter of the black riders you mention from our remote position in Helm’s Deep. I will furthermore not trouble the King anymore as I only see dimness in his eyes.
By Eorl! I wish for the old days to come back when King Theoden rode strong and proud! It is good to hear you have befriended the rangers of the north. I am confident they will help you find the whereabouts of the White Hand orcs. I implore you to continue your search for the foul creatures and also to shed some light on what role the black riders are playing.
I have been visited by my old friend Gleowine the king’s minstrel. He brings most sickening news from the Meduseld. Theoden is a bent old man and clings to life only by sheer will. How that has come to be I can only guess, but I suspect foul play. Gleowine informed me that one of his students dared in all secrecy compose a song about the king’s advisor that quickly spread over Edoras. Grima now goes under a new more fitting name – Wormtongue.
To save the unfortunates life Gleowine was forced to send him into exile. The unfortunate cast away his name and now calls himself Wraecca. Apparently he went north into Eriador much as yourself. Seek him out. Gleowine claims that he holds some lore that can be of use to you. Do remember that he is an exile and that you should not normally consort with the likes of him, even though his crime might seem insignificant
Yesterday our patrols along the Isen spotted several bands of White Hand orcs on the west bank. We have skirmishes almost daily and I fear that the gap of Rohan soon will be impassable. You know as well as I do that if we cannot ride out in defence of West-March our enemies will retake it. Make haste my son and find where the creatures muster. Let us strike fast and hard to clear the borders again!
With fatherly love,
Lord of Westfold