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So, me and Princess Éowyn and Mr Elessar and all the Rangers and hobbits had just arrived at Isengard, where the army of Rohan were besieging the wicked White Wizard Aruman,2 and found out that the King had been poisoned, which was quite bad.
So I rode on, my heart weary with heaviness. Boromir was dead, slain by some elfish plot, and yet I was no nearer to uncovering the truth of his strange dream. My head ached with thoughts and worries, ached even as though it were so that I’d had many a drink the previous eve, even though I hadn’t, as I set forth once more on my epic journey.
Many months have gone since Duncadda and his friends left the mark, trying to secure trade and alliances with the dwarves of Erebor. Upon their return to their homeland, near Harwick, they are assaulted with dark tales about disturbances near the Dunland border. Disturbances about travelers being attacked and farms destroyed. When Duncadda hears about this, he bids his friends a hasty goodby and takes his leave.