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Dun Modr has fallen to the Dark Iron Dwarves!
My wounds are grave, ‹klass›. Most of the regiment was killed! The Dark Iron thugs attacked us before we could regroup from the Thandol Span ambush.
Our leader, Longbraid, sounded the retreat horn. As we left the town I was hit by a stray axe in the back. All went black.
I awoke here in Menethil but I fear for my fellow soldiers. Hope still burns within me. Perhaps Longbraid is still alive! See if you can find him near Dun Modr, ‹ras›!
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What brave ‹klass› sends word from Menethil? Ah ‹namn›, they call you.
You bring hope to a hopeless situation. 'Tis good news indeed that young Harlo survived. While fleeing he received a grievous wound. We had but little time to send him on his way on the back of the only surviving steed with the regiment.
But now we face a perilous situation. Dun Modr has fallen and we are but a shadow of the great regiment we once were.