[WFRP] The Bloody Crown XIII

[Thragka]

Urgrim

Berki was sitting in the late afternoon sun, looking fully recovered - the effects of a dwarfish constitution and several days to recover from the spirits' freezing touch. He smiled broadly as he saw Urgrim approaching.



"You didn't catch her?" he said. "The others told me you were tracking her. She must be cunning as a rat, to have given you the slip."

He squinted up at the sun, stretching in a way that still betrayed some stiffness in his limbs. "One umgi won't get far. We got him, that's what matters. Thrunrik and the others... all avenged." He couldn't seem to keep himself from smiling. "It'll be a story to tell, back at the Rock."

An honest smile burst across Urgrim's face, destroying his worries. "It will indeed. Aye, there's no denying, we've done right by them." He copied Berki's gaze, looking out into the afternoon sun – towards the west. Perhaps what had started leagues away in the Pale Waste would finally be finished.

"So," Urgrim said, turning back to Berki. "How's your strength? Good enough to handle some manling barley water?" He cocked the eyebrow.

~

Urgrim found Grunlok and Skorgrund cloistered in a noisy and noisome corner of the Star, packed in tight behind at least a dozen Dwimmulsons. Squeezing his way through, he managed to make himself heard over the continuous chorus of complaints about the proprietor's beer.

"Sforza has it, eh?" said Skorgrund, scrutinising Urgrim's face intently from under his beetling brows. He was nursing a tankard with both hands, a few suds clinging to his white moustache. There was a long, heavy silence. "Aye, well," he said at last. "Little the grombolgi could do about it, as you say. It'll be between the umgi princeling and the Rinn, now." He slurped down another gulp of his drink. "I'll make sure she knows."

"Jotunnsson here went down with the... hunters," said Grunlok. Like Urgrim, he wouldn't say the words ambush party if he could avoid it. "He was there when they shot the zangunaz down."

"So I've heard," said Skorgrund. "Clan Dwimmulson owes you a debt of thanks."

Skorgrund's aplomb was a relief to Urgrim. That could have gone a whole lot worse. "It's been an honour," he replied to the elder, glancing around the room as he looked for the right words. "If anything's owed, it's ... I've not felt as, uh, welcomed, with a clan, nor a hold, since I set out from Barak Varr and took up ranging." Don't go soft in front of these longbeards, Urgrim! He cleared his throat. "I'm proud to have been witness to this noble chapter in Clan Dwimmulson's history," he finished.

He quickly thought of a way to change the subject, by quaffing the rest of his drink and planting the tankard on the table. "More manling barley water?" he asked theatrically to the small throng.

Spoiler: OOC

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The other PCs will find Urgi at least two beers deep when they make it to the Star – I presume that's where we'll be rendezvousing