Grunli had returned from the village of Kroftburg, he had left the group to travel onwards. There was no way he was wading through rivers, wetting his beard. Even if it meant plenty coin, or adding a notch to his axe. He did not like much of them at best, casting durned magics upon him, almost burning his beard in the process. Back at Dvergeheim he felt close to Mithril Hall, Stone beneath his feet and above his head.
"No Durned Plants doon 'ere" he muttered making his way toward the lower tunnel's.
Below in the lower tunnel's his anger for the group aided him tear through hordes of Gargoyles and Hooks. He stood on a narrow rocky ledge, flanked by the dark waters. When oozes dropped from the high ceiling, surrounding him. His axe swung wildly, it struck against the stone. He punched out with his spiked steel gauntlets, only to hit the floor again. It seemed the whole rocky ledge moved as countless oozes slithered their way toward him.
"Fer Clan Battlehammer." He cried out. His battlecry was his last words..