128 - “Remembering Rinkmorr” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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“Rinkmorr was always an ornery cuss. He’d complain and whine all the time.” The old giant lifted his tankard and tapped the base of it against an empty ceramic jug in the middle of the round wooden table. “But if he’d made a good run, with lots of cargo, he was quick to buy everyone a drink.” There were a half dozen or so giantish rivermen seated around the table at the Old Steersman Inn, including Granthurg, the innkeeper, and the ones who had helped them in the fight.  Each had a large tankard of ale. Next to the jug was a small, lit candle, and a leather pouch, the one Granthurg had sent to the inn with a letter to Rinkmorr. It had been delivered, but never opened.

“Aye!” They all called out and took a drink.

Once the fight was over, the tables reset, and the defeated mercenaries carted away- one to the guard tower in the wall and another to an undertaker-  those who had been friends of Rinkmorr gathered to talk.

Another tapped his mug against the jug. He was a lot younger than most of those there, with even a few winters less than Granthurg. “Many times he tossed an extra load to me and my barge. Especially when times were lean.”

“Aye!” Another drink.

“He wouldn’t give y’ a copper t’save his life, nor would he loan it to y’, but he’d share his work t’ keep y’ afloat.”

“Aye!”

Granthurg thought a moment. “All these years I knew him, and worked for him. I never knew any of your stories.” He flexed his arm against the soreness of the cut. “I wish I knew more about the troubles he got himself into.”

The table went quiet. Glances flew from face to face.

Granthurg finally spoke. "Are we even sure he's dead? I mean, here we are, drinking to his memory, and no one knows what really happened?" He looked over the men.

The innkeeper drank, then mumbled, "He was here a lot. He was almost like one o' the tables. Every two t' three weeks, he'd come through n' stay f'r a few days." He took another long draw of his ale. His eyes rested with an empty stare on the jug in the center.

"He wasn't a rich man, but he never seemed out of work 'r money. He tossed lots like any'ne else, winning some n' losing others." The innkeeper's eyes grew sad and old. "Toward the end o' springtime, while you two were on a run, from th' homelands, I think, some men, humans, came lookin' f'r him. They said he had stolen something o' theirs."

I remember that run. We were attacked by river pirates. I thought they were just trying to rob the boat.

The innkeeper continued. "I didn't think Rinkmorr'd actually STEAL anything. I figured he'd won it tossin' lots, and maybe they'd caught him cheating."

"When he came back int' the inn, I told him about th' men. He acted afraid, said he had t' go find y', and I haven't seen him since. Others have come and gone, looking f'r him, and f’r you, but he's not been back."

Granthurg nodded his head. He had feared this. He hadn’t wanted to accept it. He’d hoped it wasn’t so. Now, he saw that it was really the only likely conclusion. He slowly lifted his tankard, now barely a quarter full, and tapped its base against Rinkmorr’s jug. All of those at the table followed his motion, tapping their own against the jug, then they all drank.

The innkeeper stood. “Bless your steps, friend.”

Granthurg nodded in silence as the other giants, one by one, stood, clapped him on the shoulder, and left.

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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