The crypt of the keep. Whenever Agrim had heard other dwarves speak of their family burial chambers they always sounded like great, sprawling catacombs, with runes and depictions of the family history etched into every wall. He'd even seen one when he was serving in the halls of Clan Azul. He hadn't gotten much of a chance to appreciate the architecture with all the manic goblins running about the place but he remembered what it felt to get lost in those winding halls. Looking at their little chamber here in the home valley reminded him of just how young their clans were, how recent Father's rise to the nobility had been. As dark as the past few days had been Agrim couldn't help but muster a bittersweet smile under his beard. 

[i]'I get it now, old man, I get it.'[/i] He thought to himself. Agrim and his father had butted heads plenty of times during his youth, parting ways with hot heads and harsh words. But you had to let that kind of thing go eventually. The dark haired dwarf had always thought of talk of 'being the bigger man' and all that as cowards talk, the last refuge of the loser's denial as they tried to save face and pride. War had changed that. Watching young lads die leagues away from home, calling for mother or a warm hand to hold as they passed through death's door. 

The scar in his side, hidden beneath layers of thick wool and leather itched as he recalled his own brush with the death god's fold. A Thing like that put things into perspective in a big way. A pity it took him so long and needed such harsh methods to learn it. At least they'd had some better times when he got back, however short they were. At least he could look at his cal with pride and think that the future would see them grow stronger from the foundations his father had laid. 

[b]Mother of a pack, they will call me, for I did not raise dwarves of high birth but the lowest wolves of evil thirst.[/b]

Or maybe not. 

The old sage's words came as a shock to all of them, sending a bristling shock through the gathered family. Agrim had always just assumed that Dourhorn would inherit the title of the lord of the valley, it was the assumed thing for all their lives! But this, to deny him and not leave another heir in his place... to leave the valley leaderless and undermine all the work so many of his brothers had dedicated their lives to. What madness had overtaken his father in his final days that none of them had seen? 

Or was this their mother's doing? They'd never been overly close and father's death had hit her harder than any of them but to practically disown her own children was something deeper than a moment of grief fueled madness. Agrim was shaking off the initial surprise of it all and was considering going after her when that thought was cut short. The battle lines were already being drawn. 

It was surprising to hear Hornfel announce for their elder given how rocky the two of them had been with each other in the past but at least the little wanderer could see past personal disputes in the name of the families unity. Which just made what Leth had to say knock Agrim for an even bigger loop. 

If Dourhorn was being passed over then that would make the second born the next logical choice, just as the lad said. That could make Agrim the rightful lord! No one knew which of the twins had entered the world first, they came into it hand in hand, too similar to truly tell apart until their colours had started to show. Even Leth was asking for his word... if Agrim wanted he could stake his claim. Longstrider might support him, he had name and a circle to call on, funds of his own. He could make a grab for the power, the wealth. The lust for treasure that lived in the hearts of all his kind lit up behind Agrim's eyes, memories of the grand halls he'd seen in his time at war flooded back, this time with his own clan's blue hanging from their halls. IT could be so easy, he had some of the best warriors in the valley and far more that Dourhorn. Blazing hell if Leth jumped in they could just force the claim on his brothers right now...

[i]'What are you thinking, you mad old git!'[/i] Agrim chided himself. He wasn't some wastrel of a thug any more! He'd seen too much blood to think of spilling it so idly. He'd sworn to Fia and the gods he'd be a better than that. No he wouldn't damn his name and soul by turning on kin for such selfish gains. 

Yet as he was left in thought voiced were still being raised and Agrim worried in his brooding that this tomb would find itself needing another coffin all too soon. 

"We've cursed over Pa's body long enough." Agrim growled. "We're all of us black in mood and hot in blood. Buri hasn't even finished his words yet and already folk are fighting for the will. I say we let the runesmith finish the wrights and each say our goodbyes, kinsmen. Let each mourn and we can gather again the next day to talk about matters of the valley with clearer heads." Damn but Agrim was no diplomat or wordsmith, he could only hope he might have calmed the chamber.