Grummen was lost in thought, much had happened in the last few months. Grummen had died, died in battle for the glory of Gruumsh, and been returned to life. A person of weaker faith might have wondered if that meant they had been rejected from joining the great horde; Grummen was not burdened by such thoughts.
Grummen had very briefly been concerned by not understanding what it meant to be a chosen of Gruumsh, but he had been given the strength to slay his enemies, the strength to crush the weak and a wedding to attend.
Grummen’s attention was brought back to the present as the bandit he had in a headlock finally worked free a boot knife; had the bandit truly tested himself instead of merely preying on those weaker than him it might not have taken him so long and he could have stabbed Grummen while his mind had wandered. But he had continued to struggle, and Grummen could respect that tenacity, perhaps he could learn to embrace the true strength of Gruumsh if given time to purge the disgusting weakness of exploiting others. As the chosen of Gruumsh, Grummen should give him that chance, it would be a waste to kill someone this pitiful before they had a chance to grow strong.