Gasping and spitting mud, Khuraargh kips up to his feet. Reaching into his pockets, he takes out several cidered apples between his overlarge splayed fingers and tosses them at his tribesmates. One last he takes for himself, scrunching in deeply, then, while chewing, tosses the rest to Squealy Nord with a rasping hiss.

Khuraargh clambers up over the Nord's fence, grabs a low-hanging branch and swings over to the barrel, dunks his hat-helm in and guzzles. When he finishes, he takes another scoop, sips it until it is a comfortable level, then staggers over to Skortch. The mute goblin snaps his fingers and jerks his hand in a chugging motion.