Thwent was a dwarf different from many others. He never did learn how to speak common properly, and for many friends it endeared him. Thwent was transported to the world of Layonara neigh unto three years ago. Always he fought under the strictest principals of honor. "If it moves, kill it", was often heard by this Kudjarl in training. Sensible advice in times of trouble.
Thwent died on a raid deep into the mines of.... well somewhere with ogres and.... even more ogres. He sought the purity of iron and platinum deep beneath the earth. He died happy. While he may have appeared on the surface to be in considerable pain at the time, those who knew him well understood that the cries of agony as he was gutted by a gang of ogre berzerkers were actually cries of joyful agony. No really, he died happy.
As his spirit floated above his body, he couldn't help but notice the concern etched on his companion's faces, for it took a different form for each of them: Gloin the stalwart cleric hero who grudgingly left Thwent at the last with sorrow and the intense desire to return; Willow, whom he died saving from a charging ogre magi with a wild swing of his axe (which left his chest open for the axes promptly deposited by the front line of ogres), who cried "You can save him, can't you?"; Sir Mongo, who bravely held the rear of the fray hurling insults from behind a colum of iron; Alexander, whom of quick whit and even quicker blade shared a laugh of triumph as he cast his eyes on the departing spirit of the lovable maniac; and finally the memorable dwarven hero (whose name eludes me), who said in parting these caring words over Thwent's remains "oh well, Vorax take im".
Friends you will all be missed. Do not mourn his passing, for the small and hulking defender of all causes and causer of major damage will someday walk the land of Layonara again, for... "Nuthin, but Nuthin ken stop Tha Thwent!"
