Name:: Thromm Three-finger
Description: Thromm is an average dwarf of over-average girth. Even though his life has become somewhat grim, decades of the brewer's trade and a love of strong ale keeps a solid paunch on him and a healthy jowl. Lines around his mouth and eyes speak of mirth and much laughter. Dark bags and the flat, lifeless stare of his eyes speak to that mirth's end. Thromm is a being of passions and extremes. What he loves, he loves with all his being; what he hates, he wishes only the worst of curses upon. There is nothing in between for him. His behavior mirrors this: either drinking and carousing or throwing himself into the depths of battle. Either way, he acts as if he does not want to see the other side of any given scenario.
Brief History: Thromm was a brewer. Humble by dwarven standards and dedicated to his task, he was just ending his third decade as an apprentice when his clan's halls were attacked by a mob of goblins. Though his clan's warriors and even artisans such as himself defended it stoutly, they were overwhelmed. As the clansmen defended the last bridge which protected many smallfolk behind them, Thromm was knocked from the bridge by a bugbear swing and fell into the depths. Thromm knows not why he survived the fall, though he has suspicions based on the new presence in his life. It took nearly three days for him to return to the halls of his ancestors only to find it in ruins. Sacked, despoiled, and abandoned like nothing by the goblins which had slaughtered his kinfolk. Just a bare handful of his kin survived, smallfolk which had been hiding beyond the bridge. Thromm buried his kin, set fire to the hold, then took the children to a nearby friendly clan. He left them there after swearing a terrible oath of vengeance upon the tribe which had wronged him. He took up his axe, the armor which had belonged to his chieftain, and set off to learn of and track down the nasty, green buggers.