Epitaph He died how he lived, burning with elemental fire and fury.

Obituary It was always Marinds' mantra to live as strong as one could, and that strength came in different ways to different people, everyone plays their part in their own way.

Marind was himself, a juxtaposition, a person with the natural affinity for fire, living on the sea and enjoying life. Always striving for more. The juxtaposition extended to his personality and visage, as mean as he looked, Marind couldn't help but help people in trouble, as their strength wasn't in their strength of arm, but in their mind or hands or talk. It would be be like marind dying because he couldn't talk well, it didn't sit right with him.

This good Nature lead to his downfall, in the deep tunnels under Dureldir, Marind and his friends stormed a Druegar fortress to stop them erupting a volcano and destroying the city above.

After the alarms were raised the party rushed through and smashed their device, slaying it's infernal guardian and leaving the sanctum of the fortress in ruins. Injured and exhausted the party dashed for the exit, but were cut off, as the portcullis fell, trapping them inside, Marind raced to the exit and raised the portcullis on his shoulders, allowing his party to escape. They were not strong of arm, this was not their battlefield, and no place to die.
Marind dropped the portcullis, knowing his allies safe for now, and with a mighty roar and Waraxe in hand charged the Dwarven soldiers and their fiendish masters.
At the end of the last stand, Marind was brought to the end of his life on the end of a pit demon's Pike, covered in demon's blood, and a smile on his face.