"THOKWALD have aspirations to higher purpose. Not like silly people what follow callings to become glowy-holy types, but... broader. THOKWALD not just want to fuck, THOKWALD want to wed nice lady what can knock THOKWALD down and have many little THOKWALDs what will inherit THOKWALD's extra swords and stab things after THOKWALD is dead. Especially THOKWALD if death-magic-people turn THOKWALD into zombie, extra stabbings for papa THOKWALD zombie. But THOKWALD digress," he coughs.
"THOKWALD not just want to fight, THOKWALD want to fight them what can fight THOKWALD on even feetings. THOKWALD not just want to drink, THOKWALD want to drink finest mead from skulls of little men and women what think that money and names make power. But THOKWALD not always get what THOKWALD wants, though THOKWALD not understand why, so THOKWALD settle for what THOKWALD can get... and THOKWALD dreams."
He looks upward, eyes glazed and bloodshot, "THOKWALD dream of day when THOKWALD slay mountain of corpses with bride, climb to top, stab puny gods, steal their drinks, and ride god-corpses back down to ground. THOKWALD dream of day when THOKWALD die fighting, though day of death will be long from now. Thinking on it, THOKWALD uncertain if THOKWALD want to die fighting or fucking. Maybe both at same time. But THOKWALD die doing what THOKWALD love, and THOKWALD spend every day until last day doing what THOKWALD love, because all days are last day to THOKWALD."