THE DEFEATER OF EMPIRES, THE SWALLOWER OF OCEANS, THE THIEF
OF YEARS, THE ULTIMATE REALITY, THE HARVESTER OF MANKIND, THE ASSASSIN AGAINST
WHOM NO LOCK WILL HOLD.
THE ONLY FRIEND OF THE POOR AND THE BEST DOCTOR FOR THE MORTALLY
WOUNDED.
An Anthromorphic Personification, and almost the oldest creature
in the universe (obviously, something had to die first....)
His Voice is felt rather than heard. He is seen only by cats,
professional practitioners of magic and those who are dead or about to die.
And for some reason, Rincewind.
Despite rumour, He is not cruel, just terribly, terribly GOOD
at His job. It is said that He does not get angry, because anger is an emotion,
and for emotion, you need glands; however, He does seem to be capable of
a piece of intellectual disapproval which has a similar effect. He is a
traditionalist who prides Himself on His personal service, and, despite
the abscence of glands, can become depressed when this is not appreciated.
Death has no imagination, and has a severe grasp of logic. He
decided, somewhere between Mort and Soul Music to build a
Swing for his Grandchild, Susan Sto-Helit.
The process went along these lines.
A swing should be secured to the strongest branch of a tree.
Even better, the two strongest branches.
Unfortunately, these were on opposite sides of the tree Death had chosen,
so He removed the lump of trunk that was in the way, propping up the tree
with posts on either side.