The Tale Of Bontum Hightower
| The Tale Of Bontum Hightower | |
|---|---|
| Image | |
| Written | Date Unknown |
| Country | Bormar |
| Author | Unknown |
| Genre | Folklore |
Be wary not, children of Guntam, for we are protect by one most gracious and great; Lord Bontum. He rests here among us, in the forest to the west and his bones scare off wolves from our goats and marauders from our roads. His statue is always facing us, his watchful gaze never wavering, no matter the weather.
This storm today will not break his shield, his blade will eventually fight off the storm's endless crusade, believe me...
You're all still a little concerned aren't you?
Alright, all of you, sit down, let me recount the tale of Bontum Hightower and how he saved us all.
Bontum was built strong and had a strong heart to compliment it, but he was poor and couldn't afford a proper weapon, let alone training. So he sat on his allowance, merely enough to afford food every week. He sat and sat, for twenty years he remained in poverty despite his desperate attempts to escape, but, one day, something most curious was spotted near the small village of Guntam.
Trolls! Monstrous creatures with massive claws, sharp and fast enough to tear out hearts before their first beat. Coated in thick, scaly skin strong enough to contest steel in strength! They marches towards Guntam as the unprepared village was called to the town centre for volunteers to face the Trolls.
The village was silent.
No one, not even great Bontum wanted to raise their arms to battle. But, for every second that passed, Bontum swore he could hear their footsteps, their great calloused bodies crashing down on the sacred land of his people, time and time again.
In a moment of fear and bravery, Bontum shot his hand up. He proclaimed, "I will not let these monsters ravage my friends and pillage our homes! I will not let them scare us away simply by being here. We are Guntam, people of Lord Huntam and we should be proud! Protect our homes, instead of simply accepting our fate!"
The crowd stood in shocked silence and no one, save Bontum, had their hand raised. Saying nothing, he gave a glare harsh enough to kill and ran in the direction of the local barracks. He grabbed the bear gear he could in the time he had, only managing to strap on half of the armour in the time it took for the Trolls to arrive at the gate.
Shield in one hand, sword in the other, he ran towards the gate. As he reached it, the gate splintered asunder, dust accumulating and clearing almost immediately.
Bontum took one look; a quick assessment of his opponents, fierce, tall and blunt, but Bontum knew he was fiercer, taller and blunter than any Troll. The first Troll slashed at him viciously, but his shield held true and, although it should have been impossible, his sword cut the Troll in half. The other Trolls, despite their viciousness and confidence, slowed. It was merely a second, but Bontum sensed their fear and solidified his own courage. He cut down the next one with ease, then the next and the next. Before he knew it, twenty Trolls had fallen. Despite this, Bontum knew it wouldn't be this easy.
From the tree line, a gigantic beast of a Troll emerged. Two, blood red eyes peered at him. Bontum believed himself the tallest, but this opponent was by far the taller. Its fingers were claws, arms the size of tree trunks, legs built like a statue. Bontum felt fear and, for one, he knew that he'd already lost.
First, his faithful sword was cut in half by the beast's claws. Then, his armour was torn with such precision and speed that Bontum didn't know that he lost it until it had fallen off him. The last thing to remain was his shield. Bontum raised it high, his last defence and, miraculously, it withstood the Troll's attack.
Despite everything, Bontum held the shield up as strong as a Dwarven Hold and refused to budge. Three long, agonising minutes passed, the Troll's attacks never ceasing, until it decided to make a vicious strike at Bontum's leg. As the Troll reared back, Bontum heard a shout from atop the village storage.
A woman, one who seemed so shameful at the village hall, threw him a glass bottle filled with a strange potion. Bontum quickly dodged the Troll's attack, leaping for the potion and catching it in one hand. Drinking it swiftly he was renewed with vigour and energy. Onlookers claim, to this day, that Bontum grew as tall as a tower that day and became as strong as a thousand Trolls.
Bontum, grabbing the Troll with his bare hands, tore it asunder and dashed the remains to the ground.
From then on, Bontum gained his famous name; Hightower.
And that, children, is the tale of Bontum Hightower. He ruled us for 130 years before he passed, leaving behind his watchful gaze and his mighty shield to protect us.