|The Tale of Bontum Hightower|
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 Tolvan.
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 marched towards Tolvan 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 grow nearer, 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 stood tall. 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 Tolvan! We are proud Dwarves and we will not cower!"
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 what equipment 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.
Emerging from the tree line, a larger, stranger troll showed itself. Its skin was an uncomfortable pale, with veins visible along its lanky, discomforting form. Its arms and legs were a long, frightening sight, with growths along them not dissimilar to that of a tree branch's offshoots. Its head was just a tad too tall to match its body, and its mouth uncomfortably large in proportion. But its eyes... they glowed a deep, murderous red, and in them, Bontum almost could swear they churned and lit up, as if a lightning storm were brewing just underneath. Bontum felt fear and, for a moment, he felt as if he'd already lost.
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 vekhorn!
In a sudden, primal fear, the troll ran. Trees fell in its meek path, while mountains quaked as Bontum passed. The troll was devilishly quick, but Bontum was faster. Bontum, grabbing the troll with his bare hands, wrestled it to the rocky ground, as it clawed and tore at him in a desperate plea to escape. Bontum, unflinching and unafraid, began ripping the mighty beast's limbs off, one by one. Before the day was done, Bontum had earned a new name, Bontum Hightower, slayer of trolls and defender of dwarves.
Bontum, grabbing the Troll with his bare hands, tore it asunder and dashed each of its heads on the rocky ground. From then on, Bontum gained his famous name: Hightower.