With a heavy sigh, Zalmon turned to face an enormous bronze-skinned Troll. He was built like an old oak tree with a thick chest and arms powerful enough to hold up the sky. One hand held tight an ornate, long-handled mace etched in ornate golden runes. The other raised a wine flask to his smirking lips. He apparently required no armor aside from the finest suede boots and belted loincloth of rich, dark fur.
“My powerful son Nihle was a strong leader until he became overwhelmed with greed. Rather than gathering players to fight for a greater good, he inspires them to hunt for treasure. He is not ready.”
“You never believed in my vision,” Nihle growled. “I will send heroes of the west to hunt for great wealth, dangerous weapons, and the finest armor. You will finally see where true power comes from.”