My name is Lukos after the Greek word for wolf. I was named that because I was raised by wolves until the age of 5. After that, some monks found me and took me in and since then I have dedicated my life to fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves. This has been my story thus far, until now.
Now I am living in the kingdom of Fallton helping those who need it. I have found many a treasure and seen many things: tragedies, and acts of kindness. I was one of those who fought the mighty troll and helped defeat his goblin army. This is my account of what happened.
We closed ranks ready for the coming battle. My heart pounded in my chest and adrenaline pulsed through my veins. This could be the end. All of a sudden I heard the cry for charge and I obeyed. Howling my loudest I rushed into battle. I heard the sound of the goblins grunting and shrieking, and swords clanging and crossbows firing, but what scared me the most was the blood-curdling roar of the troll. He lumbered into battle swinging his weapons back and forth, taking down his enemies as quickly and easily as one swats a fly.
There have not been many times that I was afraid, but this, my dear friend, was one of them. But in the midst of the battle a cry went up: the troll was dead. We won, and Fallton was once again safe! That was my only thought as I stood there staring at the wreck and ruin. I took a cloth from my pouch and used it to staunch the bleeding, then stumbled back to the town, a victorious warrior.