"Njala! What an unexpected honor it is, this—this honor."

One fateful day, deep in the Tusk mountains, word spread of a scourge of murderous trolls, terrorizing villages all along the Red Ridge. Now, the Tuskeri, being who they were, couldn't have been more pleased at the news. Trolls meant danger, and danger meant a chance at daring, and daring meant an opportunity to make your name. Of all the Tuskeri warriors saddling up to hunt trolls—for there were many indeed—it happened to be a small band, led by none other than Arni Goatleaper, who began their search on the very slope in which the trolls had made their den.

"Aye," he said to the surprised faces and gaping tusked mouths staring at his sudden arrival. "You're the lot that've been raiding up and down the ridge. Now, I've got a whole army of berserkers out there, ready to tear your heads off, but I figured I'd give you a chance to settle this a different way. A headbutting contest," he proposed, grinning. "Loser packs up and leaves these mountains forever."