Fourier

A foul stench draws your attention to the troll standing right in front of you. Brown-greenish hair covers this creature entirely, and you can just make out a pair of dark eyes, gleaming with an inner light of what you may consider great malevolence to each and everyone. Carrying an arsenal of weapons that will make an army proud, he idly draws a dagger across his left forearm, drawing blood. As if born of habit, he licked the blood from his arm, smiling gleefully like a child with a new found toy. As your eyes linger on that fresh wound, the skin around it draws itself together and form a thin line, to join the many other scars that adorn his hairy body, some self-inflicted like this one, others through the many battles he has fought in his time, and no doubt live to talk about it.