Every Finger


Troll at 1:07.

YouTube user : Zephyrbaby1

Check out his channel here.

Attacks and effects

When the creature lifts it's left arm in the air, it will afterwards rhythmical slam it's hands 4 times on the ground. Every slam will raise several fists in the air that can knock players in the air and those that perform an aerial will be stopped and fall to the ground.


The monster can reach the players by crawling over the floor. Watch out as it's hands can do damage.


The monster will sometimes swipe twice at players in front of him. This attack is rather slow so dodge roll out of the way.


When the monster first raises both it's hands and then brings them together in front of him, the monster will spawn fireballs that home in on players that are in front of the monster.This leaves it open to attacks from the back.



His life epitomised the fall from grace.


As a knight, he had once earned glory and honour, and people showered him with adulation.


But with each passing step in his climb to fame, he forgot. The humility of his youth. The tireless effort that had made him a warrior. His standing proved a fragile thing. A single lost battle was all it took.


Facing total defeat, the knight had fled. His escape had been a narrow thing, but he made it home alive. The same could not be said for those left

behind ...


His reputation plummeted overnight, as if all his prior feats had never been.


Soon, he was a pariah, utterly ignored.


The knight had lost all he had, save for one thing ...


His arrogant pride.


Even in ignominy, he clung to his former glories with the desperation of a drowning man flailing towards the light above.


The tales of his exploits swelled from exaggeration to outright fantasy.


One of his favourite tales to tell was the time he slew a giant. He gave this phantom creature the most fiendish traits he could think of; all the better to demonstrate his own purported valour and might. It was as big as a mountain and strong as a hundred oxen, the story went, and its wounds healed almost instantly. The gruesomeness of its appearance was rivalled only by the vileness of its stench.


The knight continued to lie to impress, and sometimes turned to physical intimidation to convince them.


His tall tales grew more and more outlandish, and they became so embellished that with time, the knight could no longer distinguish between what was true and what was myth.


He quickly learned his stories gained more traction the further into the countryside he went. There, more country bumpkins were available for exploitation. He took up residence in one such quiet village. There, he bullied an frightened his way to an easy, if still meagre, life. His former reputation was the only thing separating him from a common scoundrel.


The villagers were terrorised. Unable to resist him alone, they hired a mercenary from a nearby city. The towering sellsword stood before the braggart knight, his challenge clear.


The knight, in response, began to tell his favourite tall tale in order to cow the mercenary. Yet the story was so obviously false to a true fighter that the mercenary saw right through it. The description of the giant alone was completely ludicrous ... "A bone-chilling tale," replied the sellsword. "If it were true." His bluff called, the knight scrambled to his feet and fled, but the sellsword's blade found its mark. Slashed across the back, the liar fell to the ground.


That was when it appeared ...


 The braggart's darkening vision was filled with a white light. Its source was a floating chalice. The vessel's words flowed into him.


"Tender the fee, and all your tales will be made truths."


The man accepted.


From the wound upon his back, a swollen growth erupted, as though all his puffed-up stories had been made flesh, overflowing and bursting out of him in a single mass. Larger and larger it grew, until it took shape as the upper body of a man.


A man near as big as a mountain, and strong as a hundred oxen.


A man whose wounds healed almost instantly. Whose hideous visage was rivalled only by the putrescence of his stench.


Less a man, perhaps, than a giant.


The giant born of the knight's boasts (Though slow, this mountain of muscle's thundering blows boast extremely lethal force. Even when the beast appears defenceless, be cautious in your approch.) and grown from his flesh then proceeded to raze the village to the ground.


The knight was already painfully aware of the colossal effort it takes to live a lie. Now, he was expending his life's energy on maintaining this manifestation of his made-up giant. The burden was so great that merely remaining upright sapped dreadfully at his vitality.


Though vindicated now that his tales had become real, the disgraced knight never had the chance to gloat. He had lost his humanity the instant he became host to the monstrous giant, and even now he stalks the countryside.