Ice cream

A huge, two-meter-tall troll with light terracotta skin and dirty white fur. His body is covered in numerous battle scars, his protruding fangs, and his fierce eyebrows give him the appearance of a truly dangerous beast. He's wearing a pair of goggles he kept from a childhood raid; he really liked them. They also provide excellent protection from the sand.

Plombir is a very inquisitive and insightful Troll. Despite his stern appearance, he is quite cautious and intelligent; he can not only hit, but also talk, build, and tell stories. Plombir makes no secret of the fact that he misses his own kind very much, as he hasn't seen others in many years. He tries not to take too much from people, taking only what he needs, unless, of course, they drop everything and run away, in which case he takes everything. He doesn't kill people; he sees no point in doing so. He is a bit naive in dialogue, doesn't always understand jokes and metaphors, and may even be a bit slow, reflecting his lack of communication practice.

Left alone, Plombir wandered the desert, stopping in abandoned cities of Shurima, studying what remained there—an unusual trait for trolls, but he had little choice in how to entertain himself. He learned the human language, albeit with difficulty, but was able to read their books. He knows a lot about Icathia and Shurima, about all the wars that took place there. Other trolls would have laughed at his useless knowledge. Life was hard for him; left alone, hunting became a true challenge. Robbing people by force was no longer an option. He had to set traps and ambushes, both for people and animals—an unusual approach for those who usually take everything by brute force. So the Troll lives to this day, completely alone. Only occasionally do people speak of his attacks, glad that he doesn't take their lives.

The troll, like all his brothers and sisters, was born into a tribe that lived in the most inhospitable conditions—the desert. The Shurima desert greeted the little troll with a scorching sun, drought, and little food. From the very beginning, his life was a struggle. A struggle for food, a struggle for shade, a struggle for survival. Many of his brothers and sisters simply didn't live to see their first hunt; the heat killed them. Their entire clan wandered from place to place, never staying long. They often attacked and robbed people. Plombir always disliked how often people died from attacks; humans were weaker and there were fewer of them. As Plombir grew, his outlook on life diverged significantly from that of his fellow tribesmen. In his 10th year, he was abandoned alone, believing he would become a burden in the future. So his tribe left, crossing the river, and he never saw them again—he never saw anyone again.