Scôr
The Scôr Mark: (pronounced “Score”)
You see, Scôr, Scôr was a large Hat Troll. Probably about as tall as the mountains (not as tall as Damun though, of course, who was as tall as the sky itself). He was large enough that smaller hat trolls would try to Gang up on him to take him down, back before all the small creatures appeared, when all hat trolls had to do was fight each other. Scôr was strong, though, so he rarely fell, taking on large groups of lesser hat trolls at a time. But sometimes he did.
He woke up in a pool of his own blood, dried and caked. Of course, he couldn’t remember what had taken him down, but it must have been many hat trolls. Not thinking too much about it, he got up and lumbered off. Of course, eventually he fell again.
Waking up, there was an itch in his mind, as if something was trying to remind him of a memory. He couldn’t quite place it. Something about the way the blood had dried. Soon, this was forgotten, as he got up and lumbered off.
And again.
And again.
And again.
….
Lying in a pool of fresh blood, a near-incapacitating blow struck across his chest, the itch that had been steadily growing in the back of his mind burst fourth and became a clear idea. Strewn around him were the ruined corpses of many a hat troll, which wouldn’t be fully healed any time soon, but here he lay, in almost as bad a shape as them. Why? The blow. The blow on his chest was so familiar. He knew he had fallen to this exact stroke, felt this exact pain, slipping him into unconsciousness, countless times. How many times? He would not forget again. But how? The Hat troll’s biggest gifts, their immortality and regenerative properties, also mean no blow leaves a permanent mark to show signs of old wounds, and no memory stays forever. How.
As he lay there, time slipped away, and his body did what it always did: it healed. And with it, the pain faded. Pain.
Scôr knew there was only one way to remember. Picking up his sword, he braced himself, and then drove it along his own chest, deep enough that he was forced back to the ground, almost losing consciousness again. He lay there awhile, as the wound healed. But when he could stand again, he repeated the mark.
And when the pain had almost faded, he did it again.
And again.
And again.
….
The other hat trolls laughed at Scôr. Although Scôr was one of the larger of them, now he spent so much time doubled over in pain that hat trolls many times smaller than him could take him down. They taunted him, saying “look at Scôr, see how he marks himself as easy prey, weakening himself to fall.” They made up names, they began calling the act “Scôring Yourself”, or called easy prey to hunt and defeat "a Scôr’s Mark”. But Scôr continued to cut himself, and slowly got used to the pain, and how to make sure only he caused it. And day by day, he learned to use it. At first he fell to smaller hat trolls. And then he fell to groups of hat trolls. And then to armies of hat trolls. And then he was the strongest hat troll of his size. Eventually, he could fight hat trolls much larger than himself. Although blows would land on his body, he would laugh off the pain, and none but him ever cut him on his mark.
Eventually, his fame and prowess became so widespread that other hat trolls decided to follow his example. They would identify a weak spot in their defense, a stroke they often found themselves felled by or almost defeated with. And they would mark themselves. In this way, the Scôr Mark spread to hat trolls who wish to improve their fighting by remembering their flaws. And when the smaller creatures came to be, they saw the permanent wounds on some of the hat trolls, and asked “what is that?” to which a hat troll replied “that is a Scôr’s Mark”. Of course, the smaller creatures, not having the regenerative properties of the hat troll, related this to their own marks of battle, and so they named their own healed wounds, memories of battles past fought: the Scar.
Skormaws are particularly devout followers of Scôr. They are his mouthpiece; his words are their words, his teachings are their teachings. They have shown their devotion to overcoming their own shortcomings in combat through the Skormaw Trial, and seek to help guide others to do the same. So that the name of Scôr is spoken throughout the lands again, reminding us all that no flaw is so fatal that it can't be overcome.