While it might a wee bit hard to understand what the Highland Chia is saying, he's not worried about it. He's too busy polishing his battle shield, using haggis as battle hammer target practise and warding off pesky Neopets that try to steal a kilt or two from his extensive collection. But like any other story it all started at the beginning...

"Henddrie, oh Henddrie!" his mother called. "It's time fer yer porridge. Dun let it get chankin' or yeh hae to fight yer faither fer it. Yeh know how he loves cauld porridge."

"Eh, but mither," Henddrie whined, "I hate porridge. It hae the taste of boughin dug, an' me fightin' faither is like him fightin' a fusty fistle. I'm too shooglie an' he's a tad numpty rockin' horse--"

"Wheesht! Dun gab about yer faither like he was some shunky sassanak. He's just trying to teach yeh how to be. How to be muckle an' strong, like a real Highland Chia. Nou sit yersels down an' eat yer porridge sae ye can be strong like yeh father. Ay?"

Eat up, wee little Highlander...

"Ay, mither. But nae more haggis, please. I dun want to be too chuffed. I'm goin' to show 'im that I can be the biggest Highlander there ever was."

"Henddrie!" his father called out, "Stop yeh screechin'! Dun be givin' yer mither gabby wirds. Eat yer porridge or let's go fer some trainin'..."

Henddrie rolled his eyes because he knew his father was seconds away from telling him the same thing he told him every time they got into it about food. He must have heard it about a million times.

"...Henddrie," his father continued to yell, "some hae food but cannae eat, but we hae food an' we can eat, sae just eat!"

This went on for a few years until Henddrie, learning to love haggis and porridge a bit too much, grew bigger and stronger than his father, leaving his parents no other choice but to make a difficult decision...

"Och! Henddrie, yer too muckle fer the bothy," his mother said. "Yer rippin' the roof off."

"I told yeh nae to feed the lad all that porridge!" his father said. "What hae I been sayin' all these years? 'Dinna stuff the wean! He's goin' to get too muckle'. Lad, it's a muckle warld out there, but yeh a muckle laddie nou, an' when I say muckle I mean muckle. Ye belang oot there, Henddrie, oot amang the muckle... nae 'ere wi' us mickle."

A tear fell from Hendrie's cheek as his father handed him the family heirlooms. "Dun worry yersel, Henddrie, we knew this day would come," he said. "Your grandfaither's great kilt and my war hammer an' shield will keep ye safe in battle..."

"...An' 'ere," his mother interrupted, "'ere's a few tatties fer the road."

Confused, Henddrie packed his things never to return to his bothy... erm, house again.

Ever since the Highland Chia left home he has traveled this land, battling many challengers in search of a worthy opponent. No Neopian has ever really known he was among us or who he was or why he's wearing that funny little skirt... until now.