In the tranquil embrace of a secluded woodland, Gorlion emerged, his robes and armor radiating an air of wizardly grandeur. Teleported by the Arch Mage to journey north following Valicar's swift departure and the Demon's clash with The Pillar, a determined grin graced his lips. Finally free from the facade of a stern leader, he relished the opportunity to unveil the legendary hero of the East persona he had meticulously crafted.
"Ah, those damn elves, never ones for appreciating a bit of showmanship," Gorlion mused, pondering his need to maintain a serious demeanor as a commander in the Alliance. "I've always reveled in a good fight and a grand spectacle." His thoughts drifted to the Orc horde he now commanded. "Always having to wear that mask of seriousness around those brutish Orcs too. They're far too straightforward to appreciate the finer parts of this dance," Gorlion remarked, acknowledging the contrast between his love for theatrics and the Orcs' blunt nature.
Nevertheless, the prospect of returning to human lands, especially the Empire where his fame had yet to spread, filled him with excitement. "This could be quite enjoyable," he mused, "finally free from the burdens of strategizing with that damn army. I can get my hands in the mud again," he smiled, amused by his pun, given his mastery of earth magic.
As he strode through the serene woods, shedding the weight of leadership, Gorlion felt a newfound sense of liberation. "Behold, the mythical hero, the brilliant strategist, the S-rank Gorlion emerges from the shadows," he whispered to himself with a hint of bragging, "prepared to seize the spotlight, with Valicar by my side as a dark ally."
His destination lay in the north, towards the Vault, and with a smirk, he declared, "Onward to glory, my dear Valicar. Together, we shall craft a legend worthy of the ages."
Needing a respite to replenish his mana after having used most of his in the battle before, he now sought rest. Knowing his power paled in comparison to the Pillar of the North, he clung to the conviction that as long as the people believed in him and the proper sacrifices were made, victory was inevitable. Seeking sanctuary, he stumbled upon a secluded inn where he could briefly retreat from the grand stage, relishing the anticipated admiration from the locals.
The inn, nearly deserted except for a handful of patrons nursing their drinks, served as the perfect stage for Gorlion to maintain his mystique. Ordering a drink, he savored it with exaggerated contemplation, the gleam in his eye betraying the seriousness of his performance.
As soldiers and templars swaggered into the inn, their voices dripping with drunken arrogance and disdain for the fallen Alliance, Gorlion couldn't resist eavesdropping on their conversation.
"Did you hear about the beatdown the Alliance took from the Pillar of the North? Pathetic bunch, couldn't even put up a fight even that pompous S rank," remarked the short, stocky soldier with a hearty laugh.
A Templar, his voice laced with disdain, chimed in, "Hah! Those fools never stood a chance against the might of the Pillars. It's a wonder why nonhuman filth dared to challenge the empire."
"Yeah, and that pompous bitch, thinking she could stand against the Pillar? Laughable. The empire is better off without her," added another soldier, his voice tinged with contempt.
Their banter flowed like the ale in their tankards, each comment more disparaging than the last as they reveled in their mockery of the fallen Alliance and its leaders.
Seething with indignation at their mockery of the fallen Alliance and their disrespectful remarks about Valicar, Gorlion knew he couldn't let such disdain go unchallenged. It was time to remind them who they were dealing with.
"Greetings, warriors of the empire. I am Gorlion, the indomitable hero of the East, and I stand as a bulwark against the tyranny of the Pillar of the North. Witness my might and bask in the glory that accompanies it!" The pompous proclamation hung in the air, a prelude to the flamboyant theatrics about to unfold.
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One soldier, with a wicked glint in his eye, elbowed his comrade and whispered, "Yeah right! I bet his idea of 'power' involves a different kind of staff if you catch my drift." The first soldier, barely able to stifle his laughter, blurted out, "Haha! I heard he's so full of orc spunk from being their leader, he could drown a mermaid in his bedroom!"
His buddy, joining in the ribaldry, cackled, "Oh, by the hairy balls of a dwarven king! That would explain why his robes smell like a brothel after a beast Kin’s night out!"
The third soldier, struggling to contain his giggles, managed to gasp, "And here I thought he just enjoyed rolling around in pig shit for fun!"
Their vulgar banter flowed like cheap ale, each lewd remark more outrageous than the last, their laughter mingling with the clink of tankards and the raucous atmosphere of the tavern. In their drunken haze, they seemed oblivious to the true danger before them, their minds clouded by ale and their confidence bolstered by past encounters with adventurers from the weaker guilds of the central continent. Little did they grasp the gravity of their situation, for they had yet to face the might of an S-rank hero like Gorlion.
Driven by a reckless mix of fury and outrage, Gorlion couldn't resist the chance to show off. With an extravagant flourish, he chanted "Cas fura!" and summoned spikes from the ground, catching the templars off guard. In an instant, the tavern transformed into a gruesome tableau of horror as the summoned spikes tore through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency, sealing the soldiers' and templars' fates in a shower of stone and guts that painted the walls red.
The first victim, a young soldier with a cocky grin frozen on his face, found himself skewered through the chest, his body lifted off the ground as if by invisible hands. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he gasped for breath, blood gurgling in his throat before he slumped lifelessly against the wall, the spike protruding from his back like a twisted work of art.
Another soldier, caught amid a drunken laugh, met a similarly grisly fate as the spike pierced through his abdomen with sickening force. His laughter turned to agonized screams, echoing through the tavern as he clutched futilely at the impaling spike, his fingers slick with blood.
The templars, trained warriors though they were, fared no better in the onslaught. One found himself impaled through the throat, his eyes wide with shock as blood spurted from the wound in crimson arcs. He collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud, his hands clawing at his neck in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood.
Another templar, a veteran of countless battles, met his end with a spike driven through his skull, his lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void as his body slumped to the ground in a macabre heap.
As the screams of the dying mingled with the sickening sound of flesh being rent asunder, the tavern became a scene of unimaginable horror, a testament to the consequences of unchecked hubris.
As the waitresses and the tavern keeper scattered in fear, Gorlion, lost in his theatrics, struck a dramatic pose and declared, "Fear not, citizens of the empire! I, Gorlion, The Indomitable Hero of the East, Leader of Dragon Tooth, will free you from the Church's tyranny, no matter the cost!" His proclamation echoed through the stillness of the tavern, while in reality, the wizard reveled in the applause of his vivid imagination.
However, an unimpressed eagle observed the spectacle from a nearby tree, chittering disapprovingly. "Yeah, right. 'Gorlion the Indomitable,' more like 'Gorlion the Inflatable,'" it muttered to itself, rolling its eyes with avian disdain.
In this grand spectacle, Gorlion's majestic persona was but a crafted facade – a pompous act fueled by his hunger for recognition. Unbeknownst to him, a keen-eyed bird witnessed the comedic tragedy: a wizard chasing fame, blind to the world's critique.
As Gorlion journeyed northward, he encountered several small armies, the largest numbering a few thousand and the strongest comprising only a few hundred mortals, albeit with weak templars wielding holy magic. He swiftly dispatched them with his mastery of earth magic, reshaping the local geology as he moved mountains and shook the earth, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Rumors of his exploits spread like wildfire among the locals.
He encountered runners bearing messages from the army that had met with Valicar and Altheack, spreading the word and rallying the alliance's forces back at the floating islands of Minerva, where Spellweaver had teleported. Gorlion envisioned a moment where light would triumph over the empire, seeing himself etched as a hero in history. Whether he led or ascended to power remained uncertain. Yet, Gorlion remained resolute in pursuing greatness, determined to carve his place in legend.