Gather ‘round, travelers, and let me spin you the tale of the Goblin King—a creature so vile, so merciless, that his very name cast the shadow of a dark age upon the land of Nhoire. His horde descended like a plague, ravaging village after village, leaving nothing but ashes and sorrow in their wake. No wealth satisfied their greed, no conquest their hunger. It seemed as though hope itself had abandoned Nhoire.

But from the darkness, four heroes arose, their names destined for legend:

Glaven the Warrior—strong, decisive, and bold. His spirit ignited armies, whether they numbered four or four million. His resolve was unbreakable, a beacon of courage in the darkest times.
Dalg the Monk—a master of martial arts and meditation, who could see the battlefield not with his eyes but with his soul. His every movement was a dance of death, his precision unmatched, even when blindfolded.
Balden the Paladin—sworn to the Angel Seriph, who granted him the light of healing and the power to banish darkness. His oath was a binding force, a contract of righteousness and valor.
Baahl the Wizard—cunning, wise, and powerful, yet burdened with envy, pride, and a firestorm of anger beneath his calm exterior.

The heroes set forth on their perilous journey, the long road to Fyor stretching ahead like a wound in the earth. Barren lands and charred ruins were their only companions, testaments to the Goblin King’s cruel reign. Each mile brought fresher signs of devastation; by the tenth day, embers still smoldered in the ruins of a village lost to time. On the dawn of the eleventh day, they spotted their first foes: goblin stragglers, lingering behind the horde.

With a silent nod, the heroes sprang into action. Glaven’s sword sang through the air, Dalg’s fists struck with the force of a storm, and Balden’s light seared the wicked. Baahl’s fire left nothing but ash. Victory seemed effortless—until the earth trembled.

Before them stretched the Goblin King’s army, a horde of tens of thousands. At its center stood the king himself—a towering monster, five times the size of his kin, a product of dark magic and merciless training. His eyes gleamed with malice, his power radiating like heat from a forge.

A scout’s cry pierced the air, and as if a hive mind controlled them, the entire horde turned to face the heroes. Without hesitation, Glaven raised his sword. “FOR NHOIRE!” he roared, charging forward. Dalg flowed like water through the battlefield, untouchable and lethal. Balden’s holy light burned like the sun, and Baahl unleashed a tempest of fire.

For an hour, they held strong, their armor untouched, their will unbroken. Victory felt within reach.

Then the ranks parted. The Goblin King stepped forward, his presence like a stormcloud blotting out the sun. Glaven charged, but the king vanished in a blur, reappearing behind him. One blow sent the warrior flying. Balden rushed to heal him, a shield of light rising just in time to block the next strike. Dalg opened his eyes, seeking a weakness, while Baahl stood apart, watching, unmoving—a silent enigma.

This battle was different. Every attack met a counter. Wounds outpaced Balden’s healing, and desperation set in. “Baahl!” Glaven cried, but the wizard had vanished, leaving them outmatched and alone. Balden’s desperate prayer to Seriph was answered with blinding light, shielding them from the final blow. When it faded, the heroes were gone, spirited away from the brink of death.

Their defeat haunted them. Glaven sank into despair, replaying every failure in his mind. Dalg retreated into deep meditation, reliving the battle, each moment a lesson in survival. Balden renewed his oath, praying for strength.

For a week, they trained, their resolve hardening into steel. When the horde returned, the earth quaking beneath their march, the heroes stood ready. This time, it was not the army that met them but the Goblin King himself.

The battle was joined anew. The Goblin King struck first, but Glaven was ready, his sword meeting the blow. Dalg’s strike found a pressure point, Balden’s light blinded their foe, and together, they fought as one. Each attack countered, each strike precise. The Goblin King staggered, his movements slowed. Finally, with a roar that shook the earth, he fell. The horde, leaderless and broken, fled into the wilderness.

Victory was theirs. The heroes returned to Nhoire, their heads held high. Statues were raised in their honor, standing to this day outside the Castle of the King of Nhoire.

But one question lingered: the fate of Baahl, their lost companion. His story, it is whispered, would one day bring new shadows to the land.

But that, dear listener, is a tale for another time.

Inspired by the music of Fantasy Quest by DubbleUAI