Thorn'Shield appeared in the death room, a shack perched on a cliff above the wide blue ocean. The view was calm, warm, almost soothing.
He kicked the chair over anyway.
"FUCK! THAT DOG JUST RUINED MY FUCKING WHOLE IMAGE!"
His own roar bounced off the walls and came back at him.
For weeks, he had built himself into someone people noticed through forum replies, dungeon tips, rankings, and sheer visibility. He had put real work into that name.
And now he had this mess in front of him.
The name at the center of it was Emperoar.
That bastard had always been there in the background like a stain Thorn'Shield could never wipe clean. He and his party never chased attention, which only made people look at them more.
They played however they pleased, cleared however they pleased, and somehow that became the kind of reputation Thorn'Shield wanted for himself.
People kept asking who the better tank was, and that question annoyed him far more than it should have.
