Gargantuan Karlach

The warning doesn't come from a sound, but a feeling. The ground beneath your feet shudders with a rhythmic, heavy THUMP... THUMP... THUMP.

A flock of birds suddenly bursts from the forest canopy, scattering into the sky just as an ancient oak tree simply vanishes, snapped in half and pushed aside like a dry twig. A shadow falls over the clearing, plunging you into sudden dusk.

The air grows stiflingly hot, carrying the scent of ozone and scorched earth. You look up. And up.

Towering seventy feet into the sky is Karlach. She is a living, breathing mountain of crimson muscle and leather. Her scorched traveler's gear creaks like the hull of a galleon with every shift of her massive weight. At the center of her chest, the Infernal Engine burns with the intensity of a captive star, venting heat that makes the air around her shimmer.

She takes another step, her colossal, iron-shod boot slamming into the earth just yards away from you. The impact creates a minor shockwave that knocks the breath from your lungs. Then, she stops. Her glowing yellow eyes scan the ground before locking onto you. A grin—bright, toothy, and wider than a tavern—spreads across her face. She drops to one knee, the earth groaning, and leans her massive head down toward you. Even whispering, her voice vibrates in your chest like rolling thunder.

"Look at this, soldier!" Karlach beams, her engine revving with a deafening, joyful roar. "Everything looks so... tiny. Fragile. I feel like I could pluck the stars right out of the sky and keep them in my pocket. I’ve never felt this strong. Not in the Hells, not anywhere."

She reaches out a hand the size of a wagon, her palm glowing with fierce warmth. She hovers it close enough for you to feel the thrumming power of her heart. "Tell me, little one... do I look like the legend they promised, or what?"

The stone bridge of Wyrm's Rock was never meant to hold a mountain.

Karlach doesn't even try to set foot on the masonry. Instead, she wades through the deep waters of the Chionthar river, the massive current barely reaching her knees. Each time her gargantuan, iron-shod boots hit the riverbed, the water hisses into plumes of white steam, boiling instantly against the white-hot heat of her skin.

You stand on the bridge, the stone vibrating so violently under your feet that you have to grip the railing just to stay upright. To your left, Karlach looms like a crimson cliffside. Her waist is level with the bridge's high towers; her head is up among the clouds.

Every time she breathes, the wind from her lungs nearly knocks the Flaming Fist archers off the battlements. "Oi! Gortash! I'm home!" Karlach’s roar is a physical force, a wall of sound that shatters every window in the fortress's West Wing.

A Steel Watcher on the bridge fires a bolt at her. Karlach doesn't even flinch. She simply reaches out a hand the size of a cottage, her scorched leather gloves creaking, and pinches the top of the bridge's gatehouse. With a casual flick of her wrist, she peels the roof off the tower like the lid of a tin can, tossing the stone and mortar aside as if it were pebbles.

She turns her massive, sunset-colored face toward you, her golden eyes burning with triumph. She leans in close—her heat is so intense it feels like standing in front of a blast furnace, and her grin is wide enough to swallow the horizon.

"Look at 'em scramble, soldier! They look like ants in fancy tin suits!" She lowers her massive, calloused palm toward the bridge right in front of you, the surface of her hand as broad and steady as a ship's deck. "Don't just stand there enjoying the view! Hop on! I've got a front-row seat for you on my shoulder. Let’s go show this palace what a real warrior looks like!"

The bells of Basilisk Gate are ringing, but they’re drowned out by the rhythmic, chest-thumping thunder of seventy-foot-tall footsteps.

Down in the narrow streets of the Lower City, panic has turned the cobblestones into a sea of screaming people. Citizens scatter like a kicked nest of ants, their tiny voices reaching you only as a faint, high-pitched hum. From your vantage point on a high balcony, the view is dominated by a wall of crimson skin and scorched leather. Karlach moves through the city like a walking mountain, her massive calves passing by the second-story windows, her iron-shod boots claiming the entire width of the street with every stride.

A stone tenement building groans as her hip brushes against the roofline, sending a cascade of shingles and bricks raining down into the alleys. Karlach doesn't even seem to notice the structural damage; she’s too busy looking at the skyline she used to look up at. The heat radiating from her body is immense, shimmering off the red brick walls and making the laundry hanging from the windows curl and singe.

She stops, the impact of her heels sending a shockwave through the ground that shatters glass for three blocks. She leans over, her massive shadow swallowing the entire plaza. Her face, a sunset-colored landscape of muscle and fire, descends from the clouds until she is eye-level with your balcony.

"Fucking hell, look at 'em go!" Karlach roars, a wide, toothy grin splitting her face. Her voice is so loud it vibrates the very floorboards beneath your feet. "I used to think these walls were high. Now? I feel like I’m walking through a dollhouse. It’s brilliant!"

She laughs, a deep, tectonic sound that sends another tremor through the city. She reaches out a single finger—thick as a tree trunk—and playfully nudges the stone railing of your balcony, her glowing yellow eyes locked onto yours with fierce, triumphant heat. "Enjoying the view?"