Cleric

On a hill in the city of cedar stands an altar older than the city itself. The first faithful son lit a fire on it when men first began to call on the name of their Maker, and the Clerics have kept that fire burning ever since. In all the long centuries, through raids and plagues and the coming of the giants, it has never once gone out.

The Clerics are its keepers, and they have learned that keeping a fire means standing in front of it. They wear plate. They carry a hammer and a shield. And when they go out from the altar into the wild places, they carry its blessing with them like a second suit of armor that no blade can find a gap in.

A Cleric does not wait for a wound to heal it. A Cleric asks that the blow never land at all. Before the battle begins, wards of pale gold light settle over the company, and when the enemy strikes, the light takes the blow and holds. What the ward cannot stop, the Cleric mends with a touch. And when the darkness is thickest, the glory of heaven falls on the wicked and burns them where they stand.

You stand in the front line beside your defender, not behind them. You lay wards on the companions most in danger, and those wards drink up the blows that would have struck them. When a ward breaks, you heal the wound beneath it, and your healing is stronger on anyone still under your protection. In the worst moments you can ward the entire company at once, or catch a friend at the very edge of death and turn the killing blow into a healing.

With a Cleric at its side, a company feels the enemy's strength and simply does not break.

You want to stand in the fire and keep it from touching anyone else. You love the moment when the giant's club comes down on your defender and breaks harmlessly on a shield of light. The altar fire has burned since the days of the first faithful son. Carry it out into the dark.