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Rift does not only provide a wide range of classes but inside easch class is a diverse range of disciplines to pick from inside that class. This guide will break down each one and point out some of their strengths and weakness.
Telara’s original wielders of magic gained their powers through pacts with minor elemental spirits. Through devoted study, these Clerics reached out to ever-more-powerful beings, soon communing with demons, faeries, and gods. These holy men founded a number of spiritual disciplines: some focused tightly on a narrow ethos, while others retained more free-form theological allegiances.
Although those who take up this calling boast extensive knowledge and keen intellect, Clerics value wisdom and faith above all else. Intensely focused, a Cleric tackles any endeavor secure in the support of powerful beings incomprehensible to the layman. These beings’ exact nature depends upon each Cleric’s culture of origin and spiritual training regimen.
Clerics are get their fame for their powerful support magic, able to repair the most grievous injuries or cure the deadliest diseases. The spells at a Cleric’s command are as varied as the patron deities they follow. Many Clerics are also capable combatants who rain divine wrath from afar, or wade into the thick of battle, warhammer swinging.
Clerics use mana to fuel their spells. Granted by their patron deity, a Cleric’s pool of mana is not limitless and must be carefully managed, you might need them in a crisis.
The militant orders gird themselves in chainmail, and march into close combat wielding heavy, two-handed warhammers, or a simple combination of mace and shield. The more arcane priesthoods, meanwhile, wear cloth vestments, brandishing symbols of spiritual power such as staffs, tomes, and totems.
The Inquisitor is a cleric who no longer follows the doctrines of life or death alone; instead, they stand between these forces demanding purity from both. An Inquisitor passes judgment on those who are worthy, and damns those who are corrupt.
Their faith is where the get their power; as such, they forgo heavy armaments in favor of a simple hauberk of chain and a sturdy maul.
Although Inquisitors will never achieve the great heights of power from choosing an exclusive life or death path, their ability to harness and manipulate both energies make them extremely valuable companions.
An Inquisitor specialize in one on one combat mixing life and death magic, stealing their opponent’s greatest strengths and making it their own.
Because they stand between the threshold of life and death, Inquisitors give up the strength found in those who walk a pure path. For that reason, this causes them to not be as well at support as more specialized clerics.
The Inquisitor is about debuffing and life- and mana drains. They have no direct healing effects, but instead they leech the enemy’s health to yourself. In a prolonged fight the Inquisitor will probably have the upper hand over many souls, but can fall quickly to burst damage.
Ever since the arrival of the Blood Storm on Telara, the resulting rifts have created a dissonance between the land, the universe, and the gods.
Rifts provide opportunities for malicious spirits and demons from other planes to invade the world. Many intruders enter Telara in physical form, while other planar agents use soul-possession to venture forth. The abundant life and energy of Telara is irresistible to powerful beings trapped in the harsh environments of the planes. For the most part, the world of Telara had been defenseless in the face of such onslaught, until the arrival of the Inquisitors.
Combining the powers of life and death with an unshakable obsession for natural order, Inquisitors have become powerful weapons against planar corruption. Inquisitors perform a wide range of tasks, from simple exorcisms and banishments to the extraordinary purging of greater planar powers from the world. But while the role of Inquisitors in protecting Telarans from the rifts is immensely beneficial, even essential, they are widely feared for their tendency towards extremism.
Inquisitors have predictably been in the center of many violent and painful historical events across Telara. From the Mathosian purge of Eth Schematics to the cleansing of the Hammerknell survivors, the Inquisitors have always done what was necessary to protect the lands from corruption, even if their hands get a little dirty in the process. For an Inquisitor serving the greater good, the end always justifies the means.
“Don’t run. There is no need to be afraid, for I am the trusted hand of the gods! Only the false need fear the judgment of my touch. For the faithful, my hand inspires greatness. Why so nervous, friend?”
Sanctum-next to the tree next to the Master Apothecary
Third floor of Orphiel’s Tower in Meridian.
Inquisitors have life and mana drains, which can be used to keep both the Inquisitor and their allies alive.
The tradition of the Purifier begins with a baptism by fire, a test of faith from which only the strongest souls emerge. Those who pass are reborn as masters of the curative secrets of fire, wounds no matter how brutal can be healed with a searing touch.
These Clerics get their power from a pact with their dead ancestors. While the Purifier wreathes his allies in flames, he unleashes a spirit vanguard to visit his wrath upon his foes.
Purifiers dedicate themselves to mastering the healing properties of fire, and as such are potent support Clerics who can burn away disease and instantly cauterize the most horrific wounds.
Purifiers are not known for their offensive capabilities, and while they are capable of calling on the fury of their ancestors to strike down foes, they rapidly lose ground against the focused assault of a determined melee combatant.
The Purifier is a powerful single-target healer with an assortment of shields and blessings. It is great for tank healing in dungeons. Combine either the Sentinel or the Warden (or both) for more area heals, it becomes part of a very powerful healing role.
It is also a great choice to combine with offensive caster souls like the Cabalist or the Inquisitor for soloing or off-healing.
In the time of the Blood Storm, a witch-doctor named Talos Roda fled into the volcanic jungles of Aegea when his village was overrun by the Dragonian servants of Maelforge. For days, he lay in a fever, his wounds festering as his life slipped away. At the end of the fourth night, Roda found himself surrounded by flickering motes of flame and the whispering spirits of his ancestors. These sprits promised him vengeance if he formed a pact with them and became their conduit to the physical world.
Agreeing to their terms, Talos found one of the motes dancing in his hand. He touched it to his leg and it closed the wound, burning away the infection. It was agony, but when the flames died, Talos’ leg was fully healed.
His spiritual powers now bolstered by the primal forces of fire, Talos returned to his village and descended upon its oppressors. Before a sword could rise against him, he unleashed a firestorm that engulfed the entire village. The flames tormented both sides, but whereas the Dragonians were burned to ash, the Elves found their wounds miraculously healed and their souls bolstered by ancestor spirits. From that day forth, Talos and his people went on the offensive, striving to break Maelforge’s control over their lands.
Such a blazing a display of spiritual might has never been seen again, but many Clerics have followed in Roda’s footsteps, striking pacts with sprits of flame. Known as Purifiers, these holy men draw forth cleansing fires to heal their allies, and use the fury of their ancestors to strike down all who threaten their way of life.
“Steel yourself! Though the agony be great, my cleansing flames will burn away the darkness within, and reforge your very soul.”
Sanctum: In the opposite end of the city entrance, on the second floor of the dye shop.
Meridian: On the Cleric floor of the Tower.
The Sentinel is a soul from the cleric calling. They excel at group support including direct and area-of-effect healing.
The Sentinel brings the blessings of light to all who do the will of the gods. Capable of healing many wounded at one time, Sentinels bolster their allies and protect themselves with divine wrath.
Sentinels are defensive clerics who excel at group support. Their divine powers aid the weak and ensure that everyone in their group lives through the fray.
Sentinels sacrifice offense for a strong defense, so massive damage is not really there thing.
The Sentinel is a powerful single-target and area healer. It gains access to a strong instant cast heal immediately. More points gives the Sentinel access to both large single-target and raid heals. It is great to combine with the Warden soul for heal over time spells, and with the Purifier for shields and absorbs.
As with the other healing souls, the Sentinel has a weak damage output and no crowd control. For soloing it can be combined with a damage-dealing soul such as the Inquisitor or the Cabalist.
Unable to reconcile the contradictions between the gods, the Elf initiate Niyol Cliffswind made a pilgrimage to Hammerknell. In the capitol of the Elves’ ancient enemies, the Dwarves, he tried to learn how Bahralt’s bustling cities could coexist with Tavril’s pristine wilderness.
His days there were a misery: jostled and berated, unable to gain audience with a priest of Bahralt. Then one night, a lynch mob pulled Niyol from his bed. “Filthy spy!“ they cried, for an Elvish surprise attack had breached the city walls. Dragged toward the gibbet, Niyol heard the clamor as fighting raged through Hammerknell.
The Elf vanguard burst into the grand hall just as the hangman fitted a noose to Niyol’s neck. A moment later, the dwarf fell with an arrow in his throat, knocking Niyol off his bench. The rope drew tight.
Battle choked the Dwarven hall, yet no combatant who fought near Niyol succumbed to their wounds. Even as he swung from the noose, the initiate mouthed a healing prayer, offering his last breath to save kinfolk and persecutors alike.
White light poured from the eyes of every statue to a god in Hammerknell, the words of his prayer booming from stone lips. Anyone who saw the light was healed; everyone who heard the words succumbed to a quiet serenity.
As the Elves lay down their arms, the Dwarves cut Niyol down and declared him a saint. Both sides pledged alliance ever after, and the mendicant went on his way.
The Elf commander had heard of Niyol’s pilgrimage, and asked if he had learned how the gods could overcome their conflicts.
“Each god values the life of each and every mortal. In this, there is unity,” Niyol said with the sure, clear voice of enlightenment.
Niyol spent many years spreading his revelation, performing miracles, finding in every culture a link to the divine. When the gods formed the Vigil, Niyol’s sentinels spread hope through unity to all the people of Telara.
“It is easy to have faith in one god. I have seen the truth of the universe, devoted myself to the Vigil as a whole. I bring succor to the one and the whole alike.”
Sanctum-inside main circle of the building
Meridian – Cleric floor of Tower
if not at tower since it wasn’t there for me try near auctioner in middle of town. 2011-03-14: Confirmed for me, near actioneer in the middle of town, near the cabalist “trainer”.
Justicars are healing clerics who fight shoulder-to-shoulder with their allies in close combat. Conviction builds with each swing of their weapon, bolstering nearby comrades and powering the Justicar’s potent healing magic.
So suffice to say their good to have in a fight.
A Justicar’s healing comes from damage dealt in close combat. This makes him good in a close fight for himself and his comrades.
A Justicar’s divine magic depends upon his melee prowess, so if not their not in the fight they become neutralized.
Justicars are one of the front-line healers within the cleric calling. While they do have some direct heals, most of their healing power comes from damaging the enemy with melee abilities, gaining Conviction stacks which they then can release for powerful Area of Effect heals.
The Justicar Soul focuses primarily on healing and damage mitigation. They can play as tanks or offtanks if they choose to pick up a Mace and Shield, or as DPS if they pick up a Two-handed Mace.
Nidris the giant wolf crept unseen through the Faering Wood, following the scent of the invaders in the domain of Greenscale the Primordial. He tracked this war party of humans and Dwarves to an overgrown temple. Among stones pulled apart by vines, they bowed their heads in prayer, led by a Dwarven cleric who wore chainmail under his robes of office. He knelt at the remains of the altar, leaning on what looked to be a staff.
“Bidding farewell to your gods? They’ll soon be devoured by our lord Greenscale.” The impish voice belonged to Corrigan, a changeling who rode upon Nidris and fancied himself lord of this forest.
“Shed your worldly concerns,” said Corrigan, “and frolic with us in this paradise.”
A coven of winged faeries that doted on Corrigan buzzed out towards the group and began tugging at beards, pulling at tunics, and rifling through pockets for sport.
“I will frolic when I am done with my prayers,” said Thorvin Sternhammer, Justicar of Thedeor.
“A lackey of the gods!” taunted the changeling. “Do absolve us of our sins before Nidris devours you and I use your holy staff to pick the sinew from his teeth.” The faeries tittered mischievously. Nidris growled, shaking the forest.
“You wee winged demons misunderstand my faith. I am not here to absolve you. The god of battle showed me how that fat toad you call master could be beaten.” The faeries giggled and continued to painfully braid his beard. “But the strength of my faith lies not in sermons, and this is no preacher’s staff.” The Dwarf brandished his maul of cold iron. “Absolve you? I’m here to smash you!”
The maul landed with a mighty thud, flattening a flittering faerie. Nidris howled in challenge, and Thorvin glared into its eyes. He swung his bludgeon at the tiny sprites, knocking some to splatter against the great wolf’s pelt.
Thorvin’s soldiers charged, their courage bolstered by his conviction. Teeth and metal clashed, and though Nidris bit and clawed the invaders, the soldiers’ wounds healed with every blow their cleric struck. The tide of battle turned, and soon the mighty beast found himself bloodied and nearing death. “Flee! Flee!” screamed the terrified changeling, his mocking tone drained away. “This is no mere mortal, but an avatar of war!” Nidris yelped like a pup and turned tail, but Thorvin crippled the beast’s leg with a swing of his maul.
His heart pierced by the spears of the soldiers, Nidris collapsed with a final anguished cry, Corrigan tumbling from his back. Scrambling uselessly, the Changeling tore himself on brambles as the stout cleric strode toward him.
“I repent! I repent!” the changeling sniveled.
“I know you do, lad,” said Thorvin as he hefted the bloodstained maul. “And I’ve got your absolution right here.”
They say Corrigan’s death rattle haunts the Faering Wood to this day. He had met Thorvin Sternhammer, whose crusade hounded mighty Greenscale across all of what is now known as Mathosia.
“Many preach their vision of the gods. They speak of love, and health, and happiness. I am here to tell you the truth of the world. Anything good must be fought for. You must stand toe-to-toe with your demons and crush them. Only then will the gods bless you.”
Sanctum- by the training dummies
Located on the third floor of the Spire.
The Shaman binds the power of the icy north to his very being, wreathing himself in pure elemental force. This power augments a Shaman’s attacks, making him a powerful melee combatant, and provides shields and reactive healing.
A Shaman strikes hard and fast like the fury of a winter storm. He can quickly close in to melee and unleash powerful blows fueled by muscle and magic.
Shamans don;t heal wounds as well as other Clerics, so they fare poorly against foes with a strong defense of their own or who can keep the Shaman at bay.
The Shaman is all about swinging their big hammer around dealing damage and is the most offensive of the Cleric souls, but sacrifices almost all of their healing abilities while doing so. They have self buffs, which can be changed to affect the group, that help the shaman adapt to different situations.
Ekkehard was a bear of a man, even after age turned his beard white and fine as snowdrifts. He was the last of the Valnir clan to fall when the Storm Legion swept through Iron Pine Peak. His maul toppled many of Crucia’s finest, but at last they captured the mountainous man. As the other imprisoned northmen looked on, the Storm Legion commander blinded Ekkehard with a hot poker. He was chained with the rest of the captives and marched toward Crucia’s chamber for assimilation.
Despite his blindness, Ekkehard spent the long death-march preaching faith in Thedeor, god of storms and justice. One night, the commander dragged Ekkehard out of line for rousing the tribesmen to a particularly passionate fervor. Stripped of all but a few loose furs and beaten savagely, the once-unstoppable northerner found himself left for dead in the snow.
Somehow, Ekkehard found the strength to limp along the roadway, following the ruts left by the Legion’s wagons. As his body began to fail, limbs turning solid with the cold, he cried out, “Thedeor! Avenge my people! Grant me your strength, and I will crush the mindless hordes of Crucia!”
The cold in his limbs deepened, as if arctic water ran in every vein, yet Ekkehard felt completely at ease. All pain vanished, and he felt the winds flowing around him, guiding him through the dark to where the slave train made camp.
Silent as a stalking lion, Ekkehard felt his way to the wagon carrying the weapons confiscated from the Valnir. No sooner did he clutch his trusty maul than living lightning poured from his fingertips, charging the weapon with Thedeor’s wrath.
Blind but no longer helpless, Ekkehard let his ears guide his assault. Creeping toward the prisoners, Ekkehard heard the guards mocking the bedraggled northmen, and directed his fury toward their laughter. He charged, roaring, and smashed the first guard’s skull to flinders, lightning arcing from the blow to fry the second to a husk.
Ekkehard was prepared for the third guard’s rush, summoning a flurry of ice and snow to obscure the combat and blind his foe. Ekkehard struck her with such thunderous force that she flew out of the flurry and into a cliff face with a sickening crunch. The snow settled back to the ground, and Ekkehard stood before the astonished prisoners. He hoisted the maul high and cried out, “Praise Thedeor!”
The Storm Legion quickly fell to the freed Valnir. Their commander begged for mercy, so Ekkehard put his eyes out with spikes of lightning from his maul, and left him to wander the ice. “Let’s see if Crucia aids you as Thedeor aided me!” Ekkehard declared. Ever after, the Shamans of the northern tribes have driven back the Blood Storm with bitter cold and the fury of the sky.
“I am the vengeance of the north. Mine is the fury of the storm, the bite of the icy peaks, and I will rain retribution on those who threaten our way of life.”
Sanctum-when you walk into the main entrance, down the right stairs and to the left
Meriden – Battling in the Warfront wing
The Warden is a soul from the cleric calling that excels at healing and specialises in water-based heal over time spells.
Echoing the soothing ebb and flow of the tides, Wardens specialize in slow healing that escalates over time, making them ideal for prolonged fights that would exhaust most healers.
The Warden excels at slowly stacking powerful healing energies on their allies. Given sufficient time to lay down magic, a Warden can bolster their allies through even the most grueling struggles.
Unable to weave their protective spells quickly enough to overcome a concentrated attack, Wardens have little defense against a rapid or group assault.
The Warden is a healer with an arsenal of heal over time spells (HoTs). These spells are great for keeping both the tank’s and the party’s health up when taking damage. The Warden makes a great party or raid healer because of the ability to have HoTs on many targets at once. For large emergency heals, however, the Warden should be combined with more direct heal focused souls like the Sentinel and the Purifier.
The Warden is a viable choice for PvP because of it’s many HoTs and a couple of nice utility spells such as a knockback and snare-removing spell. For soloing it can be combined with any of the offensive souls, as the HoTs will add to the survivability of all of them.
The Elves left their homeland and came to the Kelari Isles, finding it a place of wild spirits. Many of these little gods allied with the newcomers, but one in particular would strike no bargains: Ixalou, lord of the river. Many predicted that young Diona would become High Priestess of the Kelari, so one day a rival challenged her to prove her worth by winning over the river lord. Diona boasted that the task would be simple.
She offered a sacrifice at the idol of Ixalou, and paced the riverbank until he rose from the water. “You come seeking my favor, Elf,” said Ixalou, in a voice like water rushing over stone, “but I will give you none. Kelari are passionate, haughty, and unpredictable. This is not the river’s way. Water is soothing, humble, and above all things constant.”
“I will not fail.” Though Diona’s voice rang with dangerous pride, Ixalou granted her use of his magic for a trial.
Diona traveled the river’s length. On the second day, she met a group of fishermen under attack by boglings. Reflexively, she called a towering wave that washed the scum away, but many more remained.
Diona drained the fluid from their bodies and lanced them with spears of water, but she could not stop them all. When Diona finally looked back at the fishermen, she saw that they lay at death’s door. Diona sent snakes of restorative energy toward them, but in the time it took to complete the mighty spell, the boglings’ next attacks snuffed out their lives.
At the end of the fifth day, Ixalou appeared before her. “You failed. Do you understand why?”
Diona bowed her head and said, “Water is constant, it needs time to flow. If I had healed the fishermen first, the magic would have bolstered them against further wounds. In my pride, I thought I could slay the demons first. I was wrong.”
The river swelled its banks as its lord gurgled with laughter. “I have never heard a Kelari admit that they were wrong in all of my days. For that alone, a second chance is granted.”
Grateful, Diona followed the water until she heard a clash of swords. Running to the sound, she found a group of travelers about to fall to a band of satyrs.
Diona called up spheres of healing water and threw them into the fray. One or two splashed immediately against the injured fighters, while the others lingered, releasing their soothing energies when the victims had taken further wounds. The satyrs could do no lasting damage against Diona’s waves of healing.
With a curse, their leader delivered a spinning axe slash that deeply wounded the travelers. Diona called to the river lord for guidance, and a torrent of soothing rain fell from the sky. Every raindrop washed a wound away. The pilgrims fought with renewed vigor, and hacked the satyrs down.
A bandy-armed Dwarf stepped forward and examined Diona. “That was impressive healing. I am the Justicar Thorvin. We’re hunting down Greenscale, so if you enjoy killing Satyrs, we could use someone like you.”
For a brief moment, Diona mourned not returning to flaunt her new power in front of her rival. As she agreed to accompany Thorvin’s party, Diona noted a hazy figure on the water’s edge, who nodded in approval, and then vanished.
“As the fisherman trusts the ocean’s ebb and the farmer the river’s flow, so you may trust the soothing waters I command to keep you prosperous and whole.”
Sanctum: Close to the dye shop, surrounded by sitting NPCs.
Besina Mylos, Meridian: On the 3rd floor of Orphiel’s Spire.
Druids are melee Clerics who forge bonds with Fae creatures, strengthening their bodies, minds, and spirits by drawing upon the magical energies of their companions.
Where fragile Mages force their minions to fight in their stead, the mighty Druid draws upon their bonded Fae to personally take the fight to their foes. Druids themselves are formidable combatants, using their pets more as conduits and sources of power than as direct attackers.
A Druid’s bond with their Fae Spirit is both the key to their power and their greatest weakness. Enemies who destroy a Druid’s companion greatly reduce the Druid’s prowess and endurance.
The empty, fog-shrouded streets of the fishing village lay silent. A joyful song rang out, incongruous with the terror that choked this lonely town as faceless cultists skulked amidst the huts. A short figure skipped out of the mists, nearly running straight into the terrifying priest of Akylios. Her large eyes looked up and she gulped, audibly.
“And who are you, little girl?” he said in an oily voice.
“I’m not a little girl,” said Asphodel, Dwarven cleric of Tavril, “and I don’t think you are a very nice man.”
“Oh no, not a bit,” leered the Tidelord. “You smell innocent and unspoiled, a fitting offering.” The Abyssal began at once to chant a ritual of binding.
“Shh!” admonished Asphodel, and the Tidelord’s mouth filled to the brim with flowers.
Sputtering, spitting out blooms, he gestured to his minions to attack, and the Deep Ones skittered up and lunged at her with their claws.
Asphodel hefted a heavy shillelagh and muttered a prayer, and shards of stone erupted from the wood. She leapt merrily into the midst of the crab-men, swinging wildly with strength that belied her size. Claw and chitin flew across the abandoned marketplace, and though the Deep Ones inflicted grievous wounds, the Dwarf seemed to heal instantly in a shower of flower petals.
The Tidelord spat the last of the flowers out of his mouth and realized what was happening. “Faerie!” he shouted.
Sure enough, a small sprite hovered in the background, channeling its power into the Dwarf who clobbered his Deep Ones. The Tidelord smiled: planar minions were his specialty. A dark bolt flew from his hand and struck down the tiny faerie.
“Dianthe, no!” cried Asphodel, who yanked her club from the last crab-man’s gooey insides and ran to aid her friend.
“Enough of your tricks, girl! On an island in a sea of tears did Akylios himself teach me the profane arts! He will wind your flesh ’round his little finger like string around a spool! I shall turn your insides to… to… oh dear…” and with a gesture from Asphodel, the Tidelord slumped to the ground in an enchanted sleep.
Asphodel looked at her injured friend. “I think we’re going to need Lykon’s help with this.” The faerie nodded before flitting away.
“I have underestimated you,” yawned the Tidelord as he rose up off the cobblestone some moments later. “What force lets you bind the fair folk to your will?” He clenched his fist, and the twisting magics of Akylios wound around his arms as he commanded Asphodel’s lungs to fill with seawater.
Hacking and gasping, she never took her gaze from the evil priest. “That’s what’s wrong with your dragons. They think everything should be destroyed, corrupted, or controlled. I prayed that we were not alone in the universe, that… there were spirits of good who would be my friends.”
A cloven hoof came down behind the Tidelord, vines rushing up from the shattered cobblestone in its wake. The Abyssal turned just in time to see an armored satyr hulking over him, axe raised to strike, its hot breath blowing away the mist.
“And my friends don’t like it when people try to hurt me.”
“The cosmos is full of people, spirits, and beasts. The dragons have corrupted so many, but not everyone you meet is an enemy. With an open heart, and enough patience, you can still find friends, even in the planes. And then you’ll have help beating evil monsters to death.”
Sanctum. Mahal Dewpetal is where you can pick up your quest to get your Druid Soul. You can find him at the large tree to the left of the stairs entering the building of Sanctum.
Meridian – Between Manufactory and Tower (standing with Beastmaster)
The Cabalist is one of the Cleric’s best DPS classes. It is a spellcaster with strong area of effect spells. “The more mobs the better” is the motto of the Cabalist.
The Cabalist’s sigils and ritual magics give him a tremendous advantage on the battlefield, for if given enough time to fester, they will eventually erupt in a cascade of dark energy, destroying everything within range of the sigil’s host.
If given the opportunity, a Cabalist will slowly spread destruction across the battlefield. The only defense against this inevitable doom is a lightning-quick assault to overwhelm them before their sigils have a chance to take effect.
The playstyle is based on the management of Sigils and the stacking of Lurking Decay on the target. The Cabalist gets access to several Sigils, a sort of self-buff that enables a couple of abilities; notably Obliterate and Tyranny (AoE). If a Sigil is active while using one of these spells, the Sigil is consumed and the Cleric gains an effect from it (for example mana from the Sigil of Power).
Another way to enable Obliterate and Tyranny is by channeling the Decay spell. This does damage to the enemy as well as gives the Cleric up to 3 stacks of Lurking Decay (1 stack per second). Obliterate’s damage is enhanced by each stack of Lurking Decay, and Tyranny consumes one stack every time it is cast.
The Cabalist has no great crowd control, nor does it have any heals or shields. For dungeons and crowd control, try combining it with the Inquisitor soul. For survivability and soloing, the Purifier is an excellent choice as a companion soul.
The cottage was ripe with decay: flayed animal carcasses dangled from the ceiling, piles of bones littered the floor, and heaps of entrails steamed atop a stained wooden table. An old Kelari stood at the window. He turned to face the strangers sprawled bleeding on the packed dirt floor, and in a high, mocking voice said, “Wonderful job, heroes. We are surrounded.”
Though the recluse Asias had a reputation for madness, he did not exaggerate. Goblins pushed their way through the fanning ferns around the clearing, their shaman dancing before the hermit’s cottage, summoning fire elementals to further glut their numbers. From among the strangers, a powerful Bahmi with a wickedly serrated sword tried to stand. Her wounds were too great, and she collapsed again. Gritting her teeth, she said, “Sarcasm later. We must fight.”
Asias surveyed the battered group and made a low, disgusted noise. “Sarcasm always. Now, stay here. I will handle this.”
The old Kelari stepped from the cottage, and the goblins laughed raucously in response, taunting him for his age. Asias half smiled and traced a sigil in the air, invoking the names of ancient spirits. Shadows pooled at his feet, and he locked eyes with the shaman. The goblin went curiously stiff as the Elf approached. In a low, cruel voice, Asias whispered, “Maelforge is gone. Your followers are gone. You are alone, and helpless. Why, you might as well just give up now.”
The goblin’s eyes suddenly went blank with terror and loneliness. He dropped to his knees and let out a high, broken wail. He tried to cast a spell at the Kelari, but doing so only caused nearby goblins to drop to their knees in pain as well. Before any others could react, Asias sent a wave of black malevolence toward them, snuffing the brightness of the jungle clearing and dropping most of the goblins like flies. At the same time, he flashed all of the fire elementals with frozen water, reducing them to columns of steam.
The Elf gestured, and currents of dark water ensnared the remaining goblins. Though they screamed, clawing at the earth, the waters dragged them toward the hermit. He traced a sigil in the air and placed it on the middle goblin. Releasing his waters, he drew back into the shadows of his cottage.
The marked goblin looked down at the dark symbol on his chest and then at his companions. After a few seconds, nothing had happened, and the goblin grinned cautiously. “Stupid man no —” He was cut off, as dark matter ripped from beneath his skin, making mulch of his body and bringing down the remainder of his companions.
When this extermination was complete, the Kelari surveyed the field of bodies before him and cackled softly in delight. Glancing back at his cottage, he noticed the Bahmi propped in the doorway, leaning on her sword. She regarded Asias with cautious admiration. “What side do you fight on?”
Asias narrowed his eyes. “My own.” He paused, and then added, “I do not wish to see Telara burn.”
The Bahmi nodded and disappeared back into the cottage. Asias knelt in the field of bodies and harvested his spoils.
“Call me dark, cruel, twisted, whatever you will. My methods are ancient, and powerful, and not even armies can stand in my way.”
Sanctum: To the right when coming from the main entrance, by the Bankers.
Cherenbora Mongke, Meridian: Next to the Auctioneer in Epoch Plaza (courtyard).