The Justicar class is available under the Cleric calling. 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.
A Justicar's healing comes from the damage dealt in close combat. Thus he can survive and thrive in the thick of the fighting while ensuring his allies do the same.
A Justicar’s divine magic depends upon his melee prowess, so foes are wise to try and keep the Justicar from the front lines.
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.
“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.
“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 its 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.”