The Cabalist is an offensive Cleric who draws on powers that others fear. Using ritual and sigil to call forth seeping death and suffocating water, he devastates the battlefield with powerful attacks that catch all of his enemies in his grip.
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 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.