The Dominator is a support Mage who terrorizes opponents, leaving them unable or unwilling to act. Those who muster the courage to assault a Dominator will find themselves at the mercy of arcane shields that turn the fury of their own blows against them.
With mind-altering abilities that easily disrupt focus, Dominators are the bane of enemy casters, especially healers. Dominators also excel at sending enemy ranks into disarray, making isolated, terrified individuals prey for the Mage’s allies.
Like many who thrive on terror, Dominators are themselves fragile and require a solid screen of companions to shield them from the wrath of those they torment.
Nyx was beloved of the Kelari. A beautiful young girl, she was betrothed to Heliod, who was fated to become high priest. In a land where ruthlessness was a virtue, Nyx was known for her sweet demeanor. Her melodious voice called the squirrels from the trees and the birds from the skies down to perch upon her shoulders.
Returning from a day in a shady glade, Nyx entered her opulent chamber to find an Abyssal sorcerer waiting, knife in hand.
“Your destiny dies with you…” the faceless cultist’s threat died in his throat, and he shrunk and shriveled until only a squirrel ran in erratic circles where he’d stood. Humming a dulcet tune, Nyx called the beast to her and dropped him into a cage, which she immediately submerged in a cistern. She sang over the animal’s terrified shrieks, then finally flicked the carcass out the window.
The Water cultists had arrived. Again. Oh, bother, thought Nyx, How many times must I deal with these people?
“Oh, Heliod!” she called out pleasantly, hand on the bejeweled ritual dagger on her hip. “I think we shall have visitors soon!” She opened the door to the salon to see if he was deep in meditation.
Instead she saw more Abyssal cultists, wearing masks made from the skins of their victims. The large one with the swords was hacking her Heliod into parts needed for their demonic rituals, while the others were busy painting profane symbols in the mess.
“Well I see you’ve already made yourselves at home.” Her practiced smile never wavered. “You must be tired.” Following a wave of her hand, the cultists found themselves struggling to stay awake. The pleasantness about her evaporated as the very air darkened. “And now you’ve forced me to train another husband,” Nyx said before she split apart into shadows that crept about the walls.
The cultists of Akylios are accustomed to madness. But in the house of Nyx they suffered their greatest and final torments: Running through the room clawing at their faces to remove imagined insects, losing all memory of who they were, then finally turning upon each other in paranoia. With their own spilt gore, they destroyed whatever arcane pattern they had attempted earlier.
Nyx turned and regarded the leader, who had just found the strength to stand. “Witch!” he cried out, “Akylios will not fall to the likes of you!” A bolt of unspeakable energy hissed through the air and bounced off of Nyx’s magic shield, straight back at its caster. Whichever spell it was looked painful.
“Yes, yes, you cultists and your prattle. Consider me officially bored.” And Nyx wrenched the magic out of the sorcerer, through his mouth and his nose and his tear ducts and his pores. His body collapsed onto the pile of his minions.
Nyx checked her appearance in the mirror, and frowned fetchingly. “Well then. Nothing for it but to show this Akyli-person that I will not be trifled with.”