Classes of SavageConflicts

“Knowledge is a blade; I only choose the edge.”

Masters of the arcane weave, Archmages rewrite reality with sigils and geometry. They command storms of raw mana, bend time for a breath, and shatter walls with crystalline frost or sunfire. While fragile in close quarters, their layered wards, barriers, and clever positioning keep them alive. In warbands they decide when a fight starts or ends with battlefield wide control, from slowing enemy lines to silencing hostile casters. Resourceful, cerebral, explosive: an Archmage rewards planning and punishes carelessness, turning knowledge into power.

“You won’t feel the first cut.”

Blades in the dark, Assassins stalk from gutter to parapet with ruthless economy. They excel at eliminating priority targets before melting away, using poisons, smoke, and grappling tools to control the approach. They fight dirty stuns, bleeds, and blinds stack quickly yet fold if caught in a brawl. The best Assassins study patrol routes and terrain, striking where sentries thin and exits abound. When the banners rise, they become panic itself, snuffing torches and captains alike.

“Hush courage has a melody.”

Bards bind hearts and minds with music, weaving courage through allies and doubt through foes. Their ballads strengthen arms, steady hands, and hasten feet, while sharp counter-melodies unravel curses and charm beasts. A good Bard reads the room shifting between drumbeat aggression and soft, restorative hymns. They are not duelists, but a lute case can hide nasty surprises: razor wires, flash powder, and a stiletto for close calls. In long sieges, a Bard’s stamina and morale work can decide the last stand.

“Overreach and pay the lesson.”

Forged in arenas where survival is spectacle, Gladiators are consummate duelists and frontliners. They mix shieldcraft with brutal counters, punishing overreach and turning defense into offense. Nets, tridents, and mancatchers let them manipulate distance; a hooked shield rips riders from saddle. They are patient, calculating, and stubbornly hard to kill. In phalanx they anchor the line; in skirmish they bully corridors and gates. You will not pass a Gladiator—you will negotiate it.

“Stand adventurer. I’ll make it enough.”

Sworn to radiant oaths, Paladins are living citadels. They blend sturdy martial skill with consecrated smites, shielding allies while advancing behind banners of light. Their presence steadies formations and breaks undead ranks alike. Though not the fastest, they are relentless, grinding down foes with discipline and sanctified steel. A Paladin’s greatest weapon is conviction—unshakable in defense, terrifying in pursuit of a vow. When they kneel, friends rise. When they stand, lines hold.

“Hold your breath. I already did.”

Quiet as snowfall and twice as cold, Marksmen decide fights from beyond reply. They set sightlines, pace engagements, and force movements with suppressing fire. Traps, tripwires, and decoys make their nests deadly to approach. Up close they falter but a smart Marksman never fights up close. Expect smoke, elevation, and allies: they thrive when the team plays around their vantage. At their best, every arrow is a verdict and every shot changes a plan.

“My life is the light I spend.”

Martyrs turn pain into providence. Their miracles shield companions, redirect wounds, and punish those who harm the innocent. Expect auras, barriers, and self sacrifice consuming personal vitality to cleanse corruption or stabilize allies. Martyrs are not fragile, but they are focused; disrupt their channeling and the bulwark flickers. In decisive moments a Martyr will step into the breach and refuse to fall, buying the seconds that win wars and songs.

“Where I walk, the night obeys.”

Crowned in shadow, Nightlords command fear as a weapon. They braid hexes, specters, and moonless mist to isolate prey and unravel courage. Armor rusts, torches gutter, and footsteps lead elsewhere. Individually they are methodical controllers; with allies, they turn battlefields into haunted traps. Direct sunlight and holy wards hamper their craft, but night, rain, and ruins are their court. When a Nightlord marks you, the dark itself becomes your enemy.

“Pain is the toll. Rage is the road.”

Berserkers are iron storms in human shape. They thrive at the edge of control, converting damage taken into fury that fuels crushing blows and fearless charges. Shields splinter; spear walls buckle. Yet fury is a double-edged axe—overextend and they are kited or controlled into exhaustion. Smart Berserkers manage their rage, timing bursts with a healer’s window or a warhorn’s call. Give them a lane to the backline and watch order dissolve into screaming chaos.

“Lets see how far you will get adventurer..”

Scouts are the eyes and nerve of a guild. They map hostile ground, ambush supply, and decide when to engage or retreat. Light on their feet and heavy on information, they set traps, kite monsters, and deliver precision strikes that open fights on favorable terms. They won’t win a slugfest, but they never intended to. With a Scout, your team moves faster, sees earlier, and lives longer. Without one, you’re walking blind into a hungry world.