Earth

Earth is the element of immovability and the definition of standing strong. The who have mastered it have learned how to stay steadfast in the face of strife. Along with its heavy defensive doctrine, its offensive capabilities are blunt and simple. Throwing rocks, and moving mountains. It is rigid, with very little room for change and adaptation with little need for precision.

Way of the Terromancer

Upturn the ground underneath, then bury it down below.

Mage duels were always fun events for spectators and combatants alike. They were often hosted as huge events, with multiple mages competing in a tournament style. This was not like that. It was more similar to an old-fashioned sword on sword duel, to settle a matter of honour. But honour is not where it shared its similarities. No, neither party had a shred of honour. The similarities they shared were that this would be to the death. He took his place, seventeen paces from his opponent, as standard for a mage duel. He felt the ground beneath his feet and how it was bent and shaped in his hands. He unearthed the stones below him and molded them into its final form: a sword. And then it started.

Way of the Turfmaker

The earth is yours to command.

They said it couldn’t be done, not by yourself. Building a house out of nothing but your affinity and the earth. He had done it seven years ago and then raised a family in it. Setting aside his former life, and living a happier one. And then they came, pillaging and ransacking. And when they got to the house made of dirt and stone, they destroyed it. Blew it to pieces. And his wife and child? Dead, along with the life he had worked so hard to build. He had one life to go back on, one filled with hate and strife. Now he had one choice: finding those who did this. Everyone said it couldn’t be done, finding and killing them. But he had heard that before. And he’d prove them wrong again.

Way of the Claymolder

You are the artist. Now mold.

The rocks were stacked on top of each other, mud and clay-filled in the gaps that she thought needed filling. She was happy with it, finally. This work of art. She put her hand out and breathed life into the monument. It shifted; the massive pillars that were its legs moved. They were stiff, as someone would be had they been asleep for hundreds of years. Then the arms, at first, they dangled there and then they moved with purpose. Then the face began to take shape. It had awoken. She had rebuilt this behemoth, now it was hers.

Way of the Mountainshaker

Shake the very mountains to their roots.

His mace hit the ground, sending a monolith of stone spiraling upwards. He smashed his mace on the tower of stone and it crumbled and shattered, sending shards of rock towards his opponent on the other side. This battle had lasted countless hours, it seemed as if they were as evenly matched as they could be. His opponent sent a rock shooting towards him, he raised a wall in front of him and it smashed into it at the last second. His movements were getting sloppy, tired. Both of their movements were. However, he had saved his final assault for last. And he was about to make the ground quake.

Way of the Bulwark

Become a fortress. Don’t give them an inch.

He was a wall. He did not move, he barely spoke. Some people thought he was literally made of stone. As didn’t flinch as the unhinged Justicar unleashed everything he had at him, that storm looked unstoppable for any normal mortal. But this it seemed the half-orc was no normal mortal. He stood there and took all of it. The Justicar didn’t stop, and the half-orc didn’t move.

Way of the Mantlebearer

You bear the earth beneath your feet and make sure they know it.

He stood there, shaking, kneeling on the ground with his battered shield and blunted axe. The wooden door behind him remained untouched as hordes of Dracon soldiers ran at him in an attempt to breach the gate. He stood strong in the face of the attack; he was determined. Determined not to let them through, determined to become something greater than himself. He would give his friends as much time to escape as possible. The weight of the world was on their shoulders, which subsequently meant it was on his.

Way of the Sandstorm

Cut and blind.

The Zresan desert was a cruel place. But what was crueler were some of the people who wandered it. The towns and civilizations built upon springs and oases were pleasant enough. But to be caught up in the sandhills with a clan of dunewalkers on the horizon was not a pleasant fate. But that was what she was determined to find. There was a Znomad patriarch whose throat needed a little slitting. She had already found him, but she needed to get in closer. And this storm of sand that she had conjured was just enough to let her do it.

Way of the Dustshredder

Shred them to pieces.

The streets were constantly filled with dust far above one’s head. It made covering one’s mouth and face a commonality. Which made one look less suspicious. Especially if one was trying to hide the malicious activities they were engaged in. He waited outside the window of a house. Nightfall was soon, the sun was dipping below the horizon and the last bits of orange in the sky were fading. He tapped his foot impatiently and pulled the cloth tighter over his mouth. His friend jumped out from the window with a small bag full of coins. Even though the mask they wore, they could both tell each other was smiling. “Over there!” The sound of a guard sounded. The smile faded, and they could both visibly see the panic in each other's eyes. They sprinted down the alleyway, the guards hot on their heels. Dust trailed up behind them, but it wasn’t enough. The alleyway got narrower and narrower and the guards got closer. He turned around to see the guard just a few paces from them. He waved his arms through the dust trail and suddenly a blinding wall appeared. They may as well not have existed, because the guards would never find them.

Way of the Stonetracer

A stone rolling down the mountainside heralds something much greater

Watching and waiting, with a bow in hand. This was his least favourite part of the job. He considered running solo sometimes, omitting this part. But it wasn’t worth it, leaving behind his friends, another pair of eyes to watch his back, just because he wasn’t patient. Why orcs were in a city were beyond him, but if it meant a chance to get to fight some Orks, he was in. He pulled back the bowstring as he spotted four figures enter the alleyway. They were rushed, in a hurry. Like they were being chased. Because they were. He shot the most heavily armoured one right in the eye, then jumped down and drew the axe strapped to his side. He blocked off one exit to the alley, and soon his partner came and blocked the other entrance. “There’s three left.” He called to his partner. “One for each of us, then a competition for the last one.” A few pieces of stone and gravel levitated around him at the signal of his hand. This was his favourite part of the job.

Page updated

Google Sites

Report abuse