“I am the vengeance of the north. Mine is the fury of the storm, the bite of the icy peaks, and I will rain retribution on those who threaten our way of life.”
The Shaman binds the power of the icy north to his very being, wreathing himself in pure elemental force. This power augments a Shaman’s attacks, making him a powerful melee combatant, and provides shields and reactive healing.
A Shaman strikes hard and fast like the fury of a winter storm. He can quickly close into melee and unleash powerful blows fueled by muscle and magic.
Shamans lack other clerics’ abilities to bolster defenses and heal grievous wounds, so they fare poorly against foes with a strong defense of their own or who can keep the Shaman at bay.
Ekkehard was a bear of a man, even after age turned his beard white and fine as snowdrifts. He was the last of the Valnir clan to fall when the Storm Legion swept through Iron Pine Peak. His maul toppled many of Crucia’s finest, but at last they captured the mountainous man. As the other imprisoned northmen looked on, the Storm Legion commander blinded Ekkehard with a hot poker. He was chained with the rest of the captives and marched toward Crucia’s chamber for assimilation.
Despite his blindness, Ekkehard spent the long death-march preaching faith in Thedeor, god of storms and justice. One night, the commander dragged Ekkehard out of line for rousing the tribesmen to a particularly passionate fervor. Stripped of all but a few loose furs and beaten savagely, the once-unstoppable northerner found himself left for dead in the snow.
Somehow, Ekkehard found the strength to limp along the roadway, following the ruts left by the Legion’s wagons. As his body began to fail, limbs turning solid with the cold, he cried out, “Thedeor! Avenge my people! Grant me your strength, and I will crush the mindless hordes of Crucia!”
The cold in his limbs deepened, as if arctic water ran in every vein, yet Ekkehard felt completely at ease. All pain vanished, and he felt the winds flowing around him, guiding him through the dark to where the slave train made camp.
Silent as a stalking lion, Ekkehard felt his way to the wagon carrying the weapons confiscated from the Valnir. No sooner did he clutch his trusty maul than living lightning poured from his fingertips, charging the weapon with Thedeor’s wrath.
Blind but no longer helpless, Ekkehard let his ears guide his assault. Creeping toward the prisoners, Ekkehard heard the guards mocking the bedraggled northmen, and directed his fury toward their laughter. He charged, roaring, and smashed the first guard’s skull to flinders, lightning arcing from the blow to fry the second to a husk.
Ekkehard was prepared for the third guard’s rush, summoning a flurry of ice and snow to obscure the combat and blind his foe. Ekkehard struck her with such thunderous force that she flew out of the flurry and into a cliff face with a sickening crunch. The snow settled back to the ground, and Ekkehard stood before the astonished prisoners. He hoisted the maul high and cried out, “Praise Thedeor!”
The Storm Legion quickly fell to the freed Valnir. Their commander begged for mercy, so Ekkehard put his eyes out with spikes of lightning from his maul, and left him to wander the ice. “Let’s see if Crucia aids you as Thedeor aided me!” Ekkehard declared. Ever after, the Shamans of the northern tribes have driven back the Blood Storm with bitter cold and the fury of the sky.