Attack
AttackOne enemy · melee · Combat only
Deals 25 weapon damage to the target. (+6 weapon) (1 + 0.5 × STR 16)
A plain strike with whatever you hold - blade at arm's reach, bow at a distance.
Every class the Awakening can hand you, with its kit as the game itself describes it. Numbers are shown for a level-20 veteran with 16 in every attribute and a modest weapon; yours will differ. Generated from the live content: 13 classes, 156 abilities, 274 techniques, 31 statuses, 22 oaths.
Someone has to be where the hurt lands, and decide it lands on them. The Warrior is not the biggest blade in the party - the Warrior is the reason everyone else still has one.
Everyone else fights the battle in front of them. The Rogue fights the one three seconds from now - the opened vein, the missed step, the moment the answer stops mattering. Wait for it. There it is.
Death keeps a ledger and the Cleric keeps crossing out names. Not gently - faith here is a stubbornness, a refusal spoken loud enough that the light shows up to enforce it.
The Wizard did the reading. Every fireball is a bibliography; every frozen enemy is a footnote. Magic is not a gift here - it is a discipline, and the dungeon is about to be graded.
Unproven and unbound. Learn the mountain, sample every weapon, and earn your name at the Awakening.
The grave sent the Death Knight back with winter in the wound and an appetite the living do not have. Every blow taken is a meal; every blow given, a memory of how the cold felt the first time.
The Demon Hunter stole fire from the thing that burned their life down, and pays the interest daily. Every glaive-stroke is repayment; every scar is the receipt. The debt ends when the demon does.
The Druid knows the forest's oldest secret: everything grows back - the tree, the wound, the debt. Feed the ground and it feeds you. Cut the party down and watch it bloom out of spite.
The Engineer read the dungeon's rules and brought counterexamples. Every gadget is an argument that preparation beats destiny - and the satchel has at least two more arguments left.
The Necromancer runs death like an office: souls filed, bones reassigned, decay itemized. It is not cruelty - it is thrift. The living waste so much, and the Necromancer wastes nothing at all.
Somewhere behind the Paladin is a promise made out loud - to a god, to a grave, to a village that burned. The armor is just the promise's outer layer. It has not been broken. It will not start today.
The Shaman never fights alone - the storm owes a favor, the river keeps accounts, the ancestors lean in when called by name. Every chant is a debt collected on behalf of the living.
The Warlock read the contract, signed in blood, and - this is the important part - understood it. Power is a loan; health is currency; the dark charges interest. So does the Warlock.
Ticks scale with the hand that set them. What a monster is made of cannot afflict it.
Some rare pieces carry an oath. Do the deed it names while wearing it and the piece awakens a permanent bonus. The item remembers, not the wearer.