In Last Epoch, you will begin your adventure as a base class which can then specialize into one of two Mastery Classes. When specializing into a certain Mastery you will be able to access new skills and augment skills from your base class!
The world needs someone to protect it, even if that world is in ruins. The knight had a lonely childhood, a tall and gangly girl who found no acceptance among the few other youths in the dying city of Last Refuge. She instead found comfort in her training with the blade, her father telling her tales of the knights of the past and his despair over the guardsmen he captained here in the present. She took his lessons to heart and became like a living memory of those knights.
Her might grew as if to try to contain the skill and honor she held within her, few guardsmen being able match her strength. None were able to match her sense of right, and many felt little desire to do so. She quickly became a problem for the rest of Last Refuge’s guards, asking questions they never asked, staring down those who were accustomed to turned eyes. Even at the end of the world, those with power bend and twist it as they can to suit their needs.
Her father was exiled for crimes he did not commit thanks to a favor owed by an Elder. His choice for successor denied due to a vote of no confidence. Shadows in the underbelly of Last Refuge trading coin and a certain woman’s name, the so called knight who foolishly stood for the weak rather than cow to the strong.
Even at the end of the world, a knight stood vigilant for what she knew what was her duty, even as the void came crashing through the city, spreading its own corruption.
Base Class – Knight
What you remember the most are the stories. Stories of valor, of courage, of the undying resolve of the light. What happened to your home, the horrors you’ve seen on the surface and across time, these all have challenged your faith in these ideals but you refuse to waver. This faith in good has become power. Where a blow would strike you down, the light within raises you up, where your allies would cower this light gives you the power to lead, light that cuts through the foulest dark. The light the stories told you of is a part of you now, and you will never waver.
Base Class – Knight
The day Last Refuge fell to the void changed you. A piece of that darkness has taken root inside you, feeding on your sorrow, nourished by your rage. Your swings leave trails of void that eagerly consume the essence of your foes, darkness eating them away from the inside out. This darkness inside you is growing, with every strike imbued with its power you feel more of who you were slipping away, you wonder if eventually you’ll be any different than the creatures that took your home from you… and whether or not you will care.
The art of wielding the arcane has been passed down for generations from master to apprentice far before the void ruined the world drove humanity below the surface. The inheritors of this legacy now make up the Elders of mankind’s final bastion, the underground city of Last Refuge.
The mage was born into this station like the Elders before him, and trained in the arcane arts as they were, harsh and uncompromising. The mage let himself be sculpted and shaped until he too could sculpt with the wild energies of the arcane that suffused through existence. He once thought himself kind, more compassionate than his peers. He spared his young apprentice the severity and coldness he was subjected to, yet he learned his kindness was weakness in truth. His apprentice defied the Elders and was exiled from Last Refuge, his own skill in magic being the only thing sparing the mage from being exiled himself.
Years went on, the mage began growing old, his refusal to foster such weakness again making him pragmatic yet cold. He never considered taking an apprentice again, he was content in his skill being his legacy, his life ending decades from now in his sleep perhaps. The day the void found Last Refuge was the last day he entertained that fantasy.
Base Class – Mage
Your mastery of the arcane has attained new heights, you no longer rely on ley-lines and ancient runes to guide power through you, no, your very being has become a nexus of arcane might, a source of magic itself. Unearthly lightning erupts from your fingertips, flaming meteors rain from the heavens by your will, the very fabric of reality reshapes itself in your presence.
Base Class – Mage
You have learned much in the worlds and times outside of Last Refuge, these lessons driving you to use your magic in ways you never expected. A sword coated in flame, a shield gleaming with wards, orbs of power ready to intercept blows and erupt in retaliation. You have become clever, you have become deadly.
People want someone else to do their dirty work for them, a fact that has been true since the beginning of history and remains true here at its end. The slums of Last Refuge, mankind’s underground sanctuary, are a place where those skilled in cunning and killing prosper, anyone talented in making problems disappear will find work.
The scout has made a living off of their skills, her knives silent and arrows true, drawing the attention of clients from all over Last Refuge’s underbelly. One job left her unsettled however, a strange woman in dark robes placed a bounty on someone she knew. This normally wouldn’t have bothered the rogue but this person was unlike any mark they had been tasked to hunt before, this person was someone they knew was innocent. The rogue knows all about secrets, and this person, a foolish woman from the city guard who called herself a knight was one of the few people she knew to be free of any sins they could hang her guilt on. The rogue could find no way to call her murder just.
The rogue began to question her ways, their place in this run down rat’s nest of a city. She began to question if her skills could find a better home in the guard, rooting out the corruption of the slums rather than contributing to it. Those questions never found answers, the void wiping the slums clean and all of Last Refuge with it.
Base Class – Rogue
Slash and dive. You make your entrance from the shadow. Turn and cut. Your movements are graceful yet unpredictable. Spin and sever. You weave through your foes, they can not touch you, a wind that leaves death in its wake. Leap and pierce. Your blade finds its target, and the next, again and again they fall, again and again you dodge their strikes and make them pay dearly for it. Dance and kill.
Base Class – Rogue
It starts with one arrow. One death. The second arrow pieces through through a heart and shatters a skull behind it. Three dead. The third arrow is a favorite of yours, when it plants itself into the next fool he stops in place and so do his allies, their bodies glimmering with frost. The fourth arrow is even better, it jolts from your bow, sparks crackling in its path. The arrow shatters one body, then another, and another, racing between them, hunting its prey. A dozen dead. Still, more come, you ready your bow. You have no fear, you have enough arrows for them all.
Despite the elders of Last Refuge’s insistence, they are not the last humans living in their world, and the Primalist is a living reminder of that. The surface is desolate, any land not consumed by the void is withered and dying, the essence of life itself is being sapped away from the world yet some humans still live there, most of them driven to insanity and embracing the end of all things. There are exceptions however, for even in the darkest of times the light of hope still burns, there are humans who have remained on the surface and guarded the last vestiges of the long dormant Eterra’s power, its light protecting them in turn. In time though, even the most defiant fire may die, and on that day this last enclave fell to the void and the cultists who revel in its wake.
The only survivors were a woman and her son who had found a cave passage in the mountains and destroyed the entrance behind them. They explored the cave system, comforted that they would die in a darkness of their own choosing rather than be consumed by the void until they discovered signs of habitation, and eventually the light of torches. They had found themselves within the underground sanctuary of Last Refuge and the scrutiny of its people.
The elders were only convinced not to execute these outsiders and hide their existence by the woman’s knowledge of the druidic arts, her faint connection to the memory of Eterra giving her the ability to help their meager crops and heal their sick. The woman and her son lived as pariahs, forbidden from speaking of their origin, knowing that as soon as their usefulness had run out the elders would dispose of them to restore the status quo.
Time went on, the woman grew old, her body beginning to fail, and the boy turned into a man who wielded the knowledge gifted to him by his mother, a man who dreamt of seeing the sun one last time.
Base Class – Primalist
The spark of druidic magic, the connection to the natural world that formed the anchor of your being has bloomed in your travels. Where your connection to Eterra struggled before it now flourishes and grows as wild as the magic you embody. The trees bow in your wake, vines erupt from the ground at your command, wind and storm, moon and star, their power rushes through you. You are the avatar of the latent power of the earth, your form malleable to that power, Eterra’s bastion against all that would threaten her.
Base Class – Primalist
You have become the master of the wilds and the beasts that dwell within. The beasts of the land recognize you as the champion of Eterra, willing to fight at your side with tooth, claw and talon. You lead your pack with strength and pride, leading the charge with your skill and ferocity, the power of beasts infusing your body and shifting your shape to ravage your enemies. The heart of the wild beats within you, its fury leading your way.
The acolyte hungered for knowledge, their apprenticeship under the Elders of Last Refuge leaving them bored and restless. Their master was a kind man, he spared them the bellows and caning that other apprentices endured for their mistakes, but still, the acolyte was not satisfied. They wanted to be more than these gray men and hunched women hiding in this subterranean city. The acolyte wanted power.
They had heard tales of the surface’s past like any youth would have, but the tales that interested them the most were those of the Immortal Empire and their mastery over death. Most apprentices would have never dared to ask their master about the magic the Immortal Empire wielded, and most mentors would never have conceded that tomes detailing their dark secrets still existed hidden in the archives. Alas, the acolyte and their master were fools.
The acolyte still remembers it, the feeling when they first recited a chant from one of those tomes, a mouse tied to the glyph on the cover. The power of its soul, no matter how meager, as it flew into them, and the sight of its tiny skeleton tearing its way from the tiny corpse. The acolyte was found out of course, their dark experiments growing more bold, but they had grown clever by then and made a quick escape to the shadowy slums of Last Refuge. The acolyte had taken as many of the old histories and knowledge of the Undead Empire as they could, determined to uncover all of its secrets and find power beyond what this little world could provide.
Their tale would have ended there, a rebellious acolyte to the forbidden arts wasting their talents in the dark if fate had not broken through the rocks guarding that little world. Void flowed through and opened the way to a horizon for them to chase.
Base Class – Acolyte
Your studies of the forbidden arts have proven fruitful, the knowledge the elders had sought to hide from you finally laid bare, the secrets of the dead. Flesh, bone, blood, the lingering essence left in life’s wake, these are your tools, your weapons. You are the master of a forsaken army, your dark creations swarming your foes with the hunger of the dead, a hunger borne from your power and fed at your command.
Base Class – Acolyte
You have found a new understanding of the ancient powers, you realize now that true artistry lies not in the shaping of flesh but rather, the twisting of the soul. The body is a shadow of the light within, a fragile thing that recoils at your touch. Curses that dim that light blind the mind, hexes that chip it can shatter the body, the faintest word from your lips may bear vile enough magic to snuff that light out entirely.