Bard

Bards inspire with magic and music.

The poems say an adventurer’s life is all open roads and the glory of coin and combat. The tales told in every farmhand-filled inn have to have some ring of truth to them, don’t they? The songs to inspire peasantry and royals alike—to soothe the savage beast or drive men to a frenzy—have to come from somewhere.

Enter the bard. You, with your smooth tongue and quick wit. You teller-of-tales and singer-of-songs. It takes a mere minstrel to retell a thing but a true bard to live it. Strap on your boots, noble orator. Sharpen that hidden dagger and take up the call. Someone’s got to be there, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with the goons and the thugs and the soon-to-be-heroes. Who better than you to write the tale of your own heroism?

Fighter

Fighters excel in combat.

It’s a thankless job—living day to day by your armor and the skill of your arm. To dive heedlessly into danger. They won’t be playing golden horns for the time you took that knife to the ribs for them in the bar in Bucksberg. No flock of angels to sing of the time you dragged them, still screaming, from the edge of the Pits of Madness, no. Forget them.

Paladin

Paladins uphold justice.

Hell awaits. An eternity of torment in fire or ice or whatever best suits the sins of the damned throngs of Dungeon World. All that stands between the pits of that grim torture and salvation is you. Holy man, armored war machine, templar of the Good and the Light, right? The cleric may say his prayers at night to the gods, dwelling in their heavens. The fighter may wield his sharp sword in the name of “good” but you know. Only you.

Ranger

Rangers specialize in survival and ranged attacks.

These city-born folk you travel with. Have they heard the call of the wolf? Felt the winds howl in the bleak deserts of the East? Have they hunted their prey with the bow and the knife like you? Hell no. That’s why they need you. Guide. Hunter. Creature of the wilds.

You are these things and more. Your time in the wilderness may have been solitary until now, but the call of some greater thing—call it fate if you like—has cast your lot with these folk. Brave, they may be. Powerful and strong, too. You know the secrets of the spaces-between, though. Without you, they’d be lost. Blaze a trail through the blood and dark, strider.

Thief

Thieves are masters of stealth and trickery.

You’ve heard them, sitting around the campfire. Bragging about this battle or that. About how their gods are smiling on your merry band. You count your coins and smile to yourself—this is the thrill above all. You alone know the secret of Dungeon World—filthy filthy lucre.

Sure, they give you shit for all the times you’ve snuck off alone but without you, who among them wouldn’t have been dissected by a flying guillotine or poisoned straight to death by some ancient needle trap? So, let them complain. When you’re done with all this delving you’ll toast their hero’s graves. From your castle. Full of gold. You rogue.