Faction special rules

To combat the all-encroaching darkness of Sylvania, the Iron Bastion has made training its point of main strength. Through specialized, custom-tailored training, the different soldiers of the new state army are taught how to make use of their particular skills in combination with their comrades. The result is a well-oiled machine where different types of warriors complement each other, their talents coming together to raise spirits, increase effectiveness and hold the night at bay.

Men unite against the dark: Units of the Iron Bastion can belong to 4 different types of units besides the ordinary classifications like infantry, cavalry, etc.

Salt of the Earth are units with Sylvanian background. They may be farmers and shepherds turned coscripts, mutants and witches changed by generations of exposure to dark magic and wyrdstone, or freaks and monsters produced by aberrant experiments.

Knights are units belonging to a Knightly Order. Mostly foreigners, they are Templars of Sigmar, Prelates of Morr, or Black Guards. These stout, proud warriors accompany crusading zeal to force of arms attained by a lifetime of training and fighting.

Machina are units composed or including mostly machines. From rattling steam-horses, to contraptions the size of a palm, to colossal, chugging monstrosities of fire and smoke, these are all the cutting-edge of Empire technology, deployed to crush and grind aberrations into a paste.

Torchbearers are units that rally others. By saintly light, fanatic zeal, sheer might, or constant bellow against the fading of the light, they disperse the gloom always threatening to swathe the heart of the Sylvanians, breaking the hold of terror over the heart of man.

The different types of units present in the Bastion coordinate with each other in different fashions, augmenting their strengths and covering each other their weaknesses. For example, a Salt of the Earth unit may receive courage and pride from staying near a Knight unit, while a Knight unit emboldened by a Lightbearer may see its charge turned into a stampede able to crush even the most powerful monster. The combinations generated by the constant training and collaboration of the Iron Bastion are as numerous as they are efficient in dispatching the enemies of Sylvania.

Kill it, as many times as it takes: The soldiers of the Iron Bastion harbor a fanatical hatred for all types of undead, seeing them as a perversion of the natural cycle of life and death, and the main culprits for the dismal state of their land. The Iron Bastion's relentless focus against the dangers of Sylvania has made its soldiers expert undead and vampire-slayer. All Iron Bastion units receive Hatred (Undead) and have their offensive capabilities increased against all spawns of the tomb.

Are you a man, or a dog?: Salt of the Earth units are souls crushed by vampire tyranny that have managed to rise from misery and submission. As they break their chains and embrace their new existence as free men, or fail at doing so, they may take upgrades reflecting the newfound strength in their souls.

- I am a man! The Count freed me!: This unit is composed of freemen raised from misery and subjugation by the words and examples of the Dread Count himself. Forgetting pain and fatigue, they fight with unmatched zeal and discipline against the darkness.

- I am broken, brothers. Forgive me: Despite trying their utmost, the soldiers in this unit haven't been able to rise above the darkness enveloping their souls. The horror haunts them, making them reckless and desperate in their fight. Their horror-filled blows can fell monsters in their score, but they are prone to bouts of fits and paralyzing terror.

- I fell once. I WON'T FALL AGAIN: Rising from a horror-filled past, the soldiers in this unit charge head-on into the darkness, searching for redemption even if it means their death. This unit never runs, and once in combat, it's dreadfully difficult to dislodge them.

- You're just a shadow, monster. I see it now: The strongest among the Sylvanians, these soldiers stand tall, a new, pale light filling their once-haunted eyes. Monsters and darkness recoil from these survivors, their souls not only not having been broken by the horror, but been tempered and grown stronger from it.

Legendary Lords

Elector Count Lorenz Von Drak: Protector of the Faith of Sigmar, Enemy of the Dark, Guardian of the Blessed Night, Morr's Chosen, the Dread Count of Sylvania, Elector Count of Sylvania under Mandate of the Emperor, Lorenz Von Drak is the absolute ruler of a land encroached by darkness and undead.

Swathed in cloth and black armor, possessed of a strength that seems unhuman, the Dread Count is an ominous, mysterious man; a contradiction, able to show remarkable kindness to his subjects and shocking cruelty to his enemies. A brooding, stern figure, Lorenz Von Drak is the Lord in Dark for grateful peasants, the Man of Miracles that managed to wrestle a glimmer of hope from Sylvania's darkness, the Black General for his adoring soldiers and the Scum Scourge for vampires and necromancers, that learned to live in fear of his pyres.

Appeared one day in Altdorf, the last heir of the Von Drak lineage looks completely out of place in the halls of power. Cutting a hulking but crooked, withered frame, the Count walks slightly stooped, and usually wears a cowl over his head. An austere man, he wears no jewels, seeming more like a beggar than a proud noble. The impression lasts only as long as one gets near: the Count's lone eye blazes from beneath the cowl with a cold intensity that makes the most arrogant nobles excuse themselves, cold sweat on their brow. To those who know him, the Count radiates with fearsome authority and menace.

A fearsome warrior and a leader of man, the Dread Count stirs the hearts of soldiers and peasants with sweeping speeches propugnating the reclamation of Sylvania and the strength of man's soul against the horror of the night. There's an aura of dark nobility around him, and Von Drak is able to turn disorganized rabbles into bloodthirsty mobs, as well as inspire soldiers and knights with the strength of certainty in the justice of their cause, and the selfless will of sacrifice for it. When the Count speaks, he does so with the intensity and the surety of a man possessed, able to sway hearts and create loyalty, as well as to instill faith in dreams once thought unattainable. Where Von Drak passes, broken souls rise again, staring in fury against the encroaching darkness.

From his seat in Drakenhof Castle, the Count rules his province with a mixture of divine authority, knightly duty, noble understanding for his faithful subjects and merciless cruelty for rebels. Possessing a prodigious memory and understanding of Sylvanian culture, the Von Drak heir compounds his sweeping societal and economic reforms with deep attention to his subjects' culture and concrete wellbeing, as well a heavy-handed favor given to the churches of Morr and Sigmar. A heart-and-mind, pragmatic approach that saw his popularity rise to a shocking level with much of the Sylvanian peasantry, that sees him as the ideal lord.

As a ruler, Von Drak is tireless and methodical, micro-managing affairs with a knowledge of Sylvania's many hamlets and territories that borders on the supernatural. He remembers enough details to fill a full archive, and there seems no matter too small for his notice, so much that his clerks have often to remind him that the Count's time is precious and limited. His plans for social and political reforms are hand-written behemoths that could make a High Elf politician swoon.

As a general, Von Drak is preternaturally patient, maneuvering his troops with cold, methodical expertise. A masterful tactician, the Count uses the iron-clad discipline of the Bastion to outmaneuver, surround and then crush his enemies into a paste. Von Drak brings all his attention to details on the battlefield, adding to it an incredible intuition for enemy weakness and a keen instinct for the right moment to switch from poised commander to wrathful leader of shattering attacks.

Von Drak is a grim, stern figure, speaking little apart from what his title asks from him and then only in short, resolute orders. He has little patience for fools, and cares not for parties and enjoyement, cutting a somber, glum figure. Deeply pious, his only interest apart from county work appears to lay in religion, with two confessors, one Sigmarite and one Morrite, working tirelessly to appease the Count's desire for pious conversation.

Von Drak keeps a tight hush over his private life. Still, certain rumors linger; rumors about a gallery of ancient paintings, so well-hidden in the bowels of Castle Drakenhof that not even the Von Carstein could uncover. To this place, it seems, the Count goes during stormy nights, a brooding shadow restlessly pacing the dark corridors. There, beyond secret passageways known only to him, he secludes himself. As the rain falls and the wind howls mournfully over Drakenhof, he walks the gallery, a flickering candle throwing dancing shadows over glaring faces engraved in paint and picture. There the Count kneels, as if in adoration, before the last painting, the most recently added, a painting representing a beautiful woman with a gentle smile. There the Dread Count remains, long in the night, a silent shadow among the shadows, the painted lady's smile flaking softly in the gloom.

The Count leaves ample room for his subjects' freedoms but demands absolute obedience where this doesn't happen. The only times a faint smile has been seen on his rugged features is when observing his cities or his subjects during times of peace, or when watching a vampire screeching on a pyre. To rebels, Von Drak is merciless and inventive, finding new and excruciating ways to show his loyal subjects what happens to those that break the peace. But the worst he reserves to vampires and practitioners of the dark arts, epic punishments that contributed much to his nickname as the Dread Count of Sylvania. Unexpectedly, the peasantry appreciates this from their Count, believing that the ideal lord is always heavy-handed.

Immersed in his political projects, Von Drak doesn't lead as many campaigns as he did during the first years of his rule, but this doesn't mean his fighting skills rusted in any way. The Count is a ferocious fighter. He relishes battle, and always wears his armor beneath his robes.

Count Von Drak appears as a hulking, crooked man, made larger by the ample grey robes he wears over his stark suit of black armor. He always wears a cowl over his head, from under which his single eye can be seen glimmering with a pale light. Traces of his Sylvanian upbringing can be seen in the slight tremor of his left hand, while his right hand is usually clutched to his chest and hidden behind a sleeve, being slightly malformed. Despite these deformities, the Count is exceptionally strong and fast for a man his size.

The sword handed to him by the Emperor is mostly ceremonial. His real weapon is a wicked halberd, a nameless, deadly thing topped with an axe-blade thrice blessed by the Grand Theogonist and a spear-tip blessed by the High Prelate of Morr. When he reaches for it, his eye blazing with cold light, even Vampire Lords know better than to lower their guard. In fact, the Dread Count is such a deadly combatant that many believe that there is something supernatural about him, the source of it different depending on whom is speaking.

And there seems to be more than fantasy to these voices. Many still remember Von Drak's great campaigns of years ago, when the Count has single-handedly slain vampires, necromancer lords and beast lords from the dark forests of Sylvania. All feats that no normal man could have managed alone. Voices abound about the Dread Count's supposed source of strength; but, if it's the light of the Gods or something darker to provide him with strength, it's a mystery that Lorenz Von Drak is not sharing.

The Dread Count hates all undead with a passion bordering on fanaticism, but his resentment toward vampires in particular is legendary. More than anything, he seems to draw great amusement from humiliating a lord of the night, being from beasting one in a duel or having him ripped apart from his Guard. Von Drak had an entire bridge of Drakenhof decorated with the still-living heads of Vampire Lords, held there with their mouths filled with dung until a good shot from a peasant puts an end to their misery.

The blood-suckers reply to this sentiment in kind, the presence of the Dread Count enraging them, disgusting them and, impossibly, scaring them, something that a normal man shouldn't be able to. Another seeming miracle from the Man of Miracles.

Equipment: /

Magic Items: Nameless Halberd, The Black Armor, The Unbroken Sword, Iron Hand of Drakenhof, The Grave Violet

Mounts: Count Von Drak may take:

- Barded horse (may be upgraded with Sylvanian Resilience, Grave-Stench, Feueraugen)

- Mechanical steed (may be upgraded with OVERDRIVE!, Reinforced Frame)

Special Rules

- Count Von Drak must be your General

- Down, in the mud: Count Von Drak can use mounts only for movements. During a fight, he fights on foot and is considered infantry-sized

- Are you men? Or are you dogs? Howl it!: Salt of the Earth units can take I am a man! The Count freed me! upgrade freely if Von Drak is the army's general

- Together, my subjects, we shall overcome them: this unit is considered a Knight, Torchbearer and Salt of the Earth type

- Something special, something dark: The strength of Lorenz is all but-supernatural, allowing him to shrug off blows and spells that would fell lesser men. When he taps into this well of power, the Dread Count reflects his moniker well, turning into an unstoppable killing machine that can fell the worst the world has to offer in a whirlwind of bloody strikes

- Dark Vengeance: The mysterious dark power infusing Von Drak fuels his unyielding desire for vengeance against the undead and their malevolent masters. Whenever the Dread Count successfully destroys an enemy undead unit or a spell of necromancy or dark magic is cast, his power and fury grows, until he becomes all but unstoppable.

- Look into my eye, creature: Undead of all kinds feels an instinctive hostility toward Count Von Drak, the Dread Count's presence managing to stir disgust and fear even in their cold, dead hearts.

- You can't hide from me, monster: maybe it's a blessing from the Gods of the Empire, maybe it's something else. Whatever the reason is, Von Drak's single eye pierces illusions and glamours as easily as pulling down a puppeteer's screen

- The Dread Count of Sylvania: the Count's presence stirs the heart of his men and cowers those of the enemy. Count Von Drak increases the leadership of near units and lowers that of near enemy units. Also, the Dread Count's resolute orders and strategic thinking cause shattering attacks that can destroy any defense. Nearby units see their offensive potential increased as the soldiers of Sylvania do their utmost while their Count's eye and plans lay upon them.

- Count Von Drak has Frenzy

- Terror

- Immune to Psychology

"You fools! You absolute fools! Humans are supposed to be prey! They are sheep! They tremble before us, they cower at the sound of our steps! This… this is the only real truth. Humans are our food. We are their masters, we are their predators. But then… then why do I felt in such a way before that damned Von Drak? He's a man, I am sure of it! Then why do my hands shake when I think about challenging him again? Why does my throat close when I think about drinking his blood? What is that hateful light in that disgusting one-eye that manages to pierce even this immortal night? The Blood Kiss should have freed me of these weaknesses. It should have! What right has this mongrel to bring them back? The weak among us flee from him. Flee! A vampire, a lord of blood and night, fleeing from a walking morsel! But I am not like them, I am Von Carstein. The blood of princes and gods flows in these veins. I shall not endure such an indignity. This… thing that makes me shake so, I shall not run from it. No, I must destroy it, or perish in the attempt!"

- Last speech of Vampire Lord Bach Von Carstein, slain during a confrontation with Count Von Drak

It doesn't matter what will come of me. I will overcome them all.

- Count Von Drak

Lord Gemunden

Lord Von Gemunden is a man of shocking resourcefulness and even more shocking luck. With an overblown ego and a penchant for outrageous lies, Gemunden should have long become, by all accounts, just another victim of the many dangers of Sylvania. That not only he survives to this day but thrives tells much on how unwise it is to underestimate him, or how lucky can he be.

Born in the Border Princes a lowly peasant under the name of Ernst Saltspitzer, the future Lord Gemunden never quite seemed adapt to his station in life. With golden hair, chiseled features and sly blue eyes, he looked more like a prince straight out of a fairytale. Not like he cared for farming and manual labor; in fact, he didn't at all, preferring to pass his days in the tavern.

Taking in stride what fate handed to him, it didn't take long for Ernst to start profiting off his "gifts". Noble ladies, prosperous farmer women, married or not; they all fell for him, and he soon made quite the dandy of himself, living off the more or less generous donations from his many lovers and benefactors.

His luck seemed to take a turn for the worst when he realized too late that the shy young maiden of his latest dalliance was the wife of a very jealous, very vindictive Border Prince. Seemed. The rope that he was to be hanged to snapped just as a horde of Greeskins attacked the city, giving him the chance to escape in the confusion.

Leaving his native lands behind, no love lost between them, Ernst made his way to the Empire. The great imperial metropolis, filled with gambling halls, whorehouses, entertainments and possibilities nowhere seen in his backwater of a hometown, made him feel right at home. Ernst worked for crimelords and kingpins of all kinds, sometimes even doing honest jobs. He gambled professionally, tricked criminals and officers, escaped with his life more than a dozen times and seduced enough members of the sweeter sex to fill a book with their names.

Wherever he went, his natural charm, quick wit and companionable nature meant that he always met with success, at least for a while. His optimistic nature and never-ending luck made him one of the most successful rogues in the imperial slums, with a network of allies, friends, enemies and nemeses that a Vampire Lord would have envied.

It is during these years that Ernst discovered his penchant for lying. Drunk or sober, he declared himself, among many others, a Border Prince in exile, the natural son of Leoucoeur of Bretonnia, a dragon-slayer, the personal friend of this or that Elector Count and, once, even the hidden brother of Karl Franz. Both his features and the liking he developed for fine clothes and perfumes meant that these outrageous lies were believed far more than they should have.

He also filled his "bag of tricks", stuffing himself, materially and metaphorically, with dozens of ruses, devices and ploys, enough of them to leave a Tzeentchian Daemon pleasantly impressed.

Anyone else could have been satisfied, but Ernst Saltspitzer was ambitious. His eyes were on the great courts and circles of the nobles. Apart from luxurious clothes, he took lessons in dancing, languages, military, history and etiquette, all to find his way up the social hierarchy.

His big break arrived after a plot that included paid goons, a ladder, a feathered hat and a poem and ended with a liaison with a noble lady of one of the most esteemed noble houses of Nuln. By the time the lady's father put an end to it, Ernst Saltspitzer, now known under the moniker Lord Von Nibleung, had officially made his entrance into the city's most noble social circles.

Surrounded at all times by a gaggle of admiring noblemen and women, Lord Nibleung dazzled and admired all who listened with his effortless social grace, impeccable manners and incredible tales. It helped that he was also an incredible dancer and a smooth-talker able to stir the heart of the most frigid noblewomen.

During his "career" as a social climber, Ernst traveled across the most important imperial cities, frequented the most exclusive social circles, shook hands with Counts and potentates and met the flirtatious glances of the most beautiful, and richest, ladies. He became rich, bought a mansion at Averheim, lost it all to gambling and drunkeness, became rich again and so on, all of it dotted with enough daring adventures, ridiculous escapes and debaucheries to fill a book.

He changed his name a dozen times, going off as Prince Ludwig of Drakwald, Duke Etienne of Bretonnia, a wide-eyed mystic named Astor Sauer, Inquisitor Martell, the shadowy mage Vald Ritter, Lord Wotan Dhall and many more. And of course, he had to run for his life just as many, like the times Countess Emmanuelle ordered him hanged, again, or when he had to huddle in a rain barrel while Todbringer's winged cavalry soared Middenheim, searching for him with a kill on sight order.

An end to this adventurous life came when Ernst finally went overboard. After an attempt at seducing a shadowy lady that all his well-oiled instincts told him to avoid, he found himself trapped in a horrifying couch with a ghost as a driver that brought him all the way to Sylvania, to the dark city of Gemunden.

One of the few closest towns resembling a city in the province, Gemunden was under the bloody fist of Wilhelmina Von Carstein, the same vampire that kidnapped him. Ernst had to use all his gifts at smooth-talking to keep the horrifying Necrarch Vampire from feeding him to the spawns she unleashed on the town over each forthnight. He even somehow managed to stir something resembling affection in her dead, cold heart, to very embarrassing prospects.

Thankfully for him, his shocking luck came to his help again, this time in the shape of a violent uprising that saw vampire kills vampire in the Palace of Crystals of Gemunden. By the time the dust settled, and Ernst crawled out from the dinner table, all the vampires had slain each other, the Lady herself included.

Busting through the doors and finding him alone, the jubilant inhabitants declared him a hero that saved them from vampire tyranny, and before Ernst knew it, he was Lord Von Gemunden, Vampire-slayer and Savior of the City.

As flattering as it was, being the lord of a backwater town in a Sigmar-forsaken country wasn't exactly Ernst's dream, and he never escaped into the night only because he'd probably end as a snack for the ghouls, or the zombies, or the skeletons, or the necromancers, or the vampires wanting to avenge the death of their kin.

With no other options, Ernst remained for the time being, doing what he had done all his life: make do with what fate handed to him, for his own sake if nothing else.

When Ernst became Lord Von Gemunden twenty years ago, the town was part of Sylvania's desolate landscape, surrounded by all sides by dead and undead, with its inhabitants living shadowy existences as mere puppets to the whims of the vampires.

Today, Gemunden is one of the biggest cities of Sylvania, a veritable oasis of light and civilization amidst the darkness of the province. The cultured inhabitants walk lit, clean streets and sit at elegant cafes, discussing the latest trends in fashion and theater culture, while factories produce a steady supply of weapons and elegant items. Strong walls keep the darkness outside at bay, with cannons, mortars and the latest empire inventions all used by the Gemunden Shields, the city's army, while farmlands around the city provide it with one of the few steady sources of food in all of Sylvania.

Lord Ernst Von Gemunden, now a middle-aged man that should be, by all reasons, dead and buried, has called upon all his connections in the wider Empire to make this miracle happen, as well as emptying his many secret investments created over the years of his many aliases. He forged connections with Sylvanian petty lords and vampires, engaged mercenaries, bought necromancers, brought scientists, engineers, and artists from all the corners of the Empire; he fought four duels, made others face another twenty in his name, and even led two somewhat bumbling campaigns, all to keep Gemunden, and himself, safe, and possibly make it a bit less a backwater hell and a little more like the cities he frequented during his youth.

Of course, it'd take one thousand years for Gemunden to match the likes of Altdorf and Nuln, and Lord Von Gemunden doesn't let a day pass without saying so, but it's also true that he stopped entertaining thoughts of escaping fifteen years ago. Apparently, the Gemunden Theatre and University of Arts, the Ernst Park, the City Museum and the province-wide famous brothel "The Roses", all institutions founded and promoted by the lord, are enough to quell even this unrepentant dandy's appetites. It helps also that he delegates the most boring, meaning almost all, duties as a governor to his small army of clerks and bureaucrats, and that he has grown shockingly rich from his long tenure as a lord.

Von Gemunden found himself once again at the fore of politics when a small coalition of nobles and lords made him their leader, all in a bid to oppose Von Drak's advance to power. It took their erstwhile leader one meeting with the Dread Count to immediately bend the knee and swear absolute loyalty, an oath that even a proven liar like Ernst has kept with shocking loyalty, even if it meant dismantling most of his network of connections and giving up part of his independence. It is said that the Lord doesn't admit even the mention of Von Drak in his presence, sweating and cursing at the mere name of the count. But it's undoubtedly a falsehood put around by the enlightened lord's many enemies.

Lord Ernst Von Gemuden has kept much of the rugged handsomeness of his youth. Standing tall and with a noble bearing, with golden hair, a roguish grin and a sly twinkle in his blue eyes, he's the image of imperial nobility mixed to adventurous spirit. Elegant clothes in the latest fashion and a perfectly groomed mustache make him cut a figure that stands out at every party. In battle, Gemunden loses nothing of his impressive figure, adding magnificent pieces of armor and weapons that make a hero out of him even before a single sword is unsheathed.

Those that judge Lord Gemunden an incapable dandy do so at their peril. Ernst is an incredible smooth-talker and politician, with connections and allies radiating all over the Empire's many lands and pockets deep enough to make use of them. Not much of a general or a strategist, he still has a keen eye for talent, which he has used to surround himself with a competent staff that do much of his work for him. His charisma, fame and atrocious ability to lie also means that he's loved and respected by his soldiers and subjects, and he's more than able to enflame their spirits to fight all the harder in his name.

Nor like Lord Gemunden is anything less than deadly on his own. Hidden in his flamboyant clothes, Ernst keeps enough tricks and weapons to befuddle a Greater Daemon, with the latest in empire technology going hand in hand with mystical artifacts scrounged during his adventuring days and his tenure as a lord. He's also a surprisingly good duellist, since cuckolded husbands make for good training.

Last but not least it's his luck. Gemunden has a knack for taking the right decision for the right problem, and finding himself at the right place at the right time. Enemies that face him find their weapons meet inexplicable mishaps, sudden problems making their forces move slower or fight less effectively, while his allies move, shoot and defend all the better. Gemunden is the first not to know the reason for his shocking fortune. Maybe it's a blessing from Ranald himself.

For all his dislike of the Count, Lord Gemunden has become one of his most fervent and important allies, putting all his connections and the strength of his army to the service of the cause of unification. Apart from the terror that the Dread Count inspires in him, Gemunden looks favorably to a safe Sylvania, since it'd mean safer nights for him, as well as the chance to travel again. For that, he's ready to fight and devote all his energies to it. In a reasonable measure, of course.

Equipment: Hand Weapon

Magic Items: Lucky Medallion of Ranald, Enchanted Shield of Gemulden, the Vampire-Slayer Crown, The-Many-Pockets Robe

Mounts: Lord Von Gemunden may take:

- Barded horse (may be upgraded with Sylvanian Resilience, Grave-Stench, Feueraugen)

- Mechanical steed (may be upgraded with OVERDRIVE!, Reinforced Frame)

- Invincible, the Fire Drake (may be upgraded with OVERDRIVE!, Reinforced Frame, Six Legs and Not One Less): A mechanical marvel custom-made in the foundries of Nuln, Invincible is the majestically appropriate steed for a hero of Von Gemunden's caliber. Standing taller than the tallest horse, Invincible is a magnificent piece of mechanics, its sleek platinum skin shot with veins of gold and silver. Worth a king's ransom, the machina is Von Gemunden's favorite mount, and the Lord uses it in battle, public occasions and the odd party, to impress the ladies. Of course, shiny plates and groomed fake-fur must not deceive: Invincible is a veritable walking fortress, with a chest-mounted light cannon, grenade-lobbing tail, and enough retractable spears, blades and shields to equip a state regiment. Also, Lord Von Gemunden had his alchemists add his particular brand of violence and tricks to it, making it even more dangerous. The state-of-the-art high-powered steam engine powering Invincible gives it enough power to contend with a dragon, making it into a smoke-breathing, fire-wreathed terror when pushed in overdrive. And when all its six legs are fired and powered-up, there's no daemon, vampire, or monster that can catch it. Another useful addition for Lord Von Gemunden's tastes.

Special Rules:

- OVER THE MAXIMUM!: Lord Von Gemunden switches off all security restraints and leaves Invincible to rampage among the enemy, a very convincing straw replica of the Lord on its back. The steed will keep raining devastation, taking damage all the while, until it explodes in a massive fireball or just runs out of energy. Either way, Von Gemunden will be home in time for tea

- Vents: Invincible vent jets of scalding steam, burning and blinding enemies all around it, and giving itself a good smokescreen

Special Rules

- Lord Von Gemunden must be your General

- Lord Von Gemunden has poisoned attacks

- When Lord Von Gemunden is the army's General, a unit of Ashbringers can be upgraded to Gemunden Shields

- Your Lord is here!: Lord Von Gemunden is considered a Lightbearer and Knight

- You dare to challenge the Vampire-Slayer?: Using his fame as a hero and famous vampire-slayer, Lord Gemunden launches an intimidating challenge, lowering the enemy morale and rising that of his troops. If the enemy general accepts the challenge, Von Gemunden can avoid to accept it without leadership penalty, but only if another Hero of his army accepts it in his stead

- Not here. Try again: thanks to a stroke of luck, Lord Gemunden is never where his enemies expect him and always where he can take the most advantage

- What the...?: By an incredible stroke of luck, enemies find themselves befuddled by sudden mishaps and happenings, while Lord Gemunden's allies move and fight all the better

- You do it! I pay double!: digging deep from his very large pockets, Lord Gemunden chooses an expert in a field to take a crucial decision or decide on a strategy (he'll take the merit for it himself, if it works)

- For this, I need…: Lord Gemunden searches in his many secret pockets for an object that will flip the scales. It may be a magic artifact, an advanced gadget, a lucky charm, or something else entirely.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S STILL ALIVE?!

- Necromancer Lord Boris Alers, after receiving news of the failure of his latest scheme to kill Lord Gemunden (the messenger has a high-explosive bomb hidden in his satchel)

Oh my, what ever could be happening to you, my lord vampire? Swooning a little? Maybe you want to take a seat. Tsk tsk tsk. Maybe I'd do better to explain to you what happened in the, let's see, ten seconds you have left. Do you happen to remember when you bit, in a very uncouth manner might I add, my arm, mh? You tasted my blood, yes? Given me your so-called Blood Kiss? Well, my lord, I regret to inform you that, well, the arm was fake, and the "blood", forgive my gesture, you drank is actually a very special mixture I had prepared by my alchemists for this such occasion. Something about tar and fire, forgive me If I don't remember. A drink? Oh, don't mind if I do. You see, I knew that you have this very particular taste for biting your opponents and gloating over them as they, well, let's not go there, shall we? I don't want to embarrass you. Let's just say that a little birdie told me of this peculiar habit of yours. And I came prepared. That said, the Blood Kiss, my lord? To latch to a moribund's throat like an oversized mosquito like that dreadful Vlad and his very questionable lady did? Dear me. Call me old-fashioned but I cannot see myself doing such a thing even if it means… oh, it's dead. So very uncivilized these vampires. So much for lords of the night, I suppose. PHILIPP! GET THIS FILTH OFF MY FLOOR!

- Lord Von Gemunden