Krahe
Despite what outsiders could think, Sylvanians have a culture besides willful ignorance, stubborn xenophobia and vampire submission. Old traditions, passed in hushed whispers from mother to daughter, have survived beneath sagging roofs and in isolated clearings. These are the incantations and rituals to call for bountiful harvests, to ensure strong offsprings, to calm the Gods' wrath and induce their favor, to listen and placate the dead, to keep vermins out and ward noxious influences away. A hodgepodge of superstitions and incantations, yet they still hold a power that is undoubtedly true.
Recognizing the danger posed by this ancient knowledge, vampires and their thralls attempted for decades to eradicate it. They killed the old crones keeping it, burned the ancient leaves upon which hexes and spells were engraved and hunted down the young women struggling to unlock its mysteries. Their efforts weren't successful. Women, young and old, escaped their grasp. They hid in the darkened forests, forming covens for mutual protection. They hoarded whatever ancient knowledge they could, building secluded shelters and striking bargains with the powers of the uncorrupted night.
"We are the bones of Sylvania", the ancient crones say. "You can kill us, but you can't ever deny us." For years, their resistance showed the truth of this. These women kept the Old Ways alive, huddling and hiding in Sylvania's isolated moors and shadowed forests. Yet, it was only when Isabella Von Carstein, their most stubborn enemy, was repelled by the Witch of the Moon that they indeed found their way. The defeat of the Traitor Countess signed the beginning of the Krahe Moonclans.
Organized in Covens, the Moonclans stalked for generations the most secluded corners of Sylvania, those darkest corners where the night was uncorrupted by undead filth. There, hidden by glamour and the earth itself, they endured, preserving the Old Ways that the Sylvanians followed before the arrival of Vlad the Accursed, remembering a time when their land was pure.
As Von Drak, "The Awaited One" as the Krahe call him, returned to his ancestral seat, the Moonclans emerged from their hiding places for the first time in generations. It's said that, for the first time in years, the moon shone brightly and an ethereal silence gripped the land as the procession of the veil-covered witches made its way to the Count's presence. In a flourish of glittering robes, obedience was given in the old ways. Porcelain-white hands offered gifts and delicate lips preferred ancient oaths of loyalty. Since then, the Krahe have been tenacious, if mysterious, followers of the Dread Count, offering their arcane power in and out of the battlefield. To them, as the crusade sweeps across Sylvania, this is a time long-awaited, the time to throw off the undead yoke and free their beloved land from their wicked taint, a corruption that has been left to fester for far too long and must meet its reckoning.
The Krahe of today are a far cry from the rag and bones, terrified refugees that first fled into the forests. Krahe, or, as they are more commonly known, Moon Witches, are slender, svelte figures swathed in glittering robes of silver and woven moonlight. A soft glow surrounds them as they move with ethereal grace, the rims of their robes seeming to linger in the air for a moment longer, as if moving following a different set of physical laws. Younger witches are recognizable by their hair: they keep them loose and cascading, their color being a blend of silver and whatever was their original one. The hair of more mature witches is instead waterfalls of liquid silver, held into elaborate hairstyles.
Interestingly, older witches tend also to be taller, sometimes looking down at full-grown men. But no matter their seniority, all Krahe cover their faces with delicate silk veils, letting only their lips visible. Legends abound about the reasons, with many saying that those that look upon a witch's face are then unable to forget it as long as they live, love bound with the image etched in their memory.
Still, it's not just in appearance that the Krahe differentiates from their ancestors. In the generations passed in isolation, the Moonclans have worked and improved upon the scraps of old lore their founders managed to save from the vampires. The result is that their magic is more powerful, more stable and effectively better in any way compared to the hodgepodge of superstitions, hexes and incantations held by old hedge witches. Their power, the lore of the Moon, Silence and Spirits, is mystic, mysterious, just as the Krahe themselves are. Many say it changed them, making them into something different than humans, something ethereal, entwined with moonlight.
Part priestesses, part sorceresses and part remembrancers, the Krahe rely on the blessing of the Land itself for their spells. The light of the Moon, uncorrupted and pure, replies to their whispers, shielding their allies from sight, repelling monsters and cleansing impurities in a silver glow. But the Moon is also the Guide of the Honored Dead and as such, it gives the Krahe the ability to commune with the passed on and call for their help and counsel. The whispers of the dead fill the air around a Krahe, terrifying mortal opponents and repelling undead ones, whose unnatural existences recoil from such a contact.
Graceful and ethereal, the Krahe is the living embodiment of Sylvania's long-forgotten purity, of the sanctity of the night that wicked creatures tried and failed to erase. Long the clans have waited, hidden in the forgotten pages of history. Now, they rise, emerging once more from ancient forests pregnant with secrets and memories. Remembrancers, defier of tyranny and the dark, now they fight, swathed in moonlight and the whispers of the honored dead.
Equipment: Moonlight Veil
May be upgraded to:
- Moonlight Vestments
- Holy Aegis
Weapons: Lunar Mirror
May be exchanged for:
- Sacred Artifact
- Hexed Fetish
Special Items: a Krahe always carries a Glittering Needle. A Krahe may take items from Sylvanian Gubbins
Mounts:
- Barded horse (may be upgraded with Sylvanian Resilience, Grave-Stench, Feueraugen)
- Giant Wolf (may be upgraded with A Taste for Dead Flesh, Burning Blood)
- Worgar (may be upgraded with A Taste for Dead Flesh, Burning Blood, Silver Sheathes)
- Taurus Major (may be upgraded with End of Days)
Special Rules:
- This Unit is a Salt of the Earth
- This Unit can pick spells from the Lores of Moon and Honored Dead
- Dead's Envoy: The Krahe is swathed by the presence of the dead. Their whispers swirl around her, sapping the willpower of those that try to attack her and damaging unclean undead, their trapped spirits getting called to join the chorus.
- The Gaze: once every so often, a Krahe may lift her veil to reveal her true face. Those gazing upon a Krahe's face are instantly paralyzed. Forever after, they carry the memory etched in their mind, never fully able to recall it and never able to fully forget, a nagging burden hindering their choices and actions.
- Mistress of Hexes: despite all the changes their clans went through, Krahe still conserve and rely on the knowledge of ancient hexes. By stabbing a puppet in the likeness of an enemy with her needle, a Krahe hinders their movements, reducing their ability to run and fight.
- Mistress of Magic: their long immersion and connection with lunar magic made the Krahe into something more than humans. This allows them to cast spells and disrupt enemy spellcasting with an easiness unparalleled by any mortal mage.
The Moonclans
Despite having officially emerged from their decades-long isolation, the Krahe clans remain reclusive and mysterious. Their rituals, the veils always covering their faces, their way of life based on magic and the cycles of the moon; it all makes them strange and unknowable to outsiders, that are only very rarely admitted to their mysteries. It doesn't help that Krahe seem able to see and know more than simple mortals, their words often not making full sense to an ordinary mortal.
In his pivotal work on Sylvanian ancient history, the famous scholar Jein Meingoff gives the most comprehensive look on the Moonclan's life to date. Having lived a year in a Krahe village, in his account the professor tells of witches spinning moonlight into silk, talking with figures reflected into still pools of glassy water, disappearing into mist, exchanging clothes, homes and even names depending on the phase of the moon and countless other strange customs.
Once, he recounts in a bewildered tone, the lead witch – or Krahe Major – invited him to tea. The Krahe charged with the escort blindfolded him, before leading him for what felt just a few moments on a path he never remembered to have seen. Once the blindfold was removed, the humble Krahe village was gone, and he found himself at the entrance of a glittering palace that seemed spun out of liquid silver and the light of the moon. Inside, he was met by her host and, among the greatest courtesy, led to a great hall of glittering lights. There, before a window giving sight on a night sky where the moon never moved, he was made to taste their famous Crepuscolar, a tea brew that was supposedly "mixed with threads of dreams and sweetened with the last light of day". After the tasting, an experience he doesn't even try to describe, the professor says to have passed a month wandering the corridors of the witch's palace, searching in a daze for the toilet. When he awoke back in his hut, having eventually passed into unconsciousness, he was greeted by a gaggle of young Krahe, giggling like schoolgirls for "the wonderful joke." The book closes with Meingoff expressing the most complete bafflement, alongside the desire to return.
Of course, few believe this account. Meingoff's work has been labeled as the product of a mind unable to sustain the very real dangers existing in Sylvania. Or at least, this is the official comment of the province's government, which also vigorously insist on the Krahe being harmless worshippers of Shallya.
Truth is, the Krahe live in villages nestled deep into the Sylvanian forests. Mazes of illusions and charmed beasts protect them, turning them into veritable oases of peace among the rampant corruption gripping the land. Few are admitted to these secluded enclaves, and even those are usually bewildered and confused by what they see, or at least what they are allowed to see. This happens because, despite their emergence, the Krahe moonclans wish to remain insulated and reclusive. It's often a mutual desire, since many among the Sylvanian peasantry remember old tales about witches in black and silver enticing their youth out of their villages, to disappear into the forests forever.
About their history, the moonclans share just as little. What is known goes back to the establishment of Sylvania as it is today. The ancient histories speak of Isabella Von Drak, the future Vampire Countess, as an apprentice to the mysteries of the Witch of the Lake, the first and most powerful Krahe. Once she was turned into a vampire by Vlad the Accursed, the newly-christened Von Carstein met her mentor, demanding she share all her secrets with her. At the Witch's refusal and disappearance, the wrath of the vampire countess was terrible. She became obsessed with eradicating all traces of the Old Ways, and persecuted the fleeing keepers relentlessly. Her obsession led her to the Lake of Styrum, where the ancestors of the Moonclans made their final stand. It's there, the ancient tales say, that the Witch of the Lake emerged from the still waters to face her former pupil in battle, the spirits of the land rising with her to face the Vampire Counts' forces.
In the terrible battle, the Witch showed the Countess her future in the lake's waters, not one of endless debauchery as she claimed but of defeat and despair eternal, forever separated by her love. Distraught, her army collapsing around her, Isabella flew, leaving her handmaidens to be dragged screaming into the waters by the vengeful spirits. The fear that encounter put into her made so that she never returned before Vlad's last campaign and his and her final death, a prophecy fulfilled.
Today, the Krahe still celebrate the Battle of Reflections, gathering each year to Styrum to remember the day that saw the beginning of their moonclans. As for Styrum itself, it's the seat of the greatest and most influential Moonclan, the Noch, and its matriarch, the Krahe Major Serena. The settlement sprawling around the lake is the closest to a town the Moonclans can vaunt, a strange place where dream and reality intertwine in strange, mystical ways. And, some say, the old Witch still sleeps in Styrium's depths, waiting for the moment when the Old Ways are threatened again to rise once more and bring salvation to her followers.
Poor little blood-spawn, your soul shall never be clad in white. Hush now, lonely lost one. Thirst no more. Let the gentle moonlight lulls you to sleep.
Krahe Major Estella
Warrior Saint
Two churches from the wider Empire put their resources at the service of Von Drak's crusade. The ever-militant Sigmarite church sees with favor the expansion of the faith in a province traditionally seen as cursed. Their fervor is matched by the Morrite church, whose adherents consider all undead anathema to their dogma. Both churches plunged considerable resources into Sylvania, something strongly encouraged by the Count, who leased both fortresses and watchtowers and sponsored the building of countless centers of worship all over the province. The result is that black-garbed Morrites and Sigmarite zealots are a common sight among the ranks of the Iron Bastion, both churches bringing their own strengths to the battlefield.
And yet, between crowds of Flagellants and grim Warrior Priests, disciplined rank of black-armored knights and dark Prelates, there's nothing the zealous of the Empire brings to the fight more impressive than the Warrior Saints. Emerged from the rank-and-file by din of faith and martial strength, the Saints aren't elected to their position by the political scheming and backstabbery so common among the imperial echelons. Only the Gods choose those that will bring their gifts, and their gaze reaches the soul. Only the purest and most pious, the strongest and most uncompromising see their brow marked by the divine, and all their brethren kneel before them.
Sigmarite Saints usually raise from the ranks of the Warrior Priests and Flagellants, more rarely from among the Knightly Orders. These are stern figures clad in heavy armor, wielding the Warhammer symbol of their order, or howling, flail-swinging berserkers that are protected by the heat of their faith alone. Both are recognizable by the furious fires burning in their eyes, and the haloes of light circling their heads as their divine powers surge. It is said that the land smolders where a Sigmarite Saints steps, that weapons tremble in scabbards and hearts in chests when they appear, their hallowed presence stirring the souls of the faithful like a physical force.
On the other side, Morrite saints emerge for the most part by the Death Prelates, with the black-armored knights ascending to this exalted status being much rarer. The Morrite saints are dark figures, lights dimming and fires growing cold in their presence. Their weapons burn with their God's frigid breath and are able to sear both the bodies and souls. At their gesture, the earth opens, swallowing those unfortunate enough to stand in their way, dragging them to Morr's realm. In their dark gaze, abominations see their doom reflected.
Whenever they hail from, Warrior Saints are paragons of their churches, worshipped as living manifestations of their deities' power and blessing. In their presence, religious fervor rises to a fever pitch as miracles swell in numbers and their God makes his presence known.
In battle, the Warrior Saints bring all the weight of divine attention to bear. Their Gods look closely wherever they thread and this means that a Saint shall never retreat, no matter the danger, lest she shames herself before her patron. If she'll do so, it won't be out of fear but strategic need, seeking a better time and place to bring an end to her church's enemies. Hers is the burden and honor of seeking enemy champions, to duel them and make offerings to her god out of their defeat. As such, Saints are terrifying duellists, their faith and divine power making them a match for the worst creatures and monsters the world has to offer.
As champions chosen by the Gods, a Saint wields miraculous powers, able both to smite armies of unbelievers and bring succor to the faithful. Only the most powerful enemies can withstand their blows, the strength of these mortal paragons raised to superhuman levels by the weight of their blessings.
Warriors Saints, more than anybody else, put the lie to the Dark Gods' followers of truth. They are the proof of the Old Pantheon's power and recognition, the demonstration of the strength and resilience of those that stand against corruption. Some say they are just as cursed as their dark counterparts, both their lives and souls forfeit. Many more worship them with unbridled adoration, calling them demigods. The Saints care not for mortals' words. Their eyes are for the light shining from above, and the enemy standing before them and that they must defeat.
Equipment: Heavy Armour
May be upgraded to:
- Silverite Armor
- Brightshard Armor
- Vulcanite Armor
Weapons: - Hand weapon
May be exchanged with:
- Hand weapon and Refined Gun
- Hand weapon and Aurum Shield
- Two-handed weapon
- Halberd
- Twin hand weapon
Magic Items: a Warrior Saint can take items from The Count's Armoury and The Armoury of the Holy Hunter
Mounts: a Warrior Saint may take
- Barded horse (may be upgraded with Sylvanian Resilience, Grave-Stench, Feueraugen)
- Mechanical steed (may be upgraded with OVERDRIVE!, Reinforced Frame)
- Worgar (may be upgraded with A Taste for Dead Flesh, Burning Blood, Silver Sheathes)
- Gryphon (may be upgraded with Two Heads, A Taste for Dead Flesh, Burning Blood)
- Worgar Alpha (may be upgraded with A Taste for Dead Flesh, Burning Blood, Silver Sheathes, Vampire-Bane)
Special Rules:
- This unit is a Knight
- This unit is Unbreakable
- A Warrior Saint may pick spells from the Lores of Sigmar and Death. If she chooses a spell from a Lore, she then has to choose all the others from the same lore.
- Divine Shield: the power of the Gods shields the Saint, protecting her from much harm. On the battlefield, this means that many assaults will have a chance to fail even before having a chance to harm her, their wicked strength dissipating by miraculous intervention.
- Divine Intervention: sustained by her God's will, the Saint is endowed with superhuman resilience. Should she fall, a blast of divine light erupts from the site of her death, only for the Saint to rise again, all her wounds healed.
- Undying Zeal: the more she fights and bleeds, the more the fires of the Warrior Saint's faith burn hot, feeding her strength. The longer the Warrior Saint is stuck in melee combat and the more she's wounded, the more powerful her blows become.
- Face me, Heathen!: the Warrior Saint's true calling is felling enemy champions for the glory of her faith. Once she spots a worthy foe, she can swear an oath to her deity, promising it to defeat them as an offering. Those that then face her find themselves against a whirlwind of blades and power unmatched by any mortal.
Gorgoth watched the onrushing mass of flesh and blood with hateful hunger. Flagellants, what remained of his thinking mind told him, the crazed dogs of Sigmar, his rot-brained goons.
That he was much more rot-brained than them, his once majestic vampire form having devolved into a monstrous Varghulf, was an irony it wasn't entirely lost on him, and it only added to the torment he already felt.
The vampire that condemned him to that fate, the enemy whose name he couldn't remember, hissed and gestured. Gorgoth felt a flicker of defiance, but it was just an echo. The greater part of him embraced the chance to let loose once again.
His handlers let go and he charged, bellowing. Mouth slavering, his knuckles and haunches pounding against the ground, he threw himself toward the humans. Meat and bones, he screamed with a voice he didn't recognize. Meat and bones for my hunger. It ended with red dripping over his eyes, red covering the world, red red red. But not this time.
Something flew out of the humans' ranks, so fast that when his enhanced reflexes caught up, the block of stone was already smashing his shoulder in. A block of stone?, that little glimmer of him that still remained wondered, surprised. The rest, the beast, just reared and screeched in annoyance, and then in pain. The block shattered as it hit him, arm-long shards embedding itself into his flesh. They burned, burned terribly.
He stopped scratching wildly at them to gaze at the man stepping toward him. Sun-baked skin, lean muscles, stink of sweat. He was like all the rest. Or that's what an ignorant would say. Gorgoth had been a scholar once. Even now he recognized the untamed energies burning inside that man, or didn't recognize them. Fascinating. Hateful.
The man howled. The beast that Gorgoth had become howled. He swiped. Broken bones and snapping meat. Except that it wasn't. The man wasn't where he was supposed to. Something heavier than anything he had ever felt crushed on his arm. He watched the mangled stump, feeling a mix of fascination and… and what?
He looked toward the man. His enemy was screaming at him, but he didn't move. Wrong. It was all wrong. That man reminded him of something. Something he never saw but that burned brilliantly in his mind. What was it…?
The man howled, tensed. His eyes burst with searing light. His body started to redden, then to glow like an open forge.
Gorgoth watched him, entranced. Ah yes, he thought as the man erupted in a blaze of blinding golden light, the sun. That's what that man reminded him of. He never saw the sun, did he?
As the light consumed his body, his last thought was that the sun was beautiful indeed.