Bannerman: in a crusade against all the horrors of night and darkness, there have to be those that laugh. Madmen, brave or just incredibly foolish, the bannerman is the standard-bearer, the one that jokes while the battle rages all around, the one that grins when the castle walls fall, the one that looks straight in the face of horror and makes fun of it.

Bannermen are chosen among those veteran soldiers that never break, no matter how dire the circumstances. Where anyone else would run or don't dare to tread, that's where these soldiers are found, small islands of resistance amidst the chaos of battle. When all others run, it's the bannerman that stays, his banner always kept afloat. They are the lynchpins around which formations of soldiers gather. When the bannerman slams the butt of his standard on the ground and bellows, soldiers' spirits rise. When he calls after routing allies, laughing at them, shame and honor bring them back to the fight.

The bannerman is a man. He has no fancy magical powers or strange blessings. But will? Cunning? A touch of mad irony? Of that, he has in spades, and it makes him the centerpiece of any army. Every trick and tool that a veteran learns to use, he knows, and knows how to use it to deadly effect. Against undead flesh, he brings firebombs. Against all the rest, song, courage, a bit of recklessness and a generous dose of powerful spirits, all to keep himself in the fight against anything the world can throw at him.

Rather than officers, bannermen are living emblems of the crusade against the darkness. Their duty is to stand and resist, making sure that the banner, the embodiment of the pride and will of the people of Sylvania, never falls. And he's very good at it. Apart from courage, bannermen are chosen for their skill with the spear, a weapon that their inverted banner instantly turns into. More than once an abomination that managed to reach the bannerman thought victory at hand, only to end up bleeding on the ground with a hole where an eye was supposed to be.

In the face of darkness, the bannerman laughs, holding the challenge of man high, calling all the others to follow, be it to glorious victory or brave defeat. Maybe he's mad, maybe he's a hero, whatever the truth, he will withstand, his charge flapping brightly above the battlefield.

Equipment: Light Armor

May be upgraded to:

- Heavy Armor

- Full Plate Armour

Weapons:

- Banner-Spear and Torch & Bag of Firebombs

May be exchanged with:

- Banner-Spear and Torch & War Crossbow

- Banner-Spear and Shield

Magic Items: this unit can take items from The Count's Armoury

Mounts:

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

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

Special Rules:

- This unit is a Torchbearer

- This Unit is Immune to Psychology

- Drink up, boys!: the Bannerman passes flasks of tear-inducing alcohol around, taking a generous swill himself. It may be crude, but liquid courage does the work more often than not, especially when you're facing the horrors of the night.

- Banner of Glory: the standard the bannerman holds aloft is not a simple rallying point, it's the symbol of Sylvanian pride and will. As long as it stands, soldiers will know where to gather, and why are they fighting for. And if anybody dares to threaten it, no matter if monster of daemon, they will drag it down and hack it to pieces.

- Is That All?: the Bannerman resists, laughing in the face of monsters and enemies. His jibes and songs in the face of danger are able to stir the hearts of his allies, bringing cowards back to the fight and making the others fight all the harder.

- Armed and Dangerous: for all him being a standard-bearer, the Bannerman is a deadly warrior, able to strike down scores of enemy warriors with a well-placed spear thrust, a cunning maneuver, or a bomb throw.

Big Baum Kraus

The personal bannerman of Count Von Drak and one of the strongest men alive in Sylvania today, Baum Kraus is a giant of a man, towering over his fellow soldiers. Big Baum is a mutant: his arms, legs, cranium and chest are riddled with bone ridges that are the result of his Sylvanian descent. But, differently from many of his countrymen, his mutations only strengthened his body, turning him into a living tank. It's said that once he goes full tilt, Big Baum can knock a Crypt Horror off his feet, that when he swings his mace, a Wight King has to get out of the way, lest both his shield and skull end up crushed in a cloud of splinters.

Before the arrival of Von Drak, Baum was the servant of the Vampire Lord Edmund Von Carstein, lord of Drakenhof after Manfred's death. The only somewhat healthy male of a numerous family, he had to slave away day and night for the vampire, that seemed to find some sadistic amusement from tormenting him. The undead delighted in having Baum exhaust himself in nonsensical work, like pushing rocks inside a ravine, or cleaning the floors of his castle with a brush. Not satisfied with this, he abused him at every chance, demeaning him, threatening him and terrorizing him, like when he closed him in a cell filled with giant bats.

Like any other soul, Baum was scared by the idea of ending ripped apart or drained dry, but what truly broke his heart was his inability to protect his family. More than once, he returned home, exhausted and beaten by a backbreaking night of work, only to find his shoddy home gripped by terror: the vampire had dragged another of his kin away in the night, never to be seen again.

Trapped in this nightmare, Baum's spirit bowed, and he became a wretch, ready to jump at any bump in the night, to run and beg at every command. It was Von Drak's arrival that changed things. As much as he despised him, Edmund knew that Baum was strong, his mutations lending him might enough to challenge a vampire. So, when Von Drak's army attacked Drakenhof, it was Baum that he chose to face the newly-returned heir in single combat. Still, as strong as he was, the Sylvanian was no match for the supernatural might of the Count. He fought, long and hard and with despair, for he knew that his defeat would be the death of his remaining kin, but it was all for nothing. Defeated, he begged the Count to give him death, the proper punishment for a failure like him.

It was then that Von Drak scolded him: he failed? Yes, he failed when he bent the knee to a monster; when, given the chance, he chose death rather than rebellion. Was he a man? Or was he a dog?

Baum decided to be a man.

With Von Drak and his army, he stormed Drakenhof, saved his family from the gibbet and, weeping, put an end to a dear sister, turned into an undead abomination. When Edmund Von Carstein fled, cornered on the tallest tower, it was Von Drak that disarmed the monster, but Baum executed him, throwing him off the parapet to dash himself to pieces against the ground.

Since then, Baum has been Von Drak's bannerman, carrying the Dread Count's standard in all his campaigns, always distinguishing himself. It was Baum that withstood the Siege of Gemnier Hill, his blessed standard standing unbroken even as the poisonous breath of the Zombie Dragons assaulting the hill ran dry. When the Vampire Ubzekias cut her way to him, he fought the unbeaten vampire duellist to a standstill, before plunging a stake in the screaming undead's heart. When the Feaster in the Dark stalked and fed on defenseless civilians, it was Baum that cornered the beast, knocking the monster down into a pit, where he fought with it until the monster was no more. During the Ripperhorn Campaign, he single-handedly slaughtered the Beastlord and all his Bestigor guard. When the army of Marshal Derghof threatened to rout during the Wild Stamped, it was him that rallied them, leading to victory.

There's no denying that today Big Baum is one of the greatest heroes Sylvania has to offer. Scores of monsters and undead fell to him, and there's no Ashbringer that doesn't look up to him.

Baum appears as a massive man clad in dusty heavy armor, cleaned and oiled but just enough to be efficient, not pretty. Bone ridges sprout all over his body, replaced on his face by misshapen scars where he had army surgeons rip them off. His face is ugly, and he wears an unkempt beard, often stitched with little bird bones and fetishes, in the Sylvanian manner. His eyes, a stark blue, often glimmer with a sad kind of irony, except in battle, when they burn with a grim fire. Baum is often silent, leaving his actions to speak for him, be it crushing an enemy champion or raising his banner aloft. Those that think that his silence and ugly countenance mean that he's a dimwit recognize their mistake soon. If he watches you and doesn't speak, Big Baum is thinking of the most efficient way to kill you.

His pride and joy are and remain his family, and Baum regularly goes on leave to stay with them in the old family cottage. It's when he sits at the old table, his family around him, laughing and cheering, that the dour bannerman can be seen smiling consistently. Someone says that during those times he consumes his "whole damn quota" for the year, all at once.

Broken, once. Now, unbroken.

Big Baum Kraus

Firemaster

Fire has been the ally of man against the dark and all its terrors since time immemorial. The Firemaster knows the wisdom of this, and he brings all the power of the flame, militarized, disciplined and yet raw, untamed and ready for destruction.

Part arcanist, part smith and part monk, Firemasters cut a strange sight among the Sylvanian soldiers, bringing together the old and the new. Dressed in dirty aprons as much as heavy armors, covered with ritual scars and burns, they combine ancient mysteries of fire and light with cutting-edge technologies of steel and steam that would make a Dwarf jealous.

Nobody is quite sure where the Firemasters come from, if they arrived with Von Drak or they already dwelled in Sylvania and they just offered their services at the Dread Count. What's sure is that they preserved knowledge from the primeval times, when Sylvania was pure from the undead scourge, times once thought forgotten. That same knowledge, the lore of iron, fire and light, now they bring to the battlefield, combining them with the newest powers of man's ingenuity, using it to deadly effect in the crusade against the dark.

In their monastery of Urun, a massive fortress more aking to a belching factory-city than a retreat, the Firemasters work ceaselessly, smithing the weapons fueling the crusade of the Counts to free the provinces. The result is convoys of armored carts making their way weekly to Drakenhof, bringing whole armories destined to arm and clad the Count's armies.

Still, the industrious monks don't limit themselves to working. When the clarion calls, the gates of Urun swing open, and scores of Firemasters, arms bulging with muscles and calloused hands gripped around gleaming weapons, march out to war.

On the battlefield, the Firemaster sets down his Urunian Anvil, the focal point of his strange powers. By smashing his hammer on it and launching bellowing cries to the Gods, he turns the weapons of his fellow soldiers into the deadly works of art their creators envisioned, or turn them incandescent with the flame of the forge. By hitting the burnished gong he holds at his belt and singing low, rumbling hymns, he turns armor and shields into unbreakable barriers against which undead claws and weapons shatter to pieces.

Not even when the time for fighting comes, the Firemaster disappoints. Bellowing, he swings his massive warhammer, crushing bones, caving armor and pulping flesh with every blow. Flames flickering over his skin and blazing in his eyes, he carves through the enemy ranks, a bellowing juggernaut of a man that breathes and spits fire the same as any dragon. The fortunate end crushed under his feet, the less so end as charred charcoal when he throws his blazing anvil, the massive slab of steel erupting with an explosion of fire and flame.

The Firemasters pledge allegiance to Sigmar, shouting thundering oaths and prayers to the God of Hammers both in the forge and on the battlefield. Still, doubts remain about the precise origin of their arcane powers, doubts ever fed by their refusal to let any mage enter their fortress-factory. The Count doesn't care. If a mage from the Colleges comes asking for inspections of unsanctioned magic use, he's sure to be thrown out without an audience. The Dread Count supports the Firemasters, the agreement going both ways.

Equipment: Heavy Armor

May be upgraded to:

- Full Plate Armor

- Vulcanite Armor

- Steam Armor

Weapons: Heavy Warhammer

May be exchanged with:

- Twin Warhammer

- Heavy Pickaxe

- Burnished Gong

Magic Items: the firemaster may take items from the Count's Armoury and the Arsenal of Tomorrow

Mounts: /

Special Rules:

- This Unit is a Salt of the Earth

Set The Anvil: Urunian Anvils are the focal points of the Firemasters' power. By setting down the one he carries, the Firemaster gives up his ability to move but becomes able to use the most powerful of his battle prayers.

Call of the Forge: by hitting the small copper gong he carries and shouting a bellowed incantation, the Firemaster awakens the touch of the forge in the weapons and armors of his allies. Weapons awakened in such a way almost jump out of the hands of their wielders in their eagerness to strike at the enemy, finding weak spots and cleaving steel like butter, or turn hot enough to sizzle flesh. Armor and shields hearing the ringing call become unyielding, resisting blows that should shatter them to pieces. If he has set his Anvil, the Firemaster can use these prayers by hitting the Anvil instead. The ringing call produced in such a way is deafening, reaching and blessing more allies.

It goes BOOOOM!: when faced with massive deployments of enemies, a Firemaster may decide to use his Anvil as a weapon of war. With muscles bulging and a shout of effort, he throws the artifact, aiming at where he can do the worst damage. When this happens, the Anvil seems to sprout wings, going farther than any sense can explain. Tongues of flames and sparks trail its flight, turning it into a comet. Eventually, as it reaches its objective, it detonates in a blinding flash of light, annihilating everything in the zone of impact. Among those caught in the immediate vicinity, often reduced to smoking charcoal, the luckiest is often the primary target, killed by the sheer impact rather than the burning explosion. As effective as this maneuver is, the Firemaster is then forced to go recover his Anvil to reintegrate all his powers. The Anvil, smoking and smoldering where it fell, will wait for him, not a scratch on its surface.

Work of Hammers, Work of Joy: as much as he's a member of an ancient order, the Firemaster knows everything about the latest imperial technology, up and including the most cutting-edge Machina and steam technology. This allows him to make repairs on the field to damaged Machina, bringing them back into the fight.

Urun, the Steel Cradle

Nestled in and atop the Rumbling Mountain, Urun is more an industrial city than the monastery it claims to be. Dozens of massive factories and forges surround the mount, littering, alongside whole dormitories of workers and artisans, the mountain's sides, eventually reaching down to form Lowtown, where the armored convoys wait to be loaded with shipments of weapons.

Urun never sleeps. The sound of hammers, the sizzling of fire and the hissing of steam never stop, filling the valleys with the rhythm of industry. Armies of workers sweat in the colossal forges or in the factories, producing the fuel to feed the Dread Count's crusade of liberation.

Atop this industrious chaos, rules Urun-Ka, the Burnished Home. Among the most massive fortresses ever built by human hand, Urun-Ka is the seat of the order of the Firemasters and their ancestral home, house of their mysteries and the place where they all always return. It's in the burning depths of the fortress, among the blood of the mountain, that the Firemasters swelter at the great Kalirok, the Burning Forge, to craft marvels of steam and iron with the might to drive back the darkness. It's here that the secretive Keeper, head of the order, makes his home, sending his emissaries to make his will known to the Count.

The Firemasters don't tolerate outside eyes inside their walls. All those living in Urun must obey their swift, gruff justice, and carry the burn-mark on their skin. The Judges rally against this, but the word of the Count is final on the matter: Urun is independent, and not even the Judge-Lord can bring it under her mailed fist. Considering the wealth of technology and weapons making their way toward Drakenhof with each convoy, it was a wise move from Von Drak's part. Proof of it it's the Hand of Drakenhof, the firearm the Count himself carries to war, a marvelous piece forged by the Keeper himself, powerful enough that its screaming bullets can incinerate a zombie dragon from the inside out.

Much of the weaponry the Iron Bastion needs to fuel its war machine comes from Urun. Armor, weapons, arrows and bullets, enchanted arms and conventional technology, all come trundling with the armored convoys making their way once a week from Urun from Drakenhof. There were attempts to stop it: the last ended when the Strigoi leading the attack was shot down with his monstrous mount, before both ended as bloody pulp under the wheels of the tanks. "As easy to stop as the Firemasters' carts", the saying goes, and it has been taking slow but steady traction across all of Sylvania.

The Firemasters are boisterous, loud artisans, keeping smithing, craft, fire-molding, drinking and the veneration of the Gods, usually made by shouting and clanging something heavy, as the highest forms of honored activities. The best among them are bellowing, muscle-bound giants, covered in honor-burns and with the alcoholic stamina of a dozen angry Dwarfs. Their monastery is more akin to a Norscan brawling house than an average house of meditations, and they shun all forms of intellectual work not related to their crafts, calling it "weak-bellied".

Fiercely independent, yet they are loyal and brave, and follow Von Drak with a fierce devotion. It's not clear what pact they struck with the Dread Count but their commitment to his cause is absolute, if only he keeps his black hounds off their door.

As for the Gods they worship, the Firemasters claim Sigmar as their patron. Somewhat strange, considering that no story ever tells of the Thunderer's presence in Sylvania, or appearing in the guise the Firemasters worship him, as an artisan and a smith. What the Firemasters claim, that Sigmar founded their order after his disappearance from the wider Empire assuages nobody. Still, whatever interest in uncovering more about their faith Black Judges and Inquisitors may have, they must keep to themselves. The Firemasters don't allow any to enter their monastery, and the Count voices for them, something that nobody even dares to challenge.

With that, the alliance holds. The convoys keep trundling toward Drakenhof and the armies of the Iron Bastion are armed and armored. The crusade against the darkness continues unabated, the loud Firemasters marching together with their comrades to free the province, their fires burning strong and undimmed.

Watch me, Sigmar! Watch me, Hammerer! Watch as the fire of Urun burns in my soul!

Firemasters' oath