No foolin', April will be here before you know it (I mean, it's already mid-January, if you can believe that). And Privateer Press is ready to show off some of what they've got coming. If you're a Steelhead fan, and wanting some heavy artillery, you'll be happy with what you're getting. Also, if you're a Grymmkin player, you'll also be happy.
As the Steelhead Mercenary Company evolved into a larger outfit, capable of fielding full armies for hire, it saw the need to develop an artillery division. This cannon is the mainstay Steelhead artillery weapon, providing blasts of concussive firepower to complement withering volleys of riflemen and the charge of halberdiers. The heavy explosive charge packed into cannon ordnance is quite capable of knocking anyone caught in the blast to the ground, disrupting the formations of advancing soldiers and leaving even those who survive its lacerating shrapnel shaken.
Each piece of artillery employed by the Steelheads has a distinct role, directed by veteran gunners to exploit that artillery’s strengths. Mortars fire in high soaring arcs, directing explosive payloads onto the heads of distant targets, even those otherwise shielded from direct fire by intervening walls or warjacks. While such firing arcs make it difficult to aim with pinpoint accuracy, the size and impact of mortar blasts makes up for this. Mortar fire obliterates infantry and leaves the ground pocked with craters.
Engineered as a modified variant of an Ordic weapon first invented by Midfast Munitions, the Steelhead Volley Gun can unload a steady barrage into enemy lines. It utilizes a double-rowed rack of seven barrels firing solid shot in sequence to batter infantry and even light warjacks into oblivion. The crews manning these weapons are in constant motion as they compensate their trajectories after the recoil of previous shots and then reload to begin another cycle of destruction.
In folklore, Baron Tonguelick was said to have been a deranged and petty tyrant. The dubious nobility of Tonguelick notwithstanding, the self-appointed Lord of Warts has ingratiated himself with the Defiers. By their favor, he lords it over lesser grymkin, who must beware the lash of his tongue. He can bolster the reality-warping power of the Defiers or serve as a direct conduit for their magic. The baron’s tongue is dangerous whether employed as a weapon to catch and consume prey, or when he croaks words that leave weaker-willed enemies confounded and confused.
Not all music is pleasing to the ear, and it is with discordant, off-kilter harmonics and an uneven tempo that the Malady Man plays his fiendish instrument. He punishes those who lack conviction and are easily distracted to abandon work or to neglect their wards. Soldiers who stray from watch posts, mothers who let their children wander off, or laborers who stand idly by more than they work, all have been transfixed by the sound of his hand-cranked organ before being torn apart by the deranged monkey that joins him.
The childish imagination of the neigh slayers takes on a tangible and deadly form. In their minds, they ride not toys but terrifying warhorses. They delight in carnage, giggling at the corpses they leave behind, for the slain seem less real to them than the imagined steeds they ride. The gremlin with the greatest imagination leads a pack from his rocking horse, accompanied by shield and lance bearers. He capriciously dictates to other neigh slayers the ever-changing rules of his favorite games, leaving their victims lit afire or bleeding from mortal wounds.