The Reiter

A force to be reckoned with.

Written by Francesco Lanza.

"I once served under bad men for the sake of plunder, then I served under worse in the name of Religion. Now all I want is to hurt these blasphemers-- to hack, to cut, to slay."

The Character

The Reiter is a Witch Hunter, or simply a "Hunter". This character is well suited for Combat, and has abilities to match. Never one to be left behind, he doesn't lack the guts to methodically "soften" an unfortunate Heretic in a lonely cell, and is even good to go on a bright, shiny market day: he uses the same "softening" techniques to elicit a heavy discount on the equipment he needs for his job. Still, like any Hunter he has an upward battle to face: always and forever in the fray, he's ready to deal a lot of damage to any kind of critter, but he is far from immortal.

Reiter is German for Rider or Knight. His armour is usually far from shiny, though. A survivor in the endless fighting of the Thirty Years War, he's already seen his preview of Hell well before getting "recruited" to fight agains actual monsters. Such a character has probably a lot of sins of his own to forgive; or maybe the Prince-Bishop holds prisoner some dear companion of his. Maybe another Reiter working against the Coven is simply blood crazed and cursed by a death wish. No mortal should make a mission out of hunting the Three Witches, that goes without saying, but the Early Modern war that spawned the Reiter is no place for human frailty: unlikely as it may seem, infernal and worldly meet at the nadir of civilization. As Witch Hunters go, the Reiter is prepared for anything.

Portrait

by Igor Krstic

by Alessandro Depaoli

Masteries

These abilities set each Hunter apart from their colleagues -- and make them worthy of the consideration of such a powerful enemy as the Coven.

Vigorous

This big guy can carry lot of stuff. Normally you are limited to one Encumbering Item. The Reiter carries two and won't even break a sweat.

Stature

A Reiter can get away with murder while bartering. He probably will -- he gets discounted prices to stifle some of his deadlier "marketing" skills.

Tactics

Useful in a fight, each Witch Hunter can count on two special abilities to wreak havoc against the minions of the Coven.

Hidden Blade

A hack and slash master, the Reiter has survived a mud-drenched, bloodcurdling war. Dirty tricks are useful even against the minions of Hell, and he can force a Casualty Roll once per combat even when everything seems lost.

Trained

The Holy Roman Empire is full of competent martial artists. The alternative to training would be filling a nameless grave. This guy rerolls a miss on each Exchange.

Resting Place

“Your Episcopal Grace, I respectfully demand to be allowed to mourn over the remains of my brother!” Wolfram said. Everybody here simply refused to explain how Günther had been slain. And after calling in all his favors, after a mad gallop through war-torn lands, after reaching a doomed city, the Bishop-Prince didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “I implore you, Your Grace! Spare at least a gesture, a single word!” But His Grace just stood there, his eyes watery from something very different from pity. And his functionaries felt - such was Wolfram’s mad thought - far more preoccupied with the possiblity that His Grace might respond, than from his heavy, catatonic silence.

A few minutes later Wolfram had been politely ejected from the office with a lot of vacuous excuses. He leaned his head against the window, his eyes fruitlessly trying to bring to focus whatever stood beyond the opaque glass.

“You must find the strength to forgive His Grace, my good soldier.”

Wolfram turned. He had already noticed this strange individual, this base, vulgar man dressed in drab clothes, leaning heavily on a slender warhammer fashioned like some sort of quaint walking stick. A foreigner, just waiting there in the background.

“Be silent, or your life is forfeit,” he said, his temper running short.

“Oh, but I’m the man that can lead you to your brother's final resting place.”

Within a couple of hours, the two of them were on the spot, trying to quell the nerves of their steeds. They stood over a wide ditch. Humanity, what was left of it, was heaped within. Just a still, haphazard tangle of limbs that made individual corpses impossible to discern.

“Günther lies therein.” The words uttered by the strange men didn’t dismay Wolfram. He was beyond dismay, beyond pain. Beyond anger, even.

“My brother was a good man, his fealty to His Grace was without question. Is this his recompense?”

The foreigner spoke with such glibness that the answer felt well rehearsed, maybe even already put to the test on a prior occasion. “His Grace didn’t kill Günther. No man did, nor Earthly beast. If you wish to see what manner of evil mowed him down, follow me into the woods. And do bring your weapons, my good soldier.”