Never the easiest of comrades, Victor Saltzpyre has shown little sign of mellowing since the early days of the Ubersreik invasion. Perhaps his tongue is a shade less caustic when addressing Sienna Fuegonasus, but he is still as suspicious as ever to anyone or anything.
For Victor, life has ever been a never-ending battle against heresy and destruction – the beleaguered Reikland is but a vaster stage upon which to strut his hour. Though it is hardly in Victor’s nature to trust such outcasts as are his companions in these dark days, he accepts that righteous work can sometimes be accomplished by stained souls and soiled hands.
Witch hunter captain
“The fires of heresy still burn bright within the streets.”
Promotion in the Order comes as much from dead man’s shoes as from merit, and in these dark days there are many pairs of boots to be filled. The Witch Hunter’s path ventures ever into the shadow, and the shadows too often are more bountiful with teeth than glory.
Thus Saltzpyre’s long-abandoned dreams of ascension finally came to pass in the wake of Ubersreik, the ink still wet upon the Grand Theogonist’s commission. Whether he rises further, remains to be seen. Doubtless his many enemies with the order yet remain – and it might yet be that the world gives out long before the coveted rank of general is within reach.
As a Witch Hunter Captain, Saltzpyre is all that he was during the Ubersreik campaign and more. Myriad near-deaths have sharpened his reactions, allowing him to dart deftly to advantageous positions, from which his impressive array of weapons can be brought to bear.
“Quicken your pace! Do you seek death here?”
The Empire is replete with Bounty Hunters, men and women who bring a form of justice to the deserving – or at least to those capable of meeting a hefty fee. It is a profession people by scoundrels and the desperate, by deserters and thrillseekers. And just occasionally by men so driven that there is no longer a place for them, even amongst the fringes of authority.
Affronted by attempts to conceal the horrors of Ubersreik – to maintain the fragile lie that Skaven are naught but myth – Victor at last buckled beneath obsession and spoke more truth to his superiors than a sane man should. Though Victor never discusses what transpired thereafter, and his ties with the order would seem intact, the gulf between him and his superiors is wider than ever. Now, he finances his endless crusade with coin garnered from the Bounty Hunter’s trade – a pragmatic choice for a man who once relied solely upon faith.
As the Bounty Hunter, Victor dons heavy armour and favours ranged weapons, the better to keep their tainted and decaying flesh (and all associated aromas) at a safe distance. The Victor of today favours more brute force (and less finesse) than the Witch Hunter of old ever did. Finesses costs time, and to a Bounty Hunter, time is money.
“Sigmar shield me from this canker-filth!”
It is rightly said that some mortals wish only to see the world burn. Many embrace such nihilism to court the favour of blasphemous gods. Others out of irreversible despair. But for many in the war-ravaged Empire, the death of all that is brings forth new hope, for the prospect of a just and holy realm reborn from tainted ash.
Where, in another life, a weary Victor Saltzpyre stared into the flames of Ubersreik and found the courage to confront his superiors, in this one he found only the solace of the furnace, of a world fit only to be cleansed in righteous fire. Thus fell away the earnest – if bleak – Witch Hunter, and the Zealot was born. Victor no longer places his trust in the organisations and strictures of the Empire, but in Sigmar alone.
Victor the Zealot is a furious melee fighter, favouring heavy flails and holy rage as expressions of worship and tools of battle both. Faith can carry a body through the most horrendous of wounds, and the Zealot has dark-eyed faith to spare…