Glitzenburg certainly couldn’t be without an artillery unit.

Within the gleaming walls, white as alabaster, ranks of gunners train tirelessly in the art of war. Their techniques may not be as elegant or precise as those of the elves, but they make up for it with something far more fearsome.

Their rifles thunder like few others.

They are mercenaries, after all.
Men hardened by gold rather than honor.

And like any good mercenary, their resolve is unshakable—they might shoot their own mothers in the leg for a sack of money!