Wolf Scout

[Grey Slayer]

Truly great work!

Can't wait for the next installment.

[Icewolf]

Brilliant story have lots more ale

 

can't wait for more keep writing

 

 

Icewolf

[OnlyInDeath]

Thanks for the comments everyone! It really does mean a lot to hear from my fellow wolves, especially since it all seems like you appreciate it :) . I do apologize for not being able to update it more frequently, but working till 8 and having a young pupette to watch, means I have limited time.

 

I should have time to get a segment or two up this weekend, so keep your eyes peeled for new updates. As I stated earlier, I'm really hoping to flesh out the story and the characters, so in the end, many months from now, it should pretty much read like a novel. Hope you all will continue to enjoy it, C&C welcome as always!

 

-OID

[OnlyInDeath]

The servos of the terminator armor whirred quietly as the Wolf Lord hunched once more over the holomap that was illuminated as a large, world view globe in the center of the landraider. The hatches had all been sealed upon Torvald's entry, the only light being given off by the arcane projector. Already the closed confines of the crew compartment, combined with the foul machine smells of the magos were making Torvald's nose itch, but he ignored it and focused on the matter at hand.

 

Fenring brushed back the flaming red braids of his beard so they would not obscure the projection lens, and began. "The situation, gentlemen, is rather fluid at the moment. The information routed into the data stacks of this machine are being transmitted to us by a Mechanicus light cruiser in orbit, the Infinite Logic. Because of the ground defenses of the Selsan resistance, the cruiser has been forced into a rather high orbit, and therefore the images are a bit more low resolution than we would prefer."

 

At this, the military officer present grunted in barely contained disgust.

 

Fenring paused and leveled an icy glare at the man, then raised an eyebrow and asked, "perhaps General Crassius would be so kind as to enlighten us as to the guard situation."

 

At this, the General frowned and leaned forward to a series of dials set into the consol before the projector. He twisted a few brass dials and the view on the map enhanced into a hazy image that Torvald could recognize as Ravik and the trench lines extending several hundred kilometers to both the east and west. "As you all know, the actions here at Ravik have blown the Selsan trench line wide open for roughly two hundred kilometers to any direction from Ravik. Elements of the 192nd Mechanize have pushed hard along these lines with the hope of unravelling enough of the stalemate warfare to free up some badly needed troops back to this front. However, they have encountered stiff resistance at the cities of Petrograd to the east, here," a city on the far right of the map illuminated into a red hue,"and Alteria, here, to the the west." At this he paused, and Tovald intently inspected the area of the map between the two red highlighted cities.

 

At this point, the mago interrupted in a grating, monotone voice voxed out of his mouth slit. "The progression of these actions have proven insufficient for our present needs. Sensoria of the Infinite Logic have detected massive heat blooms in several of the hive cities to the south of our current position. These energy readings are consistent with division force mechanized formations mobilizing. At present speed, they will reach the city of Ravik in approximately four days." At this, the holomap pulled away to give an overview of a good portion of the main continent. The City of Ravik was highlighted in blue, with a red blip on either side of it. To the south, out of the major hive stacks of the planet, several red arrows were slowly creeping their way to the lonely blue dot of Ravik.

 

General Crassius, irked at being interrupted, leveled a glare at the magos, who simply stared vacantly into the projection shown on the map, unpreturbed.

 

"As I was saying," he began, tearing his infuriated glaze away from the robed form and back to the map," before the insight of Magos Loren was brought so elloquently to our attention, the stalemate at Petrograd and Alteria have thrown a wrench into our plans. We have begun to pull the 192nd back, using a few of the relieved forces to keep our flanks secured. However, even with the Division at full strength, bolstered by the relieved trench line elements, the Space Wolves, and the remaining Titans that we have on hand, we estimate that we are outnumbered roughly five to one on armor alone. The infantry totals may be even worse," the General concluded, sitting back into the steel bench set along the wall of the landraider.

 

At this, Fenring leaned over the projector which shone up into his red hair, giving him a firey halo that could intimidate even Tovald, "And that my friend,"he said, staring levely into Torvald's golden eyes, "is where you come in."

 

+++++++

 

Torvald walked slowly back towards the longhouses, lost in thought. He barely registered the sounds of the wolves around him gathered around their respective campfires, roaring with laughter and raising steins of ale in salute to particularly worthy boastful saga. Typically, Tovald could take comfort in such a scene before him. Even though he operated with no particular great company, sent to warzones to serve the Great Wolf in whichever endeavor he deemed worthy of the company of the wolf scouts, he was still a wolf. He had risen through the ranks in his own great company, like all of the wolves before him. Starting as a bloodclaw, rising to the rank of Grey Hunter to serve on the line in battle after raging battle, he eventually made his way into the Wolfguard.....and suddenly the pang of loss and loneliness finally broke through his thoughts and made him stop in his tracks.

 

That was a memory that he could not allow himself to think about. Not right now. Right now he needed to focus on the mission delegated to him by the Wolf Lord he now served. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and continued past his racous bretheren, skirting around a brawl of several hot headed bloodclaws. Istan was right, he thought to himself, these boys still have thier blood up.

 

Finally, he came upon the camp of his fellow scouts, separated slightly from the rest of the great company. He could make out the form of Mikkel sitting just out of the fire's light, blending in with the shadows around him, his black hair and dark features making him near invisible. Edvin was sitting nearer to the light, using it to clean his bolt pistol. He looked up from the tangle of machined parts layed out on a cloth in front of him and gave Torvald a nod, his fair features even more prominent in the light of the fire and the moons. Next to him sat Sjurd who was simply staring intently into the fire, his red braided hair and short beard so streaked with grey that it simply looked highlighted by the firelight. Gudmund was laying on top of a pallet, still fully bedecked in his armor with his wolf pelt cloak bundled up under his head, staring up into the night sky. The big, silver haired veteran had been busy reciting the tale of some battle or another to his bretheren when Torvald had walked up, and now he just looked up at his expectantly. Aravind, was sitting apart from the other wolves, his dirty blonde hair pulled back into a rear-facing topknot which fell down over the pelt on his shoulders, his icy blue eyes standing out in the dim light, as were the angry red weals that were still visible around the edges of his armor. If he felt any discomfort, he didnt show it.

 

"Alright lads, gather up, we've got ourself another mission," Torvald growled to the rest of his pack, pulling a a stray crate near the fire and sitting down upon it, despite it's groans of protest at the weight of the warrior.

 

As the other members of the pack gathered around him intently, Torvald grabbed a stick off the ground and cleared off a space in the dirt by the fire before setting about drawing a rough approximation of the map that he had seen earlier.

 

"So, it seems that the great General Crassius has bitten off more than he can chew, and it's up to the wolves, or more precisely, us, to make sure that this little venture of ours doesnt end before it begins. The rebels are counterattacking in force from here, here, and here," he stated, drawing the lines of the approaching columns of the enemy armor. "As of right now, they have the Imperial forces greatly outnumbered, and we dont have the strength of the trench line to hold them back. This fight will come to the streets of Ravik, and it's a fight that we can't win."

 

He paused, taking in a deep breath. "That's why we are going to be heading out of the city to the south, here. We're going to advance until we meet the enemy formation and then go to ground, letting them pass us by. When they have, we will proceed nine hundred kilometers to the south to this point, "he stuck the stick into the ground, by a series of jagged lines in the rough approximation of a mountain chain. "The rebels have a series of planetary defense lasers situated throughout their territory. There is a complex in these mountains that contains four of the laser batteries. We take these out, and we open a hole in the defense net that should allow one of the cruisers we have in orbit to make a low orbit pass of the main continent."

 

"The Imperial forces, including our brothers and the titans of the Legio Sanctus will not retreat from this threat," he summarised, "and instead will use the defense of Ravik as an trap to annihilate the bulk of the Selsan resistance force."

 

Torvald took a moment to register the reactions of his brothers. They were all already lost in thought, some frowning, others nodding appreciatively. It was a risky mission, success meaning a quick resolution to the war. Failure meant ultimate defeat. They all knew what responsibility rested on thier shoulders, but they were space marines. They were the Emperor's Finest. Stoicism had nothing to due with the way they handled the situation. Its what they faced in thier day to day existence as the protectors of humanity and they took it in stride.

 

"Get everything gathered that you will need for this mission, we move out in two hours."

 

++++++++++

 

Torvald stood alone in the solidly constructed armory that they wolves had constructed for themselves. He had set about clipping extra grenades and melta charges to his armor. Given the nature of the mission, and the fact that they would be assaulting a bunker complex all on thier own, he felt that it would be prudent to bring as much ammunition and demolition charges as stealth would allow. Other than the grenades, Torvald stood in his full, ornately personalized scout armor respendent in teeth, furs, and the icon of the greatwolf painted on his shoulderpad. His wolf pelt fell across his shoulders and back, trailing just above the ground, and the hilt of his poweraxe stuck out from just beneath it over his right shoulder. At his hip was the bulky holstered form of his bolt pistol, and tucked in the opposite side was his scabbarded combat knife. With his unkempt grey hair flowing down to his shoulders, blending in with his wolf pelt, and his long braided beard, Torvald could have been a figure cut from the ancient histories of Old Terra.

 

It was in this scene that Fenring found the scout, his massive form ducking in through the doorway to the armory and blocking out the majority of the light given off by the glow strips set into the ceiling.

 

"Lord Fenring, to what do I owe the honor?" Torvald asked, staring straight ahead into the racks of bolter clips and grenades, resting his hands on the shelving to either side of him. Tension suddenly filled the cramped space of the armory and Torvald could smell a faint trace of annoyance and anger eminating from the Wolf Lord.

 

"Torvald, I would like a word before you and your men leave..." he began, and for the briefest moment, the Wolf Lord looked unsure of himself for the first time in a century at the head of his Great Company. The moment passed like a fleeting thought and the enormously armored marine straightened himself up to his full height. "The success of this mission is paramount to all else. I'm sending Istan with you and your scouts to help ensure this success."

 

Anger flashed in Torvald's golden eyes and he spun around on the Wolf Lord, "My men do not need help from anyone! Unlike some wolves, we know how to watch eachothers backs when the going gets-"

 

Torvald was cut off with a earsplitting concussion of metal against metal and he snapped out of his angry haze. Fenring extricated his armored gauntlet from the wall of the armory, light shining through where he had punched clear through the three inch plasteel sheet. He pulled himself up to his full size, his eyes wide and blazing in barely contained fury, looking like a monster out of a child's nightmare with a snarl on his face. "You WILL do what I say when you are assigned to my company, scout! Do not forget your place again!" he bellowed down at the Torvald.

 

As Fenring turned and stormed out of the armory, Torvald felt a pang of regret at his uncontrolled anger and baiting the Wolf Lord. Looking down at his feet, his mind was yet again drawn back into his past...

 

 

+++++

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, that's all I got for tonight. Hope you guys enjoy, will get back to it as soon as I am able. I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this at this point, and I cant wait to develop the story even more.

 

-OID

[lunchb0x]

F yeah!

[lionofjudah]

;) :D :D :D good scheize mate!!

[OnlyInDeath]

I was going to keep rolling on this tonight, but kinda ran out of time. Will try to keep chapter two going tomorrow though.

 

-OID

[Ra1stl1n]

Keep it going :)

[OnlyInDeath]

This world is doomed.

 

The thoughts entered unbidden into Torvald's mind, but he didnt argue with himself. The orks just could not be stopped. They had already pillaged the southern archepelligo, and were pushing thier way up the coast into the northern reaches, decimating hive after hive. With every one that fell, stompas, gargants and other smaller weapons of war were churned out from the smoking ruins, and the Imperial forces had more and more of the enemy to face. It was a vicious circle that had gained too much momentum, that it was nothing short of a force of nature that could not ever be stopped. As inevitable as erosion and entropy. Only, in this case, a lot more sudden.

 

The wolves had been deployed to ensure that the remaining human population could be evacuated along with the remainder of the PDF and Imperial Guard. Even as he thought this, Torvald could make out the unending stream of heavy lifters off on the horizon, at this distance nothing more than fast moving points of light moving through the purple dawn sky. They had to hold the main pass from the southern reaches to the northern hives, separated by a massive mountain chain, for as long as possible. Every hour meant tens of thousands more of the population saved. The thought made Tovald smile. They were the Space Wolves. Above all else, they were the protectors of humanity. Where other space marine chapters felt a sort of noble disdain towards the teeming masses that made up the heart of the Imperium, the Wolves remembered where they came, and they embraced that touch of humanity that remained in all of them.

 

It was, however, a very small part of them indeed. Not much remained untouched in them after the initiation process into the ranks of the Wolves.

 

"Ahhh, we should have known. We can always find Tovald lost amongst his own thoughts," a familiar voice called from behind him.

 

"Aye, but the longer he stays lost in there, the longer he stays away from the ale!" boomed the response. Torvald turned to see Istan and Fenring striding towards him, both of them resplendent in thier massive terminator armor. Torvald lifted the bulk of his own armor out of the crouched position he had been maintaining and rose to meet his fellow Wolfguard. Fenring, his beard beginning to fill out, and a matching wild mane of flaming red hair stood in stark contrast to Istan's blonde, well kept features with a trim beard and long hair pulled back behind his head.

 

Turning and clapping his brothers across the shoulders, Torvald pulled them down into a playful headlock. "I wouldnt want to deprive all you lesser men of your rations, now would I? And I wouldnt want to embarass you in front of the bloodclaws. Just wouldn't do for morale!" he quipped back, laughing heartily.

 

Fenring pulled himself free and landed a playful punch to Torvald's shoulder plate, enough force to shatter the skeleton of a normal human. "Come brother, Lord Olin is gathering the company. From the sound of it, the orks have already made contact with the furthest sentries. They wont be long now."

 

"Well, it will at least be more exciting than all this waiting..." Torvald glumly replied and followed his brothers back to the camp.

 

---------------------------------

 

The next wave was already pushing forward, tripping and stumbling over the corpses of the dead that already carpeted the floor of the narrow pass half a dozen deep. In one deft motion, Torvald thumbed the magazine release on his storm bolter and had the next in place, round chambered in less than a second. He opened up on the advancing orks, and felt some grim satisfaction as he saw the front two or three ranks stumble and fall as fist sized entry wounds detonated into head sized exit wounds. The meager scraps of armor plate that the orks tied to their leathery green skin did little to nothing to stop a bolter round. On either side of him, the members of Wolf Lord Olin's wolfguard layed down a near constant sheet of fire, spraying rounds from their bolters back and forth.

 

The orks were at a rather severe disadvantage. They were advancing along a bottleneck in the pass, narrowing to a point no wider than three hundred meters, while the wolves had used their advanced warning to thier advantage, manning the pass with all the manpower the Iron Wolf's company could muster. The Wolfguard, fifteen of the hardest veterans in the galaxy encased in armor almost in likeness to a walking tank, held the middle of the line, with several grey hunter packs to either side of them. Longfangs held the flanks while the armor of the company maintained a fullisade over the heads of the wolves at any armor that presented itself. The bloodclaws waited impatiently in reserve. At this point, there was nothing that the Orks could do to break the ranks of the Wolves.

 

Wave after wave of the greenskins advanced, only to be cut literally to shreds from the strict bolter dicipline that the wolves kept up with ruthless efficiency. Ork trukks and buggies wound thier way through the pass in teeming packs, only to be met by the high powered blasts of lascannon and plasmacannon shots, the white hot blinding beams and splatter of superheated plasma seared the machines from existance. Already tens of thousands of orks had died to only a couple dozen fallen Wolves, but even so, it was a war of attrition that the orks, in the end, would win.

 

Torvald howled a wordless warcry as a small knot of enormous orks broke away from the rest of the pack, thier skin so dark green it was almost black, and thier armor far more protective than that of their lesser cousins. He leveled his bolter at the nearest and unloaded a good portion of his clip into the charging brute, the bolts impacting with such furosity that it looked for a moment that the orks blood was boiling through his skin. Then the mass reactive rounds detonated and small scraps of the ork splattered the ground around him. The rest of the nobs, undaunted by the fate of one of thier own, just kept charging, straight for Torvald. A vicious grin split his mustached face as Torvald activated the lightning claw on right hand, the blades unsheathing themselves in a crackle of electricity. As the Orks finally reached the line, the last three that managed to make it through the concentrated fire, Torvald lept to meet them.

 

He took the first square in the face, a momentarily surprised look washing over the brute features of the ork just before Torvald drove the blades of his claw clear through the Ork's forehead. His momentum carried him downwards and the claws cut through the rest of the face, the massive tusks in it's jaw, and down the length of it's body clear to the pelvis. As Torvald's decent ended in a titanic impact to the ground, causing the other orks to stumble, the first split itself into five neat slices down the middle, spraying gore everywhere as the strips of ork fell limply to the ground. His fellows were quick to react and charged the prone Wolf at the bottom of his impact crater. In a show of agility that would have shamed even an unarmored human, Torvald rolled out of the path of the first ork as it swung a massive chainaxe through the space where he had been. He rolled to a knee and leveled his stormbolter at the confused face of the ork as it tried to pull it's axe free from the ground. Emptying the last three round of his weapon into the ork's right eye, he kept moving as already the last nob was charging him with a pair of vicious cleavers, the second Ork's head detonating just as the last arrived, spraying both combatants with thick, black-red ork blood.

 

The last ork was good, but Torvald was better. As the ork rained blow after blow into Torvald, he slowly gave ground before it, parrying the cleavers with the bulk of his bolter and his lightning claw. Finally, Torvald saw his opening and acted. Instead of a simple parry with his stormbolter, he instead let it rise to meet the cleaver, the two weapons colliding with such force that the stormbolter shattered. The ork was taken aback a moment, the momentum it had put behind it's attack completely arrested, and Torvald took advantage of the momentary pause. With a lunge, he raked his claw clear through the still raised arm that held the ruined cleaver, and with a deft spin he reached out and took the Ork's head off with one clean motion. The body took a moment to convulse, spray noxious ork blood in all directions, and then it collapsed.

 

As Torvald regained his senses to the rest of the battle around him, he realized that all had gone quiet. The Orks had fallen back. A moment of confusion hit Torvald so hard it felt as if he had been slapped. Orks never fall back in such numbers...ever. Even inevitable defeat meant they fought that much harder, just for the sheer glee of finally finding something that could put up enough of a fight that it could beat them. He walked back towards the line of Wolfguard, pausing a moment by the fallen body of one of thier number, Lenk, and took the brother's power axe in his now free hand, the blue blade deactivated to conserve energy. Offering a brief prayer for his brother to Russ and the Allfather, Torvald found Istan and Fenring in the line, smears of smoke, ork blood and the pockmarks of the crude ork weaponry liberally decorating thier armor. They each looked as confused as he did.

 

A tremor answered all thier questions. As the pall of smoke was slowly carried down the length of the tunnel, the leering face of a xenos god began to emerge. For a moment, Torvald simply stood there in shock. The distant boom of weaponry broke him from his stupor as all the wolves scattered for cover, yells of "Move, move move!" cut off in a titanic explosion. The grey hunter pack position just to the wolfguard's right flank simply ceased to be. A shell the size of a rhino APC detonated in thier position and even now, ceramite rained down back to earth along with a shower of dirt and blood. Even Torvald's superhuman body, encased in the best armor the Imperium could field, barely survived the blast. Several of his organs suffered minor hemmorages and his right eardrum burst from the force of the blast. It was nothing that wouldnt be repaired in a matter of minutes.

 

The figure of the gargant came fully into view, smoke trailing from a colossal cannon that formed the machine's right arm. The left was a massive hydraulic powered chainsaw that was rattling idly, the badly oiled machinery just as likely to jam as to perform. Studding the conical skirt of the machine, cannon and large calibur machine guns swung towards the Wolve's position. Weapons were even worked into the shoulders and head of the machine, with racks of rockets acting as pauldrons, and the barrel of a large bore cannon mimiking a monacle. The sight would have been almost comical if not for the killing potential represented by the ork contraption. And to make matters worse, a smaller cousin of the gargant, the stompa, flanked the great machine to either side. Around the feet of thier gods incarnate, the orks flooded back into view.

 

Torvald's vox crackled to life. "Brothers! The orks have gifted us with a way to block the pass! I want all heavy weapon fire on the stompas. Hunters, Bloodclaws, take the fight to the orks on the ground and cover the wolfguard. We'll be going for a little walk," Torvald could almost imagine the feral smile across the scarred and pitted features of Wolf Lord Olin. "For Russ, for the Allfather, CHARGE!!!"

 

The Wolves erupted from thier lines, eager to close the distance between themselves and the warmachines bearing down on them. Such heavy weaponry, while deadly to be sure, also had a firing arc that it could not fire under, hence the proclivity of the shooting ports around the armored skirts of the ork-titans. The Wolfguard led the charge, helmets on for the added safety, and those who had stormshields held them protectivley in front of themselves and extending the protective energy shield over thier brothers as much as possible. Small arms fire panged ineffectively off the incredibly thick plates of terminator armor, and the wolves closed with surprising speed for bodies so heavily encased in armor. Still, the grey hunters and bloodclaws soon overtook the wolfguard and charged straight for the teeming mass of orks that carpeted the valley floor. The cannon embedded within the gargant tried to take aim at the advancing wolves, but between the superhuman speed of the marines, and the hundreds of meters covered with each step of the machine, the shots went wild and were largely ineffective.

 

Torvald could see the ornately embossed armor of Lord Olin pause for a moment while he gagued the gargant's movement, and then he led the pack of wolfguard towards the right side of machine. As it took a step, the towering armored frame suddenly lurched much closer, and the heavy stubbers studding the armor opened up on the terminators, who simply kept walking, as if in a light rain. Suddenly, one of the wolves stumbled to one knee, a large calibur round finding a chink in the armor behind his right knee, and Torvald could see from where he ran, his brother would not rise again on his own accord. Just as he started to slow to help, Olin's voice boomed over the vox, "Dont stop! Keep moving wolfguard!" Torvald gritted his teeth, his long fangs biting into his gums and drawing blood, but he complied, increasing his stride.

 

A moment later, the gargant lifted it's right foot, which seemed to tower menacingly over the pack of Space Wolves for a moment, before crashing to the ground just to the right of thier position. The wounded Wolfguard was crushed into nothing beneath the heavy tred of the ork effigy. Wasting no time, Olin took the thunder hammer from his back, and, climbing up and over the squat foot of the gargant, moved towards the inner hull and brought his hammer down with a thundering crack. A great smoking hole appeared in the belly of the gargant, and the wolves moved inside.

 

As the Wolves gathered, Torvald could finally appreciate the size of the machine they had entered. At it's base, it was roughly three hundred meters in diameter, just small enough to fit through the bottleneck the Wolve's armor now held. Rising above him in a clanking clockwork of massive pistons, gears and levers that Torvald's mind could put no function to, the top of the machine disappered over two hundred meters overhead in a smog of smoke that clung to the upper reaches like clouds around a mountain peak. Olin took only a moment to appraise the situation, and then turned to his bodyguard. "Istan, take the pack and disable the drive mechanisms. I dont want this machine going anywhere. If there's a way to blow the reactor, do it. Torvald, Fenring, we're going to hunt the warboss."

 

The wolves lept to comply, the majority of the wolves heading deeper into the bowels of the beast, and already Tovald could hear a storm of bolter fire as the wolves cut down the orks manning the machines, and also the stunted gretchin that seemed to teem out of the walls themselves. Olin started off again at a jog, making towards a long winding ramp that ran up the middle of the gargant towards the upper tiers. The ramp teemed with grots and orks runnind down toward the sound of battle, and the trio of wolves all activated their weapons before emerging from the shadows of the clanking machinery. Olin cleared a space at the foot of the ramp with one great sweep of his hammer. Torvald piled in to the left his Lord, cleaving through the greenskin bodies like paper with the claws of his right fist and the axe in his left. Fenring covered the right, a two handed power axe whirling about his form with consummate ease. Nothing could stand before the wolves, and they made thier way up the ramp, leaving behind the torn and mutilated bodies of thier foes. The few orks with weapons other than wrenches and spanners tried to fire down into the advancing wolves, but the heavy armor made a mockery of thier efforts. Within a few minutes, the three wolves had made it to the top of the gargant, with the sounds of figthing still echoing below them.

 

It was quiet on the upper levels, the only sounds the constant chattering of machine gun fire from the hull and the thumping of the cannons studding the warmachine. As the wolves came to the top of the ramp, they took a moment to look around. It was obvious from the structure of the hull around them, they were in the back shoulders of the gargant, with the shoulders accessible down grated metal hallways to either side of them. A thick, solid doorway sealed off the head from the rest of the body, and it was towards this door that the wolves strode. Again, in one massive sweep of his thunder hammer, Olin crumpled the door off it's hinges as it imploded upon istelf. Another sweep smashed it into the chamber beyond, and judging by the screams following it, more than one greenskin had been unfortunate enough to be in it's path.

 

The wolves entered the chamber, and looking down at them from a raised dias that ringed the room, stood a dozen of the largest orks that Torvald had ever seen, half again as tall as he was. These orks were all armored in thick, black plates of armor and were armed with enormous chainaxes or powerclaws. Standing at thier head, back lit from the one functional eye of the stompa, stood the warboss, clad head to toe in a mockery of terminator armor, thick black ork armor plates welded together and motivated by crude hydraulics. Wiring poked out from every surface, and in one arm the boss gripped a powerclaw as big as Torvald's chest, in the other was a cleaver as tall as Torvald stood.

 

"Oi! Dez com far enuf. Git 'em!" the Warboss bellowed in crude gothic, and the bodyguard surged forward. Instinctively, the wolves closed up into a circle, so that none of them stood with their backs exposed. They each had four of the massive nobs to work against, and it was then that Torvald felt the power of the Emperor flow through him. Time itself seemed to slow as his combat sense took over, and he could make out the trajectory of his attackers, was able to plan ahead. The first ork was charging with a two handed cleaver, which Torvald hooked with his power axe, swinging it to his side and off balancing the ork, before driving his claws into the ork's pelvis. He kept moving, and in one motion he used his momentum from his attack to bring his knee up into the midrift of the next ork who had been swinging widely with a pair of vicious swords. He followed this up with a headbutt to gain some room and finished with a groin to armpit swipe of his power axe which cut through even the thick armor plating with ease. The last two nobs came to a halt just out of his reach and they backed up a few steps, bellowing challenges at him. They were trying to isolate him, draw him away from his pack mates. Torvald would not be so easily fooled as to...

 

Suddenly Fenring broke out of the defensive circle. He had felled three of the orks facing him, but the remaining one was extremely fast for it's size, and was darting inside the wolfguard's two handed attacks and attacking the weak points of Fenring's armor. In a roar of frustration and rage, Fenring charged at the last ork, barreling into it's chest and bull charging it into the far wall, crushing the ork's chest against the hull. In a swing filled with contempt, he spun his axe in a two handed swoop that beheaded the ork, driving the blade deep into the armor of the wall. But the ork had won his battle.

 

Seeing the break in the defensive formation, the warlord had struck in a wordless and savage warcry. It came at Olin's unprotected flank just as the Wolf Lord was finishing off the last of the nobs facing him. He was pulling his hammer from the pulped remains of the nob as the Warboss brought his cleaver down heavily into the back of his leg, shearing clean through the heavy terminator armor and severing it at the knee. In a howl of pain, Olin fell onto his outstreched arms, dropping his thunderhammer to the deck. The momentum of the warbosses attack carried him into Torvald's back and sent him careening towards the last two nobs. Turning this to his advantage, Torvald rolled with the engergy of the impact and came up under and between both of the nobs, before lashing out with his weapons and cleaving clear through thier bellies and out their backs. Both orks collapsed to the ground on either side of him, but Torvald didnt even notice. He was already moving, desperate to return to his Lord's side. He was already too late.

 

The massive Warboss was holding Olin off the planking, the Lord's head cradled in the huge powerclaw. The Wolf Lord struggled to reach the mechanisms of the claw, but seeing them out of reach, instead set his shoulders and spat in the ork's face. The warboss turned to look straight at Torvald and with a sadistic laugh, clamped down with his claw and crumpled Olin's skull like a ripe melon. Torvald howled, an earsplitting howl of lament and fury, and it was taken up from the other side of the room by Fenring. Together, the Wolves charged the warlord.

 

The Ork dropped the lifeless body it had been holding and turned to face Fenring's approach, as he was the closest of the two. Fenring raised his axe over his head in a feint, before whirling it in a quick circle around his body and driving it toward's the Ork's flank. The warboss had been prepared for this, however, and was already swinging it's cleaver up in a decapitating stroke towards Fenring's head. With a sudden blurr of motion, the ork saw a flash across it's vision and saw Torvald's power axe embed itself into the far side of the chamber shortly before it's hand came away from it's arm at the top of it's attack, the cleaver and hand careening harmlessly into the back of the chamber. Fenring's attack struck home, carving straight through the hissing armor of the warboss, and suddenly Torvald was on it's back. He drove his lightning claw into the brainpan of the Ork, and rode the massive body as it crashed to the floor, the electric field of the claws bubbling in the cooked grey matter of the boss. Even as the body crashed to the ground. Torvald kept punching again and again with his power claw. A frustrated growl erupted from his throat, building into a howl of pain and loss and failure. When the Ork's head was nothing more than a steaming pile of shredded flesh, Torvald grabbed either side of the colar of it's armor and pulled with a furious roar, tearing the great body in two with enormous strength lended to him from his armor. Finally, he stood amid the carnage he created, panting and dripping with blood.

 

He looked up at Fenring through his black blood soaked eyebrows, a snarl building on his lips.

 

Suddenly, he was cut off from his brooding by the vox coming to life. "This is Istan. All wolves, fall back to the original lines. Mission accomplished."

 

With a final look of contempt at Fenring, Torvald reached down to scoop up the limp form of his Lord, and with a sudden rush, jumped out into the open air through the eye of the great gargant.

 

As he fell through the air ahead of the metal beast, feet angling to the ground, Torvald simply closed his eyes and waited for the impact. He knew his armor could survive it, and he knew he could survive it inside the protective shell. It would hurt of course. But nothing could compare to the hurt of his failure....

 

 

++++++++++

 

 

 

With a start, Torvald brought himself back to the present. He sighed deeply and looked down at the cragged features of his hands before bringing them up and running them through the thick, unkempt grey mane he now wore.

 

That was more than a century before. Everything had changed. Fenring had been elected to replace the fallen Olin, and Istan had stood by him as a wolfguard, carrying on the legacy of thier fallen Lord. But Torvald could not forgive the failure of his Lord's death. He couldnt forgive Fenring for allowing himself to be baited. He couldnt forgive himself...He had sought to ease the pain by following the path of the scout, keeping the memory of his mentor and friend, Olin the Firehearted, strong within him. He was a wolf without a master, a warrior with no one to show him where to fight. He sought the solitary path, and under the Great Wolf, had found his new pack, his new leader.

 

He would always follow the orders of whichever Lord he had been assigned to.

 

He had to concentrate on the matter at hand. He had to let go of the past, to let go of the pain. With a shake of his head, he looked up, his golden eyes glowing in the moonlight as he looked over the camp of wolves. Once, this was his company. Now, they were his brothers simply because they were Space Wolves and that was enough. There was no greater honor than protecting the lives of fellow Wolves. Regardless of their Lord.

 

With a wry grin, Torvald set off back towards his scout pack to move them out into the night.

 

 

 

End Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

Whew, ok, that was a marathon to write lol. I'll have to re-read it to edit it for spelling, but right now my brain is a bit fried from a long day. I apologize if it's sloppy in any way, but I had a lot I wanted to get out this time, and I hope you all enjoy. Time to drink much ale and rest, chapter 3 should be started by the weekend.

 

-OID

[lunchb0x]

F yeah , part deux! :P

[Roguemarine]

Hell ya man, you got talent, you should write an entire novel out of this stuff.

[OnlyInDeath]

That's actually the plan here lol. I'll be writing it in installments as I find time, and I've pretty much got ideas layed out for a short novel (writing in segments means it's hard to actually have the filler for a full length novel.

 

Anyway, thanks for the props guys. I should have chapter 3 started this weekend.

 

-OID

[Fang head]

Wow, just wow. I'm really enjoying this, keep it up!

[hendrik]

nice work mate, don't forget to updatez it in "the sagas of the wolves"topic;)

[DGC]

That's a great read and can't wait for it to continue. I am in no way a literary scholar but it would appear that the the more you write the better it's getting. The characters are developing nicely and the flashback was brill.

 

The first part you wrote - well I hope GW read it before they redesign our Wolf Scouts. Your descriptive (insert fancy word that I don't know) really captures how the models should look, dynamic poses - crouching, leaping whirling death covered in pelts and trophies and not in the standard upright positions like the other scout models - tasty

 

Keep up the good work - no great work and have an ale or three on me

 

For Russ

 

DGC

[clanfield]

wow ....love it .....wow

[Legio Draconis]

Loving it, best fan fiction I have read since the rise of the tau.

[OnlyInDeath]

Well, again, thanks for all the compliments! I'm glad to see that it's pretty well accepted (writing for fans is tricky, gotta keep the fluff straight!).

 

I should be starting chapter 3 soon. Just gotta find the time and right now it's been limited. Will get it up as soon as possible!

 

-OID

[OnlyInDeath]

___Chapter 3___

 

 

Torvald led his pack of scouts south from the town of Ravik at a steady clip, just short of a full run and instead in a steady jog that he had heard the Imperial Guard call "double time". It was a pace that covered distance at a minimal use of the body's energy. With a space marine's giant stature and enhanced bodily metabolism, it was a way for a squad of marines to cover great distances without ever tiring. When they arrived at thier destination, even if it were on the other side of the planet, they would arrive in condition to fight.

 

Before the scouts had set out, they met with Istan on the edge of the city, and they took a moment to gaze across the landscape they would be moving across. It was predominately grasslands stretching in all directions south of the town, with occasional stands of trees dotting the landscape. High clouds drifted lazily across the purple-blue sky, and birds wheeled far over head on broadly stretched wings. Far to the south, just visible on the horizon, Torvald's keen eyesight could pick out tiny purple peaks that represented the scout's destination. To the southeast and southwest, Torvald could also pick out the yellowish discoloration of smog that pinpointed a couple of the hive stacks that rose in the southern hemisphere. The scouts set about finding small stands of the grass that had encroached towards the outer habs of Ravik, and layed out their pelts to begin the job of making themselves invisible. Tufts of the grass were woven into the fibers of thick wolf hair in the pelts, and presently all of the pelts were so studded in the reedy golden grass that the cloaks looked like small mounds of displaced foliage. Satisfied with thier handiwork, the scouts pulled their pelts back across their shoulders before bending down to smear the local soil across thier faces.

 

Torvald had glanced over at Istan with an appraising glance. The big Wolfguard had allowed significant alterations to be carried out to his armor, courtesey of the Iron Priests back in the camp. Because scout armor was not standard issue for the great companies, Istan had been left with his power armor, which was much too large to move with any amount of true stealth. Perhaps in a normal situation where one would only have to approach a distracted enemy, it would serve. But Wolf Scouts had more exacting measurements of stealth. To move in plain sight without being seen. To approach an enemy from the front, and still manage to attack with an element of surprise. This is what the Wolf Scouts excelled at, and Istan, being the veteran that he was, knew all this. So, in actions that would be blasphemous to thier comrades on Mars, the Iron priests set about making a suit of power armor a scout armor equivalent. The heavy and bulky backpack was the first item to go, making the power armor powerless and nothing more than a massive and heavy pile of ceramite. The helmet was removed, as were the shoulder guards and all armor underneath save for the bracer plates that sat just above each arm. The gilded workings across his breastplate had also been removed, the great golden wolf that had worked its way across his armor nothing more than a clean spot in the otherwise pitted surface of his armor. Next went almost all armor from the lower portion of the suit, save the codpiece and knee pads. Finally, Istan had managed to borrow a spare pare of boots from Gudmund, who was near his size. The result, while cobbled together, was a fair approximation of the armor that Torvald and his scouts wore, if a little more protective where the plates of armor remained. Istan had been careful to keep most of his trophies and fetishes attached to his armor, and Torvald was sure that they would only be removed from his armor when it was refurbished and given to a new bloodclaw when Istan finally went to the halls of the Allfather.

 

Time had been good to his friend, all things considered, Torvald thought to himself. His once proud mane of yellow blonde hair was now mostly run through with grey, and had been pulled back into a severe knot at the back of his head. A thick mustache hung to either side of his mouth, worked with small beads and braided at the end. Unlike many wolves, Istan kept his beared trimmed to only a light covering, as was the custom of the tribe he had been raised in, so many years ago on the harsh seas of Fenris. Unlike many wolves, Istan's face was mostly unmarred from the network of scars that most marines wore with a measure of pride. Over a century of service as a Wolfguard, most of that time encased in the tank-like armor of the holy suits of terminator armor meant that he had enjoyed a surpremely safe environment for many, many years. Being so well protected, Torvald well knew, would not mean that his brother had gone soft. The combi-bolter slung over one shoulder, and the pommel of a giant thunder hammer protruding out from the shoulder of his pelt, Istan would be a significant foe to anyone or anything that faced him.

 

Pulling himself from his musings, Torvald reoriented himself on his surroundings and the present. Already, after only a few hours of marching, the wolves had covered almost thirty kilometers. Glancing behind, the shattered remains of Ravik had already disappered over the rolling hills of the grassplain, only the slow trickle of smoke rising above the city could be seen at this distance. Turning back ahead of him, Torvald could see the peaks of the approaching chain of mountains with increasing detail as they steadily grew in size and height the closer they came. Istan was jogging a few paces behind Torvald with Gudmund. Aravind was jogging far off to the left flank of the wolves, in a position as always to provide fire support from and unexpected angle. Mikkel was off on the right flank, hunched over and moving through the chest high golden grass like a shark through water. Sjurd and Edvin held rear guard, keeping a steady thirty meters behind Istan and Gudmund. Torvald, as always, was keeping point, leading his wolves from the front. Torvald kept up the steady pace, working tirelessly to push his wolves closer to the target.

 

+++++++++

 

"Contact," Aravind's quiet voice cut through the monotony of the march. Instantly all seven wolves dropped into the tall grass and disappered. They slowly wormed thier away along the ground, displacing themselves from thier last known positions in case anyone had drawn line of sight against them, as unlikely as that was.

 

"Report," Torvald ordered, muttering the order under his breath. He had not seen any sign of the enemy, but Aravind's eyes were especially keen, even for a Space Wolf, and he knew well enough to trust his fellow scout.

 

"I have positive contact, armored column moving up from the south east, designate target Alpha. Possible second contact to the southwest, designate target Beta. Alpha includes fourty plus tanks, accompanying APC's, numbers increasing. Beta, no visual confirmation, dust clouds indicate armor column of considerable size. ETA on both Alpha and Beta in fifteen minutes. No point of convergence," Aravind reported back, smooth and efficient as ever. Torvald had no doubt that he had his sniper rifle out to silently survey the approaching contacts.

 

Torvald quickly ran over the figures in his head. Undoubtedly, these were the armies that the Mechanicus ship had seen rolling out from the southern hives, and Torvald knew from the prior reports that the number of machines rolling towards Ravik was considerable indeed. He thought about the options available to him; about five hundred meters due south of thier position was a stand of trees, thick and easy cover. Torvald quickly dismissed this, seeing it as an all too obvious point where the oncoming forces would assume any potential ambushers to be hiding. He figured that his best bet would be to find a place in the long grass and sit tight.

 

"All wolves, consolidate and move out west, one kilometer," he voxed to the rest of his pack. A normal human might have had some trouble covering the required distance before the armor converged on thier position. The Wolf Scouts, however, were ready and waiting when the first of the tanks came into view. They were arrayed off to the left flank of the column, again in thier staggered formation to present the the enemy with a number of firing angles should the wolves be comprimised. All wolves where face down into the grass. Combat here was not an option, and would only be a more than efficient way to get all of them killed in quick order. Torvald knew that Aravind would be a considerable distance to thier rear left flank, gathering intelligence on the numbers passing them.

 

As the column approached, Torvald could feel the very earth underneathing trembling to the deep rubles of so many promethium engines operating at once. Tank after tank passed thier position, with long periods of the lighter growl of APC's passing in thier wake. The tanks were not five hundred meters from thier position, and eventually the air stank of spent exhaust, oil, metal and sweat. The minutes passed into half an hour, and still the wolves did not move a muscle. There seemed to be no end to the armor that was moving past thier position, and Torvald could tell that the column was wider at this point, the tanks moving not a hundred yards from his position. Dust from the obliterated grass and soil was kicked up into the air, making a fine particulate fog that cut visibility down to a dozen meters or less.

 

Suddenly, a sound close at hand, made Torvald hold his breath, arresting even the most basic of human movements. Above the throaty ruble of the tanks, he heard the approaching footsteps of infantry, undoubtedly a screening force used to keep the flanks of the column secure. He could make out an increasing number of footsteps crunching through the tall grass, slowly approaching thier position. It sounded as if an entire company was moving along towards them, and presently, Torvald heard the crunch of boots only a handful of meters from his form. He remained absolutely still, draped from head to toe in the pelt covering his back, with the rest of his body outline broken by the mud and grass poking from the joints of his armor.

 

In a moment of dread, Torvald realized that one of the soldiers was not going to miss is position and was bearing down directly at him. He briefly considered rising up to cut the soldier down, but dismissed it just as quickly. All that would do would be to give away thier position, and he knew that the rest of his pack would try to come to his aid, culminating in a firefight where his wolves would be cut down by the endless tide of the enemy. Instead, he maintained his motionlessness. As the footsteps kept approaching, Torvald offered up a prayer to the God Emperor and waited. From the brush to his right, an infantryman dressed in the grey and brown fatigues of the planetary PDF, covered over by a long greatcoat, broke into the open and his next step landed on the back of Torvald's calf, impacting just above the light armor plates of his boot. Torvald easily held the weight without much discomfort, but the soldier above him stumbled and almost fell, yelling a blasphemous curse along the way.

 

"Trooper Demitris, report!" a voice yelled from a distance more towards the column from Torvald's position. With a look of disgust, the trooper glanced back towards Torvald's prone, but invisible form and yelled back in response.

 

"Just another one of these Corpse fragging Ground Squirrel mounds!" he said, and limped off back towards the north.

 

Torvald slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding, and kept his body otherwise motionless. After what Torvald esimated to be about three hours, the noise of the column finally began to receed into the early night air. As if to confirm his suspisions, he heard Aravind's voice in his ear wispering, "Clear," before finally raising up his prone form and stretching cramped muscles. Torvald kept the bulk of his body below the grass height as he gave a quick glance around his surroundings.

 

The unbroken grass plains were ravaged not far from Torvald's position, the grass completely flattened and the ground churned up into a shapeless mass of abused topsoil. The scar along the earth streched several hundred meters across from him, and the wildlife that had been abundant not that long ago, the ground squirrels, birds and insects, had all disappeared and an eerie silence followed in the wake of the advancing army. Torvald's sense of smell could pick out the heady, earthen smell of pulverized earth and foliage above all else, contesting with the choking smell of burned promethium that threatened to drown out all else. As Aravind filled him in via the vox on the size of the force that had passed them by, Torvald was distracted by a scent he had not expected that ran as an undercurrent to everything else. A smell that was a mix of rot and freshly spilled blood. Of new life and night soil. Of heady purfume and the stink of hate and jealousy. After centuries of combat, Torvald could identify this smell in his worst nightmares. Reaching up to his collar, he switched his suit's comm system to a secure channel and began his report.

 

 

+++++

 

 

"....seven hundred plus tanks, estimated ten thousand infantry, both mechanized and on foot, brigade plus sized artillery support. We couldnt see much of the forces from the southeast, but we would estimate it to be of equivalent force."

 

Fenring swore under his breath, an ancient Fenrisian curse that the Imperial Guard around him could put no meaning to. Suddenly, Fenring was pulled back to Torvald's report as the scout continued.

 

"Be advised, suspected chaos taint in this bunch, jarl. It seems that the root of this evil goes further than we have been informed. We will proceed on target with all possible haste. Current position, two hundred and seventy-eight kilometers south of your position. Russ guide your hand, Fenring. Torvald out." With that, the scout cut the vox link, keeping the communication as short as possible so that no enemy could triangulate thier position.

 

Fenring hunched his shoulders in thought as he processed what Torvald had told him. He also noted the respect that the scout had included in the communication. Could it be, after so long, that his former brother had finally forgiven his folley? The thought filled Fenring with an unexpected sense of comfort, and he opened the vox to the rest of the Space Wolf forces dispursed throughout the city. "Brothers! It seems that the Allfather himself has sent us a foe worthy to be cleansed in His name! The enemy dare to advance into the domain of the Wolf with the taint of chaos upon thier souls. Let us show them how a wolf deals with the sick and diseased!"

 

With that, Fenring broke the link and enjoyed the sound of his fellow Wolves howling thier agreement into the night air of Ravik, the sounds echoing off the ruins around him until it combined into one, long, unbroken howl.

 

 

++++++++

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok guys, here's the start of chapter 3, hope you all enjoy. I realized it had been almost a week since my last post, and I didnt know much I'll be able to write over the next couple days, so I thought I'd get my butt off the ale keg and keep on going with this.

 

Quick note, I adjusted the distance needed to travel to 900 km, as opposed to 300km. Just realized that I needed more space to work with, so to speak lol

 

C&C welcome as always!

 

-OID

[lionofjudah]

:)...was gonna mention the distance. couple of typos...would like to see some more descriptive of istans armor..maybe clear that part up some structurally...

excellent work!!

[clanfield]

loveing the ground squirrels good work matey

[clanfield]

loveing the ground squirrels good work matey,

[lunchb0x]

F YEAH PART TRES!!!

[Roguemarine]

of course another great installment...ale on me brother.

[DGC]

Keep it coming, keep it coming