A saga

[Valdr Fell-fist]

A little introduction first. Me and a few friends are starting a new campaign. Im playing Guard, Space Wolves and my Diy chapter, the vengeful brotherhood. Between the others, ther'es necrons, orks, tau, eldar, tyranids, daemons and chaos marines. We've each written a short story- not nescessarily relevant to the campaign- and i thought i'd post up my Wolves story. We plan on doing a short report after each battle, from our sides point of view and then storing them somewhere so we can get inspiration foranother campaign that we'll no doubt start at some point. So, here's mine:

Chapter 2: The howl of the Wolf

 

The blade halted. Less than an inch from Duregar’s nose. He had felt the air pressure change, but had not seen it flying towards him. The blade withdrew, and in its place a gauntlet appeared. Grey, but edged with black. Duregar took the proffered hand, and was pulled to his feet.

“You’re getting closer. I’ve got to give you that.” Ragnar Blackmane said, not entirely sarcastically. Ragnar was the youngest of the Wolf Lords, in the entire, ten thousand year history of the Space Wolves Chapter. His jet black hair, pulled back into a top knot, was not the only reason for his surname. The real reason was draped across his shoulders. The pelt of a black wolf. They stood taller than a man, and weighed more than a fully laden marine. He had slain one in his youth, with just a stone spear. That, as much as anything, sent a simple, but clear, message to his wolfbrothers. Don’t mess with Ragnar. Lightning fast and strong with it too. More skilled in combat than wolves with twice his experience.

“True, whelp. I’ll get you one of these days. Still, thanks for the sparring match. Now then, I’ve worked up a thirst. The Mead hall?” Duregar’s voice was that a storm might have, if it became a man.

Ragnar laughed. “I thought you’d never ask”

As the two Wolf Lords walked down the corridor of Ragnar’s strike cruise Thunderwolf, they discussed tactics they would likely need on the surface of the world ahead. As they neared the mead hall, they heard the unmistakeable sounds of a brawl. They grinned to each other, and entered the hall.

Once inside, it was near impossible to tell you were on a starship. The walls had been covered in wooden panelling, such as could be found in any hall on Fenris. Shields, axes and paintings of battles covered the walls. Large, round wooden tables with low stools were everywhere, although most had been turned over by the brawlers. Two packs of Blood Claws were fighting one another. Blood Claws were recent initiates to the Chapter, having just received the Gene-Seed of their Primarch, Leman Russ. They still had to adjust to the wolf inside of them, and that often sparked conflict between them.

They nodded to each other, and howled. The Space Wolves often went into battle with a howl on their lips. Gradually, as a wolf becomes more practiced with his howl, it can be used as a recognition signal, as no two are the same. Ragnar’s was a long stretch of mid pitch howls, whilst Duregar’s was shorter, but much deeper. As one, the Blood Claws stopped fighting, and swarmed to meet the Wolf Lords. Most were unarmed, but two had grabbed table legs.

Ragnar grabbed the wrist of the first claw, and threw him straight over his head. He sailed for ten metres before colliding with the wall. Duregar laid one out with a straight jab, and then fought two at once. His hands moved as fast as the eye could see, and less than a second later there were two more claws at his feet. The Wolf lords were fighting for less than thirty seconds, and over half of the Blood Claws lay unconscious at their feet. Then, another series of howls drew their attention. It was their Wolf Guard’s. But, rather than fighting, they started separating the Claws.

Another figure strode into the room. Alone of all the others, he wore light blue power armour of an archaic type, rather than the others, who wore dark grey armour. His head was bare, and his beard, moustache and hair were all snow white.

“Come now, whelps! Settle down, put the furniture right, and get a drink. Or do I have to get these fine lords to administer another good thrashing?” Aldrek asked, laying no extra stress on the word fine. Aldrek was a Rune Priest. These served a similar role to other Chapter’s Librarians, in that they were psychic, and chronicled the history of their chapter. There, the similarities ended. Rather than out and out witch-craft, they channelled their psychic powers through the land, in a more shamanistic manner. Their method of chronicling was different too. Like the skalds of the ancient Nordyc peninsula on Terra, they kept the deeds of the ages in oral form, passing it down to their apprentices.

The blood claws immediately set about doing his orders, or at least the ones who were still conscious. The others were woken up, given a tankard of Wulfensmeade, and sat on the stools. Aldrek strode over to scold the wolf lords.

“Now, you see. That’s how you get blood claws to obey you. Not give them a good thrashing.” Aldrek chided.

“Aye.” Answered Duregar. “But, it’s not as good fun, is it?” Ragnar laughed.

“I’ll give you that. Either way, I’ve come to regale your Great Companies with a saga or two. Summon them for me.”

The Wolf Lords bowed, and summoned their Great Companies.

“Company Blackmane, to the mead hall”

“Company Fireblade, converge on your lord.”

Duregar was known as Fireblade for two reasons. The less obvious reason was his tendency to go into violent, fiery rages. The more obvious was belted at his hip. His ancient Frostblade, first carried to war in the days of the Great Crusade, over ten thousand years ago, glittered a cool blue when he drew it most of the time. When he drew it in anger however, the blade erupted in red flame, cutting through flesh, armourplas and bone as if they were parchment.

Immediately, the two Great Companies packs started to appear. 2 score more blood claws appeared, followed by 8 score of Grey Hunters. These were more experienced warriors. They had grown used to the wolf within them, and excelled at short range firefights. Behind them came ten packs of Long Fangs. These were the eldest wolves, so named because a wolf’s fangs grow as he ages, so these had mighty fangs indeed. They fought long range battles, equipped with heavy weapons such as missile launchers or plasma cannons. All of them sat at tables, or by the bar.

Aldrek stepped forwards. “You are privileged today, wolfbrothers. I come before you to recite the saga of Erik Stormbrow, a hero of the Great Crusade. I shall tell you of how a true wolf dies in battle.

‘Bright was the day when the twelfth Great Company took to war. Over a thousand of the Imperium’s greatest heroes strode tall that morn. They were led by Erik Stormbrow. He stood near ten feet high, and his visage matched his name. His brow jutted forwards, and often ‘twas likened to the snowy cliffs of Mother Fenris. He wore a powerfist upon his left hand, and many a foe had that slain in it’s history. He drew his blade with the other. He carried a Frostblade, and that selfsame sword is in this room with us today. The blade was Fireblade! Sword of our own Lord, Duregar!” He paused for a moment, to allow the shouts of the wolves to die down.

“Verily, Erik was a mighty warrior, but one even mightier than he walked beside him. Our beloved lord, Leman Russ led the forces of the wolves to battle that day. Two kilometres to the north of them, a large force of Greenskin savages did march towards them. Russ ordered the wolves to march to meet them. Four and twenty of the finest Wolf Guard of that company did flank the Primarch and Wolf Lord. Their blades glittered in the sun, and three of them bore battle standards. One was the personal banner of Russ, and its bearer was Jurgen Fellhand. The next was Erik’s own flag, carried by his blood-brother Nils Stormbrow, and he shared the craggy face of his lord and brother. Last, and most honoured, was the Battle Banner of the VI Legion, our greatest standard, still carried today. Such a mighty icon needed a suitably mighty hero to carry it, and the Champion Thengir Iceclaw bore our standard proudly aloft. “

“Facing the gathering of heroes was a massive force of Orks. One hundred and fifteen thousand strong, or more, they clearly outnumbered the Imperium’s finest. But! We do not count space marines by the size of their army! Each Space Wolf is an army all to himself! Fearlessly, they strode forwards, till only three hundred metres separated them from the Great Beast. Two war cries split the sky that day. First came the Orks. As one, they hurled their blasphemous WAAAAAAGGHHH!!! Towards their pathetic excuses for gods. Next and far mightier, were the howls of the Wolves. Imagine, brothers. You have all heard the howls of, at most, a few hundred wolves. Fine as it is, it is no match for that cried by over a thousand heroes, lead by a Wolf Lord and a Primarch. It is said that just at the sound of the howl almost a thousand greenskins from the rear ranks turned and fled the field. Both armies leapt to meet one another. The Orks attacked along a wide front, but the Wolves formed into an arrowhead. They struck home with the force of a thunderbolt. Countless greenskins were slain in the first few seconds, and not a single wolf fell. Eventually however, most of the wolves found themselves fighting for their lives, and their momentum slowed. Most, but not all. Six and twenty warriors still charged, cutting down any before them. The Wolf Guard fought to protect the flanks of their lords and masters, and slowly they were whittled down, for even the mightiest warriors will fall against a hundred greenskins. Nine time nine orks fell before the blade of Stormbrow before even a single blow landed upon him. The first pierced his pauldron, but he was unwounded. He slew the Ork who had dared lay arms upon a hero of the Imperium, and continued onwards. Our Primarch was over twenty metres forwards of the Wolf Lord, for not even an Astartes can hope to compare with a son of the Emperor. That day, he carried Mjallnir. The gigantic Frostblade, as tall as a terminator, reaped a fearsome toll that day. Five greenskins fell with each swing, and another five on the counter swing. Within the few short minutes of the fight, Russ had already slain almost a thousand Ork-kin.”

“Once more, an Ork choppa found purchase upon Erik. This time, it wounded him. His left wrist was severed, and bright arterial blood blinded the same Greenskin. He beheaded that Ork, and another who charged towards him. They mobbed him, and he was pushed away from the Wolf Guards who tried to reach him. Four and twenty more were slain by him, before him came face to face with the Warlord.”

“It stood twelve feet high, towering over even a space marine. It wore a crude version of powered armour, slabs of iron and steel, inches thick, were bolted directly into its flesh. One arm ended in a large bore cannon that flung shells the size of a mans head. The other was a piston driven claw, and steam was flowing out of the joints. As he looked upon the Warboss, Stormbrow knew he faced the mightiest opponent of his life. The Ork charged forwards ponderously, weighed down by its armour, and he leapt to meet it, a howl upon his lips. His blade flashed, and a chunk of flesh from the Warlord’s left shoulder fell to the ground, and the smell of burnt flesh assaulted Erik. Its pincer ripped off the rest of his left arm, and Erik stumbled. Again, he struck, this time severing its cannon arm at the elbow. Once more, the Ork answered in kind, tearing off his right leg off at the thigh. Erik fell, and knew his fate was upon him. He felt his lifeblood leaking out of him, and the ground shook as the Warlord peered down at him. It picked him up, as if he was but a child. It regarded him with a cold intellect, chuckled, and opened its gaping maw, clearly intending to bite his head off. Then, Erik struck one last time. Fireblade found its way into the Warlord’s brain, and it collapsed. With the death of their overlord, the Orks turned and fled. Not one escaped alive.”

“Erik was carried back to the base camp by Russ himself, and it is said that Leman wept at his wolfbrothers death. Fireblade was given to the new Wolf Lord, and has been passed down so for ten thousand years.”

Aldrek stepped back. Duregar strode forwards to take the centre of the room.

“And that, Wolf brothers, is what it means to be a Space Wolf. Never give up. Never surrender, for even in death we are unmatchable. Now, prepare your weapons. We are but a few short hours away from the planet. For Russ!” He yelled.

“For Russ!” The cry was taken up by hundreds of mouths.

Duregar turned away, and began to discuss deployment with Ragnar.

 

Happy reading!

[antique_nova]

what can i say? ia m proud to be the first to comment you and proud to be the first to congratulate you on this particular thread. Well done! you kept the rhythem and flow going. Your a natural mate, except for one thing. to prove that your really a natural you need to do a proper fight, more close up and personal.

if you have i would like an extract of it.

thanks

antique_nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Well, i've written up a Guard one, a shorter bit for the Brotherhood. I could pm you with them if you wanted?

And, as far as the fight goes, there'll be plenty more. It's just that i thought a saga wouldn't have all the details, especially one that's more than ten thousand years old! I should think after all that time there will have been some degrading, especially since it's kept in oral form rather than written down, true?

Thanks for the comment though. Hopefully, there will be a new bit every few weeks, as and when we get chance to have games.

[antique_nova]

lol, yea would like that. please pm

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Okay. Check your messanger.

[antique_nova]

i cant pm you atm due to :D spam control from, which i didnt cause !

heres my assessment of your pm

 

Unfortunately, that is not all. We’ve located a substantial force of Tau approaching. What they intend is not clear. Also nearby are a large Ork Waaagh!, and multiple Eldar Craftworlds, Biel-tan foremost amongst them. Whatever this world is, it must house some terrible secret to be so important to the Eldar, for them to risk such a large number of their race to claim it.”

“All the more reason for us to claim it first, then.”

 

Everyone knows what the Tau want, they want to expand their empire through the realms of the Emperor’s realm.

 

Eldar forces have never ever been detected by the imperium as they are far tooo advanced and the elder craftsworlds will never cgroup together unless it is truly worth the risk. This risk however I doubt will be. They will have a large fleet but never a cfrat world with so many enemies nearby as well to matter how well hidden they are.

 

“Here. Servants of the Corpse-god come. Regiments of man-things, and many hundreds of Astartes for us to test out mettle against. Eldar also. Three whole Craftworlds have mobilised against us, now they we have remerged into the Materium. Greenskins flock to wherever there is a good fight to be had, and some new race follows them all. Short and blue skinned, they barely register in the warp. The Warmaster has tired of the Eye of Terror and has come to see this new world for himself, but does not come peacefully. A Hive fleet of those That Devour approach. And strangest of all, there are whispers of the creatures in the tombs beneath our feet stirring. We seek to know whether you will fight these foes.”

“Of course. What answer have the others given?”

 

Tau don’t have souls and they are impossible to register in the warp as well as the necrons, you could just say there are large enegery spikes in these areas, but chaos doesn’t know what they are or mean, but that something powerful is arising. Also you need to mention abit more about why all races are heading their because if elder are there then it is usual an artifact or chaos origin meaning chaos know what it is but you gave give the audience a hint with the chaos chit chat.

 

 

“They were awaiting your answer. Now, all four of the powers shall war once more. We have much to do. Much has changed amongst our enemies since last we warred on the plane. The servants of the corpse-gods especially. Their technology has regressed even further since the last time. And these blueskins have much in the way of long range fire. Their technology is far in advance of the Imperium. We should be wary.”

 

You could make the skulltaker tease the nurlge guy by saying YOU should be wary of your footsteps and your stench.

 

Finally, skulltaker would have to face an army to get their, the only way he that he would ever get to outside that palace is by sitting on his khorne borderline and requesting an audience on the borders of their realm.

 

No opposition to the power of the chaos gods will ever be allowed to enter their realm unharmed let alone near their own sanctuary and palace.

 

hope this helps you mate

 

thanks

antique_nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Thanks a lot nova. I'll edit the sections. Other than those bits, what did you think?

[antique_nova]

quite good, good momentum throughout keep it up.

You just need to punch it up with the phrases and make the story seem more gothic and that the forces of the imperium are almost hopeless but never the less they think they will see hope and ig are very stubborn

thanks

antique_nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Right, i'll work on that. There's another game planned for in a couple of days, and i'll add to it then.

[antique_nova]

Ok, good luck.