The Siege of Fenris- CHAPTER 2 NOW UP

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

Hey fellas,

 

Ive been considering writing a story about the siege of the Fang during Bucharis's Plague of Unbelief, and Fenris as a whole. Ive finished the first chapter tonight, and having seen how well OID's Wolf Scout series has done, I'd like you guys to take a look at it for me and give opinions please.

 

Thanks

 

Bjorn the fell-handed

 

 

Chapter 1

The morning was chill, and the wind’s groping fingers found her way into the bones of the hardiest man. Despite this, Captain Doran Brandis still did not allow his men rest. Rest made men weak, he thought, and weakness was not a thing best shown in this army, not after Gasto’s purge of the 14th Rigellian regiment, whose men refused to march on. This attitude had given his men, 9th company of the 14th Gathalamor infantry the reputation of being the best of the best. Their combat honours were myriad, including the capture of the main Adminstratum and Governers palace on Bakka, as well as the daring raid on Hydraphur’s main barrack complexes in the northern continent, which had ensured a relatively clean victory . The regiment had been honoured by the most Holy Cardinal Bucharis himself ; voice of the Emperor, who blessed their regimental standards personally. Now, on this freezing cold ball of ice, the 9th company had to prove itself once more.

This time, against the Wolves of Fenris. Wolves whose fangs had hammered the fleet and who seemed to strike from the shadows. Well, let them come against us, thought Brandis, the comforting rumble of a half dozen Leman Russ main battle tanks behind his troops. We have better firepower, as well as the favour of the Emperor to turn against these filthy mutants.

He felt a tap on the soldier, and turned around, the irritation at this disturbance to his reverie made obvious in his looks. Jenkins, a fresh faced soldier who had been inducted recently stood to attention, his pale face and pristine carapace armour covered in a sheen of frost.

 

“What is it soldier?” said the captain, his voice turning into a snarl that surprise even Brandis.

 

“Captain, sir, our auspexes are detecting movement from over there” He pointed to a wood, then quickly re-raised his arm in salute.

 

“Could it not be another scout party of ours?” asked Brandis, now beginning to wonder if the shadows were ready to strike again.

 

“Sir, we can’t quite tell. The signal is scrambled somewhat. All we know is there is something vaguely human looking out there in that wood” said the worried looking inductee. Brandis knew that he had to at least investigate the possibility of hostile contact. No knowing who would report on you, especially in this army, he thought to himself.

 

“9th, form skirmish order, and advance into the wood. Watch out for any anomalous readings on your scanners. Leman Russ crews, cover our advance. If it don’t look human, then you shoot it on sight” ordered Brandis into the vox bead in his helmet. Over the howl of the winds, the various “affirmative” and “order received” could be heard. He pulled his plasma pistol from the holster, and felt the assuring weight of his chainsword in his left hand. Behind him, 300 men advanced into the woods, Hellguns, Lasguns, Plasma guns, flamers and other weapons at the ready, the men behind them as nervous as could be imagined. The auspexes beeped steadily, and finally, they reached the source of the readings.

 

A tech servitor, made of vat grown plasflesh, plastics and stainless steel tools stood in the midst of a grove of trees. By its repetitive action, it was broken, its arms once designed to assist a repair crew now jerking around aimlessly.

 

A few men began sniggering, and Brandis thumbed the deactivation switch on his chainsword, and holstered the plasma pistol. He walked up to Jenkins, holding his lasgun loosely in his arms, and punched him in the face.

 

“You fething idiot! Its a damn servitor! Were you born last week?!?!? Sergeant Harbeck?”A grizzled looking man with a sergeants stripes stood forward, the discipline of years of war in the name of the Emperor showing.

 

“Sir!” said the sergeant, a deep, booming voice carrying over the deafening howl of the wind.

 

“When we get back to camp , take this idiot” Brandis said, pointing at Jenkins “and put him on a weeks punishment duty, as well as 20 lashes for this travesty” he said, pointing at the servitor. The veteran nodded respectfully, and threw in a salute for good measure. The young officer walked away from the press of quietly sniggering men, some resting on tree boles, others watching out in case another “threat” came to attack them He touched the vox by his mouth, and tapped into the Leman Russ vox frequency . A soft boom could be heard in the distance, but Brandis dismissed that as artillery firing on the Wolves’ mountain fortress.

 

All he got was the sound of harsh static.....

 

“MEN, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!! BACK TO THE TANKS!!!!” the soldier bellowed, and the collective mass of men followed him. By this time, all semblance of formation had gone, and the rushing mass came onto the place where once six proud Leman Russes had stood. And the sniggering now stopped.

 

There remained only the broken, twisted scorched hulks of tanks. Massive battlecannons stood in the snow, and the charred corpses of their former crews lay scattered, sizzling still despite the freezing cold. “Damn” said one soldier, inspecting the wreckage, an awestruck look on his face.

 

“What now sir?” said the impassive sergeant Horbeck, his lasgun resting from his shoulder by a worn strap. “Do we report back to camp now, or do we keep on with our patrol sir?” The captain considered the veteran sergeant, a series of scars laced across his face. He was one of the few men Brandis regarded a friend, someone who trusted him implicitly. The feeling was mutual, and Brandis always sought the soldiers advice.

 

“We hold here for now. Have the men set up camp; heavy weapons on the outer edges, and a 2 man picket at regular intervals. Get me a long range vox; Ill call in another armour detachment, and more infantry” The sergeant nodded, and, after a few shouted orders, the men began to set up camp, drawing tents and other gear they had with them. As the men began to set up the first tent, a howl rent the sky, even above the sound of storm. In the middle distance, a figure appeared, then two, then half a dozen, then fifteen were striding towards the camp. They were far larger than men should be, armoured to the teeth and wielded a mixture of axes, sword and spears, with huge wooden shields in left hands. Their hair fluttered, unbound and unkempt around their shoulders.

 

The Wolves of Fenris had come for blood, and the sight froze Captain Brandis’ blood to ice.

 

“Form ranks men! Prepare to fire on my mark!” yelled the frantic Captain. With the help of his sergeants , through a mixture of bellowed orders, and brutal strikes with fists, his men formed into 3 ranks, the lines were formed. Special weapons were on the flanks of the line, and what limited supply of autocannons they had were placed in front of the line. The sound of clattering belt feeds, the click of autoguns being loaded and las cells being replaced filled the air. The unit of giants was now three hundred paces away, and the sound of a chant could be heard, now the air had stilled. The warriors were beating their blades against the rims of their shields. The song was in a harsh, guttural language the Captain could not understand, but it filled his men with dread. Several began to run, just before they were shot by Sergeant Vatris’ bolt pistol, the sharp bark ending their lives. The Captain drew his chainsword, and thumbed the ignition switch and it roared to life. “Men, fire at will!” bellowed the officer, and the air was filled with a cacophony of sound; the crack of the lasgun, the powerful thud of the autocannons, as well as the quiet phsst of meltaguns and the whine of plasma guns. The Wolves had begun to run, and shields upraised, they charged towards the lines. One Marine fell, his shield broken by a melta blast, and his body engulfed in the fire from a plasma gun, but the others still ran on, their armour pitted with shots, their shields shining with a pale blue sheen, like an energy field encompassed them, keeping them whole in the face of such violence.

They were little more than fifty paces away, and Brandis, seeing the uselessness of their firearms cried out “fix bayonets! Charge like the Emperor himself has ordered you to!” They roared their assent, and as they ran at the Fenrisians, the Marines howled, the hair on Brandis’ neck standing on end. He saw one marine, a blond haired giant gut Sergeant Vetris with his warblade, and smash away another two men with the face of his shield. Another savage red haired warrior ripped out Lieutenant Charon’s throat out with his bare hands, his axe lying broken in the snow. One marine went down, with 5 men stabbing at him, and a guttural cry of pain was heard as a bayonet jammed itself in the joint in his right knee. Other bayonets skittered off the smooth chestplate, and the marine brought up a bolt pistol, and fired off a hail of shots, exploding their heads like a hammer hitting ripe fruit. One Wolf charged, spear raised and shield down at Brandis. The Captain raised his plasma pistol at the wolf, and as he was pulling the trigger, the Wolf sent his weapon flying at him. It struck deep into his breast, and he fell, seeing his men fall about him like leaves in the autumn as his life’s blood leaked out....

 

Jurgen, formerly of the Krakenfire tribe, Blood Claw of the company of Gram Ironfist surveyed the scene. Guardsmen lay scattered across the white snow, their blood staining the holy soil of Fenris. One battle brother, Olaf Gunnarson , had been slain, and Cnut Icestrider lay in the Red Dream, after a plasma shot had melted away most of his left arm. The Wolf reached into his pouch, and pulled a large handful of dried elk from it. War was hungry business after all. As he chewed slowly, the squad sergeant, Bodolf, strode up to him, eyes glinting palely, fangs showing as his mouth broke into a smile.

“Ill have some of that meat there cub. Killing works up a hell of an appetite for a great warrior like me.” Jurgen growled in his throat out of impulse, but realising that the old wolf was not asking, he threw some to him. They ate quietly, and seemingly, out of nowhere, Boldolf said “Nice work on the tanks Bran Scalphunter, now apologise to Leman Russ for blowing up his battle tanks.” A wolf scout with a black beard and long hair, with runes and wolves teeth hanging from his armour walked up and said “Don’t mention it Bodolf.” The grizzled sergeant turned his flinty eyes towards the scout and responded in an abrupt tone “How come only you are here and your pack is not, Scalphunter?”

 

The scout chuckled harshly and clapped his hand on the sergeants shoulder plate, and said “It is lucky for us the enemy does not have your keen nose and ears Bodolf, else we scouts would be in trouble.” He smiled grimly and continued “I am here to escort you back to the Fang; Lord Ironfist’s orders, and my pack has been assigned to him. The main entrance to the Fang is besieged, heavily, and we need every Wolf alive to assist in attacking their lines. Orders are to restock on weapons, service armour and to prepare for an extended time in field without a possible re-supply. We’ll be operating behind enemy lines” finished the scout, spitting 4 feet away.

 

“Very well. We wait for the Wolf priest to finish seeing to my men, then we move.” replied Bodolf. A figure in black power armour arose from by Olaf, his fingers stained with the dead mans blood, replacing the Fang of Morkai in its sheath by his belt. The warrior took off his wolf’s skull helmet, and a fairly young face appeared, a trimmed moustache and closely cropped hair appeared. All three Wolves bowed their heads in respect as he walked up to them; it was never a good idea for a man to disrespect a Wolf Priest, for they were the embodiment of the Chapter, of the great Russ himself.

 

“Priest , this man brings news from our liege lord Gram. He has ordered that we return to the Fang via secret routes to ready ourselves for extended operations. He is to lead us back” said Boldolf

 

“Very well. Have two men carry Olaf’s body back to the Fang; and you, Jurgen will help Cnut walk back” replied the priest calmly, fingering the iron wolf amulet that hung around his neck. “

 

“Why not just allow us to burn Olaf here, amidst the arms and bodies of his foes, as the sons of Fenris have done for generations?” retorted Jurgen hotly, his hand straying towards his axe. Gunnar drew his crozius from by his belt, and pointing it at the Blood Claw, said in a firm voice “you dare question my order, beardless whelp?! I should thrash you for your impudence!!!” Jurgen, now losing himself in a battle rage, jumped towards the priest, blade forgotten, fangs and fists alone his weapons. Mid jump, his face met with Bodolfs’ armoured fist, which knocked him flat on his back. The growl in Jurgen’s throat was suppressed by the look of anger in Bodolfs’ eyes.

 

“We take our dead with us, young one. We will leave no Son of Russ amongst the unworthy enemy who lie here “ said Bodolf , motioning around him with his eyebrows. “Audolf, Thorgrim, you take Olaf’s body, Jurgen, pick up Cnut. We move with haste. Lead on Scalphunter, and please, make sure that if we come across the enemy through your recklessness, we at least get a good enemy to slaughter.”

 

The scout grinned inanely, and after reloading his bolt pistol said “I think you’ll be hard pressed to find one of those on all of Fenris”, and the whole company laughed.

[Skaldnir]

Actually, I like it quite a bit. It doesn't overtly glorify the wolves(showing them as impossible to defeat) But it doesn't make the threat the represent to the Guardsmen seem trivial. All in all a good read, I would love to see what you do further on down the road.

[Roguemarine]

its a good read, keep up the good work brother have an ale.

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

Cheers guys. Im working on chapter 2 even as we speak :D

These days my time is my own (no more college *yay!*) so hopefully Ill ave it up by the middle of next week.

 

Bjorn

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

Cheers guys. Im working on chapter 2 even as we speak :D

These days my time is my own (no more college *yay!*) so hopefully Ill ave it up by the middle of next week.

 

Bjorn

[The God Emperor]

Can we expect Sven Scalphunter to go into close combat against guardsmen brandishing Adeptus Astartes issued socks filled with runes, fangs and other assorted dangerous heavy junks? In his brutish yet stylish fashion? :)

[OnlyInDeath]

Definately a good start, and I'm glad that someone is taking on a saga set in this time period. It seems that, like me, you love SW fluff way to much to let aspects of it go untold in glorious verse around the fang ^_^ I think the only thing that you could possibly benefit from is taking a gander at a names database website (they have norse editions) to get yourself some original names. Right now I see a lot drawn from previous literature, and it takes away a little from the uniqueness of the characters.

 

Other than that, great job, and it's nice to see someone else on a project like this!

 

-OID

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

Thanks all you guys. I appreciate the words :tu:

 

Chapter 2

 

Asaheim, the home of the Gods in Fenrisian folklore, stands amongst the tallest mountains in the Imperium of Man. Its peaks are high in the clouds, enshrouded by mists and the summit sees storm after storm. Its sides are ever cloaked in a layer of thick snow and vegetation throughout the year, even during the Time of Fire, when Fenris’ surface is heated by the systems main sun; known as the Eye of Russ .While the rest of the land suffers tremours, and the tribes must seek a new land to live, Asaheim’s holy peaks stand firm and immovable. Here the Wolves of Fenris, warriors of the Gods and scions of the Allfather had made their home, and a mighty bastion it was indeed. Cloaked in shields older than the Imperium itself, and with the thick, impenetrable mountain, the Fang was an unassailable fortress.

 

Not that Bucharis’ armies didn’t try. Hundreds of thousands of men swarmed on the lower peaks of Asaheim, and the guns of dozens of tank brigades, superheavies and ordnance batteries rained fury on the mountain. The traitors’ navy had even tried to use its lance batteries to annihilate the Fang from orbit. Though the mountain shook under the fury of such firepower, it held fast. Within the Wolves feasted, heard tales of courage and prepared for war, and to enter the Halls of Russ.

 

Towards the location of the concealed entrance Bran Scalphunter led the Blood claws and Wolf priest. In skirmish formation, pistols at the ready, and damaged shields slung across their backs, the neophytes walked along, keeping eyes sharp and wits ready, just in case another scout company tried to assault via another less defended part of the Fang. Ahead of the main body, like a spectre walked Scalphunter, and beside him, the sergeant.

 

“So, any news from the astropaths? Are reinforcements en route?” asked the grizzled sergeant ,his shield rim clinking slightly against his heavy ceramite armour.

 

“None yet old friend. Grimblood’s is the closest of all the companies in the field, and he is a good 4 months away, with fortune on his side. Thus we must be more careful, we must not get into a battle that the enemy will win with their greater numbers” replied the scout, in a plain tone. “I know that many of the Wolves would love to charge in, blood and thunder, and meet these traitors in honourable combat, but Lord Ironfist has ordered no-one to do such a thing.”

 

“Aye, lord Ironfist, despite his name, is not as hasty to get into combat as some others” said Bodolf. “Still, I’m not so sure about this approach. I can see the sense in it, but I’m sure, that given the heaviest application of force right in the enemies heart, we might break this beast that attacks us” he finished.

 

“I suppose this plan befits me more, I know. Carapace is better for sneaking around.” Scalphunter smiled “I know that there are few who find scout tactics honourable, put it that way. But, scout tactics are all we can do. Unless any man wishes Lord Ironfist to prove his namesake, and hit him so hard Leman Russ himself will feel it.” The two Marines laughed aloud; hearty, booming laughs that split the silence like a battleaxe splitting twigs.

 

“Noise discipline will be observed men, if you don’t mind it” crackled the voice of Wolf Priest Gunnar over the vox, the sarcasm evident, despite the static. Bran and Koris shared a knowing smile, before Scalphunter hit a location on the side of the mountain, and a grinding sound led to a passageway, cut straight into the mountain.

 

“Follow me within. Hearth and home this way lies” said Scalphunter, the veteran scout said quietly, the awe of the Wolves ancient home still in his voice.

 

 

The path was long and winding, dimly lit by glowglobes whose light provided only just enough light for the Astartes to see without their lamp packs. With every step, the smell of the Fang grew stronger, the smell of oil, of the Wolves, and, for the Blood Claws most of all, the smell of good Fenrisian ale and meat cooked over the great hearth fires. Finally, the path led to a set of ladders, and led to a final door with a keypad and a hole into which one inserted an arm. Scalphunter placed his arm within, and typed in a series of eight numbers, and the adamantine door opened with a slight hiss, and light streamed over the bloodied warriors. They were back home again.

 

The priest took off his wolfs head helmet, and clipped it to his belt.He knelt down, and the company emulated him. He offered a prayer to Russ, and to the Allfather, asking that their deeds be witnessed, and that brave Olaf be permitted a place in the halls of the Allfather, where there are glorious battles to be fought, and fine ale and good food in plenty for after. When he rose he spoke in a voice that would brook no challenge “Hodr, Eirik. Take Olaf to the Apothecarium, to await the burial rites in stasis. Take Cnut also; have a Wolf Priest prepare him for an augmetic. I will make a report to the Lord Ironfist about our progress. Scalphunter, you will come with me, to deliver any news of further enemy dispositions. Sergeant, take the rest of your men to the armoury, and get any equipment needing repair repaired” he said, nodding towards the shields that swung on straps around the Wolves shoulders and chest, some broken, some merely shivered and some that just needed cosmetic repairs. He continued “after your weapons and wargear have been seen to, you may eat and drink your fill. We go into battle at a moments notice.”

 

The Blood claws turned around, and forming a ragtag group behind Bodolf made their way to the forges and workshops of the Iron Priests. As they passed through the halls, Jurgen noticed a new tapestry lining the ancient walls. It depicted a ship, and from what Jurgen knew, what seemed to be a chapter strike cruiser, finely detailed. It was surrounded by other ships, of Imperial navy design. All the weapons on the cruiser were firing furiously, its lances and cannons almost roaring in his ears, so vivid was the tapestry. He asked Bodolf what this was of, and he responded “That was the chapter cruiser Wolf’s Honour” he said “it was destroyed fighting the traitors navy a few weeks ago. After destroying two enemy cruisers and an Apocalypse class battleship, Shipmaster Anleifr destroyed an Emperor Class battleship, the Thrones Vengeance, by ramming it, when his weapons were taken offline. The Great Wolf has ordered the skalds to create a saga of that battle. In the meantime, this was made to honour the memory of the good men who died for Fenris.” He placed his hand to his breast over his two hearts in respect, and they continued down the passage.

 

“Weapons and wargear on the table” said Ulf, the Iron Priest, his voice cut through with a cold metallic edge. Jurgen, like his other brother Blood Claws placed his bolt pistol, his chainsword, combat knife and the storm shield he had been given for this mission. The priest raised a black eyebrow at the equipment placed there, then set to work. He picked up the pistol, removed the clip and checked inside for any blockages. A brief smile of satisfaction slid over his face as he removed the outer casing, and looked at the inner mechanisms, immediately replaced with the cold, stoic face of the typical follower of the Machine Cult. Jurgen loved his bolt pistol, and lavished even more attention on it than was necessary for its maintenance. All its mechanisms were well oiled, and it was free of dirt and grease on the inside. He had carved, with his combat knife, his saga, including all the campaigns in which he fought, the battles he had helped to win; the pack brothers lost to war. All written in the traditional language of his people, in Fenrisian runescript. The Iron Priest removed all the bolt rounds in the clip, replaced them with solid rounds, and walked over to a deep barrel of water. He loaded the clip in, and racked the slide. A sharp, strong bark filled the air for a brief second, as the bolt pistol fired. Satisfied with the working order of the pistol, the marine lifted Jurgens’ chainsword, inspecting the blades for sharpness. He placed it down for a second and placed a steel bar in a vice attached to a low ceiling. Lifting it again, he thumbed the ignition switch. The weapon roared to life, then suddenly cut out. Puzzled by this, he thumbed the ignition switch off, and began to look amongst the mechanisms. “This weapon will have to have to stay with me. It is not in usable condition.” He glanced over Jurgens’ armour; mostly unharmed. A scratch or two, but nothing that an Iron Priest would have to deal with, just a bit of repair cement to seal it. As he cast his eye over it, he noticed the right gauntlet that Jurgen had placed on the table was heavily damaged, with a huge cut running in the back of it. The Priest walked over to the weapons rack behind him, and drew from a rack a massive power fist. He walked over to Jurgen, lifted his right hand and had him slide his hand into the integrated gauntlet. He inserted a few power cables into sockets in the vambrace, and muttered a catechism of praise to the Machine spirit of both weapon and armour, as well as to the Omnissiah, the Allfather and Russ. “There. That should serve as a replacement weapon until your chainsword is repaired. Besides, I would say these days our packs need more bite” said Ulf impassively, reflexively baring his fangs slightly. The young Blood Claw turned over the gauntlet, admiring it, and finally nodded his head in thanks. He sheathed his combat knife, his bolt pistol and lifted his helmet from the metal table.

 

At another table, an Iron Priest slid a hand flamer across the table to Thorgrim, whilst placing his pistol on a side table, full of tools. “What are you doing with my weapon priest?” asked the red headed Blood Claw, his hackles rising as though at some unspoken insult. The iron priest responded with “Do you look after your pistol at all cub?” The Claw bridled at this, and after a moment, replied in an angry tone “I do priest, why do you ask?” The priest said nothing, but picked up the pistol, placed a clip in the magazine, racked the slide and aimed the pistol at Hakon’s head in one fluid motion. The whole pack moved in suprise at this, ready to attack the Iron Priest.

 

The priest pulled the trigger...

 

Nothing happened.

 

“Next time, Blood Claw, be more concerned with the maintenance of your pistol as a pistol, not simply a club to beat your opponents to death with” said the priest in a clipped tone. He dismissed the neophyte with a single gesture, and clipped him round the back of the head as he turned. The red haired warrior would have jumped on the tech specialist, had his servo arm not been in a position to grab him by the throat, and break his neck. He spat on the floor and walked away.

 

“Thorgrim!” shouted Bodolf to the angry Blood Claw.

 

“What sergeant?!” replied the young warrior.

 

“Its not that you don’t maintain your weapons lad, as to why you’ve been given a flamer. I think the Iron Priest has got it wrong here. Its just you shoot about as well as an Ork with a blindfold on” said the sergeant, his rough voice grating, no hint of humour. The pack burst into laughter, and it took Bodolf booting a couple of the pack in the backside to silence them.

“When all your duties have been finished, and your weapons all serviced, then you can have food and drink. And by the way, you have all been volunteered, by myself just now, for sentry duty around the Fang” said the sergeant, grinning, his flinty eyes glinting. “Ill try to keep some ale for you lot when you are done.”

 

The whole pack let out a collective sigh, of disgust and anger, as the sergeant left the room to sample the Fang’s fine ale.

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

Again, I really appreciate your comments. More would be appreciated :yes:

 

Thanks

 

Bjorn

[OnlyInDeath]

Still good work, a nice little interlude :tu:

 

Again, one thing I would suggest is bookmarking a names database website. Using names that have been previously used in other literature isn't a very wise course of action, as the human mind immediately associates that name with previous information that you've read about it, and also tries to force parallels between what it's reading now and previous information. In essence, it distracts the reader from what they are reading. Right now I dont think, besides Bran ( :P ) that you have used a name that hasn't already popped up before. Names databases are your friend :yes:

 

Other than that, keep it coming!

[Roguemarine]

Good read man, and i have to agree with OID on that one small tid bit, however small it is, and you like the name, when reading it my mind jumped back to the info i had on the characters.

[The God Emperor]

I lol'ed.

[Thorgrim Blackwolf]

It seems that sergeants never seem to change no matter the story :P :) .

 

Nice work so far Bjorn, have a well deserved ale!! I would echo the previous comments and recommendations about the names in stories; although if you are stuck for names for characters, you could use the names of our brothers in the B&C Fang with their permission of course!

 

Keep this level of fenrisian goodness up and copious amounts of ale and recommendations to Black Library will be forth coming.

 

Cheers

 

Thorgrim

[Bjorn the Fell-Handed]

It seems that sergeants never seem to change no matter the story

 

Nice work so far Bjorn, have a well deserved ale!! I would echo the previous comments and recommendations about the names in stories; although if you are stuck for names for characters, you could use the names of our brothers in the B&C Fang with their permission of course!

 

Keep this level of fenrisian goodness up and copious amounts of ale and recommendations to Black Library will be forth coming.

 

Cheers

 

Thorgrim

Yep, They have a universal job of being the guys who ruin the party :P

 

Ive edited the stories with some more original names. I would say that I liked the starting names, Koris is particular :P But whatever my readership say works best, Ill look to :P Its far more norse in feel now I think. A couple like Ulf and Gunnar and Jurgen have stayed as is; I think the names havent been used overly, unlike Skoll or Sven.

 

And a pint for th eperson who can tell me the significance of the name Bodolf for the squad sergeant

 

Ill be working on chapter Three over the next couple of weeks. Any recommendations (sensible and in timeline of course) sent to me via PM would be most welcome. Also, if Beef or any other of our Skalds/ Rune Priests could look at this for me, from a more fluff standpoint, then I would be honoured.

 

BL? Id love to get paid for this project, but I doubt Id get it. Still, when Im finished with it, itll be the Wolf Time anyways, so quite appropriate :P If anyone from BL publishing wants to sign me up, PM me please ;)

 

But yes. Glad Im providing some enjoyment for you folks. Keep the love (if its awesome to make me feel good) and th e hate (when I mess up bad :P ) ready, and please, keep the bar stools on the ground...

 

Bjorn the fell-handed

 

PS- Only just realised I threw a Thorgrim into the story. That was creepy :P

[OnlyInDeath]

/hug now you have your own wolves, you will like it much better, i Promise. And dont assume you will ever get paid for this stuff. It's all about loving the wolves so much you MUST see your story through. keep it goin though. It's nice seeing another up besides mine (GM, this means you too).

[Natanael]

Good read! I will follow it!

[Hfran Morkai]

[And a pint for th eperson who can tell me the significance of the name Bodolf for the squad sergeant

 

Bodolf is Norse for Wolf Leader. My stepdad lives in Norway and I love Norse history! Hence why I got into wolves, axes, ale and brawling!. Now where's my ale?

 

Good read brother, keep on fighting with the mighty weapon that is the keyboard!

[LoneSniperSG]

Dude. This story is shaping up to pure awesomeness.

 

 

One thing though.. does anyone know -why- they tried so foolishly to assault the greatest fortress in all of the Imperium?

[Jarl Kjaran Coldheart]

Arrogance me thinks.

 

the 2nd Ed Sisters of Battle Book had Bucharis rolling over or converting all he came across, with almost enough strength to take on Terra. He enters a system patrolled by the Wolves, and follows the fleet back towards the system containing Fenris. the rest is history.

 

WLK