For the Wolf Time ( My concept, fluff and pics )

[Arcadius]

-----"Lord, we make approach upon the moon of Decimus V. Little resistance is being offered so far."

-----The Command Deck was absent of light, save for the strategy table's display and the pearl-glow of the monitors manned by naval personnel. Wolf pelts draped across the

high backs of station chairs lent the poorly lit space a savage air, a smokey haze contrasting with the scrolling displays and holographic projections. The only sound was

the terrible drone of the ship's great engines, broken sparsely by murmured commands from piloting crew to servitor staff.

-----The naval Officer stood with his hands spread to either side of the holo-table, his craggy features lit by the soft flows of floating runes and tactical symbols. The

great cruiser known as 'Garm', named so for the howling herald of the Wolf Time, was a fang of light descending towards the softly back-lit moon orbiting the lush planet of

Decimus V. The projected hologram trembled with a burst of static, and the view coalesced into a closer look upon the pitted moon's surface.

-----"They will be entrenched, m'lord Grimsson", a grating voice, vox-assisted, spoke from the shadowed depths of the command deck. Mechanical, detached, the voice seemed to spill out from the hull itself. "They've not the forge to press their might against us in the void."

-----The naval officer glanced up from the moon's display, stepping smartly to the side as he heard the heavy footfall of ceramite on the deck. The display quivered,

suspended in it's mist over the strategy table, with each great footstep. The light seemed to shy away from the mass that approached it, only the faintest rays washing over the

dark grey armour, it's golden highlights seemingly refusing to shimmer. The brilliant-white beard spilled out and over the chest plate, obscuring the twin wolves glaring

hungrily at sun and moon overhead; forever trapped upon the armour in a moment before the Wolf Time. The face beneath the beard was a collection of history, fresh scars upon

ancient ones, a complex network that culminated in the bionic harness over the right eye. A single yellow eye examined the moon as if seeking some secret in the rippling static

display, even as the bionic clicked twice, throwing a red haze onto the moon from the focused lens.

-----Valaor Grimsson, Rex Saxa of Grimsson's Great Company, stepped closer still to the table. The claws of his Wolf Blades were retracted into the massive gauntlets, the

soft humm of energy stored there causing the sensitive display to haze and fog. He reached out, as if to take the moon into his palm. His face wore little emotion, aside from an

impassive acceptance of what lay ahead.

-----"Our brothers?", another voice spoke from the shadows. No machine assisted this one. A masculine voice, but smooth - gravel poured over rich velvet. "We still have no

word from Sesmund's Pack?"

-----A click of vox-unit, a bark of hissing static. Still altered by mechanical implants, but less impersonal this time. "No word. Runulf, Alefir, Dalven, Haryld, and Sesmund

are all overdue for transmission, let alone return. We must assume they-"

-----"Were not successful", Valaor Grimsson interjected, harshly.

-----"That's being optimistic, isn't it, sir?", the Naval Officer asked quietly. His grasp on the Fenrisian tongue had improved tremendously since his ship's 'induction.' The

men at the consoles, Fenrisian acolytes and bondsmen all, turned for the briefest of moments to look upon the Imperial Officer. He had stayed with his ship, left to command as

respect for a worthy, if ill-informed at the time, adversary. Some small shard of respect shone in their eyes as they saw he stood ram-rod straight, unflinching from the sudden

inspection of the Wolf Lord. They could not determine which was more frightening - the red inhuman shine of the optics, or the predatory yellow sheen of his remaining eye.

-----"Titus", Grimsson acknowledged the officer. His voice was unto nothing so much as a wolf's low, warning growl.

-----Titus, impossibly, stood straighter, holding his ground. His hands clutched one another in front of his chest as he lowered his eyes from the Wolf Lord's. "Our arrival

here has been delayed by warp interference, has it not? Our navigator lies in a stupor from the rigours of reaching this world. We should have heard from them before our

journey, and with the time we have lost, they should at the very least-"

-----"You think them dead?", the gravel-and-velvet voice interrupted. Footfalls echoed on the deck as the bearer moved into the light, his power armour trimmed in gold and

fur. Talismans hung from his weapon's belt, frame-work for an unequipped jet pack blinking its readouts in the low-light. Titus, Officer of the Deck, turned to look at the

handsome face of Ljotr Hrafnbjorn. He was as ancient as Valaor Grimsson, Titus knew. Yet Ljotr seemed to enjoy spoiling the tradition that a Wolf could grow too old to be a

Bloodclaw. Still, for his age, youth clung to the dark-haired Raven-Born jealously. His dark hair hung in braids about his shaven face, poly-chromatic eyes watching the

assembled with an ill-concealed mixture of malice and amusement.

-----"If their day has come, then it shall surely dawn red for this world", the Skyclaw promised, and in that honeyed voice dripped blood.

-----The Rex Saxa, King of the Sword Wielders, closed his armoured fingers one by one upon the moon. The pale light illuminated the deep gouges and rents of the old weapon

housing, the moon warping to the surface of the closed fist. The heavy Terminator armour shifted as he stepped back from the strategy table. He reached up to the mass of white

braids, bound in metal circlets and runestones. With a flick, the collar of the armour lit with a readout of green.

-----Every comm on the vessel hissed to sudden life, implants in the warriors of the Saxa Company carrying their Lord's words to them.

-----"I had hoped to find our Brothers here... waiting. Perhaps impatient we had taken so long, and eager to get at our casks. They are not, and we have heard no words of

hope. We must assume only that they are upon this rock, and our enemies search for them... or have them. Their Wyrd was written long ago... yet... nonetheless, I pray to Russ

they've shown their blades in the face of it. We go now, to find our lost Brothers... and to bend every knee upon that world."

------The comm clicked off, the Command Deck eerily silent.

-----"Sesmund's Pack had 'some' purpose here, did they not?", Ljotr broke the quiet. "A forge moon... recovering a weapon's template, perhaps. Or perhaps preventing it's loss

to another Chapter, or the Inquisition? Such secrets we can keep, eh? Did we not suspect the full extent of this world's rebellion?", the Ravenborn began to walk around the

strategy table, thumbing various controls seemingly at random, causing the planet to fade larger and smaller as he peered at the misty markings of a spaceport. "No matter, I

assume we're after some glory here, and not just another flattened disc hung in the void. Shall we plot strategy? A full scale assault by Garm's Master is quite a step from a

single Pack of Wolf Guard. I suspect we'll engage in my Brother's usual flair... screaming Thunderhawks, drop pods, that sort of thing", Ljotr smirked. "Take the Space Port with

armour, and the city with blood. Shall we make it interesting, leave the bolters on board, and simply send for tanks and chainswords?"

-----Valaor Grimsson turned to Ljotr, anger rippling across his lips, a snarl forming to herald the quiet, dangerous growl. "That we shared the same mother is all that keeps

your tongue in your head, Curr. I forgive much when it comes to your failings, but you will not go unpunished if you challenge me."

------Ljotr's smile dimmed, but did not vanish completely. It had never vanished entirely, in all the time Ljotr and Valaor had been brothers - by blood, and by the Wolf. That

the Skyclaw was loyal was unquestionable. Had he been in any other Company though, Ljotr's fate would have ended in but one path - his throat torn out by his Lord.

------Grimsson pointed at the Ravenborn with the clawed tip of his gauntlet's finger.

------"Hear me, oh Ljotr Hrafnbjorn. Assemble your Murder. Find our missing Wolves. I want them alive and whole. If you fail me in this, then bring me their armour and the

heads of their slayers. Should you fail both these tasks, return not at all and let only the Void claim you as kin."

-----The Skyclaw straightened, his armour hissing as he brought his fist over his primary heart. Ljotr nodded once solemnly, the amusement drained from his demeanour. Even

his perpetual smirk was pale and shadowed on his clean face. He bowed his head and spun, braids filled with wolf claws and rune-stones smacking hard on his pauldrons. He stopped as the heavy door of the Command Deck cycled open, half-turning to cast his gaze back at his Wolf Lord. His fingers rose to clutch at a rune braided in his here, bearing the name Valaor, stained a dark brown from his brother's blood.

------"Rex Saxa... " Ljtor began, using his Wolf Lord's honorific, "I did not mean to jest at the expense of our missing Brothers", he said quietly. The barest hint of an apology issued forth in his manner, his scent.

-----The Wolf Lord did not turn to face him, instead studying the sensor arrays. Current information swirled and scrolled in the mist as they neared the moon. After a moment,

the Wolf Lord nodded once - as if to himself more than anyone else in the room.

------"My jests, as ever, are entirely at your expense", Ljotr explained calmly, his smile reaching to his eyes, as he strode through the door. The heavy portal cycled closed

behind him, cutting off the exasperated growl that he knew to expect - and as his ears detecting a sudden clang, a thrown rejoinder. He reached to his ear, grinning madly,

implant shining dully in the bright lights of the hallway. He keyed in his private communications line.

 

------"Why don't you tear his throat out and have done with it? Ah. The sensors have returned strong points at the Space Port."

------The metallic voice centered the Wolf Lord, brought him back from staring at the closing door. He seethed for a moment, hands tightening to fists as he fought down the Wolf's sudden rise. A small hand, bound in metal and decorated in brilliant golden scrywork, placed itself on the shoulder of the Wolf Lord.

------"I keep him for the same reason I keep you, dwarf", Valaor Grimsson snarled, refocusing on the display. The sensors were alight with activity, information flooding the

channels as they reached zenith.

-----"And... that would be?", the vox-unit shorted into static as it tried to emulate a tone of slightly bemused.

-----"None may lay low that which a proud heart owns", the Wolf Lord growled, absently fingering the runestones that hung from his neck, the thick leather twined about his fingers. One bore the rune for Ljotr, and the blood of the Ravenborn flaked across the ancient stone, now filling only the recesses.

------The hand slid from the pauldron, but not before offering a slight pat of comfort. "I have a brother, too."

------The Wolf Lord's fangs were revealed in the low-light, gleaming suddenly as he barked out a laugh. "You great fool, Dvalin. Durrin isn't a flea's bite of the trouble Ljotr is."

------"Well, that's a matter of perspective", the diminutive Space Wolf said, nonplussed. He moved to stand next to his Lord at the table, the heavy helmet - shaped so as a Wolf's head - being dropped onto flat surface. Small fingers fed a data-cable into the helmet's bulk, feeding scanner information and tactical readouts to the wolf skull's memory. Accurate to the moniker of dwarf, Titus noted, as Grimsson towered over his Iron Priest. In truth, Titus would have an inch or so on Dvalin, save for the suit of power armour and the tech-harness he wore. "The Ravenborn is a bit of a character, to be sure, but in the end, he's obedient. Well... faithful, let's say. Not mine."

------"Durrin?", the Wolf Lord laughed again, his dark mood broken for the moment.

------"To be sure. He insists on 'fixing' things when I am away. You've not the faintest idea of what hell I return to, what wires I have to sort. The Machine Spirits favour him only because they must take pity on an imbecile, I'm sure of it."

------"That's my Iron Priest you're talking about", the Wolf Lord half-chided.

------"So'm I. Having the two of us is like having two drinking horns at once, m'lord. Handy in theory, but damnably difficult to use in practice."

------The Wolf Lord shook his shaggy head, the creepings of a smile under his beard as Titus moved to sit in his command chair.

------"We arrive soon, my Lord Grimsson. I make to prepare the Deck Crews to begin receiving your men", Titus said, the chair slowly rotating to look out the plasti-steel canopied glass. The moon, so small, would soon fill that viewport.

------Valaor Grimsson turned to his Iron Priest, clasping his shoulder for a moment, then moving to the door. "Tell Svarta Wyrdrune I will see him. Have him to my Thunderhawk as soon as his Pack is pepared for Glory."

-----"Yes, m'lord", Dvalin nodded, "The Rune Priest shall be summoned immediately."

 

(Editing this for formatting. It's an eyesore without the indents, but this isn't much better. Still, might be a sight easier to keep your place)

[Requiem of the Wolf]

"Having the two of us is like having two drinking horns at once, m'lord. Handy in theory, but damnably difficult to use in practice."

Without a doubt,that is one of the most awesome analogies I have ever heard. I am speechless...well done brother.

[Tamwulf]

Where's the pictures?

[Arcadius]

Pictures be coming, mates. Finding a good place to take said pictures is a bit of a trial. I've painted 2 Land Raiders, a Vindicator, two packs of Skyclaws, a Drop Pod, an Iron Priest with harness, a five-man Long Fangs, and 2 packs of Wolf Guards with Lord and Rune Priest respectively. Still to meet the brush are 3 Dreads, 1 Predator, and 2 packs of Grey Hunters. This isn't the army list, per se, merely the forces of Grimsson to let me pick and choose per battle. I'll endeavor to get the pics up by tomorrow of what has been painted.

[Arcadius]

The Iron priest, the Rune Priest, and Ljotr mugging it up to get in the picture.

Valaor Grimsson himself, The Rex Saxa.

Ljotr, the Ravenborn. The Skyclaw.

Grimmson's Land Raider. Name's still in progress.

--- Please note, all of these pictures were just thrown up as placeholders. I'll be getting some cleaner, sharper images once I'm done futzing with the my camera. It was a great one - a loooong time ago, and a few scuba trips before.

[Requiem of the Wolf]

those are some awesome looking models. Can't wait for even better pictures.

[Arcadius]

One of the Wolf Guard.

This image got saturated, but it's still decent enough to pick out the details. Way too bright to appreciate.