Of Blood and Fang

[Blackrime]

I'm working a twelve hour graveyard shift. I've been meaning to jump back into the hobby for a while now, so I went out today and picked up the beginnings of a brand spankin’ new Space Wolf army. I didn't have time to paint before work, so I'm taking the opportunity to develop some fluff surrounding my Wolves. I'm studying to be a writer by trade, so I'm going to develop this fluff through a series of little episodes surrounding a protagonist the stories will develop as both an exercise in prose and a really cool way of pumping myself up to paint. While all the Wolf Lords are cool, my personal favorite is Sven Bloodhowl, so that will be the Great Company to which my wolves belong, and will leave room enough for characters as far up the power structure as Wolf Guard Battle Leader (I have a bit of an aversion to the use of special characters, preferring to invent my own). So, without further ado, let us begin.

 

***

 

In the contemplative grief afforded him by the quiet darkness of the pack’s former magazine, he sat in the quiet shadow of naked boltgun racks and boxes of ammunition as the battle barge Maw of the Blood Moon ploughed the tumultuous currents of the warp. Stripped down to the skin, he clutched a long, iron plated tusk in a vengeful, white knuckled fist. At his side, there lay a single, small, rune carved bowl. Aye, the servitors might have been more accurate in the work and their needles less painful, but there was no glory to the beginning of this saga.

 

Ripping, biting, rending metal quickly rusting with blood spat from Hilldrbjorn’s ravaged arteries growled and barked as the bone plating of his sternum snapped and the perforated pipes tracing a slapdash clockwork exoskeleton lining the Mek’s massive plated back belched black smog with the effort into the cacophonous evening humidity.

 

Silently, reverently, he dipped the tusk into the bowl and pressed the sharpened point into the flesh of his forearm. As he pushed, he listened for the wet pop of the puncture, removed the tusk, and wiped it clean with an oiled, ceremonial cloth before dipping the point back into the runed ink bowl.

 

***

 

Two imperial weeks they had waited, watching, subsisting on plump caecilian grubs and a deep mahogany alga. Both afflicted their oolitic kidneys with terrible strain. They jokingly called it "walking with the Shadow Wolf," as the simple act of eating in this place was an endeavor seldom undertaken precluding an abrupt loss of consciousness. These were the periods in which they rested, and only one of them was permitted to rest at a time. Thin fingers of gray, filthy rain clawed over the ridge backed crags of battle scars that stitched their faces. Hilldrbjorn intoned whispered prayers to the spirit of his biotic eye when the twin moons above Kappa Gamma VII aligned before the jewel cut velvet void beyond the planet's atmosphere, that the grime tainted weeping of Grandfather Thunder's great storm crow daughters would not quench its ocular jewel's blood stained vision. He did not use a scope when aiming his sniper rifle, for he had been gifted the sight of the Blood Eagle after the valorous sacrifice of his right eye to the greedy teeth of brass wrought chain axes almost a century previous to his current perch: a black shelf of mud and severed root, covered over by a blanket of moss, cut into the earthen flanks of the shortest in a chain of foothills suckling the granite breast of the largest mountain chain on Kappa Gamma VII. He lay prone, ever vigilant with five others like him.

 

Thursson had come from a sky claw pack within the company and maintained his deadly prowess in close quarters combat with an obsessive determination to “keep his edge.” His long blonde hair was a jungle of braided locks decorated with fetishes to the spirits and small talismans of gold and iron. A long, ragged scar began high upon his brow and snaked down the length of his face. Stylized runes and the silhouettes of serpents, wreathed in fire slithered along the borders of the scar, tattooed black and red to honor a wound taken in the prosecution of the Great Devourer. Upon the frigid surface of Shadrac, he had come face to face with the terror of the swarm and was one of few to return. Yet, from the ashes of that planet, the sky claw had salvaged several trophies to redeem his honor. Around his neck, several ivory keepsakes plucked from the rending jaws of the Hive Mind’s progeny hung from a thin silver cord. For his mastery of the blade, Thursson had been issued Wulfennoglum, Wolf Talon in the old tongue, an ancient power blade that had been passed down within the pack for almost two thousand years. Along its ancient grip, the names of eight space marines were embossed along ivory finger trenches in fine runes of golden thread. Thursson’s taste for close combat had earned him the blade, as his skill at close range was matched by none in the pack.

 

Grettir and Glam were brothers, even before they were brought to The Fang, and while they did not share the same camaraderie that defines most Space Wolves, they were loyal to each other. To ask one to betray the other would be to invoke the wrath of both. They had battled side by side as Blood Claws, ascending to the ranks of the Grey Hunters after several decades of campaigning across the Ghoul Stars. Apart from their own blood ties, they had never valued the filial bonds that were assumed to exist among pack mates, and for it they were sent to the scout packs, places where the lone wolves among Russ’ children could use their individuality to an advantage. Each of the brothers carried a sniper rifle. Glam was more serious minded than his brother, and kept little time for ale or feasting, though it was rumored that Rune Priest Skaaði had been considering the young scout for the Librarium.

 

Alexei, barely having completed the Test of Morkai with naught but the first tattoos of brotherhood etched upon him and no saga to his name, watched, veiled in wolf pelts the color of the ravaging tempests above the autumn snows of Fenris. He had been transferred to Hilldrbjorn’s scout squad after only a week among his fellow Blood Claws, for he was not possessed of the same bonds of brotherhood as they. Much like the others, he had been touched by Lokyar, the Great Lone Wolf, and did not thrive among his more expressive fellows. The marine's face was shrouded in black cloth and ebon woad. Only his eyes were untouched by grime or paint, while his wild black mane vanished below the upper jaws of the head of a massive wolf. Though, the pup hadn't ever managed to grow a beard. The Wolf Priests liked to joke that if he ever fell from the Allfather's service and into the bestial nature of the Wulfen, they would all be able to spot him. His would be the only bald chin among a mass of tangled, broomstick beards. That is not to say that the others didn't shave. Some did regularly. Alexei simply lacked the capacity to choose. He sat on the vox and auspex, monitoring communications between the squad and Thorvald Krakenmaw, their Battle Leader, and spotting for Alrik’s deadly rifle. Shotgun slung across his back and a fresh, newly refurbished chainsword at his side, Alexei was a pup, as yet untempered by the passing of time and brethren. The eagerness for combat he saw in the way Alexei traced the activation rune on his blade, the way he eagerly checked the auspex for any hint of movement, Hilldrbjorn decided, was all too typical of the young sons of Russ.

 

“Only the courageous are sought by glory, while death is all that finds those foolhardy enough to do the seeking,” he whispered to the pup. “The older wolves know this, and wear it as a badge of honor upon their confidence, while it is brashness that marks and stains the bloody claw.”

 

Alexei grimaced under the lesson. “Zeal is not a poor replacement for stoicism, Hilldrbjorn,” he grunted. “There is place enough in the Allfather’s eyes for both.”

 

He paused as the auspex screen erupted with positive movement signatures and a slow grin spread across his face.

 

“Though, it does not matter, for it seems glory has found us. Movement.”

[mitchell93]

Looks good so far, following.

[spjaco]

Off to a good start I would say.

[Blackrime]

Episode Two: In the Shadows of Wolves

 

***

 

Alrik peered down the scope of his sniper rifle as Alexei considered the auspex, feeding coordinates to the shooter.

 

“We are here to establish and maintain a perimeter, mind you,” Hilldrbjorn cautioned. “Observe and report, for now.”

 

“Understood, older brother,” Alrik smiled. “Though, I cannot speak for my rifle.” The marine had come from the ranks of the Grey Hunters. His skin had been etched with warding runes and protective knot work traced the contours of his face below a mane of sandy blonde hair, marking him as a veteran of the Daemonbane Wars. A newly accepted blood claw at that time, he had battled slaves of the Skull Throne deep within the cavernous core of Yaogeddon and triumphed, like many other Space Wolves that had participated in the campaign, most of whom hadn’t even considered Yaogeddon a real war after daemons of Slaanesh had turned on their bloody minded allies and the combined enemy line crumbled in on itself.

 

“Another damned green skin patrol,” Alexei growled, watching the orks lumber across the rock carpeted face of the foothills through his own scope. “Though, something is different this time,” he turned to regard Hilldrbjorn.

 

“They’re coming this way.”

 

No sooner had the breath escaped his lips than the auspex began to ping the movements of several additional targets, this time, much closer than the cumbersome patrol still roughly a hundred meters down the mountainside. Alexei spun in the mud to alert the other members of his pack just in time to glimpse a wicked, sickle curved blade, slick with grime and poison, plunge into the crown of Glam’s skull. Glam's eyes widened as the pupils dilated before fleeing upward behind twitching lids. His mouth opened and closed silently, effort choked on a thick, carmine froth that bubbled over his lips, coagulating in a rust spatter testament to his killer’s silent prowess. A lustrous black, razor toothed grin appeared shrouded in a mane of silver hair above him as its bearer wrenched the space marine’s head back and opened his throat with a second venomed blade.

 

“MANDRAKE!” Alexei shouted, bringing his shotgun to bear and loosing a volley into the already dematerializing creature as Glam’s body crumpled into the gore pasted mud, only to be answered by a rasping guttural cackle as the xenos assassin slunk back into the darkness from whence it came.

 

The aliens were upon them, knives bursting from the marines’ very shadows, biting armor and hungrily seeking arteries. Five of them leapt from the shadows, lithe and cut with corded muscle below ebon skin that burned with an incandescent, unholy power pulsing from a blasphemous, runic script scarred upon their heretical flesh. Their eyes blazed with the same baleful energy behind matted, silver hair braided with strips of ragged, ancient skin and filthy splinters of bone. The mandrake that had killed Glam licked the coagulating blood from his ancient blade, giggling maniacally as the other four exploded into motion.

 

The Wolves, however, were not without fang and claw. Four chainswords roared to life, matching the fury in the snarls of their wielders. Hilldrbjorn caught the wrist of his opponent in an iron grip as the alien moved to open his belly and in a torrent of black ichor lauded by the eldar’s wails of agony, severed the alien’s arm at the elbow before reversing his grip and driving the ravenous, chewing blade into the creature’s flanks. In an instant filled with the muffled sound of grinding bone and pulping organs, the mandrake seized violently, belching its black blood, impaled upon the rending teeth of the chainsword before Hilldrbjorn wrenched the blade free, launching himself to the aid of Grettir, who had flown into frenzy at the sight of his brother’s sudden death.

 

The marine flailed madly, savagely pounding his blade against the deft counterstrokes of the eldar that had murdered his kin. The alien gave ground, sinking low to parry as Grettir brought his chainsword down like a hammer set to strike the anvil, but followed the path of the marine’s movement, sliding cleverly to his target’s flank and drove his sickle sword into Grettir’s belly. With a swift twist and a savage pull, the young marine’s intestines spilled to the ground. The xeno flashed the charging Hilldrbjorn a malicious grin as he dove into the shadow of Thursson, who was standing over the still smoking body of a mandrake and its fractured weapon, neither of which had proved a match for Wulfennoglum or the Wolf that wielded it.

 

Alexei and Alrik fought side by side, weaving around their targets as the aliens twisted and spun between them. The Eldar, spying the retreat of their comrade, fell back, attempting to sink into the shadows from whence they came. Three slugs pounded home, launching one of them backward and into a stew of muck and blood, while the second fell to his knees, Alrik’s boot knife lodged firmly in its chest.

 

“Eldar,” Thursson sneered. “These insidious bastards can’t be here lacking reason. What do you think, Old Snaggletooth? Are they aware of our purpose?”

 

“Undoubtedly,” Hilldrbjorn spat. “This casts a shadow over everything. Skaaði must be made aware of this development. We must alert the recovery team. Alexei, the vox caster.”

 

“Destroyed,” Alexei growled, examining the blade that had skewered their only means of communication. “And it appears we have more pressing concerns, brother.”

 

Down the mountainside, the four marines’ keen hearing alerted them to the clumsy stomping of green, leather clad feet approaching their position. The smell of their stinking breath had already tainted the air.

[hendrik]

a note i make, one can only join the wolf scouts after becoming a grey hunter besides that i really like the story although i find it a bit weird it were mandrakes who attacked them when the planet was invaded by orks?

[Blackrime]

Thanks for reading! As for Alexei and Thursson, thank you for pointing out the fluff inconsistency. Figuring out how to explain it will be an interesting exercise and should prove to add more depth to the characters! With regard to the mandrakes... it's all... part of the plan, as they say. =)