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Rise of the Wolf


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A lot of this is fluff I've been toying around with for quite a while, and refining it. Or attempting to at least. So, here goes, and feel free to let me know what you think of it.

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The skies were darkening, and a wind was gathering. It was not cold though, the air was warm and sweet in his nose. No doubt Fróði is getting ready to conjure a storm, he thought to himself. Whether conjured by one of the rune priests, or entirely natural, he loved storms, and they made him eager for battle and adventure.

“Karl, it’s time,” Haurr looked back, “get the rest of your pups together.” Haurr was a stone-faced man, and was very typical in his attitude for a wolf scout. Very quite, calculating and very much a pack of one. He had been charged to leading Karl and the other blood claws to their assigned position, deep behind enemy lines. He did not enjoy this in the least.

“Of course,” Karl smiled, “everyone shut it, and pay attention.” Blood Claws were notoriously unruly and restless, and his pack-mates were no exception. Their wolf lord, Kjarl Grimblood had asked for a pack to volunteer for this assignment, very dangerous, and very critical. Of course, every pack of battle hungry blood claws came forward, but only Karl’s, and one other pack were chosen. “The wolf lord has chosen us for this task out of all others,” he gave them all a smile, and then turned his own face to a stern look. “Follow Haurr’s directions exactly, and pay attention,” he looked to make sure everyone was paying attention, “if any of you screw this up, our lives will be forfeit, after the wolf lord gives us a thrashing first!”

“The lives of our brothers shall be forfeit as well,” Haurr interjected with an icy look. He had no patience, and no forgiveness for fools.

“Alright everyone,” he gave Haurr an eager nod, “after you.” Regardless of the stern orders, all of the blood claws were eager for the coming battle, and all the glory to be won today. Karl was no exception, and he could feel all their excitement flowing through him. He could taste it, and his hearts pounded as Haurr led them through the ruble and dust of the rockrete buildings.

Meanwhile.....

“Has Haurr and that pack of blood claws set off yet?” Ėldi asked, “We need to be moving.” Ėldi was a wolf guard, and a very experienced warrior, who had fought alongside his wolf lord for decades. “I cannot fathom why he chose to send a pack of blood claws, why not send more experienced ones?”

“Will we ever know why?” replied Böðvarr sarcastically, “his plans rarely fail after all.” Both of them looked at each other and knew what was unsaid. It was popular belief that Kjarl Grimblood, the wolf lord of their great company had ‘the gift’. His foresight was always particularly sharp.

“Bah foolishness, I think,” said Ėldi, “You had best not be late anyways.” Böðvarr was an Iron Priest, and as such was an odd fellow by most standards, but a mighty good friend in Ėldi’s own opinion. He was also one of the few other men he knew that he looked up to, even when he was not mounted upon his thunder wolf, as he was now.

“Don’t worry, we wont,” he said with grim assurance. Iron-hide, his thunder wolf, growled in agreement.

“And for that I am glad.” He said with a smile, as he and the other wolf guard set off at a lumbering pace, their terminator armor making a great, thundering raucous.

“Come let us go,” Böðvarr whispered, “we must be in position as well.” Iron-hide leapt off in reply, followed in suit by a group of cyber wolves. They loped down the alleys and through the ruble with surprising stealth, barely stirring the dust. The battle to come would be vicious, and the whole company would be hard pressed. Böðvarr and his wolves would be a small reserve, held back until they would be needed most were the battle was expected to be its thickest. “Everyone must do their part in this,” he said to himself, “or all of us shall perish.”

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naaaaah.... just buy us all a beer and we'll forgive you :P

 

 

truthfully, it wasn't bad at all, just, when reading the word "fluff" I expected a bit more backgroundinfo. I'll come back in a few days and read the rest, if you've posted it by then :P

 

it is a nice intro.

Oh, well thank you. I suppose I should change the name then, it is my army's fluff, but I guess it's the long drawn-out version. Let me think on it..... And I'm sorry to say I shouldn't due to real life concerns, and probably won't write anymore for at least a week. Sorry :P
  • 3 weeks later...

The air was thick and sickly warm with the taint of chaos, so much that it was nearly chocking the Space Wolves. As the pack came closer to their destination in the ruins of the city, a cacophony of sound came over them, a song of worship to the powers of chaos. Their target was finally in view through the crumbling doorways of the city ruins, and it made them sick. In the very center of the square was a writhing mass of daemons and twisted heretics in a horrible orgy, crying out in pain, joy, and ecstasy. Karl looked back at the rest of his pack, and they all showed faces twisted with disgust and anger, even the stone faced scout Haurr could not hide his contempt. Haurr put his hand to his ear, and gave Karl a nod, it was time. Silently they readied themselves on last time, checking for loaded weapons, and blades at the ready. Karl himself was armed with extra grenades and a pair of meltbombs, so he checked to make sure they were easy to reach. He slid his thumb down the shaft of his chain axe to the switch, ready to flip it as soon as they charged. The ceremony was almost at its peak, he leveled his bolt pistol with the daemon at the top of the pile, and pulled the trigger.

 

 

Meanwhile.....

 

The smell of roasted meat, mead, and engine oil filled the chamber of the Land Raider, waiting for those who returned. But beyond the smell, was the anticipation, so thick in the air they could all taste it. Eldi, and all the other wolf guard for that matter were eager for battle, but they still knew they had a greater duty than mere fighting. They needed to anchor the line, and break the enemy’s whilst their wolf lord was elsewhere leading forces. They had to, the battle plan was risky, and left little room for error. “Enemies sighted!” Came the drivers voice over the vox. Outside they could hear the sounds of the battle commencing, the thump-thump of bolter fire, and the clash of metal. Somewhere, on the edge of their hearing, they could hear a demon screaming in rage. “The Blood Claws have done their job,” Eldi said to his fellow Wolf Guard,” Now let us do ours.” They heard a few dull thuds as the hull of the tank crashed into the enemy ranks, then the assault door blasted open, and they charged into the flaming, screaming ranks of daemon hordes, “For the Allfather! For Russ!

 

Böðvarr and Iron-Hide sat atop a small outcropping of ruble watching the battle commence. The city center was the objective held by the heretic forces. The area had been heavily bombarded by earlier attempts by the planetary defense, and it was not helping the Space Wolves. The bombardment had ruined many buildings, and filled the way with ruble, literally making it an uphill battle. Böðvarr looked out on some of the open fields that had been made by the bombardment. Here, the fighting was thickest, he could even see Eldi and the rest of the wolf guard cutting a bloody swathe in the melee, while their Land Raider sent the daemons back to the Warp with a fiery vengeance. Then a movement caught his eye, something had moved between the buildings. None of the company’s packs should have been there. He kept searching, and no doubt he had seen something. Moving through the cover of the city ruins, was a chaos dreadnought. The Space Wolves had come knowing of Daemon infestation, and according to the wail he heard earlier, they were successful in thwarting the summoning of greater daemon. They were not however expecting chaos marines, and this meant disaster. Before he could even flip on his vox, he saw two more dreadnoughts following behind the first, and they were heading for Eldi’s area. He switched his vox to general transmission “ Traitor Legions are here in force! Guard your Flanks, they are moving through the city!” He spurred Iron-hide towards the dreadnoughts, and let his thunder hammer thrum to life. He must not let them reach the line.

 

 

 

Let me know what you guys think please. Right now I'm going to sleep, so I will check it, and maybe revise it in the morning. Until then, I hope you enjoy it. ;)

Thank you :devil: . Now it's time for a quick spell check. I've realized that I have really skimped out on the descriptions of the settings. Hopefully I can add a little more in the next few additions to were its more clear. For the time being, imagine them being in a desperate city fight, ruble piled high so that its an uphill battle, with Space Wolf forces spread out, and pushing forward in a thin line encircling the city square.

Blood and gore splattered across Karl’s armor, as his chain ax bit through the unarmored flesh of heretics and daemons. When they had first charged the mass, they were all easily felled, still in shock and disarray, but no longer. Heretic cultists fell upon the Space Wolves in frenzied waves, but these unarmed foes were of little danger, even to a more inexperienced Blood Claw. The greater danger lied in the daemons. The cultists were there had been hundreds, now dwindled into a few dozen. Meanwhile, most of the daemons were gathering in mass, as even more came. There attack thwarted the arrival of a greater daemon, but the lesser denizens of the warp could still come, and they did. Behind the mass of daemons, the portal sat, a shimmering gate hung mid-air, spewing forth things too terrible for the mind to comprehend. They would be overwhelmed; the whole company would be if they could not seal that rift. Karl ducked instinctively, and a hooked, oozing claw scraped upon his back. He rolled forward, and sprang up again turning as fast as he could to face his foe. Standing before him, he only saw a gory stump for the neck of a daemonette. He grinned briefly, before he was set upon again.

 

Haurr reloaded his bolter with practiced speed and set back to work. While the Blood Claws had charged forward, he had remained behind, picking off targets from a distance. He fired another shot, and then froze. His hairs stood on end, and cold deeper than he had ever known ran up his spine. He could not hear! The battle before him continued in silence, like some horrible dream. He felt warmth in his ears and nose; he touched them with his hand. Blood. He was dizzy and weak, his head started to ring in pain. He tried to stand and shout a warning to the unknowing Blood Claws, but he only found a wicked knife in his throat.

 

 

 

If anyone cares to voice them, I am open to suggestions.

After the brawl, it is my goal in life to make you fail your tests! Haha, just kidding, I will probably be starting summer term tomorrow, if someone doesn't show up for class. So I may be slowing down here soon, but for now, I maddeningly bored!
http://i391.photobucket.com/albums/oo353/caj007/Longfangs-1.jpg

Iron-Hide was running at a break-neck pace, so fast that the smaller, agile cyber wolves were at their limit. Böðvarr had timed their attack just right, and after the next block, they should be crashing into the first dreadnought. A familiar voice came over his vox, “Böðvarr, can you hear me!? Take the dreadnought in the rear, trust me!” There was no time to question, not at their speed. He guided Iron-Hide to the left side of the street. They passed the last block, and then they saw the first dreadnought. With a mad cackle, it turned to spray them with autocannon fire. With a last burst of speed, Iron-hide ran angling across, faster than the dreadnought could turn, and leapt with all his bionic might. At that same moment, a pair of crimson beams tore through the back of the lead dreadnought, through the sarcophagus, and out the other side. The other dreadnoughts did not care, they howled with an insane joy for venting their rage. Iron-Hide connected with the right shoulder of the dreadnought in the rear, whilst Böðvarr’s hammer connected with it’s sarcophagus. It howled out in anger, firing madly as the hammer rose and fell. The second dreadnought in line was bearing down on them, punishing them with its own pair of autocannons. They could not last if Iron-hide were to take a direct hit. He looked round at the demented dreadnought charging closer. Then he noticed it was in a halo of greenish light, growing brighter and brighter. Suddenly, a blast of heat and bright light came upon them. The dreadnought stood smoldering, and began to topple forward until it’s generator took it in a fiery explosion. He silenced the last foe, with another hammer strike, and then turned to see his aid. Atop a building some distance away stood a pack of Long Fangs.
Your timing is impeccable old man,” Böðvarr said over the vox.
I can’t let you pups get all the fun, or get killed,” Ari said.
I’m sure you can’t,” Böðvarr chuckled, and then said with a voice a little more serious, “You haven't heard from Grimblood, have you?”
I have not,” he could almost hear a bit of distress, “I do trust the pup, but the situation grows dire.” Böðvarr noticed the Long Fangs seemed to be flashing from this distance; the old long fang was already firing on new targets while talking to him. Out of the whole company, Böðvarr would have to admit he was glad to see Ari was still around. The old wolf had earned the whispered title as Ari, the Eyes of Morkai, and for a reason. As far as Böðvarr could figure, he was at least five-hundred years old. With his centuries of experience he was wiser than most of the wolf lords, he had been given the chance to be one many times before, but chose to orchestrate his share of the battle from a distance. And for this, Böðvarr was glad. Ari was not known to miss, and those foes that drew his gaze were sure to fall. “You wouldn’t mind lending us a hand now would you? We have some guests of our own.”
Not at all.” He looked Iron-Hide over, he was still battle ready. “Lets go,” Iron-Hide took off again, “We do not let favors go with out return.” Ahead, he could already see a band of daemons rushing the building in a frenzy to get to them.

I'm not sure if I wan't to keep the thunderwolf for Bodvarr. What does everyone think of a bike re-write instead?

 

I'm dreadfully bored, and being seperated from my models has left me sad and uninspired. As of late though, I've been reading some old english literature, so at least thats something. ^_^

===Edit=== Or maybe something a little more unique like a trike, or four wheeled contraption.... Tank tracks?

  • 2 weeks later...

Karl hacked, and hacked, constantly swinging his ax to keep its momentum going. He left arcs of death in the enemy horde, only to be filled again. It was no longer a fight of skill, but that of endurance. He could no longer see any of his pack, they had all been swept away by the daemons, like the strong currents of a dark sea. Karl had watched with his own eyes four of his brothers fall to the daemons, two to the wretched claws and teeth, one to unholy warpfire, and another was torn apart from the inside as damons tried to invade him. "Where are the others?" he wondered, "never the matter, ....." , some aid finally came. Snow and biting wind came down into the battle. The daemons recoilled from the rune priests magik, as if their breath had been stolen by a cold wind. Karl could not see the priest, "He may still bea ways off". He did not waste the moments relief though, and he lept forward and spun his growling axe in a vicious, full circle swing. He tore through some half a dozen beings, foul goo and irridescent blood spilled from some, while others erupted in flame. One even turned to dust. He felt his sprirt rise, and his strength returned. Oh how he loved the storm! Cool breath filled his lungs, the gale filled his ears, and snow filled his vison. And he started to sing. He was singing a song to the rythem of the storm, with the words of his people. The words of the tribe he came from on Fenris. These were words for bad storms, and fights. Words of power, they could summon the strength of dead fellows, and cast away evil. As he was singing about the fires of hel swallowing up foes, he was bathed in a wave of heat. The daemons to his right were screaming and writhing as they burned to death. Out of the flames came one of his pack mates, Ivarr came leaping over the flaming bodies. A daemon came lunging at him, and he shoved the searing hot muzzle of his flamer into its face. He did so with enough force to knock it back a few feet. He was mossing his left arm, but it appeared to be a clean cut, and his blood had clotted and sealed it quickly enough. He gave the daemon another chrushing blow to its skull, and closed the gap between Karl and himself. "I'm suprised you could find me," Karl said to him.

"It's that damn, infernal singing of yours," Ivarr growled back,"It gets louder in these damn storms.

Karl had never known that, and he was puzled, but there was no time for questions or idle chat. He continued singing his song of power. How long had the battle lasted? He did not know, he had lost track, it must have been an hour or more. Another pack member made his way to Karl's and Ivarr's side. Otr, he was a smaller fellow by astartes standards, but he was quick, and he carved himself a path to their side. Karl was looking at Otr, but didn't understand what was happening. Otr's lips were moving, but not a word was coming out. "Otr, were is your voice?" He tried to shout above the din. They looked at eachother confused, there was no chorus of battle to be heard, no noise at all. A blast hit the three of them suddenly, knocking them to the ground. Karl's head was ringing in pain as he pushed the bodies off of him, and got to his knees. At least the daemons had been hit to, he thought. One of his lungs had been badly damaged, and collapsed. His head was still ringing painfully, and he felt warmth in his ears and nose, they were bleeding. He saw Otr scrambling from under the mess a few feet away. He looked to his other side, and saw what looked like a power armored boot. He crawled dizzily over, and unearthed a very pale Ivarr. "I'm fine," Ivarr mouthed to him, "Just helo me up." Karl helped him up, then looked around for the source of the attack. His head snapped at the first sound he could hear. A wailing. He looked to the south from were they had approached. Striding slowly towards them, were chaos marines. Their armor was wretched, faces of tortured souls swirled upon its pink surface and wailed in agony. They carried sonic weapons, their faces wrought in the form of howling daemons. Their faces. Their horrible faces. They were both graceful and revolting. Thier skin was pale and pinkish. They had no ears, not even stumps on the side of their heads, just flawlessly smooth skin. Their mouths, if they had any either, were sewn shut, or replaced with speakers. Their eyes, their eyes were like those of spiders, smooth black glass beads. Some were large, or as small as pin heads. Anger, rage welled up inside Karl. "Heretics, bastard traitors!" he screamed silently. His muscles grew taught and twitched, his hearts raced. His lungs flew open, and his nostrils flared. He could feel the beast rising within, and he let it. He only kept a little reserve, a little bit of his mind sharp. He looked to his brothers, and saw similar looks of hatred. They gathered themselves up, and charged with an icy wind at their backs, a silent cry on their lips.

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