The saga of Vargr Stiarnaganger

[Brother Captain Kezef]

Pin back your ears and listen well, whelps! More than a thousand great years before the old wolf, Grimnar, was born upon the red snow of Fenris, a warrior walked the halls of the fang who united four of the Allfather’s great chapters in glorious battle and led us to victory. Vargr Star-walker, Stiarnaganger in the old tongue, bastard-born under a bad star and yet he became one of the greatest of our number. Hear now his tale, learn from his wisdom and bear witness to the saga of the Star-walker

 

Birth of a saga

 

The Fenrisian word ‘vargr’ has many meanings and does not translate well into low gothic. The most common uses for the word are outlaw, renegade and outcaste.

 

Vargr Stiarnaganger never knew his father’s name, nor his mother’s, a bastard born under a bad star with a wyrd that took him from red snow to uppland. Born a slave to the vargr band of Eirik kinslayer, his mother was a fierce and noble woman, taken in a raid on a Jysk village, bred from warrior stock. Even as the raiders took her body, she cursed and spat, calling upon the wights and wraiths to strike down her abusers. Eirik had her tongue cut from her mouth to silence the fearful curses, yet she was never truly broken and always fought when her captors chose her to relieve their boredom.

Vargr was born with no name and no understanding of who exactly fathered him, knowing only that it was one of the the raiders, he answered to the call of bastard or boy, depending on the mood of his masters. Eirik ran a band of thirty shields and was a cunning sea-wolf, most outlaw bands never lasted more than a great year and yet Eirik had been raiding for nearly three. Always moving from one isolated, abandoned island to another, staying one step ahead of the warriors sent to hunt him down.

 

The boy was told, during repeated beatings, that he was born under a bad star. His first cries heralded a flash of light in the night sky that fell to Fenris far to the north of Eirik’s camp, the night he gained a name saw a similar star fall from the heavens. Eirik Kinslayer chose that night to take the boy’s mother again and she chose that night to end her torment. Shortly after he dragged the woman into his tent, the renegade chief stumbled out, screaming in pain and clutching his own sword, embedded firmly within his belly. Foolishly assuming that his slave had finally been broken, Eirik let his guard down and like a true daughter of the Jysk, she avenged all the insults and violations suffered during her bondage.

 

Eirik’s band dragged their chief’s killer into the centre of camp and her death was long and filled with horror that stirred a killing rage in her son’s young heart. Never considered a threat, the boy was barely thirteen by Terra reckoning, while a young man by Fenrisian custom, he was a slave and untrained in any of the arts of war. Yet rage can sometimes substitute skill and a cause worth dying for can substitute experience. The boy crept from the thrall’s pen and stole upon the cooling body of Eirik Kinslayer, drawing the sword from the chief’s corpse, he gave voice to all his anger, his pain and sorrow.

 

The boy took wounds that would of felled lesser men that night, yet it is not unknown for a man’s wyrd to keep him in the fight until his destiny has been fulfilled. Three men died, another two where mortally wounded and put out of the fight, before the outlaws could respond. The warriors had drunk to their chief as they tortured his killer, none where fit to fight, yet even a drunk should of been a match for an untried slave, wielding a borrowed blade, however the fates played true with the boy and false with his foes. As the dawn broke and bathed the red snow with light, the boy lay down to die with the wights of thirty men to guide him to the next world. Sorely wounded, his shield arm cut to the bone and his belly opened to the cold wind, the boy knew his death would not be long in coming and he welcomed the end. A shadow fell upon the dying youth as he opened his eyes to view a daemon leering over him. A giant of a beast wearing a strange pelt and it’s hide was black as a moonless night, curved and adorned with fetishes and runes. Instead of a head the creature bore a huge wolf’s skull and it’s eyes glowed with the fury of Morkai. The boy, facing death and with nothing left to fear, met the daemon’s gaze.

 

“Begone creature, let me die in peace before you devour my soul.” The youth whispered through pain clenched teeth.

 

At first the creature just stared at the boy before laughing, a cold, inhuman sound from a cold, inhuman beast. It looked up and around, marked the thralls huddle like sheep in their pen and Eirik’s band of outlaws, sleeping on red snow.

 

“You could live boy, I can offer you that choice.” The daemon spoke with a voice of thunder and ice.

 

The youth’s laughter turned into a growl of pain as he almost choked on his own blood. For a moment he rested, gathering his strength before he looked up upon the beast once more.

 

“Live for what?” The boy asked “I have avenged those who have wronged me and mine, I am a bastard, sired by killers and rapists, why would I even want to live beyond the day of my vengeance?”

 

He glared at the beast, meeting it’s eye and daring the apparition to answer. The creature nodded, conceding the point and yet it stayed, regarding the youth and seemed to be deep in thought. Finaly it stirred and answered the boy’s question.

 

“What you have suffered, others have suffered and still suffer, in numbers you can not even imagine. Each day the sky warriors fight in the Allfather’s name and they do not just avenge the fallen, they protect the innocent and defeat those who would enslave and destroy. You avenged your kin, I offer you the strength to save others from the fate wyrd has chosen for you.”

 

The beast, having said it’s piece, looked down upon the boy and waited for an answer. The youth’s heart was torn, something within his soul, something noble and proud, listened to the creature’s words and yearned to accept the offer. Yet this beast, so inhuman, could it possibly be speaking true? Or was it some ruse, some act of sadistic trickery? Finaly the boy gave his answer.

 

“Take me then daemon, you can have my soul and I will make your bargain. Play me false and no spirit, wight or power will hold me back from vengeance.”

 

The creature laughed and nodded, kneeling down, it brought it’s skull-face close to the boy and spoke with a voice of drawn daggers.

 

“I do not take souls boy, you just gave yours to the Allfather and that is the last time you will call me daemon without regretting your poor choice of words. Name yourself boy, name yourself so that I know who I am taking into the Allfather’s service.”

 

At these words the youth felt his strength wane and he felt himself fall into a void of bitterness and regret. With a last act of stubborn will he held on long enough to answer that final question.

 

“I am the bastard son of outlaws, one among the dead sired me and I have slain him, I name myself kinslayer and outcaste, I am Vargr.”

 

As those words left his lips, Vargr fell into the dark, a darkness that leads to the hall of Morkai and a slumber few awaken from. He never heard the creature speak as it gathered his new charge up and began the trek to his sky chariot, even if he heard the words he would not of recognised the hearth-tongue of the sons of Russ.

 

“Vargr means many things boy, it also means wolf.”

 

The seed of future promise

 

Many are the tests of an aspirant before he may name himself a true son of Russ. Vargr met each and every one with a stubborn fury, he excelled at nothing yet overcame regardless of the odds. He was sullen and brooding and did not welcome the company of others, he was marked in these early days as one fated to join the wolf scouts, forever alone and apart from the brotherhood enjoyed by his fellow aspirants.

 

It is said that a man’s wyrd can be determined during the test of Morkai, that his experience will echo forever through a warrior’s life and mark his fate. For Vargr, he faced his ultimate fear, a total lack of control and a selfish surrender to his base desires and hunger. The wulfen came to the surface during his test and he hunted, he sated himself and bathed in the blood of the kill. Without control, without remorse and without hesitation, he killed and he killed.

He awoke, covered in the vitae of prey, surrounded by trophies. The horns of an elk, the ripped and torn wings of a blizzard hawk and even the sundered remains of a snow-bear’s hide. He had forgotten his purpose, the reason for being out in the wastes of Asaheim, Vargr warred with his inner daemons, faced the wulfen curse within and forged a cage of adamantine from his stubborn will, caging the beast that threatened to consume his heart. Vargr returned to the fang stronger, more controlled and ready to face the Allfather’s foes in blood and battle.

 

Vargr was one of thirteen blood claws who formed a pack under the command of Wolf Lord Gunnar Shieldbiter. Gunnar was himself known to indulge in berserk rages upon the field, yet he was a warrior of iron will and rode his rage as a captain rides his ship through a winter’s storm. Gunnar’s company bore the mark of the Blackmaned wolf upon their battle plate, a symbol with a long and honoured history within the sagas of the Space Wolves. Gunnar and his wolfguard rode into battle upon fierce and barely tamed thunderwolves and his company was often the chapter’s spearhead.

 

For over two decades, Vargr fought as a blood claw, battling his own desire to unleash the full fury of his rage as much as he fought the enemy. While never truly losing control, he gained a reputation as a berserker which bought him grudging respect and scathing admonition in equal amounts. Never truly able to embrace the comradeship of the pack, Vargr was forever alone even when surrounded by his fellow blood claws in the close and deadly dance of battle.

Every blood claw is eager to make his name, to etch his rune upon the skein of fate so that all will know of his deeds, they are headstrong and filled with the sense of invulnerability that comes with youth and inexperience. Vargr was no different and he carried a burning desire to be more than his origins, he nursed a bitter sense of unworthiness, refusing to accept that the deeds which won him a place amongst the chosen where as worthy and mighty as those performed by his pack brothers during their own, last hours as a Fenrisian mortal.

 

On the ice plains of Paroval IX, Vargr and his pack climbed a squiggoth, cut through the snakebite mob that manned the howdah on it’s back and planted meltacharges directly to it’s skull. During the street battles of hive Serenity, Vargr hunted down and eliminated the roving plasmagun teams of the renegade militia before they could ambush the rest of his pack. During the Bachalintine crusade, Vargr’s pack where instrumental in discovering the location of the Eldar warp portal and it’s destruction allowed the Imperium’s forces to wrest control of New Valencia from the decadent xenos.

With time comes wisdom, for two decades Vargr fought as a blood claw and learned the ways of war. He learned patience, self-control and finaly accepted his own worthiness to stand with the Emperor’s chosen warriors against all that would threaten humanity. Vargr was called to the grey and joined the pack of Heimdall Bladedancer, his true wyrd was soon to be revealed.

 

Lost and alone

 

Heimdall’s pack welcomed the new grey hunter and Vargr truly began to understand and embrace the comradeship and shared brotherhood of the pack. For nearly a century he fought and bled with his brothers, sometimes they would lose a comrade and at others they would welcome a new pack member, raised to the grey. Heimdall fell during the bloody siege of fort Stonegarde as Gunnar’s chapter assisted the 124th Krieg army group defeat the successionist government of Galefrey IV. The pack voted Vargr to take Heimdall’s place as their leader and Gunnar confirmed their choice. Vargr always claimed that this was the single greatest honour of his life, eclipsing, to him at least, all his later feats.

 

Vargr’s wyrd caught up with him during the cleansing of Rook’s Landing. The planet had fallen to a xenos race known as the Incarnate, a race of reptilian creatures that saw humans as cattle. Living a nomadic existence, the incarnate would travel in small fleets and attack isolated worlds, turning them into abatoirs in which they would slaughter and prepare the inhabitants to sustain the fleet’s journey to the next feeding ground. An inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos by the name of Rose Aquitane, accompanied by a deathwatch kill-team, petitioned the fang for assistance and Gunnar Shieldbiter answered their call. The campaighn was deceptively easy at first as a combined Imperial Navy and Astartes battlegroup easily brushed aside the Incarnate’s naval assets. Gunnar landed by combined drop pod and thunderhawk insertion, directly on top of the Incanate headquarters. The resulting battle was one of the fiercest and bloodiest that any great company had faced since the dark days of the Horus Heresy.

 

The Incarnate stood eight feet tall and had similar muscle mass to that of an astartes warrior. Adorned with natural scales almost as tough as ceramite, the Incarnate used artificial means to strengthen their natural defences and proved to be as hard to kill as the astartes themselves. Their technology was advanced and insidious, their weapons delivered armour-piercing rounds filled with a corrosive compound that liquefied the victim from within, the incarnate where able to consume the resulting liquid biomass, allowing them to survive for extended periods in the field without resupply.

 

Gunnar led nearly three hundred warriors into battle against the Incarnate, he left with fifty two. The Incarnate understood the tactics and strategy of the astartes and had planned o them hitting their headquarters in force. The whole area was mined and they detonated the explosives when Gunnar was fully committed, sacrificing over half their force, along with their command echelon, to deal a deathblow to the astartes.

 

The sons of Fenris are not so easily defeated however and Gunnar rallied the remnants of his company around his wolfguard, the six heroes and their thunderwolves formed a wedge that broke out of the trap and linked up with the Imperial guard forces that had landed relatively unopposed by the Incarnate, so intent where the xenos on eliminating the astartes threat. However the xenos where able to violate and consume the bodies of nearly two hundred astartes, slain by the super-heavy mines of the Incarnate’s trap.

 

Vargr’s drop pod had malfunctioned and he dropped far to the north of the main assault. For nearly a month his pack fought to rejoin the main force. One by one his brothers fell, Vargr fought like a man possessed each time to recover the body of the fallen so that they could recover the progenoid organs and destroy the bodies to prevent them falling into the hands of the Incarnate. In the end only Vargr was left, surrounded on all sides in the ruins of a manufactorum, barely a kilometre from the relative safety of Imperial lines. Without ammunition, his chainblade broken, Vargr drew his combat knife and prepared to sell his life dearly.

 

An explosion took out what was left of the manufactorum’s east wall and the deathwatch kill-team stormed through, taking the Incarnate by surprise. The kill-team took up a disciplined and effective perimeter around Vargr’s position and laid down a withering hail of fire. Their leader, bearing the winged sword badge of the Dark Angels upon his right shoulder threw a bolt pistol to Vargr.

 

“You do not die today, wolf”

 

Vargr howled, a sound full of mourning for his lost brothers and rightoues wrath. The Incarnate could not stand against the deathwatch and where soon broken. The campaighn lasted a further three months and required the assistance of another two astartes chapters, the Death Spectres 2nd company and the 4th company of the Storm Lords. Vargr fought with the kill-team for the remainder of the campaighn before rejoining his wolf lord to storm the last bastion of the Incarnate.

 

In the end only fifty two sons of Russ remained and Gunnar was the sole survivor of his wolfguard, his own thunderwolf having fallen during the final battle. He took Vargr to one side and gave his final order.

 

“The company is finished lad, those who don’t take the oaths of the lone wolf will join other companies. I will follow my brothers in death, I will take the oath, I failed, I failed you and I failed your brothers.”

 

Vargr opened his mouth to protest but Gunnar’s sullen glare silenced him.

 

“You, you will not join them. I can see it in your eye boy, you would take the oath, you would look for death, i can’t allow it, not you. You have been watched Vargr, you have a powerful wyrd and it can not be allowed to end here. You fought with the deathwatch, join them now, they have seen how wolves die this day, you show them how wolves live!”

 

Vargr followed his lord’s last command, he was the only survivor of Gunnar’s company not to take the oath, the remaining warriors took a frigate and sailed into legend, to find their lost brothers, to ask forgiveness for the sin of surviving where so many had fallen.

 

Standing the watch

 

Vargr joined the kill-team led by the Dark Angel sergeant Azazel. Unlike most of his chapter, Azazel was outgoing and even friendly, he had served a full century in the watch and had seen astartes from many other chapters at their best and their worst, he had grown to respect the unique brotherhood of the watch and had been marked as future candidate for watch-captain. Vargr, bitter and full of tormented rage at the loss of his brothers and filled with a sense of righteous disgust at the actions of the Dark Angel’s primarch during the great crusade, disliked his sergeant intensely. Like every Space Wolf he had been taught the sagas and distrusted the Dark Angels and their reputation. Even his experiences with the kill-team during the Incarnate campaigh did nothing to soften his feelings for the squad leader. At first he was resentful, sullen and kept away from the other members of the kill-team, he followed instruction to the letter but kept his counsel, never interacting more than he had to. The say time heals all wounds, it also brings wisdom. Vargr began to learn and understand more and more about the astartes he now called brother.

 

He believed the Ultramarines to be hidebound and inflexible, forever chained to their precious codex astartes. He came to realise that they where noble and skilled warriors, that the codex astartes was a valued guide but did not restrict them in the fashion that the wolves believed. They could be arrogant and insufferable but proved to be reliable and valued brothers in battle.

 

He had been taught that the Blood Angels where all berzerkers, lacking restraint and control. He had heard darker rumours, tales of blood drinking and of innocents being slaughtered. In the deathwatch, Vargr saw for himself the nobility and humility of the sons of Sanguinius. He came to respect and treasure his friendship with the only Blood Angel in his squad, brother Gabriel. Vargr would talk often with Gabriel, of his sense of loss and failure and Gabriel helped Vargr come to terms with the battle against the Incarnate and finaly move on.

 

It took many years, but Vargr came to understand his sergeant, recognising the virtues of the dark Angels and learning to look beyond their flaws. Despite their secretive nature, the Dark Angels where defiant and stubborn in battle, always could they be relied upon to hold the line and on the offensive they struck with wrath and might, truly they where the Allfather’s angels of death.

 

Vargr served for two decades with the deathwatch and he served with distinction and courage. Azazel was promoted to Watch-captain and for the last decade of his service, Vargr led his squad into battle as sergeant. The call of Fenris became too strong to resist and Vargr left the deathwatch with honour, he was unsure if he would be welcomed home but he longed to walk the snow of asaheim once more.

Homecoming

 

Upon his return to Fenris, Vargr was summoned to the great hall to stand before the great wolf, Heimdall Silverwolf. Long of fang and white of hair, Heimdall had led the sons of Russ for many years and his leadership was the stuff of legend. The great wolf looked down from his throne at the returning brother and growled.

 

“Took your bloody time, we’ve been waiting for you to get your sorry arse back home!”

 

The runepriests had cast their bones and told of a stranger who was not a stranger, that the sons of Russ would, one day, sail to their death without this lost warrior. All agreed that Vargr matched the description, lacking a company yet having more experience than any single grey hunter in the chapter, Vargr was offered a position in the wolf guard of Hakon Reaver. After the loss of Gunnar’s company, each of the remaining great companies pledged warriors so that the chapter would remain at twelve companies, a practice not without precedent. As the great wolf’s champion, Hakon had been selected to lead this company and he chose the badge of Morkai. Vargr accepted the invitation and joined the ranks of the Space Wolves once more.

 

Bad Star

 

Vargr earned his place with Hakon’s company and fought hard and well for many years. Despite his past, Vargr was not seen as a bad omen but considered a survivor, a wolf too tough to die and he was honoured. Then word came to Fenris of an even that would soon earn Vargr his deed name.

 

A vast spacehulk had breached the defences around the Cadian gate and was heading deeper into the Imperium, the Navy seemed powerless to stop this behemoth and a hasty force of Astartes was to be marshalled. Heimdall would lead three great companies alongside forces from the Imperial Fists, Black Templars and Flesh Tearers. Hakon’s company was one of the three chosen for this honour and Vargr readied himself for the coming fight.

 

Mannigfual, a relic of the great crusade and current flagship of the Space Wolves, a huge and impressive vessel from days long forgotten. She could take hits that would break the back of a battleship and dish out death that would destroy entire worlds. Four proud and headstrong warriors stood facing each other across a hololith in the centre of Mannigfual’s great hall. Heimdall Silverwolf, the tallest of the three in his ancient suit of tactical dreadnought armour, long of tooth and silver of mane a leader of wolves with centuries of experience. Standing out in his bright, golden yellow battle plate, captain Victor Dane of the Imperial Fist’s 3rd company, chosen commander of the Fist’s contingent, experienced and formidable. Reclusiarch Marcus Duval of the Black Templars, his raven-black armour scarred from centuries of battle in the Emperor’s name, his badge of office, the crozius Arcanum chained to his wrist. Finaly Korath Jorain of the Flesh Tearer’s 5th company, his armour the colour of spilt wine and shadows, his face a tapestry of battle scars.

 

Four of the Imperium’s greatest warriors, arguing like children. The chapter contingents had met in the straights of Johanne’s wrath and had made good speed to the anticipated intercept point. However any pretence of co-operation ended there as the masters of the four contingents met and argued, they had yet to even name an overall commander before the space hulk breached, tearing a gaping hole in reality as an unholy conglomeration of a hundred ships entered the material realm. The size of a moon, this hulk had been designated ‘star of despair’ and she slowly made her way to the waiting Imperial fleet with the steady, funeral pace of an executioner.

 

Scout ships had been sent out to assess the huge vessel and the leaders of the Astarte contingents had met one last time to try and forge a plan of attack. Prelimenary auspex reports indicated that the centre of the vessel was some kind of huge void or chamber, the size of a city. All agreed that the battle would be decided in this central chamber, each contingent would independently gain access and fight their way to this central void. The Wolves would go in through the bow, the Imperial fists would take the stern while the Flesh Tearer’s would breach starboard and the Black Templars would attack from the port.

 

The hulk proved to be a vast trap as each contingent made their breach and encountered no resistance, making their way through the various vessels that comprised the hulk each force found their way to the centre and realised what awaited them. The heart of the hulk comprised a vast citadel of steel and bone, banners bearing the unholy sigils of the Iron Warriors and Alpha Legion flew from the towers, at the sight of Petuarbo’s colours the Black Templars and Imperial Fists where enraged and immediately prepare to assault the city-sized fortress, igoring all attempts by great wolf Heimdall or captain Jorain to unify the campaighn.

 

The initial assaults went well but soon the loyal sons of the Allfather where bogged down in killzones and brutal traps constructed by the Iron Warrors. Alpha Legion strike teams wearing armour taken from the dead would ambush and sow confusion and discord, the offensive began to fall apart and Vargr saw echos of Rook’s landing as the casualties mounted and the loyalists became mirred in the citadel’s maze. Only unity would salvage the day and turn defeat into victory, unity that only one man could bring.

 

Vargr took two men from his company, a wolf scout known as Volund Shadowstalker and a long fang by the name of Eirik Suresight. Together they fought through the lines to reach the Flesh Tearers, the first position they found was hostile and wary each son of Sanguinius levelled weapons at the three wolves approaching their lines. Vargr calmly walked forward and began to chant the moripatris, taught to him long ago by his trusted brother Gabriel. The Flesh Tearer’s fell into confusion, never had they heard the mass of doom uttered by an astartes who did not share the blood of Sanguinius, captain Jorain was called and the wolf met with the the scion of angels. Vargr spoke of unity and joint courage, he told Jorain of the respect he held for all the sons of Sanguinius, how the wolves and the angels where often misunderstood for their tactics and culture. He forged a friendship that led to Jorain ordering his forces to close the gap, fight through and link up with Heimdall’s flank to form a coherent line. Vargr’s greatest triumph came when Jorain acknowledged Heimdall as the longest serving and most experienced warrior on the field, pledging to follow him as overall commander.

 

Vargr took three of the Flesh Tearers, sergeant Barokian, brothers Gheist and Amret and set out to find the sons of Dorn. The six Astartes cut through the enemy, plunging into a maze of trenches and bunkers. Like wights of the underworld they struck unseen and melted into the darkness till they found Dane’s men, surrounded and dug in. During a lull in the fighting, Vargr crossed the battle lines and linked up with a Fist scout patrol who took them to face their commander.

 

During his time with the watch, Vargr had served with a techmarine from the Imperial Fists who had told the tale of the Iron Cage. Vargr spoke to captain Dane of that long ago battle, how Dorn had purified his legion through battle to unite with the Imperium and accept the codex astartes.

 

“This is your iron cage captain” spoke Vargr “While you stand here alone the sons of Russ and Sanguinius stand united and hold the line, I am a Fenris born warrior, we know little of fortification and the Flesh Tearers live for the moment that they can wash the field in the blood of the foe, yet without foundation we will surely fall. Join us, show us the skills of the praetorian, be the anvil that the foes of Him on earth will be crushed upon.”

 

Dane was moved by these words of wisdom and the Imperial Fists fought their way to Heimdall’s line and pledged themselves to the cause. Dane’s fists tore down the city around them and reforged it into a fortess within a fortress from which the warriors of the Imperium could bring the wrath of terra to their enemies. Yet Vargr was not finished, he had one last task before his walk was complete.

 

The Black Templars where engaged on the far side of the citadel, a battlefield the size of a city and Vargr needed to find them before their zeal led them to disaster. Taking three brothers from the Imperial Fists, Steiner clad in terminator armour, scout sergeant Brock bearing a rifle that spat death from afar and apothercary Brenner whose alabaster armour was stained by the blood of his wounded brothers. The star walkers, as the band had been named, set off to find the lost templars, this final walk was the longest and most dangerous, filled with unholy threats and corrupt temptation. Daemons where unleashed to bar their path, lithe, sickening abominations whose seduction found no weakness in the faith of Vargr and his companions.

 

It took days to find any sign of Reclusiarch Duval’s men and that first sign was the sight of eight Templars, crucified and bearing runes of hatred cut into their flesh. Vargr gave the fallen a proper pyre and pledged to avenge them, refusing to lose hope he pressed on. Three days after they encountered the crucified astartes, vargr’s band heard the sound of battle and they quickly headed towards the sound of the guns. Duval and his templars where besieged by a cackling, howling host of daemonic fiends. The corrupt host assaulted the loyal astartes like tidal waves of filth, yet each time they broke against the iron will and ceramite of the Black Templars. Vargr and his band of walkers cut their way through and joined the defence, words would have no meaning to the zealous knights of Dorn so deeds where required and the walkers performed such deeds that live in eternal memory in the annals of four chapters.

 

Sergeant Barokian faced crimson beasts bearing flaming blades that screamed for the souls of men, they chanted over and over, calling for blood and skulls to sate their master’s lust. The Flesh Tearer gave them skulls that day, eight daemons he faced and eight heads he took in the Emperor’s name, each kill a clean beheading and each dedicated to Sanguinius. Eirik Suresight earned his name that day as he stood upon a tower of corrupt flesh, his lascannon lanced daemons like a krakenbone spear, each shot a clean kill as he howled in righteous fury. Steiner held his ground with hammer and shield, none shall pass he cried and his oath was never broken.

 

When the battle was done and the spawn of the warp sent back to tell their masters the tale of how the Emperor’s chosen had bested them, Vargr called the Reclusiarch to counsel. He spoke of deeds done in the spirit of unity, of strength multiplied through common trust and skill and he called his band together to prove the truth of his words. Duval saw the wisdom as he had seen what could be achieved when the sons of Dorn, Sanguinius and Russ found common purpose.

 

Volund Shadowstalker and scout sergeant Brock forged a path back to Heimdall and the Black Templars took their place alongside their brothers. Long was the campaign to purge the star of despair and many where the deeds, threads where cut and good men slept on red snow during that year long war of brutal attrition, yet the star walkers where constant and unyielding, always moving between the contingents, showing y example what great feats of strength and skill could be achieved when brothers worked as one. Till the day dawned when the enemy burned and the city of chaos was razed to the ground.

 

And so ends the saga of the star walker. Vargr went on to many more deeds, many more triumphs, he matched will and claw with the great thunderwolf Skoll and formed a friendship that would last till they both slept together on the red snow of Praetor’s Rise. The saga of the black shield tells of how Vargr became wolflord and led his company to avenge the murder of Heimdall Silvermane and there is the tale of the howling darkness when Vargr Stiarnaganger led his thunderwolf pack into battle against the xenos hordes of the shadowkith.

 

Those tales are for another day, another telling around the hearth.

[BlackPelt]

*applauds*

 

Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!

 

You fought with the deathwatch, join them now, they have seen how wolves die this day, you show them how wolves live!

 

I nearly jumped up from my desk and punched the air!

[Wulfkry]

hjolda... magnificent. Can't wait until the next story.

[fivepointedstar]

This has just made my day. Like Blackpelt stated it was absolutely brilliant. I really did jump out of my seat, and fist punch the air. I hope you are making saga number two really soon.

[Jaton666]

Amazing work, I really liked this saga. Keep them coming.

[Brother Captain Kezef]

Glad you guys liked it, took me ages to write. I'm working on the saga of how he became wolf lord and a pack-brother to a thunderwolf now.

[BlackPelt]

I was working on a Saga for my boy, but I'm really glad I read this before posting it. You've set a standard, and so It'll be a few more days before I'm ready to share.

 

I need a major re-write :D

[captain fabian]

I felt a constant feeling of awe while reading this. A story worthy of a Wolf. Well done brother. Words cannot express my feelings right now. Thank you again for this epic Saga.

[Brother Captain Kezef]

Now I'm looking at this and wondering where to pick it up again.

[DarthMarko]

Wow - simply brilliant...ty for this....

[Rift Blade]

A saga worthy of any Wolf. Inspiring. Passes a horn of Ale. Hope you will write another & thank you for posting this.

[Ozeryk_Sleipnijr]

This Saga will not be forgotten. Well written.

[Ezeriel]

Simply brilliant.  Brought a tear to my eyes at times.

[Brother Captain Kezef]

I was wondering if anybody would like to submit character names for the next parts in the saga?