Return of an Ancient One

[Stoic Raptor]

Greetings to The Rout,

 

After a long absence from playing 40K, I have returned.  I have been a Space Wolves player since the first army list in Chapter Approved: Book of the Astronomican some 25 years ago.  The Chapter has changed greatly since then.  I played a most of my 40K from 2nd to 4th Edition, and now that I am back I wanted to give my personal avatar a bit of much-needed and long overdue revision.

 

Back we go to 1994, when the 2nd Edition Space Wolves Codex came out.  We were using a campaign rule that allowed our personal hero to develop from experience as our campaign progressed.  My hero was Ulfgrim ("wolf-face"), a member of Logan's Wolf Guard.  In that codex, a Wolf Guard Terminator could take an Assault Cannon and a Cyclone Missile Launcher.  This frighteningly effective (and rather expensive) combination allowed Ulfgrim to single-handedly destroy four Eldar squads over the course of the campaign, earning him the title Alvsbane.  Sadly, he perished while holding off the last of the Eldar invaders so that the rest of his comrades could reach their drop ship. (Rolling a jam on all three sustained fire dice means you're going to have a bad day!)

 

 

Fast-forward a few years and I got myself a metal Space Wolves Dreadnought.  This was the machine into which Ulgrim's remains were interred.  I had to purchase a metal missile launcher arm by mail-order but it was worth it.  And my painting skill had improved since the last one!

 

 

Now, I'm rebuilding my army for 7th Edition.  Much of what I had is now obsolete (or, in the case of the old metal Terminators, small and ugly).  The new SW Venerable Dreadnought kit allows me to do old Ulf up properly.  As always, I needed to get a missile launcher arm from another Dreadnought, but I was able to wolf it out nicely with pelts and such.  And one of my old opponent's warriors makes a guest appearance as part of the base. 

 

Painting is progressing along nicely - currently all of the base colors are applied, I just need to do shading, highlighting, and details soon.  I will post photos of the painted model when it's all done.  Thanks for letting me show off the progression of this character!

 

 

[Jarl Kjaran Coldheart]

Welcome back to the Aett!

 

May your games be many and woes few!

 

WLK

[Amarog]

Welcome back!

 

I hope that the new codex and rules etc don't disappoint you

[Konnavaer]

Welcome back to the Aett brother, always good to welcome another venerable wolf back to where he belongs

[Dantay VI]

Yup, now lets get him in the stasis chamber so he can't escape again!!

 

Welcome back, I hope you have fun times with the Space Wolves and the new codex.

 

Thats a sweet looking dreadnought, really liking the back banner

[Stoic Raptor]

Thanks for the warm welcome (back) and all the support!  My painting skills have increased dramatically since then (my profile image is fairly recent work and my sig banner is a squad I did a couple years ago) so I am hoping that the new one will look even better!  I plan to do the back banner on inkjet canvas (my freehand banner skills are bad) and I am considering making a Terminator version of him with the newer plastics - even though I wouldn't be able to play him in that configuration.

 

The coolest thing about the new Dread is that it's my first attempt at magnetizing a model.  I can also slap on arms for a Blizz loadout, or replace the weapons with any of the codex options (except autocannons).

 

I actually wrote a short story in the mid-90s about Ulf's background and the battle that left him encased in the Dreadnought.  I'm not sure if there's an interest in it or where fiction goes around here.  It has some passing similarities to William King's novels, although it was written before them.

Edited February 8, 2015 by Ulfgrim Alvsbane

[Stoic Raptor]

Work-in-progress shot of the Venerable Ulfgrim and Iron Priest Eisen on Thunderwolf.  They are a long way from finished - the IP has reached a point where I look at it and think it's ugly and I should strip it - but I know of I push on it will turn out fine.

 

[Dantay VI]

Stick the story in here, its always great to have a yarn to go with the model. Just take a look around the other threads of folks like WolfLord Kieran for example or Maverik...

Sometimes knowing how you came to make and paint the model and his wyrd is almost as important as the model itself and it gives them a life of their own

 

So draw up a chair while one of the young pups gets you an ale and lets hear the tale of Ulfgrimm Alvsbane,

 

Who knows maybe we have a Skjald in the making??

 

Btw that dead Scorpion under his foot is a perfect touch, and right where it deserves to be :D

Edited February 8, 2015 by dantay_xv

[Stoic Raptor]

I present to you the saga of Ulfgrim Alvsbane.  I know there may be some minor inconsistencies with the current Chapter lore - unlike GW, I have not revised my story in the intervening years. ;)

 

A Wolf in Winter

By Shaun T. Scott

 

            In a darkened crypt the size of a cathedral, deep in the heart of an ancient mountain whose pinnacle pierced the very heavens, a giant arose from his centenary slumber.  Skin hard as stone shook off the dust of a hundred years of sleep.  Men had been born, grown old, and died during his brief repose.  Times were dire indeed if his young custodians had roused him so soon.  They lived for centuries, yet to him even they were as mayflies.  Though it seemed as no time had passed at all, his rest could be measured by his dreams.  Most of them were dreams of fire, dreams of glorious battles where legions of men fell before his steel.  Some were dreams of an icy wilderness, where the wind blew strong and cold and the hunting was plentiful.  The dream from which he had been awakened had seemed particularly vivid, nearly real but for a sensation of detachment which had distanced him from the events as a seeming observer.  Yet he recalled each and every aspect to the finest detail.  The recollection caused him to shudder as if he had taken a chill.  Of course, such sensations were alien to him now, but so long ago…

 

            The warrior stood upon the ridge, helmet open so that he might smell and taste the crisp arctic air.  The sunlight sparkled on the snow in the valley below, its brilliant glare causing him to narrow his eyes as he surveyed the land below.  The day seemed too pleasant for what was about to transpire, but he was ready nonetheless.  His vigilant eyes scanned the horizon as his keen nose tested the wind for the scent of his enemy.  They were nigh, and he was prepared.  His Litany of Readiness was interrupted by the arrival of a runner.  Though the bondsmen stood quietly at a respectful distance, Ulfgrim had smelled him approaching minutes ago.  Completing his invocations, the towering man sealed the helmet of his Terminator armour and turned to his vassal.  His grizzled face was now replaced with an image of a snarling Fenrisian wolf.  Though the thrall was tall among his tribe, he was but a dwarf to his master, who so towered over him that the servant was forced to look up in order to speak.  The thrall swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat.  Though this thrall served his lord well, Ulfgrim’s visage was even more fearsome when he was clad for battle.  As the hirsute man stood and awaited permission to report, he could not suppress his shivering.  Ulfgrim chuckled quietly at the smaller man’s weakness.  Was his shivering caused by the terror of being in the presence of a living god, or was it merely the cold?  To a Wolf, this sub-zero cold was a trifling thing.  Cold like this had not bothered him for fifty years…

 

            The drakkar tossed about as the angry surf swelled about the little ship.  The boy muttered a prayer to appease the gods of the sea.  The storm that raged around him was a certain sign of their wrath. If they were angry, they would surely swallow the boat.  Only deeds of glory would placate them.  He and the others of his clan had been adrift for weeks, seeking a new home.  Each day had been laden with hardship since the fires had burst from the ground and the thundering seas had claimed his land and everything he once knew. Ulfgrim remembered that day vividly.  His mouth felt parched and his skin crawled with the heat.  He could still smell the burning bodies of the villagers and their homes.  The smoke from those fires caused his eyes to water even now.  His past was forever lost, but he no longer dwelt there.  He lived for the coming day, for the battles to be fought and the glory to be won.  The young man stood at the bow, scanning the stormy sea, looking for any sign of other lost souls upon it.

            Behind him, he heard the cry of an infant.  The baby had been born just a few days before their exodus.  The child would certainly perish during their voyage and perhaps its mother as well.  Starvation and exposure had claimed many of his kinsmen, and their deaths would surely not be the last.  Many more would perish unless they found a new home soon. The only hope for survival on these hostile seas was to pillage the supplies that would sustain them until they could reach a new island.  He turned away from the crying child and its shivering mother, and continued to seek any sign of something amid the tempest around them.  Moments later he spotted a brightly-colored sail through the darkness, and cried out for the warriors to stand ready.

     His brothers and the other young men of his tribe stood at the gunwales, awaiting the chance to leap into the fray and claim glory for themselves and their clan. The boy did not fear death; he welcomed a glorious end in battle, for the skalds of his people sung of the Messengers of the Wolf-Gods, and how the most valorous warriors were taken in death to feast in the halls of the Gods and fight battle upon glorious battle.

     Their ship crashed headlong into that of their enemy, its prow splitting the side of the other vessel.  The young warriors swept onto the doomed ship, striking down all that stood in their path.  The screams of the dying were devoured by the howling winds, and the seas drank deeply in the blood of the fallen.  Ulfgrim leapt into the fray, bellowing a war cry and swinging his axe in a great arc.  Warriors seasoned by many summers of migration fell before his furious assault.  Though the ship canted from side to side as it bobbed upon the swells, its deck slick with seawater and blood, the young man stood his ground, ensuring his comrades the time they needed to loot the ship.  Like their homeland had, the damaged longship was beginning to sink beneath the waves.  The Wolfbrothers leaped from the sinking ship with their arms full of plunder.

     The stricken ship lurched, taking on more seawater through the ragged hole in its side.  “Go!”  Ulfgrim shouted to his Wolfbrothers, “I will free the ship!”  The young man clambered upon the bow, hacking away with his axe at the carving of the fierce sea-dragon head that now trapped his vessel, threatening it with the same watery doom as the looted ship.  He could feel the sea mercilessly tugging the two ships down, locked in an embrace that promised death to both if he did not succeed.  The young warrior rained blow after blow upon the prow as the icy winds bit at him and the heartless sea stung him with cold, salty spray. 

     Between the howling of the ocean wind and the roar of his own ragged breathing, Ulfgrim scarcely heard the roar of water behind him.  Sparing a momentary glance over his shoulder, he saw an enormous wave rising towards the two ships.  With one final, desperate blow, he cleaved through the carving and freed his ship.  Just then, the wave struck the ships, separating them and sweeping the young warrior off of his perch.  As he fell, he expected to feel the sea’s cold, watery embrace, but instead he struck the hard wooden deck of the sinking vessel his clan had just looted.  His axe bounced from his hand and lodged itself in the broken mast of the enemy longship.  He rolled to his feet and looked for his comrades, but the ship of his clan was now far away, tossed about in the storm.  He thought he could see a young woman on the deck reaching out for him, and he was unsure whether the sound he heard was her crying or merely the taunting of the unforgiving wind.

     “So,” came a voice from behind him, “it looks as though I’ll not die alone after all.”  Ulfgrim whirled around and saw an older man rising to his feet on the unsteady deck. The wounds he bore looked nasty, but Ulfgrim could now see that none were lethal, and that this cur had feigned death, perhaps hoping to seize the advantage and catch Ulfgrim’s band unawares.  Clearly, neither man had been expecting to be trapped upon this sinking ship, as the other now sailed away, forever beyond their reach.

     The old man pulled his sword from a body upon the deck.  Ulfgrim recognized the face of Frotti, a younger Wolf Brother, who had clearly been stabbed in the back in treachery by this foe.  “Dog!” Ulfgrim screamed, and rushed unarmed at his deceitful, honorless enemy.  “Have you no honor, to stab a man in the back?” 

     “I do not, young pup,” sneered the old man, “honor does not feed one’s family or keep one warm.  Honor did not save my clan from death at the hands of your people.”  Swiftly, he raised his sword and thrust it into the chest of the headstrong Wolfbrother.

     Ulfgrim’s breath left his lungs suddenly in a spray of blood.  Glancing behind his foe, he noticed his fallen axe, still lodged in the mast.  Summoning the courage to face a death worthy of the Wolf-Gods, he spun suddenly, wrenching the sword from the grip of his foe.  Snatching his axe in the same motion, Ulfgrim brought it down upon his adversary, beheading him before his own weapon fell clattering to the deck from his nerveless fingers.  His breath came in ragged, bloody gasps as he fell to the deck beside his decapitated opponent.  As he lay in his final hour unmoving upon the planks, the hungry seas lapping at his legs, it seemed to him as if the sun had broken through the heavy clouds.  Then a giant of a man was standing above him, seemingly unfazed by the foundering shipwreck.  He was clad in black metal armour, and wore the pelt of an enormous wolf upon his back.  As he turned his gaze upon the dying young man, Ulfgrim beheld a face of an ancient man, whose golden eyes held the wisdom of ages and whose fangs nearly reached his chin.  This was indeed one of the fabled Wolf-Gods!  The giant spoke no words, but lifted the mortally wounded warrior in his arms as easily as a man might pick up a pig or a chicken.  Then the boy felt his body slip away as he was carried to the hall of the Wolf-Gods…

           

     ‘Lord Ulfgrim?’  The bondsman’s words intruded upon the Pack leader’s reverie, bringing him back to the present.  ‘It is time.’  Ulfgrim nodded silently and followed the thrall down the slope.  It would be a good day for hunting.

     The Space Wolves had been summoned to this world at the behest of the colonial governor.  Thule was a young colony, established only a few generations ago.  The rich mineral deposits on Thule made mining profitable, and the greatest hardship the colonists had yet to face was the difficult farming, and the occasional boreal predator.  Despite the lack of deadly indigenous life, there was something inimical to life on Thule. The Space Wolves had arrived, and woe is to the enemy of the Emperor. They had not come to hunt bears.  They were here to hunt Eldar.  The mysterious enemy had come to Thule and demanded that the humans withdraw from the world.  The colonial governor refused, but not before summoning assistance.  The Space Wolves were the nearest Chapter, and had arrived to protect this holding of the Emperor.  Ulfgrim toyed absently with the paw that hung down onto his shoulder pauldron.  The paw was part of an enormous black wolf pelt.  The Fenrisian Wolf that Ulfgrim slew during his Rite of Passage was one of the largest brought down by any Space Wolf in the chapter’s long history.  It was said by many that only the Pelt of Wulfen worn by the Great Wolf was larger.  Ulfgrim’s mind traveled once more to days of glory past.

 

     It was cold here in the Hyperborean wastes, so cold.  Ulfgrim was the leader of his Blood Claw pack, and had served in Grimnar’s Great Company for several years.  Though the senses of a Space Marine were sharper than those of a normal man, and Space Wolves’ the sharpest of all, Ulfgrim’s were even keener than most of his brethren.  His expert reconnaissance had saved his unit from ambush many a time, and his ferocity in close combat had protected the main body from several assaults.  His valor had attracted the attention of the Great Wolf, who decided that this young Marine should be promoted to the Grey Hunters.

     As was the tradition of the chapter, candidates for the Grey Hunters were required to prove their worthiness by venturing out into the lands west of the Fang, clad only in skins and unarmed.  The young warrior was expected to track the largest wolf he could find and kill it with his bare hands.  He could only return to the Fang if he brought with him the pelt of the wolf he slew.  Many young Blood Claws perished during this trial, some from exposure or starvation, but more at the deadly claws and fangs of their prey.  Ulfgrim was determined to survive.  He had passed the test of Morkai, wherein he established mastery over himself and the seed of Wulfen.  He had survived the Blooding, those days of delirium and feverish hunger.  This was but a ritual hunt compared to that grueling ordeal.

     Though the cold bit at his flesh, Ulfgrim traveled on.  He had tracked this wolf for three days, observing its habits and following its movements.  The wolf was gigantic, the size of an ox.  Its paw prints were larger than Ulfgrim’s face.  The cunning Blood Claw had already learned in battle that it was foolish to confront a superior force head-on, so he devised a plan. That afternoon, he would kill a smaller herbivore. Though he was hungry, this carcass would not serve as food. It would be bait for larger prey.  Outside the great wolf’s den, Ulfgrim left a trail of blood for the wolf to follow.  When it emerged to hunt, it instinctually sought the wounded animal that had passed its lair.  The trail of blood led through the lowlands and into the wooded foothills above.  It stopped abruptly at the base of a tall tree.  The wolf sniffed about, catching the scent of its prey nearby.  As he began to dig between the roots of the tree to locate the kill cached there; the hunter became the hunted.  Ulfgrim dropped silently from the branches above, landing on the back of the giant carnivore.  The beast thrashed and snarled as Ulfgrim held on dearly.  He sunk his own fangs into the creature’s neck, and it howled in pain as the Marine’s acidic saliva burned within its body.  He raised his fist and brought it down hard at the base of the wolf’s skull.  Still, the mighty predator fought on in its death throes.  His prey soon threw the young Marine, and he landed hard upon the frozen ground.  As Ulfgrim looked up, the slavering black wolf occluded the ashen sky.  Determined to die valiantly, he sunk his fangs once more into the creature’s throat.  The metallic taste of the wolf’s hot vitae flowed into his mouth, and Ulfgrim slaked his thirst with the creature’s lifeblood.  The beast slashed at the young warrior with its claws, laying open the hunter’s flesh in several places.  Still, Ulfgrim hung on. Soon, the great black wolf shuddered and died, collapsing onto the victorious hunter.  Ulfgrim dragged the beast back to its own lair and for the first time since leaving the Fang, he slept.  The carcass of his kill kept him warm against the howling night winds.

     The next morning, the sentries at the Fang noticed an incredibly large wolf approaching their emplacements.  Their vigilance increased as it continued to approach.  Soon they realized that the creature was walking upright.  Was this one of the Wulfen, those deranged monstrosities that had failed the test of Morkai?  As they trained their weapons upon the approaching figure, it cast aside its cloak.  Their brother, young Ulfgrim, had returned home.  He was truly a Grey Hunter now.

 

            Ulfgrim was separated from his comrades and pinned down among the ruins, but he knew no fear.  Great Wolf Grimnar and his brothers in the Wolf Guard were counting on him to carry out his mission.  Brother Haakon had fallen moments ago, his chest torn open by an Eldar missile. Ulfgrim fired several storm bolter shots toward the enemy position, until his weapon was destroyed by enemy fire.  He knelt beside Haakon’s armoured body, and whispered a prayer to Russ and the Emperor.  Then he clapped his fallen brother on the shoulder.  “I will see you again, Brother Haakon, in the Wolftime.”  Though his brother Marine had fallen, his weapon might save the lives of Ulfgrim and others of their company.  Ulfgrim began the Litany of Armament as detached the assault cannon from Haakon’s armour.  He slapped a fresh ammo cassette into the weapon and attached it to his own armour.  Ulfgrim worked quickly, knowing that soon his enemy might dispatch a squad to investigate.

     The Ulthwé Eldar held the hill at the end of the street with enough firepower to decimate an entire squad of Men.  But he was no ordinary man – he was a Space Wolf, a Son of Russ!  He feared not the Alien, for he knew that the Wolftime, the final days of the Space Wolves, had yet to come - and he would be there to greet Russ upon his return. Gripping his weapons as firmly as his resolve, Ulfgrim strode into the intersection.  A hail of shuriken ricocheted off his Terminator armour and the auditory pickups in his helmet carried to him the sound of missiles being fired.  The first struck the ground before him, his auto-sense cutouts sparing him from the blinding flash and the deafening roar of the blast.  The second missile struck his shoulder pauldron, spinning him around and nearly knocking him off his feet but failing to penetrate the thick adamantium shell.  The third missile found its mark, driving into his breastplate with such force that it deformed the nearly impervious material.  Ulfgrim felt several of his ribs crack from the impact, and felt the warm wetness of blood within his armour.  Yet still he stood, undaunted, like a wolfen Colossus.  Now it was his turn.  The assault cannon on his right arm screamed a staccato symphony of death, mowing down the squad of Dire Avengers dug in at the base of the hill.  They jerked about like demented marionettes, and then fell as if their strings had been cut.  A full salvo of missiles barked from the tubes above his head, streaking a fiery trail of death toward the Dark Reapers on the crest of the hill.  An instant later, the hilltop erupted like a long-dormant volcano.  When the fires subsided, the hill was devoid of life.  Ulfgrim moved on.

 

* * *

            A normal man, even another Marine, would not have heard the shrill whisper of the Eldar jet bikes.  Only the sharp senses of a Space Wolf alerted Ulfgrim to the impending danger.  He stalked to the top of the rise just in time to see a squad of Shining Spears cresting the next ridgeline.  Like silent birds of prey, the Eldar swooped down on their quarry.  The Wolf Guard Leader stood his ground.  His assault cannon whined as he once more brought the barrels up to speed.  The Shining Spears set their lances and raced toward him.  With steely resolve, he triggered his weapon.  Bullets rained upon the leftmost bike, destroying its starboard stabilizer and blasting the rider out of his saddle.  As the wounded biker fell to his death, his unmanned bike slued to the left, striking the next bike in formation.  This bike exploded, dismounting the third biker in line.  That unmanned machine plowed into the ground, never to fly again.  The final rider, seeing the Marine bringing his missile targeter to bear, broke off the attack.  Once more, the valiant warrior had blunted an Eldar advance.  But the burning vehicles were already a memory to Ulfgrim as he moved on to link up with his squad and his Lord.

 

* * *

 

            Ulfgrim joined his pack a kilometer from the starport.  If they could break through the defenders, Grimnar and his retinue could board the shuttles and make a daring suborbital strike on the western continent, where Lord Blackmane and his forces were pinned down.  The arrival of reinforcements from Grimnar’s company could break the back of the Eldar invasion and drive them from this world.  First, the Wolf Guard would need to drive through the Eldar line like a spear to seize the control tower and shuttles.  Then they would need to hold the starport long enough for Logan’s detachment to embark.  It was a dangerous, nearly suicidal mission, one for which the men of the Great Wolf’s Guard were ideally suited.  Jaw set in grim determination, the ancient commander ordered his men to move out.

 

* * *

            Minutes later, the Terminator-clad soldiers had entered the fray.  Brothers Asulf and Thorolf had charged the squad of Wraithguard that met them outside the gates.  Asulf’s lightning claws tore the nearest foe in half with a sharp crack and a flash of blue-white lightning.  The dismembered construct fell to the ground, the spirit inhabiting it lost forever to the warp.  Thorolf raised his storm shield just in time to deflect a shot from his foe’s wraithcannon.  The bolt of primal energy struck his upraised shield, releasing another blinding flash of light.  The Marine closed the distance to his adversary in a few short strides, bringing his thunder hammer down upon the Wraithguard’s armoured shell.  The powerful energies contained within the weapon were loosed with a thunderous boom, crumpling the Eldar warrior’s mechanical body like an empty can.  The pack mates fought with the fury for which Space Wolves were renowned.  The two men had been brothers before they were chosen by the Wolf Priests, and had fought side by side in every battle since.  They would defeat their enemies or fall together. With a mighty war cry, the rest of the retinue surged through the gate to engage the defenders within.

            An Eldar Farseer and his Warlock bodyguard emerged from behind the control tower to meet the Imperial attackers.  The doors of a nearby hangar burst open, and a towering Wraithlord strode out onto the tarmac.  Logan bellowed his rage and charged the lanky war machine.  Morkai, held firmly in its master’s fist, howled in its lust for battle.  It longed to taste the blood of their foes, and Grimnar intended to oblige.  As he rushed forward, the ancient Pelt of Wulfen bent light around his massive form.  Shots from the walker’s scatter laser failed to find their mark as the shimmering and blurry figure closed with his opponent.

            The Rune Lord Runvard marched forward to fight the Eldar commander and his retinue.  Runvard’s weapon, a relic psycannon from ages past, spat bolts of psychic force at his adversary. The arcane runes of the Farseer’s armour deflected the shots.  Asulf and Thorolf rushed forward to assist the priest.  Each engaged two of the Warlocks accompanying the Eldar wizard, leaving Runvard free to deal with him one-on-one.  Ulfgrim and Brother Gunulf continued toward one of the shuttles.  Half a dozen Striking Scorpions sprang from its covering bulk to assault the Marines.  Ulfgrim fired a burst from his cannon, and two fell.  Gunulf bathed the rest in an unrelenting crimson inferno from his heavy flamer.  The still-burning Scorpions danced about briefly in their death throes, their fiery corpses succumbing to the flames just short of the advancing Wolves.  The Wolves left their fallen foes behind, small fires still guttering on the charred bodies, and continued on to their objective.

            Ulfgrim spared a moment to glance over his shoulder at the melee behind them.  Asulf had disemboweled one of his foes and was locked in a lethal embrace with the other.  He caught the Warlock’s Witchblade in one claw, and neatly beheaded him with the other.  Thorolf stood over the shattered form of his fallen adversaries, howling his rage to the skies.  Only a closer look showed Ulfgrim that one of the Witchblades was lodged in Thorolf’s chest.  ‘Avenge me!’ Thorolf screamed with his last breath as he fell to the pavement.  His brother Asulf howled in anguish and fury, and the Eldar seemed to hesitate momentarily at the sound.  Runvard redoubled his attack, smiting the Farseer with his glowing force axe.  The startled Farseer barely parried the heavy blade, but the sheer energy of the Rune Lord’s onslaught still drove his enemy to the ground.

            Grimnar had closed with the Wraithlord, but a smoking crater in his shoulder pauldron evidenced the spirit warrior’s prowess.  With one swipe of its great fist, it tore Logan’s storm bolter from his armoured gauntlet.  As it raised its other fist to batter the Great Wolf down, Logan spun with the impact, smashing Morkai into the walker’s vulnerable knee joint.  It toppled to the ground, helpless.  The Great Wolf clambered up onto the fallen machine and brought the bloodthirsty weapon down again and again, until the ruined machine lived no more.

            Ulfgrim could see the rest of his company approaching the field, falling back as overwhelming Eldar opposition harried them.  They would reach the launch pad in time, but unless there was some way to stem the tide of the enemy, his comrades would never safely board the shuttles, much less leave the pad.  Sensing his duty, Ulfgrim turned back toward the gate.       

* * *

            Almost all of the surviving Marines had passed through the gate, but the enemy was nearly in firing range.  Eisen, the Iron Priest, was preparing the shuttles for launch as the soldiers embarked.  ‘Brother Gunulf, it is time for you to go,’ Ulfgrim said bluntly.  His comrade, knowing the sacrifice his Pack Leader was about to make, accepted the order with sanguine serenity.  Clapping his old friend on the shoulder, Gunulf said ‘Your bravery will be remembered, my Brother.  As long as even one Space Wolf lives on, your courage will be sung in the Great Hall.’  Ulfgrim nodded, regretting only that his gene-seed would probably not be recovered for future generations of Wolves.  But the price he was about to pay would ensure that the Space Wolves would live on.  He watched grimly as his best friend turned and loped toward the waiting shuttle.

                As the lead elements of Eldar closed in, Ulfgrim took up his position under the gate’s massive arch.  Chanting an ancient war song, he began to open fire with his cannon.  Alien upon alien fell to the reaping scythe of projectiles.  He stopped only for a moment to reload, but never faltered in his chanting.  The casualties piled up before him, an altar of grisly sacrifice to the will of the Emperor.  Still the enemy continued their onslaught.  The barrel of his weapon began to glow the color of the Firewolf's maw, bright with the heat of the Emperor's justice, yet he continued to fire, pausing only to reload once again.  An alarm blared in his helmet speakers.  ‘Warning! Weapon at critical temperature!’  The Space Wolf grimly ignored the alarm, ceasing neither his song nor the rain of fire he was bringing down upon the advancing foe.  More Eldar went down to his hail of slugs, and never did he stop chanting or firing.  Return fire began to strike him.  Some shots even penetrated his armour, but in his steely resolve he paid them no mind.  Before long, even a warrior such as Ulfgrim would not be able to stave off the seemingly endless waves of aliens.  Even as he felt the rumble beneath his feet that told him the shuttles were lifting off, the white-hot barrel of his cannon drooped and jammed.  *Weapon Malfunction* flashed in his helmet display.  He jettisoned the weapon.  There was no longer a need for it.  Activating his missile system, he glanced briefly at the status on his heads-up display.  The tubes held his last full reload of missiles, but even a dozen missiles would not be enough.  He activated the locking mechanisms that would hold the missiles in the tubes.  Soon, he would join Russ.  Soon, it would be his personal Wolftime. 

            The smoke from his hail of fire now obscured the battlefield from normal sight.  Ulfgrim switched to infrared and watched the numbers in his range finder dwindle as the Eldar forces continued to approach.  He needed to wait until the main body had closed to within twelve meters.  From the smoke, a pair of Howling Banshees emerged to assault the stalwart Space Marine.  Their wailing war cries did not strike terror in his heart.  He was possessed by the calm of a warrior who had accepted his own inevitable death.  He was willing to pay the price, and cared not to count the cost.  He smashed his targeter into the facemask of the first Banshee.  Her wailing ceased as his powerful armoured fist tore through metal, flesh and bone.  He felt the bite of the second Eldar’s blade as she drove it through his arm.  His hand lashed out and locked around her wrist.  He was sure she could see the grin behind his face plate, just as he was sure he could see the terror in her eyes as an understanding of his plan dawned upon her.  Ulfgrim laughed as he overrode the launch failsafe and gave the command to launch a full salvo.  ‘For Russ!  For the All-Father!” was his final shout, but only the Howling Banshee heard it as it was drowned out by the sound of a dozen missiles detonating simultaneously in the launcher.  He felt excruciating pain tear through his body as he was engulfed in a searing white light.

 

* * *

            Ulfgrim opened his eyes.  He seemed to be lying on his back, but he could feel nothing, as if he were disconnected from all other senses but vision.  Through blurred eyes, he could see only the timbered ceiling above and the flickering of torchlight at the edges of sight.  Looking down upon him was the Primarch himself.  He could not fail to recognize the face of Leman Russ.  Then his vision began to clear, and Eisen the Iron Priest gazed down upon him as well.  Ulfgrim realized that the first man must be Ulrik the Slayer, the Wolf Priest who had saved him, decades ago, from a watery grave.  “Be just and fear not, Brother Ulfgrim. You will live to fight many more battles,” Ulrik declared.  “Your packmates sing of the heroism of Ulfgrim Alvsbane, slayer of Eldar.”  The grizzled old Wolf Priest was the oldest living Space Wolf.  Only the Iron-Fathers, the dreadnoughts who slumbered in the vaults beneath the Fang, were older.  The oldest of these man-machines had fought alongside Russ in the days of the Heresy.  Each and every one of them ranked among the Chapter’s most valiant heroes.  Now he would join their ranks, fighting only the worthiest foes, living with them in their sacred Hall until the day that Russ returned - until the Wolftime.

 

* * *

            The assembled Priests of the Chapter sat in rapt attention as he finished his tale.  It was in this way, through the oral tradition of those who fought the battles of the past, that the history of the Chapter was preserved.  The Iron-Fathers were the living link to the days of yore.  The saga recounted, all of the Priests save one stood up and filed from the chapel.  Ulrik the Slayer approached him and laid a gauntlet on Ulfgrim’s adamantium sarcophagus.  Words from a long-dead bondsman echoed across the gulf of time as the ancient Wolf Priest said, “Iron-Father Alvsbane?  It is time.”

 

Fin

[Stoic Raptor]

A sketch of Wolf Guard Ulfgrim by my friend Don, circa 1996:
 

[MustangTC]

Thanks for writing that up, I really enjoyed it. A few really galvanizing and emotive sentences in there.

[Stoic Raptor]

Thanks for the kind words!  I'm glad you enjoyed the story!

 

Recently I was looking over third-party sources for alternative Space Wolves models.  I'm sure many are familiar with Scibor's Celtic Sci-Fi Warriors line, but I found another company called Hi-Tech Miniatures that makes a line of futuristic Vikings.  One model in particular stood out to me - it stands 45mm from soles to eyeline, dwarfing a normal Space Marine.  The model is called "Archfather Odinn", and I'll be damned if it doesn't look an awful lot like our Primarch on the cover of Prospero Burns.

 

(this is the "studio" model for comparison - I have yet to paint mine)

 

I got mine on eBay for $28 USD.  It arrived yesterday and I just assembled it.  The model comes in four parts - body, base, right hand with sword, left hand with bolt "pistol".  Cleanup was easy, with minimal sanding, filing and filling required.  

 

It may not be an exact representation, and we don't have rules for Leman Russ on the table yet, but I look forward to having a symbolic representation of our Primarch as the centerpiece of my army.  And I suppose I could use him as a Wolf Lord with Runic Armor (or, better yet, the Armor of Russ, of course!) and either KBS or Fangsword/The Bite of Fenris.

 

I will be sure to post pictures of mine when it is done, but I expect this will be a slow and meticulous project, because I will want to give it my very best effort. 

Edited February 16, 2015 by Ulfgrim Alvsbane

[Valerian]

Welcome to The Fang, Ulfgrim; we are looking forward to your contributions to the boards!

 

V

[Beef]

Ah the memories, seeing those old termies, Welcome 

[Stoic Raptor]

Though I have been spending a lot of time lately painting up my Dark Angels army (don't hate), I have not forsaken my Fenrisian roots.

Today I got a Foldio portable light box and it's enabled me to take some amazing pictures of my work (though I am still learning how best to use it)!  I reviewed it on my Sage Brush Painting Blog but here are some of my Wolf Guard:

 

 

I hope you like what I've done so far.  When I return to painting Wolves this fall, I expect my painting skills will have improved even more, and I should have a good digital camera to make the photos even better.

[Stoic Raptor]

So after an absence of almost two years, I was brought back into 40K thanks to skirmish games.  Kill Team motivated me to build a Scout kill team but I went with Crimson Fists due to bolter drill (12 rapid fire boltguns and two heavy bolters is even more fearsome when rerolling 1's!)

 

When Shadow War: Armageddon came out, I had the opportunity to revisit the Legion I have played since Rogue Trader.  i like the skill charts that Wolf Scouts get, and having access to special weapons makes them even more appealing.

 

After a few games, here is my current squad of Wolf Scouts, Pack Aesgir:

 

I really like the way the camo came out.  I was inspired by a Fallschirmjager pattern but adjusted the colors for use in nighttime and winter operations (and to match the color scheme):

 

I may add a few more fighters if I get more games in for the league but as far as buillding or painting a larger force, I'm waiting until 8th Edition drops to see what I'll be working with.  

 

[Valerian]

Welcome back, Brother Ulfgrim; I hope you are ready for 8th edition!

[Stoic Raptor]

Looking forward to it - even stoked about the Primaris Marines, though not so happy about having to replace an entire Demi-Company.  You know that GW will make the current models obsolete soon enough, same as they did with the metal Terminators from the early 90s. :(

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Your modeling skills have improved over the years. Each new Ulfgrim model looks better than the last.

[Stoic Raptor]

When the new Codex comes out, I'll surely be picking up more SW models and I've considered making a new version of him from his days as a Wolf Guard.  It wouldn't be tabletop legal with both weapons but I think it would be a nice showpiece conversion. I'd like to find a way to use the pelt that comes in the WG kit and still mount the Cyclone atop it - maybe also the wolf head and paws.  I might need to get some bits from the Ven Dread kit to do that.

 

Hopefully we won't have to wait too long.