The Wolves of Vidar: Redemption & Salvation

[Grimtooth]

PROLOGUE

 

The frigid expanse of the cosmos lay still, an inky black canvas dusted with the celestial fire of countless stars. A faint tremor disturbed the quiet. A subtle ripple, almost imperceptible, began to spread across the stellar tapestry, distorting the familiar patterns of constellations set in place for eons. It grew, gaining definition, until it was no longer a ripple but a jagged, tearing wound in the very fabric of reality.

Through this raw, bleeding aperture, a cacophony of colors spilled forth—hues unknown to the natural universe, swirling and clashing in a violent and uncontrolled maelstrom. And from within this vibrant, impossible reality, a vessel emerged. It was a hulking slate grey ship, heavily scarred and gouged, its once sleek hull marred by countless weapon blasts and what appeared to be monstrous talon-like gouges raked its flanks. Trailing a haphazard wake of twisted metal and sparking conduits, it limped into the void, barely holding itself together, a testament to a desperate flight from within the Warp. Its propulsion flickered erratically, each burst a gasp for life in the cold, silent embrace of space. From within, an encoded transmission begin to broadcast across all short and long range frequencies. Only two short words, that to the naked eye would only be a jumble of obscure ideographic runes, but to a select few would be understood immediately,

 

"HJOLDA FENRYS!"

[Grimtooth]

Within the Chamber of the Annulus, the air hung thick with the scent of burning torches, accompanied by the low ever-present thrum of power within the Aett. Logan Grimnar, the Great Wolf, stood tall, his legendary weapon, The Axe of Morkai resting against his armored shoulder. His gaze, sharp and piercing, was fixed upon the Wolf Priest before him. Every one of Grimnar's heightened senses was on high alert, a primal instinct honed by centuries of warfare. He was defensive, ready to spring into action, yet a profound curiosity tempered his stance.

 

His eyes, accustomed to the recognizing the finest artificer plate, noted the older, worn armor of the Wolf Priest, a testament to countless battles fought and won. But what truly captured Grimnar's attention, and sparked a flicker of unease mixed with intrigue, were the obvious signs of the Mark of the Wulfen. The subtle tremors in the priest's frame, the hint of wild lupine fury within his gold-flecked eyes, spoke of a struggle waged internally, a beast barely contained.

 

Despite these unsettling markers, the Wolf Priest exuded an undeniable aura of wisdom and unbreakable will. His presence filled the chamber, a quiet power that belied his physical form. Yet, for all his inherent might, he presented himself with a clear and unwavering submission to the Great Wolf. His head was bowed just so, his posture respectful, acknowledging the undisputed authority that Logan Grimnar commanded. It was a delicate balance, a powerful individual humbling himself before an even greater force, and Grimnar, with his keen insight, understood the profound implications of such an encounter.

 

“From the beginning, priest,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that resonated in the ancient and sacred chamber. “From the moment you were ordered to break engagement at Gangava by the Great Wolf Ironhelm to return to Fenris and when our long-range patrol plucked you from the void, with your ship crippled and most of your brothers in a suspended state of the Curse.”