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Fenris, a ferocious and ever changing world of fire and ice, unforgiving as it undoes the life of the weak while the strongest struggle to survive. In records, Fenris is little more than a harsh deathworld of ice, floating in space near the innermost sectors of Segmentum Obscuras. To those who know, those who call it home, Fenris is more than just a world of cold and death. It is a place where warriors are made, gods walk amongst men to venture across the stars and defeat the horrors therein. These warriors are the Space Wolves, who some might declare as barbarians and others heroes’ greater than any other.


High upon the greatest mountain of Fenris’s largest continent, Asaheim, lies the Fang; mighty fortress of the Space Wolves and one of the most impenetrable bastions in all of the Imperium of man. This fortress, this hollowed mountain, serves as home to the Space Wolves, piercing the very sky like a spear pointed towards the great moon.

All; The Fang looms high in the distance, even so far away as it is now, on the mountain cliffs at the edge of Asaheim. You look to it for a few moments before turning to the fire and the other forms gathered around it. It had been two months since you had last set foot in the halls of the Fang, in that time you had traveled across half of Asaheim on foot tracking a great razor-ursid. For some of you, this is not the first of such ventures, but rather a tradition that held its place from your former leader Kjarl. But for others amongst you, the tracking of the great beast was the first true act with your pack-brothers, with your claw.

The journey had been long, you had been dropped at the edges of northern Asaheim to seek the tracks of one of the continents deadly creatures. Clad only in furs and armed only with spears and knives, you had discovered tracks of a razor-ursid and stalked the beast. The creature, from the tracks alone, was a massive one, easily four times the mass of any of you and greater in size, and adding to that it was a wizened beast for it had eluded your pursuit on a number of occasions. One week ago, the hunt came to its climax when you had happened upon the creature, catching it downwind of your scent during a storm.

You and your brothers had come upon the creature, fighting a shifting game of cat and mouse as some took up advanced positions to surprise the creature while others acted as bait. Once, the creature had cornered Tyr along a cliff face, nearly ending the wolf’s life if not for the quick thinking of Keris and Frostulfr, offering their larger brother support to escape the cliff face and climb higher. It had been Krahl who struck the killing blow, shoving Alrik aside and nearly into the path of the beasts massive claw so that he could thrust his spear into the creatures eye, circumventing the armoured bone, and into its brain.

Alrik, Yngvar, Tyr, Frostulfr, Heimdall, Njord, Krahl, Azhad, Hrothgar, and Kjartan; You gather around the fire that you had managed to build, kept mostly alight from what fat remained of the ursid. Over the flames the smell of cooked meet washed over your senses, the smell of the last of the creatures meat that you had taken with you being cooked. The fight had been a truly epic one, something that would impress other claws, of that you were certain. But still, there was but one more task left to be done, to return to the Fang with the pelt as proof of your kill and completion of this task. As you sit around the fire, upon a flat overlooking some of the mountain ridges between you and home, Alrik and Tyr tell tales of past glories, of the fighting on Hecutor for Tyr and the Horrors lurking within a space hulk for Alrik.

Vermundr, Iorek, and Keris; You also sit by the fire, but there is something else on your mind, an obstacle still in your way from here and the Fang. Before you had set off on this hunt, Vermundr had sought the approval of Ragnar Blackmane, liege-lord of the young pack leader’s company. Permission had been granted with amusement, with a word of warning given before the two had parted ways months ago. Others would be watching them, to try and block their success and rob the pack of its glory were it to lax. In these two months, there had been no sign of who, or what, lord Blackmane had warned Vermundr of and now that they were returning to the Fang it was all the more likely that they would soon encounter it.

In these weeks, Vermundr had spoken of this warning to Iorek and Keris, not entirely sure of its meaning but wanting others aware. Now though, you contemplate on who, or what, the warning may speak of and whether or not it be best to reveal this to the others of the pack.

[Hello everyone, welcome to the start of Fury. Not much going on in regards to action, more of a little introduction for you lot; let you interact with one another and recall the last few months of your lives. About seven months ago, the Fist of Russ returned to Fenris and the Pack had been reforged to twelve strong. In the following five months, you had trained together, become a family. For some of you, this has been an adjustment, being the ‘older’ wolves when not so long ago you had been much the same. For others, to be chosen by someone under the eye of a wolf lord, was an honour you had only dreamed of since your trials had ended.

The Fang is little more than a day’s journey away from here; what are your thoughts on these last two months? What about the next twenty four hours, in the case of those aware of the warning?]
 

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Tyr had the full attention of his younger pack brothers as he told them war stories of Hecutor. He was currently at the part where he, Alrik and Morgun had defended a Comms room from inumerable traitor guard before finally breaking their enemy's back as the rest of the pack met up with them with the Inquisitor.

"That's when four Ogryn made their way through the broken blast doors, uglier than Alrik himself, and yes that is possible." he nodded his head to emphasize this before continuing, "They shot at us wildly as they ran into the room, their human allies filling with courage as they saw this and coming back at us with more energy, but we would not have it. We charged at the beasts, howls upon our lips as we cut into them, and they cut into us," he pointed at the huge mass of gnarled scar tissue on the right side of his chest where the Ogryn had torn into him with its massive blade.

He went on to tell about the battles after the rest of the pack had met up with them and their second encounter with the traitor legionaires and finally reaching the final battle aboard the Fist of Russ with the deaths of a few of the legionaires and the escape of the sorceror. "Traitors have no backbone brothers, remember that, they are so weak willed it is disgusting." he leaned in close to the fire so that it lit up his face, "But there is no better feeling then pounding a traitor into the dust and killing them so deep that they feel your hatred for them even after they are dead. You know what I do to traitors and cowards?"

He punched his left hand into his bionic hand as leaned back and looked at Hrothgar who was sitting to his left before saying, "I break them." he stared at his pack brother with a serious face for awhile as a silence came over them all, he strung it out as long as possible before breaking into a large smile and slapping his packmate across the back as he laughed, "Come Alrik you can talk just as much as I can, tell them some stories to ease the pain of looking at your face." he chuckled at his little joke as he crossed his massive arms across his even larger chest as he thought about returning to the Fang.

It was very close, not over 24 hours away, he fancied he could smell the mead and roasted meat in the dining halls. His mind fell back to when he had been cornered on a cliff face by the mighty beast they had been hunting, he was most certainly not the best cliff climber of this he was certain, there was usually never enough space for him. He had had no room to move and knew himself dead had Keris and Frostulfr not come to help him so that he could pull himself higher up onto the cliff face. One of the few times he had thought himself fat, he had told himself to not eat as much when he got back to the Fang but he knew it wasn't going to happen, he would have eaten that whole razor-ursid if his brothers had allowed him to.

He flexed his right hand and looked down at the bionic replacement, moving each finger seperately and then together. He could see part of the scar tissue on his chest and thought about all the scars that their pack now had, they had truly been through much at Hecutor and that campaign had scarred each of them in a different way. Many of them bore blatant physical scars from that campaign, him, Alrik, Iorek, but all of them had been changed mentally. They had lost a lot of brothers to the traitors including their own pack leader Kjarl. At the thought of his old pack leader Tyr fingered the necklace around his neck, his lord had given it to him from Kjarl's own personal armory and it had meant more to the large wolf than Blackmane could have ever imagined.

It had numerous runes of protection and bravery on it but one large one stuck out the most and was set right in the middle, the rune of the guardian, this coupled with Tyr's belief that he was here to protect his brothers and his lord had given him much inner strength and he had yet to take the necklace off after receiving it. Without realizing it his normal hand came up and he touched the large burn mark that covered the majority of the left side of his face and then the scar on his chest. He had suffered grievous wounds on Hecutor yet when he had received them he had thought almost nothing of them, instead using them to fuel his hate for his enemy, now he realized how close to death he and many of his brothers had come to and come out on top.

He smiled at the thought, that had to be one of the reasons Lord Blackmane liked fighting alongside them, they had the luck of an older pack but the burning vibrant and sometimes hard to control fire of the younger wolves, he fancied that they reminded Blackmane of himself when he was young....er. He was getting anxious now just sitting here around the fire, he wasnt showing it but he didnt like waiting here and then heading to the Fang in the morning, his breathing quickened a little bit but not too much as he sat and listened to the rest of the pack talking.
 

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Krahl

Krahl`s grin had not left his face since the beast had been felled. The spear he had used stuck in his grip like an extension of his own arm, for reasons most wouldn`t bother to guess. Krahl had claimed vigilance of course, for who knew what kind of creatures may come across the party at any time, drawn by the scent of cooking meat or the noise of a group of travellers.

In truth however, Krahl was reluctant to relinquish the feel of such power in his hands. With this very spear he had killed the great ursid. With this kill he had accomplished the Claw`s task. Why shouldn`t he savour this glory?

He sat opposite the fire to Tyr as the older pack brother told his tale, a compelling story of tainted brutes that had given the grizzled wolf the scars he bore down his chest. Cracking a few jokes at Alrik`s expense and drawing a few laughs from Krahl among others, Tyr passed the torch to Alrik.

Krahl took a moment to stare into the fire as the laughter receded. Perhaps only slightly, the grip on his spear had begun to relax, and he lowered the weapon to the ground. Momentarily he noticed a few of the older pack brothers had remained oddly silent by comparison. Not in a cold way, but even so, they seemed distracted.

Bah, it`s none of my concern what gripes they may have. Krahl told himself. We won, and we`ll be home in a day. If they wish to grieve their former brothers I will leave that to them.

The lapse in his attention was quickly put aside as Alrik began to speak.
 

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Vermundr watched carefully for the longest time. He had absolutely taken his duties as pack leader to heart. He hadn't realized it before, but going from what was technically the temporary leader to a permanent one made a huge difference. He scanned over each of the new faces time, and time, and time again.

"So many thin faces in the pack," he said to his two pack brothers Keris and Iorek who sat beside him on a fairly flat but large rock, which had likely been part of the nearest mountain ages ago. Keris was facing in the opposite direction, looking off into the distance. "not that I have much on them really, but I'd say its pretty clear by their faces alone how new they are.

He sat with one arm across his knee, his other hand gripping the thin but strong threads of rope that tied the pelt into a bundle, which lay on the cold stiff ground by his feet, the countless hairs which still looked alive fluttering in the breeze. Vermundr's nose caught the breeze as well, and he turned his head, catching eye of a distant but likely approaching storm. He turned back to face the fire again, surrounded by large bodied Astartes freshly made for war.

"Some of these thin faces have definitely stuck out to me more than others. Krahl is one of course, but I doubt I am the only one of us three sitting on this rock who knows Alrik will not let Krahl's actions go unchecked."

Vermundr had attacked the Ursid himself as little as possible during the fight with it, trying to allow each of the new pack members a chance at experience, as well as further practicing his own ability at giving command and keeping morale.

"Though this venture has taken longer than I expected it to, I am certainly glad we have what we sought for," he gave a hard pat to the enormous pelt, "and with no casualties."

he paused for a moment making sure Iorek and Keris were both thinking the same thing he was before saying it, "Whatever our Lord warned us about, their last chances at stopping our successful return is quickly approaching. With only one day left of travel, any attack or act of thievery would have to be made soon. Likely in the sooner half at that, as I cant imagine any rivals committing their deviant act at the base of Asaheim. "

"With only a day left, I see little harm, if any, in telling the rest of our pack here. It would be better to have all eyes looking sharp, and all toes ready to pounce. Would you agree brothers?"
 

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Hrothgar sits with his pack mates around the fire as he listens to the older wolves tell the stories of their recent battles, listening intently Hrothgar merely wishes that he was a few years older and that he had been chosen earlier as he then could of maybe joined the older wolves when their claw was first made instead of joining several months later on. Hrothgar continues to listening intently to Tyr with a grin on his face when Tyr says about breaking traitors and cowards who have turned away from the All-Father. As Tyr turns and gives Hrothgar a silent and serious stare Hrothgar's face twists into a frown wondering why Tyr is looking at him like that before he ends up laughing and gets slapped arcross the back by the older wolf. Letting out a laugh aswell and slapping Tyr on the back he says in his usual loud voice "That was a great tale Tyr! One day i hope i will be able to top that with one of my own!". As Tyr goes silent Hrothgar turns his attention from his pack brothers and stares in the direction of the Fang, his home.

While turning his attention to the direction of their destination Hrothgar starts to think on how he misses the fang that has become his new home and where all of his brother-wolves currently reside while not doing Russ's and the All-Fathers work amongst the stars. As Hrothgar continues to think on the fang he does his best to remember the events that led him to where he is now, and what little he remember of his previous life. He remembers the battle in which he had been 'killed' and picked by the Wolf Priests of the Space Wolves chapter to be taken for the trials and tests to become one of Russ's wolves. While thinking on the basic training and the more advanced training after that he remembers that only one wolf within this claw has been beside him from the very beginning and who he hopes will be with him until the very end, Frostulfr.

Turning his head to look at his brother-wolf Hrothgar remembers all the times he and Frostulfr have trained together and their maby brawls other things that are of no importance to the other members of the pack. Finally looking away from Frostulfr Hrothgar returns his attention to the ursid meat currently cooking about the fire they had managed to build, his new enhanced sense of smell picking up the rich flavours that he had some to enjoy over the last few days of eating the creatures meat. As a small bit of saliva runs down from the left side of his mouth Hrothgar runs his tongue over his lips and his new fangs which he is still getting used to. He remembers when they had started to grow after receiving the implants that made him into an astartes he had bitten his tongue on a number of times due to not being used to their size and sharpness, but now he was starting to get used to them. As he continued to smell the flavours and scent of the cooking meat infront of him Hrothgar's inner wolf wanted to force him to leap forward and sieze it with his fangs but he knew he must do all he can to surpress his inner wolf as allowing it to take hold would mean his degeneration from a noble warrior into one of the feral wulfen.

Hrothgar looked left and right at his pack mates before wondering who was going to take the next part of the ursid meat so he decide to try and luck to take part of the meat which he remembered would of been part of the creatures flank. As he reached out towards the meat he saw a hand to his left reach out towards it aswell, letting out a small growl Hrothgar turned his head to see Frostulfr reaching for the meat aswell. With his inner wolf snarling a challenge Hrothgar knew exactly what to do. "Frostulfr! you are trying to reach for the piece i am reaching for! Let us settle this in our usual way! With an arm wrestle. What say you!?"
 

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It was cold, but hell, it was always damn cold on Fenris. Kjaratan rotated his neck around, being rewarded with a few cracks and pops, has he attempted to alleviate the tension. Their task was complete, but not without due suffering and sacrifice, their time in the wilderness had been exhilarating, it had been a test, a chance for him to prove his worth to his pack brothers, to make an initial place for himself within the claw. He had failed in this task. He wasn't even particularly close to the razor-ursid when it was slain by Krahl, albeit done so with less than disciplined decisions. The pack-brother had simply shoved Alrik out of the way and claimed the kill himself. For that he was still considered the slayer of the beast, so doubt, but Kjartan couldn't help but not feel pride for his brother.

Still, he had contributed only so much to this task and therefore couldn't raise complaint to anything his pack-brothers had done. Putting the thought from his mind he turned his head, half-hearing the story being told by Tyr, and gazed at the Fang. A days travel if weather and conditions permitted, although Fenris was a fickle world, one almost with a mind of its own. Once they returned great stories would be told by his brothers, especially Krahl for slaying the razor-ursid, and a number of his other brothers. He would be oddly silent he knew, he wasn't a braggart ... well not as much as some within the claw, but he still wanted great stories of his own.

'Soon ...' he thought solemnly, 'There will be some Ork warboss or some heretic who demands to be killed and I'll claim my stories from their death ...'

His mind somewhat at ease, Kjartan turned his head back towards the fire, just in time to hear Tyr's story come to its relative conclusion as he seemed to pass it onto Alrik. Kjartan gave a general grunt of amusement, the story had been funny even though he'd only kept his mind half-attentive to it.
 

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The journey had been long, it was not a trivial task for Frostulfr and for many of the other pack brothers to track the great Razor – Ursid and slay it. A deadly beast it was, yet still there were other things which presented more danger then this beast and this comforted Frostulfr. He did not bother with the tracking and let the more experienced pack members track it down for him, he understood from what they said that it was a rather large Ursid, this made him even harder to kill and much more dangerous. They tracked it for a long time, none gave up, not the beast and neither did they, it was a wise creature, at least tactically as it managed to avoid them on several occasions but this ended a week ago when they finally traced the creature finding it as he was on the run away from them. Frostulfr managed a smile then, he knew that the journey home will begin shortly.

Unlike Alrik or Krahl, he did not participate in the killing of the beast, instead Keris and he helped Pack Brother Tyr escape from the clutches of the beast by helping him climb up a cliff to escape the beasts range of attack, from there Frostulf watched as the battle unfolded, he saw how Krahl pushed Alrik aside so he would be able to strike the killing blow, although it was a great feat to kill such a beast it still was foolish of him to push Alrik in this way as he would have been brutally wounded easily by the creature if Krahl missed the strike, luckily he did not.

Frostulfr returned to reality, blinking several times he refocused on his surroundings. He was staring at the fire in front of him, it kept his body warm, a gust of wind passed which resulted in him tightening the wolven pelts he had, even for a Fenrisian the weather was never to warm in this time of the year. The smell of the beast did not leave the pack as it was used to keep the fire burning, it was a good pack, he did not dislike anyone here yet but maybe it will change and he also got to keep his friend Hrothgar with him, they’ve been through the harsh training together, and both of them survived each with the others help. Moving forward Frostulf torn a piece from the creatures meat and stuffed it in his mouth, it tasted well. As he sat there he could hear his pack brothers talking, mainly Tyr who was sharing stories about the Hecutor campaign he participated in. Frostulfr reminded himself to keep his senses sharp and not to drown in the pleasure of the kill as they still had the task of returning the pelt to the Fang.

Frostulfr had noticed something; it was not the first time that he noticed that yet it occurred to him every time anew. There was some sort of a barrier between the older pack brothers and the younger. It was weird, maybe they have gone through terrible things in the time before the new members’ arrival. He sighed, he hoped that soon this barrier would shatter and they will be able to act as a whole and not as two different packs.

Deciding that food will take his mind of such things Frostulfr moved his hand towards a piece of the creature’s flank, as he reached out with his hand he heard a growl of dissatisfaction, looking to his right he saw Horthgar, apparently the man already eyed that piece, Frostulfr was about the back away as he did not want to get into a brawl yet it seemed inevitable, snarling Hrothgar shouted at him, challenging him to an arm wrestle for the piece of meat, before he could verbally agreed he already knew that the fight was on, he won’t let this challenge go unanswered. Nastily smiling back at Hrothgar, Frostulfr bellowed back at him, “I accept your challenge!” Frostulfr knew that he was stronger, and bigger. Yet he knew that Hrothgar must have some trick or a nasty plan in mind so it will enable him to win this fight and thus he prepared himself.

Standing up from the stone he was sitting on Frostulfr pointed at it, showing Hrothgar that this was a suitable place for the competition. Both of them knelt on the ground, their heads were now nearly at the same height. Slamming one palm against the other made a small booming sound, both of them grabbed the others hand strongly. Both of them counted to three, “One! Two! The meat would be mine Hroth!! Three!!!” He shouted and then smilingly he began pitting his strength against Hrothgar’s strength. Although less resilent and weaker then Frostulfr Hrothgar was still a worthy foe and he did not give up, he knew that this would be a long and tedious battle as none of them pushed yet but neither let down any ground as they both knew once someone gets the advantage he will most likely win. Although expecting Hrothgar to use some dirty trick he did not expect what was going to happen next. They both continued wrestling with their arms, three minutes have passed and not he or Hrothgar seemed to give an inch, slowly beginning to apply more strength Frostulfr began winning, slowly but steadily pushing Hrothgar’s hand down, as he was halfway to his victory he saw Hrothgar smiling, a second later he was pushed back, stars filling his eyesight, he was confuse for a moment and then understood that Hrothgar headbutted him. The little trickster, he will pay for that! He saw that Hrothgar used the moment to his advantage and began pushing Frostulf’s hand down. A cruel smile began to stretch on Frostulfr’s face, something that his opponent did not notice, with a quickly swung his left arm which was free and smashed it into Hrothgar’s face while succumbing to an endless laugh, he laughed friendlily and full heartedly, he laughed so hard that his belly began to ache and he did not even know why, it was not that funny after all yet he still laughed, This evening just became much more interesting and entertaining.

OOC: We've already worked this out, so no godmodding here :p
Not my best post though, still need to get into that wolfish head.
 

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Amid the snow, the Wolves of Fenris hunt.

Gene-enhanced, muscular-augmented and fur-clad figures stalked, spears clutched tightly to chests, sniffing and grumbling.

I stalk left, my movements nonchalant, bundled in grey-speckled hides. Across my chest, in a mammoth-hide scabbard, I wear the flaying blade. Fur-trimmed gloves and boots are the only other clothing upon my body. A hood, shaped into the countenance of a howling wolf, is pulled over my head.

I am an imperfect sculpture, unfinished by the Allfather; cursed by horrible scarification, gifted with bundles of taut, oversized muscles.

With a quick, narrow-eyed glance towards my flanks, I spy Vermundr moving towards my right, keeping back; observing the younger Packmates, and we share a nod. Once, our bond had been fractured; but those days are gone. We now regularly confide in one another, honing our skills with blade and axe, jesting and discussing - With a mixture if seriousness and playfulness.

Through the snow flurries, I witness movement. It is cumbersome, moving on heavy, but powerful legs and growling inanely. I know what it is: the razor-ursine. We have stalked it for days, hunting the mountain of caked fur and naturally attained muscle; slavering feverishly, longing to taste his throat.

Even from a distance, it is monstrous. Old, pale scars snake across his haunches, snout and chest area, where it has survived through countless bouts with other beasts; rending and gnawing.

A warbling howl arises from the throats of the Pack.

My own, ululating howl joins the melancholic cries.

The razor-ursine twists around, and I lock eyes.

Black, thin slits meet crimson, beady orbs.

The Hunt is on…


…In the distance, the Fang punctuated the sky. Even from such a great length of land, the structure was immense, a giant to the snow-capped children around it. Alrik Firehawk, sat, cross-legged and dour faced, firelight seeping amongst his scars; bathing his accursed countenance in vibrant orange. He averted directly looking at the flickering, molten fire.

It only sought to destroy his vision, and despite his advanced ocular systems; the darkness still seemed evermore dark after a look into the flames. Distant, bloodcurdling howls sounded.

Instinctively, he seized the haft of his spear, which lay in the snow nearby. His fingers, raw in the cold, crackled and bled. With his free hand, he drew his mantle of furs tighter around his shoulders and throat, feeling snow land upon his exposed torso. Not even his advanced physiology and metabolism allowed him to withstand the winds for long, even he knew that.

When Tyr had finally fallen into silence, the attention was turned upon Alrik. He smiled, his snaggletoothed smile, wetting his lips with his tongue.

‘You wish to know of the Harmonious Descent, dearest Tyr,’ He rasped, looking at his overly large brother. Tyr was forever jovial, his bionic hand humming ominously. ‘Of the nightmares and horrors, which lurk in the darkness? Then,’ He smiled again, thinly. ‘It shall be so.’

‘The Harmonious Descent,’ He muttered, remembering the day. ‘Had arrived on the fringes of our system, and the honour of eradicating her populace, was gifted to Lord Blackmane and his Company. I, along with Iorek,’ He nodded towards the pale-fleshed, claret-eyed Marine. ‘And the grey-haired fisherman, Njoror, were amongst the force.’

‘The Harmonious Descent was a particularly horrible gathering of vessels, a piece of a world, given flight. Over the years, ships had been attracted to it, and lay broken upon the expanse. We stalked through the thing, facing.. Insects, with oversized talons and agility that was akin to the beasts of legend. Purple hided, bulbous of skull..’

‘We clove our way through them, purifying the shattered hallways and collapsed tunnels. With sword, bolter and flamer. The older Wolves led us, Kjarl at the forefront, we following obediently. I was blessed, in not sustaining any injuries; but gifting many upon the Tyranids. Even the white-bastard fought well,’ He added a mirthless chuckle, a deep rumbling from within the depths of his throat.

‘But there was other, worse, things inhabiting the hulk. Outlawed men, bearing foul mutations and walking hand-in-hand with the Xenos, walls that moved and gibbered, crushing men between them. And Astartes.’

‘It was said, that one of the Grey Hunters was taken into the cusp of the Wulfen, gnawing and clawing at his brothers, renting throats and guts. I saw none of this - But rumours spread like wildfire, and it was soon in our ears.’

His eyes, narrowed in resentment, darted from face to face. He hated the newcomers, they were not worthy of their positions in the Pack. Worst of all, was the one they called Krahl, ever-grinning, having nearly killed Alrik…

…The Razor-Ursine roared challenge to me, and my hands tighten around the haft of my spear. It is humungous, thrice the size of even Tyr, shaggy fur draping from it like a cloak. Teeth and claws, like daggers, glisten wetly.

My spear whistles in, embedding itself in the flank of the creature. Blood gushes from the wound, turning the haft of my spear red. It freezes almost instantaneously.

Krahl, young, untested and utterly idiotic, rushes in my flank. I cannot help but to detest the young Wolf, cocksure of his abilities, longing to establish a reputation..

I throw myself in again, striking out once more, spearhead penetrating flesh, drawing more black-red blood. It roars in defiance, launching a tremendous backhand, but I duck beneath its flaying claws. It turns its attention to another of the Pack; and I breath between gritted fangs.

‘Die,’ I manage, chest lifting and collapsing rhythmically. ‘Now.’

And then, as though abiding to my words, it twists. A predatory smile, teeth glimmering in the moonlight.

I am about to launch forwards, but something stops me, rough hands push me aside, and I fall closer to the creature’s clicking claws. It swipes, and then…


…Krahl had, in a matter of seconds, nearly killed Alrik and had stolen the bear’s hide.

‘Why do you grin, wyrm?’ Alrik growled from across the fire, one of his hands tightening upon the hilt of the flaying blade. He pulled it ever so slightly, so the black blade was revealed. ‘What great accomplishment have you partook in, to wear a joker’s smile?’

He could kill him now, if he truly wished… Spill his throat, cut him from groin to nape…

He stood, furs seeping along his back. ‘Know this, Packmate - If you lay hand upon me again, place me in danger, the snow will run red.’

And with that, he retook his seat, snorting in derision.
 

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A bitter wind sliced across Fenris, rumbling howls within her mighty bellow, cut at the pelt he bore around his shoulders, it bit deep into the fur and attacking his very core. Strength found wanting, it snarled and hurried on to trouble others elsewhere.

He sat together yet alone. He liked it thus, just far enough for solitude, close enough to be considered at one with the others

Yet he was alone.

Tyr's tale chased around him, as eyes fixed upon his great form, Ioreks own fixed upon the bionic of his right hand as it gesticulated with gusto. Whole again, stronger in fact.

His own fingers probed delicately around the empty socket running over the great rivets upon the left side of his face.

He would never be whole.

There was a hole in his heart, compassion and love lost, destroyed, torn asunder and replaced with fear and hatred, emotions of the twisted and the damned.

Bitter laughter rippled around his mind

pathetic fool

"Silence" strength reverberated in his voice, dominated his own mind with ripples of pure fury. The laughter receede, withdrew to niggle at his subconscious once more. Thought deserted him and his single eye closed and he plunged himself into the calm balm of darkness.

The red eye opened once more and fixed upon a new speaker.

The firehawk, he too brutally disfigured talked of times long past, a name long retired never forgotten brushed his ears and his right hand gripped his hip bone, nails digging into the skin, lips fixing together.

He longed for his pistol, the wolf snarled yet Iorek slapped the sound away, with a spear of thought.

He longed for the emptiness its motion brought, the playful push of the recoil against him, the effortless click that brought death onto his foes.

Two short knives crossed his back, two long fangs, thin and balanced, built for speed and accuracy rather than pure power nudged against his vertebrae.

He had worked relentlessly, speed and pace, his movements lithe his blade strokes sure. He had much to work on... so much to pay for, this hunting trip an irritating aside he wished he could avoid, yet the packleader had spoken, he must obey.

The leash tugged at him, subservience a niggle he had never noticed before, yet Vermundr had grown, an assurance laced his stance as he lounged upon the rock, he would be great one day, it was obvious indeed. The story rose and fell, the teasing asides falling upon deaf ears as Iorek's mind followed his own thoughts that day.

He would not speak of that day

Never... that fallen grey hunter could one day be... dont say it... dont think it

Blood spilled over his fingers as his nail pierced the pure white skin at his hip and he embraced the irritating flare of pain that erupted in his mind.

He longed for solitude yet now words reached his ears. Words in the packleaders hushed tones, meant for his ears.

His own eyes flittered to the other listener, the ice blue eyes of the sage met his own then moved on.

Another that had grown, another reputation that shot forth, another that would go far.

Two blood claws grappled, their arms rock, unwavering, unbending, granite met granite, its strength tested by not taxed as they sought the advantage.

"Some of these thin faces have definitely stuck out to me more than others. Krahl is one of course, but I doubt I am the only one of us three sitting on this rock who knows Alrik will not let Krahl's actions go unchecked."

The older wolfs face was fixed upon the frozen smile upon the young bloodclaws face and Iorek nodded in agreement, yet he spoke not. The animosity was not his domain, that was the packleaders concern, yet he could not condone the young ones actions.

Thrusting a brother into harm to gain a killing strike was ruthless, not a brother he wanted at his back.

The wrestle was ended with a thump as one smashed his face into the others to gain the advantage.

A little snarl bit across his lips and he spat, friendly play maybe, yet it was another he did not want at his back.

Yet he would need them, if Blackmanes words were true... the thoughts were disrupted by Vermundr's own musings

"Whatever our Lord warned us about, their last chances at stopping our successful return is quickly approaching. With only one day left of travel, any attack or act of thievery would have to be made soon. Likely in the sooner half at that, as I cant imagine any rivals committing their deviant act at the base of Asaheim. With only a day left, I see little harm, if any, in telling the rest of our pack here. It would be better to have all eyes looking sharp, and all toes ready to pounce. Would you agree brothers?"

Iorek's bitter laughter rang through the clearing

"With our Lord's decision to run with us he honoured us and taxed us. Those that respect him wonder what metal we bear that lead him to choose us, those with animosity long to prove us suspect, to cast doubt upon his prodgidies. All i can see is they wish for us to return empty handed, bruised, battered and defeated. It would be wise to warn the others, but I would not. Forewarned is forearmed yet I would see how these brothers of ours react when they are the ones being hunted, when the shadows cause a menace. Of our number there are 4 i would walk into russ's hall alongside, if we are to face the serpent once more I would wish to trust all 12. Tell Alrik and Tyr if you must yet I would like to see how that one..."

He inclined his head towards the headbutter who still grappled in friendly animosity with his brother

"reacts to being tricked rather than playing the trickster."

The scar across his chest rippled and seered and he ran an icy finger along its length his eyes moving up to fix upon the mountain in the distance.

There was much to do when he returned... so much to do
 

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Heimdall stared at the crackling and roaring fire, a beacon of light and warmth in the harsh wilderness that was Fenris. He was grateful that the claw had set up a fire for warmth and to cook the meat of the huge and deadly razor-ursine. All that him and his genetically enhanced brothers wore were simple pelts of fur for warmth in these harsh conditions. Heimdall would never get used to it, even though he had spent his entire life on Fenris, either in his former life before the chapter or when he became one of the Emperor's Angel's of Death.

Fenris was one of the harshest climate's known to the Imperium, more deadly than most worlds. This was shown in the quarry that they had tracked, huge deadly and smart it could of ripped through an entire tribe, even unprepared initiates. However he was a member of the pack now, and as long as they worked together they would survive and succeed. He respected his brothers that had fought alongside Wolflord Blackmane, though they were more distant to him and the newer members of the pack.

Alrik was particularly hostile, but Heimdall cared not. He would prove himself eventually, patience was all that was required. A hard thing for him to do, he was used to acting impulsively and was known for his short temper. He had played a part in killing the beast. Not as great as some of his other brothers but still, he played his part. He longed to have his flamer back in his hand, the rush of roaring flames once more. However for now he would have to make do with his spear, one which was close to him even now. They were close to home, close to the Fang. But they still had a little way to go and Heimdall would not let his guard down.

Alrik, spoke to Krhal, who had put him in harms way to get the killing blow. Heimdall felt for neither of them, he wouldn't want Krhal behind him, and he wouldn't want Alrik either, he couldn't trust the new members like a space wolf should. They were all off the same chapter, and the new members had been chosen to fill the void where others had fallen.

Heimdall sighed as he watched two of his brothers fight over meat, three sat away from the group conversing too quietly for his enhanced hearing to pick up. If it was anything important then he was sure that the rest of the pack would be informed. But when? The older marines would converse, plan with each other, but not with the newer members of the pack. It did not bode well in Heimdall's opinion, but what could he say.

He stood slowly, drawing his spear close as he turned away from the fire. He would be vigilant in case some wild beast, or pack, caught their scent and decided they would be a fit meal. Heimdall doubted it, but he would watch out nonetheless. If his newer brothers wanted to fight over scraps of meat they could, and if the older ones wanted to keep secrets that was fine by him. As long as it didn't threaten the new Claw, which he was now a part of and had a responsibility to.
 

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Azahd couldn't help but being slightly disappointed with the way the hunt had gone. As he tore into a final slice of meat and listened to Tyr's tale of the battles of Hecutor, he realised that he was jealous of Krahl. Whilst he would not have liked to have received the same threat from Alrik as Krahl had, the glory which Krahl would no doubt gain from striking the killing blow almost made it worth enduring that. Besides, Azahd got the impression that Alrik was not the most well liked member of the pack, either by his own choice or unfortunate circumstances, so it seemed unlikely he would have much support to carry through with his threat.

As it stood, Azahd still felt like he was not respected amongst the pack, and listening to Tyr and Alrik's tales of past glories, he could understand why. He had no impressive stories to tell, no crowning moments, no gruelling scars to show for dangerous tests of ability, save for those from his feat that secured his initiation, but then again, they all has tales and scars like that. They were nothing to boast about. And whilst he probably knew that striking the killing blow against the razor-ursid would not have made him into an instant choice for pack leader, or made him as respected as some of the other members, it would have certainly helped.

Azahd drew one of his short blades they had all been sent out with, and sheared off a shard of ice from the rock he was sitting on and rolled it absent mindedly over his fingers. They had been out on the borders of Asaheim for two months now, and Azahd was eager to be back in the Fang. As much as all Wolves felt at home in the harsh landscape of Fenris, Azahd couldn't help but miss the familiar hum of the servos in his power armour, the dull roar of his chainsword and the satisfying kick of his bolt pistol with every shell it fired. As much as he could prove himself on the plains here, against some of the most hostile environment and creatures the Imperium had to offer, no amount of razor-ursids he could kill would get him in the annuals of the Space Wolves history, no amount could give him an noble name, no amount could forge a legacy for him.

A great deal of noise was going on around him, Frostulfr and Hrothgar were engaged in an arm wrestle over one of the pieces of meat and three of the senior pack members were having an inaudible conversation aside from the rest of the pack. For the moment he was content to sit round the fire rolling his shard of ice over his fingers. This time tomorrow, they would be back in the Fang, in the great hall possibly gloating about the exploits of their hunt. No doubt Krahl would lead the bragging on that front, and Azahd would have to take a back seat. Still, he would bide his time. He would prove himself, very soon...
 

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Krahl

Alrik was fuming as he spoke, and after a few moments Krahl finally understood why. The hostile stare that the older wolf gave the younger ones seemed to increase twofold once it reached Krahl, and the grin vanished from the young Blood Claw`s face as Alrik vented his rage.

‘Why do you grin, wyrm?’ Alrik snarled, glaring at Krahl. For the moment, they young claw was silent, so Alrik took it on himself to continue.‘What great accomplishment have you partook in, to wear a joker’s smile?’

Krahl narrowed his gaze and tightened his grip as the elder blood claw stood and stared down at him through the flames. ‘Know this, Packmate - If you lay hand upon me again, place me in danger, the snow will run red.’

Following this, he sat back down. The flames seemed to recede as the rant finished, almost as if they were mocking or perhaps emphasising Alrik`s point.

Krahl was silent for almost a minute, before he could take the derision no more. 'You feel cheated packmate?' Krahl called, glaring through the fire. 'You feel as though I robbed you of your glory, is that it? That damn beast was going to kill someone sooner or later, what did you hope to accomplish by pissanting around in front of it?'

Krahl stood and took a step closer to the fire. He drove his spear into the base, causing an eruption of embers and a renewal of the fire`s emphatic heat.

'Next time you have a great hulking mass of muscle and claw bearing down on you, rest assured I will friggin` leave it to you to kill. So if you want to put yourself in front of another monster, you better make sure you`re up to the task on your own, packmate!' He spat the last word, before withdrawing the spear and sitting back down.

He glared at Alrik for a few moments before turning slightly sideways and counting the stars in the sky above the fang in an attempt to calm down...
 

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‘Are you so keen for personal glory that you would simply abandon the oaths you have sworn to your lord and your packleader, son of Russ?’

Keris’ voice was diamond hard and dangerous as he spoke, the tone weighted with the undercurrents of a warning growl. He had not moved from where he sat beside Vermundr throughout the exchange, turned mostly away from the flames and the wolf pelt on his broad back pulled close to keep the firelight from his eyes, his spear lay ready on the rock at his side. The fur was storm-grey; the coarse guard hairs tipped in silver as if the pelt was forever rimmed in hoarfrost and glinted in the play of shadows cast by the popping flames as they were ruffled by the ever present wind.

‘Glory is meaningless if bought at the forfeit of your wolfbrothers. Nor is his lifeblood yours to shed, Firehawk.’

Keris shifted; his crystal blue eyes catching the firelight and reflecting mirror-bright for a moment before he turned his gaze back out to the moon lit mountains. The Fang loomed in the distance like a spear thrust into the heart of the void itself. Keris’ breath ghosted into the darkness as he tasted the wind, the faint outline of a storm hung ominous and low upon the horizon like a stalking Thunderwolf. The moon was just waning and cast oil-black shadows in the lee of the harsh peaks of Asaheim. A hunter’s moon.

‘Have you all forgotten that our task is yet unfinished? Fenris is unforgiving of remiss; perhaps that is a lesson that needs to be re-learned in humility...’

Keris paused and lowered his voice, his next words muted for the ears of his wolfbrother Iorek and his packleader. His eyes found the scared face, pale as the ice that flanked the dark shadow of the Fang. His tone was not chiding, but one of quiet thought,

‘The task Lord Blackmane set upon us is more than a test of our might to bring down the prey, brother; it is also one of trust. I would have not thought that you, Ghostwolf, of all of us would seek to withhold after experiencing the costs of such a choice.’

Keris’ eyes then turned to his packleader,

‘We carry this task as a pack or we have already failed.’
 

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Vermundr stared with narrow eyes once Alrik came out with the feelings he knew were inside him, narrowed merely due to increased attention, not anger. When Krahl acted as the blood claw he was, and stood to refute Alrik, Vermundr's body clicked forward ready to move and intervene.

Keris did not hesitate to speak out, which settled Vermundr back into his sitting position. Vermundr had known Alrik long enough to know that his large pack brother was not wavered by words, only actions. Words, even from respected Keris Hell even from one such as the great Stormcaller, would only stave him off for some temporary amount of time.

As the awkward silence that now lay like a poisonous fog over the campfire settled in, Vermundr moved back to the other matter at hand with his two brothers upon the rock.

"Duly noted brother," Vermundr says with his head turned toward Keris, "Iorek brings up a good point, and it agrees with your opinion. It would definitely be good to see how this pack reacts to being hunted rather than the other way around. I guarantee you the next 24 hours in that case would seem just as long as the last week, but it would be less stress on our eyes, that is for certain."

He turns his head back forward, towards the pack around the fire, "But, I have to agree that if we tell one or more, we should tell them all. Whatever the reasons may be for telling only one or two, the rest would likely see that as us playing favorites even if it actually just testing them."

The bitter taste of arrogance stung the back of his tongue yet again. Stop it, stop acting like you're more than you really are. Puh, testing them, like you have some kind of actual rank experience.

Vermundr let out a sigh backed by a low growl. He again eyed the razor-ursid's giant coat of fur bundled up beside his leg. He spied a knot in the roping, which he felt did not look tight enough so he began to rework it.

"So it is decided then, we shall tell the rest of the pack of our Lord's warning. As I said, one day of stress shouldn't be so bad compared to the last two months as a whole. I'm sure they can handle it. But first, " he said with a heavy breath as he finished the knot and sat back straight, "I should talk to this one,"

"Krahl!" he waited for the other blood claw to turn, "Come here, I wish to speak with you about something."

He knew Alrik would be watching and so he turned an sure enough found Alrik's gaze. Vermundr nodded to him, assuring his fellow wolf that he was not taking the younger one's side and hoped Alrik would understand that Vermundr wished him to relax and be patient with the newcomers.
 

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The Emperor Protects
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Said to be one of the most hostile worlds within the realm of the Imperium. Ever changing, unpredictable, the ferocious weather able to kill a man as easily as the beasts that stalked the its lands or swam in its unforgiving oceans. The people of Fenris lived a constant life of survival, never able to let their guards down lest the world punish them. The Imperium would call it a deathworld. Its inhabitants called it Fenris.

The biting wind wrapped itself around Njord more completely than the furs and pelt he wore ever could do. Such was life on Fenris, one could never truely escape the weather, only adapt as best as possible and learn to embrace it. Flecks of snow clung to his shaven scalp, the vestiges of hair starting to grow back in due to the months spent on the hunt, he would of course shave them away once they returned to the Fang.

The Fang loomed in the distance, still colossal despite the distance they were from it. Its mightly battlements and walls part of the Asaheim itself. The moon was in such a position that from where Njord sat the Fang appeared to be stabbing the moon itself. How typically Fenrisian he thought. They had not set foot in the Fang for two long months, two months of hunting the beast across vast continent. He longed to return to the distant halls, cold, dark and without elegance. Home.

The pack had caught up to the beast in time, having evnetually found its trail and followed it before catching its odour on the winds with their enchanced sense of smell. They had fought a dangerous game with the beast, a deadly dance to ensare it within striking distance. Njord has been one of the ones to funnel it towards the bait. Attacking and provoking it enough to turn the beast in the desired direction but not enough to gain its full attention. It required complete trust in the rest of the pack and careful co-ordination. It almost ended in disaster though when it managed to corner Tyr, but the reactions of Keris and Frostulfr were enough to save the older Blood Claw. Krahl had been the one to deliver the killing blow in the end, perhaps rising Alriks life in the process however.

Njord turned his gaze to the roaring fire the pack were huddled around. The wind snatched angrily at the flames, trying to eradicate the warmth it gave to those around it, not willing to let them rest from the its icy touch. Tyr was spinning tales of past glories to the others, telling them of battles with Ogryns and traitors. Njords attention though was on the elder members of the pack. Sat a little apart from the rest of them, conversing in quiet voices. What about he could not discern, but there was clearly something on their minds.

The voices around the fire growled louder abruptly. Alrik having finally lost patience with Krahl, enraged over the younger pack members actions that led to him bringing down the beast. They traded angry snarls with each other, brandisihing their weapons at each other. The pack was not unified at all yet, the elder Blood Claws appearing to not want the company of the new bloods. Had they forgotten what it was like when they first began their new lives as an Astartes?

Despite the altercation taking place, Njord did let go of the feeling something was being held back from them by the elder ones, he turned his golden eyes, so like a wolfs back to the the trio, resting them on the pack leader as he wondered what was being kept from them.
 

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Krahl

They were disapproving. All of them, Krahl could tell. In truth he did not care as much as he knew he should but at the same time he knew it was important to have their trust and respect. There was no denying that if this pack were to survive, then at some point he and Alrik would have to reconcile, or at the very least come to terms with each other.

Perhaps a sparring match when they returned to the Fang, a good one on one fight to vent both their frustrations and anger upon each other. It would be fun if nothing else.

He gave up counting the stars, there were too many and they kept flickering. The light of the fire on the edge of his vision didnot help the task either, so instead he turned the other way and saw the elder members of the group, talking softly among themselves. Krahl`s hearing was good, but not that good, as clearly the seniors of the pack knew what would be heard and what wouldn`t.

‘Are you so keen for personal glory that you would simply abandon the oaths you have sworn to your lord and your packleader, son of Russ?’ A voice caught his attention, that of one of the older pack members Keris.

Krahl simply shook his head as he replied. 'What youngster doesn`t want a good tale to tell in his youth. Had the situation been any different I would not have put an act like this past any other. I only acted in the heat of the moment, how was I supposed to know the grumpy one had any kind of plan in mind.' He suppressed a grin, not wanting to inflame Alrik any further than he had already.

Something else was said between them and the three of them glanced between Alrik and Krahl. The older wolf Vermundr kept his gaze on Krahl a moment longer than the others, and immediately the young claw knew he was in some sort of trouble.

'Krahl!' He called, confirming the younger astartes suspicions as he looked up. 'Come here, I wish to speak with you about something.'

As Krahl stood, he saw the look Vermundr gave to Alrik, a look of warning maybe? More likely reassurance of Krahl`s impending punishment. As Krahl approached, he dropped the spear to the ground, not wanting to appear hostile to his superior.

'You have words for me I assume?' Krahl said. 'No doubt some speech on brotherhood and duty. Fair enough, but keep in mind that Alrik made the first threat and I would not simply allow such disrespect to go unanswered.'
 

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(Post moved to respond to vermundr)

The packleaders words flittered across his mind to be met with a sharp toss of his head a harsh bark

"As you wish, warn them."

The single eye was blank, his face emotionless, his voice empty and cold as his gaze snapped from Alrik and Krahl to lock with the ice blue stare of Keris

"Your advice is as ever sage, brother, yet my experience,"

His voice bit deep as he raised the one long eye brow

"Blackmane had no problems with secrecy, defined it as a quality that made a leader, so do not talk of my experience. Vermundr has proven him correct in that. Yet I will tell you of my experience, the agony only came when the shield of ignorance was cast asunder. If you tell them now they will wonder why we did not tell them before, we will merely remove the shield of ignorance and unleash a needless pain and suspicion. It may be a test of trust yet so far we have been found wanting, we have not told them, we sit aside and scheme. We were a divided force against the bear, new and unfamiliar, glory was gained almost at the expense of one of our brethren, one who does not love or forgive easily"

"I know not who to trust, is it so wrong to wish to know who would stand beside you and fight or who would thrust you under the bears claws to seek their own glory?"

He let out a little snarl as his eyes turned once more upon Khral

"He knows no remorse for his actions, does not feel any bonds of loyalty tie him to his brothers within the pack. I would have him know that the pack is a brotherhood, that he will met an enemy he did not expect and that someone will be at his back when he stumbles and falls, when his muscle fails him."

Yet you dont not believe that line you wish to be alone

The snide voice bit deep into his mind and his eye closed, his voice faltering as pain bit across his temples as he thrust a spear of reason at the wolf within

"I desire to make things right, to earn my place within the pack once more. Upon Hecutor I dishonoured myself, I will return when I have earnt my honour once more"

bullshit, you desire to be alone

Anger flared but the snide voice was gone, turned tale and fled into his subconcsious. The red eye opened returning to grapple with the icy orbs before him

"How better to do that than with an enemy he did not expect, that attacks when he believes the job is done, will not meet him head on as the bear did, but lies in the shadows?"

A strained chuckle tore from between his lips
"What does a man fear more than that which he cannot see"

The blood claw came forth at Vermundr's command his back arched chest thrust out words laced with defiance

'You have words for me I assume?' Krahl said. 'No doubt some speech on brotherhood and duty. Fair enough, but keep in mind that Alrik made the first threat and I would not simply allow such disrespect to go unanswered.'

A bitter tang of cotempt carressed his tongue and he spat upon the floor with a harsh snarl

"No he called you close as we wished to wonder upon your hideous visage more closely. Have some sense, glory hunter, let the pack leader speak before you assume. However as you seek words, I have words for those that place their own glory before the safety of their brothers, yet they are curses and chastisement not fit for such tender ears. However I would say that someone that would thrust me upon a bears claw merely to steal the glory of the kill is not someone i would call a brother. Personally i would rather embrace the bear."

His fingers stretched to lace through the bearskin hide before turning a wolfish grin upon Khral

"He was certainly a prettier sight"
 

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Yngvar

The cold swirled around him, but did not hold the same bite it carried as a child. There was a time when these winds would have driven him to the comfort of a shelter, to his tribe huddled close around a fire, to a shared hide, but that was so long ago when Yngvar was a child when he was only a mere human. Now he was so much more. Every time he thought of the past he was reminded of this. So many of his own frailty's had been stripped away leaving behind a warrior, a Blood Claw.



Yngvar sat near the fire listening to the tales of past glories as he worked a stone. The slow meticulous work had taken him far longer than normal. It was rough and jagged worked by the most primitive means with most primitive tools, a true hunters spearhead. Forming it had not been the longest part, it was the symbols that were carved into each side. The first a small fang, opposite was his tribe's symbol for an ursid.

Yngvar smiled and watched as Tyr finished his story. As the speaker changed from one packmate to another he reaching into a pouch. From it a chunk of fat roughly the size of a man's hand was produced. The white/yellow stuff bubbled and spat as he threw it into the base of the fire. For a few moments it melted and oozed before finally feeding the flames. It had been carved from a razor-ursid. This same beast's meat was cooking over the fire. The memory of driving the creature was still in his mind. It had been the first real ‘battle’ of the pack.

The claw had tracked the beast for days. Yngvar had assisted but not for the sake of only finding the beast. He had watched and listened to the senior members gaining some experience from the endeavor. He had also watched the others learning more in those days then the entirety of their training. The young Space Wolf had seen the schism that seperated the older and younger members of this pack. Still Yngvar did not know the true reason for it. Perhaps it was the younger ones inexperience, or the older ones mistrust that caused it. Maybe it was that the older ones had seen combat and were forged into a brotherhood, and the young upstarts were seen as imposters attempting to replace those lost before. For whatever reason their differences had not been settled when the beast was cornered. The massive creature lashed out toward its attackers as it found itself cornered against cliff face. After Tyr, the last brother to take the role of aggressor, escaped with the assistance of Keris and Frostulfr it had no one person to vent its rage upon. As it was lashing out toward the remaining hunters the pack needed to coordinate their movements. The memories of his former hunts helped keep Yngvar prepared. He knew to draw the creature's attention from the one who would strike the final blow. As such it was surprising when Krahl moved for the kill and everything almost fell apart. Whether it was impatients or glory seeking that had driven him to shove Alrik aside and strike. Thankfully it had been a kill, if it hadn’t they might be one less.

As the thoughts turned toward that moment voices became raised. Yngvar was brought back to the present. Alrik and Krahl were brandishing weapons as they spat words of hate to one another. It punctuated the schism between the younger and older Blood Claws. Yngvar had noticed there seemed to be an abundance of aggressors, and very few hunters within the Claw.


After several tense seconds a voice called ending the two's confrontation. Yngvar glanced around at the others as silence seemed to fill the air. His eyes halted on The Fang. The massive structure was so close, but yet so far. It was a day away at the most. One day and they would be home, one day and they would be declared a Claw, and still so long until they truly were. They each were bound to each other by the blood in their primarch, and their oaths to the chapter. For the older ones they appeared bound to each other through their past, through the stories they told of the things they had done. Yngvar hoped to one day share that bond as he turned to the spearhead in his hand. Perhaps one day.
 

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Tyr sat in silence and listened to Alrik as he chided Krahl for his actions, Alrik may be blunt with his words but he was honest and Krahl needed to be told that his actions were wrong, he had thrown a brother into an almost fatal position for his own personal glory and that was never ok. Yet Tyr kept his peace and said nothing as Krahl fired back his own hot head response at Alrik and chuckled a bit at how ignorant he was of who Alrik really was, the Firehawk would not let this go until he was satisfied that Krahl had learned his lesson and the wrong had been righted, which could take awhile.

He grabbed his spear and stood up, grabbing the piece of meat that Hrothgar and Frostulfr were fighting over, before making his way over to Vermundr who had just called Krahl over, "I will go and keep watch with Heimdall, it will do us well to have two sets of senses keeping watch rather than one." he looked down at Krahl, the tone in his voice serious, "The pack must always come first little one, the minute you put yourself and your own ambition before your brothers is the one that one or all of us will die because of your actions." he turned back to his pack leader, "I will be outside if you need me."

Tyr turned and made his way towards where Heimdall was keeping watch and as he passed Frostulfr and Hrothgar he said, "I already ate the piece you two are fighting over." the large wolf pointed to his head indicating that sometimes you need to use your head and not just your strength, he laughed and shook his head at the two of them as he passed them by.

Heimdall was by himself staring at the stars, Tyr could tell he was thinking about something so he was quite for awhile as they both stood watch, their senses peeled for anything that could be a danger to them all. As they stood watch Tyr finally spoke up, "Tell me Heimdall, what do you see out there? Hear? Smell? Feel?" it was a strange question but the large wolf knew that by having his younger brother concentrate and tell him what he was sensing that it would make him focus that much more and his senses would be sharper.

Tyr had always had stronger than normal senses, even for a Space Wolf, and it was something he had prided himself on more so than his abnormal size and strength. It was one subtle gift that he had and it had saved him more than once on Hecutor, at the moment all he could hear was the whistling wind and the general violence of Fenris's weather. Yet smells were different, the cooking meat, each of his brothers had a distinct smell to them, and lucky for him the wind was coming right at them so if anyone or anything was out there he would smell them before seeing them.
 

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A fighting has erupted inside the pack, and it had nothing to do with the fighting between Hrothgar and Frostulfr. The wind raged and howled just like the tempers of the two opponents, Alrik and Krahl. The inner fighting made him stop laughing even though Hrothgar was still on the ground rubbing his cheek to ease the pain from the smash he just suffered. He watched quietly as Alrik began to chide Krahl about his actions, he spoke harshly without mercy; he was straight forward and strict with his opinions, unrelenting like the weather around them. A gust of wind suddenly passed by, he heard the footsteps of a brother, he smelled him, it was the one known as Tyr, he passed by them, chuckling while saying that he already ate the piece Hrothgar and he were fighting for. He snarled at him, it was not a snarl that he would give to an enemy, but a friendly one, yet he was right, as he pointed at his own head explaining silently that they both should use their brains more. Frostulfr could not resist, he chuckled and a small wicked smile crept into his face. Tyr was right after all…

Frostulfr watched, seeing that Hrothgar was slowly getting up and ready to retaliate he stretched his hand towards him with one finger raised, it was the same motion which would tell someone to be quiet if it was near the mouth, the objective was the same, to stop Hrothgar from continuing the friendly brawl as they had more important matters to solve. Hrothgar probably noticing the shouts himself quickly nodded towards Frostulfr acknowledging the short truce. He knew that his brother will get his revenge later when he won’t expect it. Probably he will smash him into one of the walls in the fang and smack him in the face as an act of revenge. These raised a small smile on Frostulfr’s face which was rather grim due to the harsh words which were said by Alrik and Krahl.

He looked at Alrik first, his harsh and brutal features clearly visible in the light of the fire, he was eternally grim, rarely smiling and nearly always frowning. It was hard to be at his side, yet in this argument Frostulfr could understand where Alrik’s words were coming from although they sounded extremely harsh and unforgiving. On the other side of the conflict stood Krahl, young and naïve just like Frostulfr probably, he mocked Alrik, asking him if he felt that he was cheated because of the kill which was stolen, this was clearly not the case, even Frostulfr could see that, yet Krahl’s ignorance and maybe even stupidity caused him to speak those words. Such words, form both of them would cause division and trust issues in the pack, those things should never happen as they hampered the ability of the pack to act as a whole body. When one part did not work correctly all the others suffered and when two did not it was even more terrible.

Seeing that the pack leader, Vermundr, called Krahl to him Frostulfr moved to Alrik, he hoped he will be able to start some kind of a conversation with him, and try to understand fully what was going in that brain of his and more importantly he had to know if there was a deeper meaning to the words Alrik spoke and to why he confronted Krahl. Frostulfr got up from his kneeling stance by the icy rock and moved towards Alrik, he passed by the fire, the light quickly falling over him revealing more of his form as the shadows danced upon his clothing and pelts, he took a sit near Alrik yet at the same time in a safe distance, he knew that the man was short tempered. “Brother, a minute of your time if you may?” Frostulfr spoke, trying to catch Alrik’s attention. He did not wait for Alrik to answer or respond at all, he just continued speaking, he was blunt and straight forward and wanted what he thought to be heard, “I understand where you come from Brother, although I don’t know you for long and probably not as well as the others I do know that in this case you are right, Krahl shouldn’t have pushed you aside like that, endangering a brothers life, it was careless and reckless. Yet do you think that your harsh words were necessary; will you real leave your brother to die due to pasts events? You don’t have to like him, but he is your brother, and you must both work together. I am quite aware that you might hate me for the words I am about to speak but please, try and keep your temper under control, such arguments just threaten to divide the squad even more then it is now. I’m saying even more because you are probably aware like me that the squad is pretty much formed out of two groups, the experienced and the new, and not everyone here likes each other… At any rate, brother, Alrik, please, try to keep calm and withstand the foolishness and ignorance of others, if not for us, the new members, then for others like out pack leader Vermundar.” He finished speaking, he spoke rather loudly, but silently enough for others to understand that what he was saying to Alrik was for his ears only and not for everyone. He never liked feeling like a conspirator and a secret keeper so he always kept his voice rather loud.
 
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