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Yngvar

Yngvar’s eyes darted as he searched as Keris spoke. “Then what would you have me call it,” was the younger one's reply. Looking back up to the older pack mate Yngvar saw that his eyes were locked elsewhere. Spinning the young blood claw could make out the shapes against the storm.

They were massive things. Yngvar gripped his spear tight as he stared at them. This was not what he had seen moments before. He could see flashes of ivory fangs and heard the scrape of claws on stone. Rain dripped from clumps of hair along their skin which rippled with muscles as each moved.


Alrik was the first to act. He burst forward howling as he went. The warrior’s aim was easy to track; he was charging the center most creature. Yngvar quickly followed. The young blood claw held himself low. As the others roared, or shouted their challenges the hunter sprinted. These things were prepared, which meant the maneuver would be far more difficult.

Yngvar struck low. The ape troll appeared to be more interested in the louder individuals so it was not fully prepared when the hunter struck. It was the knife that struck first biting into the front of the creatures shin near the ankle. A second fast slash as the blood claw turned his momentum to drive himself behind the creature stabbing and then slashing across the back of its leg. The ape troll roared as it retaliated. A heavy arm slammed into the ground where the young blood claw had been. Instead of rising close to the creature Yngvar gave distance as the second clawed arm slammed into the rocks inches away.

The young space wolf spun to his foe. The monstrous creature roared as it stomped forward. Hate burnt hot in its eyes as blood ran from the pair of wounds on the creature’s leg. It was close, to close for the hunters spear, but well within the aggressor’s knife. One massive clawed hand lashed out again. Yngvar went low managing to avoid the claws, and only brush the arm behind it. The young hunter dove forward knowing the other arm was close. Rainwater sprayed behind him as the wet hand arched in. Yngvar sprung forward past the beast again. With the blade in his right hand he could not make a clean strike against the foe to his left, but still he tried. The blade barely cut through the thick skin and fur as he moved past.

The creature spun hard as its feet slid on the water and snow. The sinew and muscles of its injured leg popped and strained as the young hunter’s aim proved accurate. The ape troll leapt to force a change in its momentum. The wound released a splash of blood as the tendon popped again. Yngvar drew his spear and spun to meet the foe in a single fluid move. This time he was prepared to meet the charge as a hunter.

Past the creature there was another fight. Through the rain and the howls of battle the young blood claw saw it, a brother was in danger. The form of Alrik and that of the largest of the beasts seemed to have combined into one. The huge thing embraced him within its massive arms as the older blood claw violently thrashed.


Yngvar ran at the beast he had been dueling. This would be a game if inches, and hopefully the pair would not decide to flinch at the same time. He saw the creature’s muscles flex along its right flank. He watched as the claw reached out toward him. He could see the trail of water the storm was leaving behind as it sliced through the falling rain. Yngvar dove hard to the right at the last possible moment. He saw the other claw flex, and felt one of the talons slice into his cold skin. The ape troll would not let its quarry away so easily. The young blood claw shouted as the claw ran down his left arm in a jagged gash, but did not find purchase.

Claws raked against the wet ground as the ape troll turned itself. It had been the third time the prey had passed. It howled with rage as it adjust its weight. The howl changed as its foot clawed across the ground. There was a cracking sound almost like a small gunshot as the injured tendon was stressed one last time. The muscle contracted wildly into a mass of meat as its connection to the creature’s heel disappeared. It was sent sprawling as the foot became a useless mass of muscle and bone.

Yngvar sprinted toward the pair in their deadly embrace. Both hands gripped at the spear wet from the rain and from his own crimson blood. With the wounded creature thrashing behind him and his pack brother ahead the young blood claw finally released a battle cry. Against the rain, the roars of monsters, and the claps of thunder he began to howl.
 

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The Emperor Protects
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The pack continued joking and testing each other. But then it took a new turn when Alrik began to savagely beat Frostulfr. Njord sat up a little straighter and went onto alert, but he knew better than to try and intervene, this was between the two of them and if anyone was to intervene then it would be one of the elder Blood Claws. Still it might him uneasy and uncomfortable, how were the pack meant to work together when they were at eachothers throats at every turn.

It was Keris who eventually stepped in. Placing himself between Alrik and the beaten Frostulfr, whom he allowed to get up by his himself for the sake of dignity Njord presumed. With the situation pacified for now he relaxed again, though it still left an feeling of disquiet within him.

Eventually it was time for the pack to move out again, though now back to the Fang. The initial part of the journey back was uneventful and simple. But the weather caught up with them before long as it always does on Fenris. As he had mused before, Njord thought of how the weather was just as alive as anything else on Fenris, it was unescapable, relentless and unforgiving, but it was what made Fenris home for the wolves. This storm was particularly strong however. Njord could feel the sleet rain assaulting his exposed skin like a thousand tiny needles. He pulled his pelt closer, though it did not help too much. Without their gene-enhanced physiology the pack would not have been able to survive this assault, it would have been suicide for a human to attempt to brave this storm. But they were astartes and nothing would stop them from completing their task.

They then happened across a great drop, even they would not survive the fall. The only way across was a narrow path, barely large enough for one of them to traverse. But their was no other route, so across they went. They did however choose to at least split into groups to cross, just incase. Njord joined the first group along with Keris, Alrik and Yngvar. As they slowly crossed to the other side, he could not help but look down to the gulf below. The drop seemed endless, a maw to the belly of Fenris, ready to swallow anyone unworthy of standing on its grounds.

Yngvar came to an abrupt stop for a moment, staring intently ahead at the other side of the path. He and Keris exchanged quick words before carrying on, but the words were lost in the storm to Njord, all the feeling it increased the disquiet within him. Cautiously they continued on to the other side. On the otherside Njord turned back to watch the next groups progress. It almost ended in disaster however when Hrothgar almost fell into the maw below, the others saving him however. He then heard a roar from the otherside of the path, but could not discern what had made it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end though as he sensed they were not alone on their side either, eyes narrowed he slowly turned to look onwards.

At first he saw nothing but vague shapes moving in the storm, but a flash of lightning soon revealed what had set his senses off. Stalking towards them were six large troll like beasts blocking their route ahead. One of them clearly larger than the rest, obviusly the alpha of the group, it affirmed this by letting out a challenging below to their small group. Alrik responded with a howl of his own and charged the alpha. Njord went to move forwards aswell with Tyr and Iorek at his side. However as he went to move another three trolls leapt up from the edge to attack the trio.

Tyr responded instantly, planting his fist in one of the trolls face. Njord was not quite quick enough as one pounced at him. Still his reflexes were enough and he rode the pounce, rolling with the troll before leaping back to his feet. Hackles raised he snarled at the troll, his blood now up as his twin hearts beat a furious rhythm pumping blood around his body, the cold completely forgotten now. He had lost his weapon in the tumble, normally he would consider himself to be quite a duelist and smart fighter. However sometimes the smartest option was the simplest and with the least amount of finesse. With a feral growl he leapt at the troll, rolling into the ground with it. He controlled the roll and ended up ontop of the troll and began to pummel its face and chest with savage blows from his fists. The troll roared in anger at the beating.

But was not out the fight by any means, as Njord raised his fast for a hammer blow to the trolls skull it used the opening to crash one of its mighty fists into Njord head instead, sending the young Wolf skidding across the ground towards the edge of the gulf. Njord almost slid fully off the edge before managing to get a purchase on the ground with one of his hands, left hanging precariously over the edge of the bottomless drop.
 

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Discussion Starter #43 (Edited)
Vermundr; Tearing away your furs gives you the freedom to regain your feet and face the troll. However, doing so has opened you up to the elements and Fenris is a harsh teacher, if not looking to take life at every turn. In moments your body is feeling the effects of the cold, the skin becoming more sensitive and your senses dulling from the beating they are taking. Not that you have much of an effort to notice this, for the troll lunges at you again, only to find your axe waiting for it. Sidestepping its bulk, you plant a blow into one of its arms and are rewarded with a growl of pain as it hits the ground and rolls.


The creature attempts to stagger up, but you do not give it the chance, pouncing forward and buring your knife in its neck. The troll tries to swipe you with its one good arm, but it is more heavily wounded than you, its body to starved for a trolls improved healing to kick into effect well enough.


[Finish this thing and help who you can, you need to get the others across the chasm.]



Azahd; The second troll forces your attention, but had you been able to see the fate of the first one, you would have been rewarded with the sight of it falling over the side of the cliff with a yell drowned out by the wind. That is, until it found purchase on the stone wall and began to haul itself back up. But that really does not matter, as you sidestep a swipe from the second troll for a third time, stabbing at it with your own weapon and looking for a good kill shot.


Nothing outright opens itself to you; mostly blows that could seriously harm the troll but would leave you open to a return before you had a chance to get away or do more damage. Still looking, the troll seemingly decides a course of action for you, jumping at you, taking your spear to its gut and gripping your neck in one of its clawed hands. Prickles of pain make themselves known to you, where the razor sharp claws pierce your skin, but the damage of the spear stole away some of the trolls strength and its strike did not manage to kill as it likely intended.


[Your on the ground at this time, the hulking mass of the troll pressing down on you, furthering the spear through its body. You could possibly send this thing to meet the first one over the edge.]



Yngvar; Turning away from the troll and howling proves to be an error that nearly costs you a limb. In your actions, the trolls eyes go red and it claws towards you, hurling its body forward and snapping its mouth for your legs. You get away from it in time, putting your spear through the trolls neck and killing it in an instant. Looking up, you watch as Njord goes over the side, the troll he was fighting falling on its back, clutching at its face.


[That troll, unlike the one you faced, is not yet dead, merely hurting. However Njord may be in trouble, in need of some help unless he has fallen completely. Do you go to see if your packmate is still there, or deal with the troll first? You only have enough time to make one choice, not both.

Also, please just stick with the normal text colour when you post.]



Keris; Your aim would have been true, had the troll not rolled to the side and jumped away from you to avoid further injury. It crashed into the second troll, who did not take kindly to any of that and proceeds to ram its claws into the first troll, tearing out great chunks of meat and shoving it away to face you. This though, this is rather fine. Though you had not been able to kill the one troll, one was still seriously wounded if not dead, and this other one would soon follow it. Not wasting a second, you let the troll make a frenzied run at you, but the first troll is on top of it before the thing has a chance to move and both topple back to the ground in a mess of razor limbs and fangs.


[Perhaps not the most eventful of actions for you, but these things are helping you to kill them in a fashion. By the time you move towards them, the wounded troll will be dead with its heart torn out. The other troll will not escape its little scuffle unharmed, down an eye and ear.]



Njord; At first you are sliding along the slicked ground, then there is no more ground beneath you. You plummet, scrambling for purchase, and just barely managing to find something with your fingers in time to arrest your fall. You hang there for a number of breaths, dangling from one arm, your spear still held in the other one. Your other arm is burning with the pain of holding your weight up, and the effort to keep from slipping away draws much of your attention, though not all of it.


You still manage to notice a form clawing its way up the cliff side; one of the trolls, or perhaps another one? Either way, it is moving for you, and you need to either deal with it or get back up over the side.


[You have a choice here, you could hurl your spear at the troll and likely take it from the wall, but the effort might make you lose your grip. Alternatively, you could simply drop your spear and grab hold with your then free hand to haul yourself up. Both options would mean the loss of your spear, though the first would end with the death of a troll. Which will you choose to do?]



Frostulfr; Returning to your feet, you lunge at the troll in time for it to regain some of its sight. Mid air you bat a claw out of the way from stopping you, landing a blow with your knife into its shoulder before barreling the thing back and ducking under its other arm. You smash the back end of your spear into the trolls exposed side, darting out under the thing and cutting it across the back. With a wild kick, the troll steals your legs out from under you, and you land face first to the ground, breaking your nose on a rock and losing your spear in the process.


[Turn over, get up, and fight this thing. The pain in your side will make you sluggish, but you should be able to kill the troll; might I suggest hitting it with that rock.]

Heimdall; Your charge is met with a charge from the troll, its greater mass giving it an advantage against you when you both collide. A well placed stab from your blade finds a place in the trolls hip, but not before it clamps a set of jagged fangs down on your shoulder. You hit the ground in a tumble, and stab into the troll with your spear to get it off your other arm, and perhaps get your body from beneath its pinning weight. A blow to the trolls ear finally wrenches it off you, taking a chunk of fur with it, and the troll then tries to snap at your face with that maw.


[Now that is a sight nothing can love. Its big and deadly, but you should be able to get it off you, though it trying to take your face doesn’t make the job easy. Once it’s off you, it should not last much longer.]


Alrik; Your stabbing does little, if anything, but further what might be a smile on the largest of the trolls as it continues to crush you. You can’t breathe, and it feels as if even your augmented ribcage is going to crack from all of this. Finally the troll lets up, bringing you up higher to its face, maybe to look at you, maybe to tear your head off. No one will ever know, for when it did that, you took the chance to smash your forehead into its face, falling to the ground at its feet as the troll clutches itself in pain. You regain enough composure to stab the troll in the back of one leg before it swipes you away, claws raking against your chest before it falls to the ground, unable to put much weight on its now damaged leg.


[Get up Firehawk; like that large troll your wounded but far from dead. Which of you will prove the victor here? It or you?]



Tyr; The troll falls back from the blow, barely able to get up and even then on unsteady legs. You can see the damage your fist wrought, half trolls head sages awkwardly. Something in its eye does not sit right with you, for your punch pulped its other one, as it simply circles you. Not giving it the chance to regain its senses, you go after the troll, dodging a clumsy claw, crushing the oversized limb with your metal hand.


[Your first hit was truly a good one, this thing was half dead from that moment. Finish it and see to helping anyone else. You don’t so much see Njord fall over the side, but you did see something go over. Perhaps see what it was?]



Krahl; You stare up at the troll for long moments, ropes of sticky saliva falling from its gaping mouth in a snarl of half pain and half rage. You begin to shove it away from you, when the thing comes alive, as if it had been waiting or something. Its clawed hands go for your exposed arms, but you blocks the blows with your elbows, put your legs under the troll and kicking it away from you. Your spear goes with the troll, still embedded in its body and probably causing more damage as it is moved about within. You stagger back up, taking to your knife to finish the troll off.


[End it, maybe cut the things throat or a blow to the brain. Whatever method of death you decide, the troll will not go out quietly.]



Hrothgar; The troll reacts exactly as you had hoped, twisting to avoid the spear aimed for its face and not being able to avoid a blade to the gut. The thing howls in pain, grabbing your knife arm with its claws and tossing you to the side. Pain blossoms up your cut limb, but nothing your body cannot handle. You roll to the side and dodge a lunge, claws coming down where your head had been a second ago.


[This thing is hurt, but far from down; it’s going to take more than a single gut hit to end the troll. Your spear is bone with an adamantium core, try smacking the troll around with that and see if it works.]



[Kjartan and Iorek: unfortunately there is nothing I can give you this update because you have not yet engaged the trolls. Do that for more; yours is as the last update.]



[And in case anyone is wondering, and before its asked/mentioned; there will be another update very soon.]
 

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A sad smile spread unfurled across the pale features

"I would weep for you...."

His response tailed away as Keris embroiled himself between the spoils of Alrik's passion, rendering violent recompense upon a chuckling blood claw.

So many idiots, posturing, they would change their merry tune when death came upon the group. That changed everyone, the day they realised they may be immortal yet they were not invincible.

Standing between the hawks talons, preventing him from lashing further under the mocking laughter of his prey, the icy blue gaze fell upon him again.

The two icy glaciers met with the mild flickerings of seering iron as it hissed in the forge bucket, the glow dying in a hiss of steam.

The conversation was not over

The cold bit deep, gnawed through bones yet it could not penetrate the icy chill that gripped his heart.

A storm was coming.... such a terrible storm.

_____________________________________________

Wind lashed his back, a flail of bitter ice slashing across his shoulders, cutting at the muscles and he moved, small movements. a vain endeavour to keep his body loose, as his eye wandered the snowy peaks, toiled across the broad ridges.


Physical challenges tested their bodies as they moved, the cold an impedement to the trials and tribulations ahead, yet it was in the mind where Iorek strained most, where his subconcious splintered in nervous shards of thought. Where eyes stared upon him from the darknes and his hand gripped his hip where his pistol once rested.

Oh he missed its familiar weight, the satisfying thud as it buried itself within flesh and bone, the satisfying crack and splatter as it tore chunkcs from flesh.

His tongue carresed his lips and he snarled gently.

A ctear in the landscape, a giant cleft in the landscape, a searing scar bridged by a thin length of treacherous stone and ice.

They crossed together, group by group, Iorek and Tyr within the middle party, Tyr at the back lest his massive bulk endanger the others if the stone did give under his weight. Iorek moved first, the footing treacherous and he felt his way along, eyes closed he slid forth, steady arms outstretched, the twin knives aiding his balance.

A cry and a scuffle and the single eye flashed open whilring to find the one with mischief in his eyes, the headbutter, the trickster was toppling. Iorek lunged, the knife in his right hand switching he plunged the pair into the ice, a foot hold in dire need they stuck and quivered even as he ducked, hand seizing the falling tricksters wrist.

His bicep strained yet he was steady, legs sliding to find a strong stance, he locked his back and held steady, locked even as he felt the force halved by another seizing the other wrist.

The second astartes had seized the other wrist and he too strained against the unrelenting mercy of gravity.

"Hold it" snarled Iorek, his face impassive and calm even as his body ached, his face desperate to taughten in anguish, held back by calm assurance

He was locked muscles on edge taught and unmoving even as the wind swirled and buffeted yet suddenly the weight was shifting, the figure beneath him slipping slightly and his arm wrenched, weight upon his weaker forearm as his arm pivoted and his eyes locked upon the sliding figure.

Curse sprang through his mind. He could not hold two of them.

His brothers name came to his lips in a grunt of panic which pushed through terse lips

"Tyr"

Even as a mighty paw landed upon his and the slipping blood claws pauldrons and held them steady, his massive bulk firm against the wind, impervious to the storm, the gigantic biceps barely tensed as he held them steady.

Secure, they lifted the trickster back to the plinth, words of gratitude and repayment upon his lips and Iorek almost let out a snigger, a bark of laughter echoing through his mind from the wolf.

"Pups playing at honour, may it rot their ouls"

His face returned, became impassive and unreadable, ignoring the pledge of the trickster he growled gently to the other.

"Keep your feet apart and your back straight, pull with your arms next time"

On he moved, eye sliding closed once more, the two knives once again in his outstretched hands, he slithered slowly across the ice. Once embraced back upon Fenris's sanctity he reached out to clasp upon Tyr's left pauldron, a gentle squeeze of thanks before he moved away.


Assailed, suprised, the events upon the chasm, rendering his heart rate high, his awareness low. 3 trolls assailed 3 of them, large fur strewn beasts, he tasted there scent upon the air and the wolf snarled.

Malice, destructive malice, laced through every line as bright red eyes fixed upon Iorek, even as one stumbled backwards from a crashing blow by brother tyr, the quickest to react.

The knives raised and he leapt aside from a great lumbering charge, followed by a lazy bear like swipe. Evaded with ease he raised the knives ready to spring for the counter strike. Then the world was turning hiss footing suddenly unsure he wavered then tumbled to the floor, floundering upon ice and snow as the great beast barrelled forth, the deep glow brightening in the red eyes, long claws unsheathing from matted blood stained fur.

The knives remained in his hand and a sweep of their long blades sent a plume of snow into the beasts eyes as he regained his footing and the beast stumbled, snarls bursting from his lips as it clawed at its suddenly blinded vision.

Upon his feet Iorek met the snarl with a long loud howl, that echoed from the pit of his soul, burnt from the raging desire of the wolf within, the howl of a wolf that ran to hunt, that would end the night with blood upon its fangs and triumph in its heart.

The howl echoed and reverberated dying into a low snarl of bitter hatred as Iorek pushed forward, pivoting away from a thrust of a claw, he thrust the first knife downwards at the outstetched claw, the long blade held out to knock aside and block, the second knife a rapier, flashing steel moving on the rotation of his chest to slash directly at the beasts throat
 

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Krahl

Krahl was still and silent save for his ragged breathing. The thing was immobile and heavy on the end of his spear, its eye a bloddy mess where the point had driven home. Surely it was dead? Krahl was still just a few moments more, his stamina taking a little longer to recover because of the damned wind.

He hefted the haft of the spear to toss the brute aside, only to almost be sliced open by a razor sharp talon. The troll was not dead at all, and now lunged at him again, furious and blinded by the young wolf`s attack. Krahl raised his elbows and blocked, doing his best to fend off the frenzied swipes and keep a hold of his spear until at last an opening presented itself.

'Damn you, you ugly beast!' He roared, kicking out as hard as he could and booting the creature back several paces. The spear was yanked from his grip in the process, staying embedded in the troll`s eye. Krahl snapped to his feet in an instant and drew his knife from his belt. With a snarl of impatient rage, he charged.

The troll was wild with rage and hate at this point, its eye glinting with frozen blood and the spear haft flailing wildly as it jerked its head to follow Krahl`s movements. He aimed a slash at an outreaching claw, causing it to retreat another step before ducking in and stabbing it in the thigh. In the same movement, he barelled it to the ground and aimed a second slash for its throat. This attack was blocked by a massive forearm, which then swatted the wolf aside as though he was a rag doll. Krahl rolled to his feet and darted forward again, not wanting to give the creature a chance to right itself. He slammed into it, putting it back to the ground before it could stand, and delivered a two handed stab to its chest.

It roared an agonized scream and bucked while clawing at its chest. Finally able to sieze the upper hand, Krahl wrenched the knife free and struck a third time. Then again, and again.

As its flailing arms finally dropped and its howls died out, Krahl let loose a howl of his own before planting a foot on its blood crusted head and wrenching his spear free. The damnable cold had been taxing, and he resisted the urge to rest as he looked to the rest of his pack...
 

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He was too late and he could not stop himself although he saw that happening. As he charged at the troll he saw it trying to remove the spit from its face and it did so successfully which meant that when Frostulfr will jump the troll would be waiting and so it was.

As Frostulfr leapt towards the troll a hairy, muscular arm flew towards him, trying to stop his deadly jump.

Curving his body sideways in inhuman speed he managed to dodge the troll’s arm and at the same time smash it aside with his arm. The troll was surprised by that and it roared in anger. He continued his leap towards the troll who had no time to muster another attack.

Sadly, the troll’s attack forced Frostulfr to redirect his body and thus he could not make his way towards the head of the troll. Instead burrowed his knife deep into the monster’s shoulder and than in a show of inhuman dexterity he rolled behind the troll dodging his other arm which tried to sweep him aside.

As the arm passed over his head he could feel the force that it created, if he would’ve been hit by the arm there was a high chance that his ribs would have cracked because of the combined momentum of both of them. Yet luckily he dodged and found his way behind the troll.

Not expecting an attack from behind the troll did not have the time to reposition itself. As the troll began to try and move back to face Frostulfr he used the opportunity to smash the back side of his spear into the troll’s ribs. He was rewarded with a hiss of pain from the troll and with a pause in its movement for a brief moment.

Yet a brief moment was all that a space marine needed to inflict more damage. Frostulfr changed the grip over his spear to resemble what could have been a sword and then slashed across the troll’s back receiving a howl of pain as a prized reward for his actions.

His relative success so far in fighting the troll made him over confident and bold. He never expected the troll to retaliate after such an attack, this was a big mistake for him as the troll kicked back wildly hitting Frostulfr in the dead center of the chest and sending him sprawling back through the air. As his body spun through the air he saw where he was about to hit but could do nothing to halt or escape the nasty fate.

He braced himself for impact.

He felt the rigid rock; he could tell that it was not smooth as his face impacted against it. His nose suffered the most. Frostulfr heard his nose cracking and giving in against the stone. Quickly the smell of blood filled his nose as the stone inflicted small wounds upon his cheek and forehead.

He roared in terrifying rage as he realized that the troll outsmarted him. Standing up he looked at the troll who was standing in front of him with what seemed to be a mocking smile. It’s smile exposed rows of sharp jagged teeth which filled the troll’s mouth.

A determined look took control of Frostulfr face as he put his nose back into place. Not flinching for a moment. He closed his fists and realized that he had no weapon on him. Looking down he saw the bloodied stone which he smashed his face upon.

Frostulfr picked the stone and moved slowly towards the troll. The troll lashed out with its right arm, claws flashing through the air. Frostulfr countered the attack with his new weapon smashing it against the claws and breaking them into pieces.

He smiled nastily and charged the rest of the way towards the troll suffering a wound from its left clawed arm as he sluggishly dodged it. Luckily for him the wound did not slow him down as the claw slid mostly across the back side of his shoulder and a small part of his back. He ignored the sharp pain and swung wildly and powerfully with his stone.

The stone smashed with superior speed and strength into the troll’s confused and unprepared face, he saw teeth flying out of the things mouth and its jaw dislocating. The powerful swing sent the troll spinning through the air and directly into the ground.

Not giving it a chance to recover Frostulfr lunged on top of it and began smashing the already bloodied stone against the troll’s face, unrelenting, showing no mercy, he continued until he stopped hearing the troll’s breath. Yet he was not satisfied the wolf spirit demanded more so he continued pummeling the face of the troll until it was no more than a bloody pulp which was splattered across the snowy surroundings.

A wicked smile spread across his face as he looked at his handiwork. A masterpiece.

Looking around he found his spear lying nearby and he picked it up, after that he plucked the knife out of the troll’s shoulder and looked around trying to see what was going on. Everyone seemed to be doing fine, none was struggling under pressure. Although he could not spot Njord, this was alarming. The only option was that he fell down the cliff. He advanced forward along the cliffs edges trying to spot his pack bother.

It was good the all the trolls were occupied as he had no chance of finding his pack brother if the trolls were besetting him. In the end he was able to spot his brother dangling in the air, barely managing to hold himself with his one free hand.

Frostulfr rushed towards him but only than he realized that in his wounded state he won’t be able to push his brother up with only one hand. Yet he had his priorities first, he made his way as quickly as possible to his pack brother and shouted to him, trying to overcome the howling of the wind, “Hold on, I will pull you up in a moment Njord!”

Frostulfr looked around and saw Alrik fighting what seemed to be the leader troll, both of them were evenly matched, each wounded. He did not mind taking another pounding from Alrik for what he was about to do. He was doing it for the good of the pack. He could not allow Alrik to die foolishly.

Positioning himself in a convenient manner which faced Alrik and his opponent he took a few deep breaths and held his breath. He slowly and precisely aimed at the troll leader, hoping to hit him in the chest. He then stretched his arm as far as he could and powerfully hurled his spear towards the troll.

He did not bother looking if he hit the troll; he knew that Alrik will not be hit as the troll was far enough from Alrik. The worst that could happen was a gust of wind which will make the spear miss the target and just fly forward though he hoped that the swing was powerful enough to stop such effect from happening.

Turning back to Njord he grabbed him by the hand and leaned back trying to pull him back up. “Come on; help me out here, push!!” He yelled at Njord as he put more and more strength into his pull.


OOC: Throw me a PM if its not good or if I overdid something :p You know, as usual.
 

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He felt his blade plunge hilt-deep into flesh, felt a warm gush run over his hand and along his front. The taste of blood upon his nostrils and lips was wonderful, drawing excited gasps and gibbers from Alrik, intermingled with pain and defiance. His stabbings, frantic and wild as they were; did little but to annoy the beast further. Splinters lay, rich red with blood, in the hide of both Wolf and Troll, where the monster’s hug had drawn him against the broken haft of his spear.

And yet, Alrik Firehawk felt nothing but cruel delight in stabbing the beast, hacking and tearing away matted fur and clumps of muscle, red against white and grey. His lungs burnt, a pair of pyres within his reinforced ribcage, which itself felt as though it would crack under the pressure. From between clenched teeth, Alrik brought in ragged breaths, burning his throat as they went down. He had faced worse pain; for he had stared into the heart of a starship, stood toe-against-toe with the dread Alpha Legion. And he had prevailed, as he would today.

The Troll’s embrace ended, claws seizing Alrik’s sides, lifting him up. The beast was damnably ugly, with a scarred snout and piggish eyes, intelligent and filled with hunger. Alrik, with a grin, imagined the beast thought very much the same of him. Ropey lips peeled back, over a maw of yellowed fangs; a chasm of promised death, before the Firehawk’s face, pulling the Posthuman closer. In a blur of movement, Alrik squirmed, arching his head back, before bringing it back in.

Teeth and ligaments crunched, blood pouring from ruptured nostrils and a half-torn tongue. It dropped Alrik, paws instinctively clutching at its face, a appalling mewling noise escaping from its mouth. Alrik grinned voraciously, staggering to his feet, taking deep, raspy breaths. His blade sang as it went through the air, curling with Alrik’s hand, before burying itself into the rear of the thing’s knee. It toppled, a mountain of fur and muscle and barks.

Alrik lifted his blade high, his hands red, glittering in the light. He would take the skull of the troll, and its claws, and its fur. He would wear them, as his trophies; at his hip and laced to his neck, and upon his shoulders. And he would -

- His thoughts were ripped violently away from him, as was his breath and moment of respite, when horrifying claws danced over his chest. He tumbled backwards, a sudden, warm wetness coating his torso. When he landed, he rolled, back into a crouching position, snarling inhumanely. Four narrow gashes decorated his skin, the blood crystallizing upon the edges, slowly hardening towards the centre. From such a mighty beast, Alrik was disappointed at such a meagre injury.

The Troll stood, gasping in pain, before tumbling back onto one knee. A pool of blood was slowly accumulating around him, dribbling from the many gashes and rents in it. Oh yes, he would it’s skin with unbendable pride.

He moved forwards, spinning his blade in his hand, avoiding its feeble, almost desperate strikes..

..The Wolf prowls closer, circling the beast, spittle running from its furrowed snout. Small, predatory eyes - The colour of fire and coal, set amid a scarred countenance and a coat of shaggy, dark fur, analyze it. After another careful turn, the beast roars in anger, and the Wolf bares its fangs.

It leaps onto the creatures back, sinking fangs into a muscular shoulder, before ripping back in glee. The Troll’s fingers weave around fur, and toss the Wolf onto the ground before it. The attacker lets out a pained howl, pinned beneath great paws. The immense Wolf squirms, snapping at a wrist, blood sprouting from the opened limb.

And then, it is free, darting up. Teeth gnaw into its throat, warm blood running down over the Wolf’s face, as he presses all of his weight against the twitching Troll, pushing it back into the dirt. In its death throes, the Beast draws cuts along the flanks of the Wolf, drowning on its own blood…

Alrik, covered in both his blood and that of the Troll, sat atop its chest. His jet-coloured blade lay, to the hilt, in the windpipe of the alpha male. It twitched, eyes slowly discoloring with death; pawing gently at Alrik’s ribs. A deep hole was carved in its shoulder, and its left hand dangled, all sinew and bone and blood - His Cretacian blade had scored all, parting flesh with unnatural ease, diving deep.

‘You’re dead.’ He smiled, knife-thin, his eyes aglow with triumph and rage. The following howl echoed through the valleys, morose and terrible.
 

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He had wounded the second troll, sent it to the ground. But it was no victory yet. His body was failing him, of all things.

His teeth began to clatter uncontrollably, his muscles shook, all futile attempts for his body to try and stay warm. Fenris was not one to relent. Vermundr was sure his palm was actually frozen to the handle of his axe at this point, but he wasted no time to look.

He charged in the direction of the troll's stagger, lashing out with his weapon and catching the beast's outer thigh; the reverse swing catching its knee cap. A yell much louder than before wailed from the Troll's disgusting maw. Vermundr moved to end it, his muscles feeling stiff and noticeably slower than normal. As he raised the axe over the Troll's head he could see the blue coloration, shading the flesh of his massive forearms and biceps.

The axe came down all the same, splitting the troll's skull, silencing its wail with a triumphant splatter across the icy ground. Unable to drop his axe, he retrieved his knife from the trolls body, just to plunge it back in again.

He dug and he carved the best he could with just one hand, all the while his broad back gathering ice, snow, and sleet, chilling his spine rusty cold as he worked, the winds a loud whistling train of death with its light quickly coming to meet him upon the sticky frozen tracks.

His hands began to warm first, becoming covered in the beast's fresh blood. He had no time to do this properly, his packmates' battle yells still echoed through his ears. He still could hardly even see the figures across the chasm, not knowing of any of his pack had died. His sense of leadership pulled hard on him as he dropped his knife in the snow and tore the large piece of back-skin away from the rest of the troll.

The hide still dripped with blood and other bodily remains as he whipped it around his neck. He yelled in agitation at having to slap this foul creature's hide onto his skin, while he stretched what had been the pieces covering the troll's shoulders until he could knot them around his throat. It didn't cover much more than his own back, but the remaining warmth from the troll helped a bit more. A few of his upper body muscles that had gone numb, began to regain some feeling.

He looked to his brothers still on this side of the bridge. He spotted Krahl, Azahd, and Heimdall but had lost sight of Kjartan.

Krahl seemed to have things under control, more so than the other two at least. He saw Heimdall push his opponent off of him, but Azahd was still struggling with his. Azahd was also the closest so Vermundr rushed over to help him, blood from the skin of the troll dripping down his ribcage.
 

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The Hammer of Olympia
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The troll struggled to get to its feet, half of its face limp and broken, its eye pulped and oozing a sickly yellow liquid. Tyr smiled and cracked his neck as it moaned in pain, his first punch had apparently been a damn good one and almost killed the beast outright but it was not dead yet and there were still more trolls to kill so his job was not yet done. It swung a claw at him sluggishly in an attempt to disembowel him but he dodged it with ease, gripping the arm in his metal hand and crushing it before plunging his knife right through its remaining eye, burying it to the hilt before ripping it out and kicking the dead troll away from him.

As he did this he saw a flash of movement as something went over the side of the cliff, he turned his head to see Frostulfr leaning over the edge and a troll on the ground clutching its face and screaming in rage. Tyr was on the troll in an instant, his metal fist slamming into its ribs at the same time as his knife, he would take care of this beast so that his brother could help whoever had fallen off the cliff back up. It got up, blood dripping from the knife wound he had inflicted upon it, a growl of hate emanating from its lips as it charged him in a blind rage. He let out a howl of joy as he answered with his own charge, his muscles carrying his large bulk across the snow in a split second, his fist powering itself right into the middle of its chest as he let his momentum carry him and the punch right into the beast.

OOC: i talked with Angel of Blood and he requested that i take care of the troll for him
 

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Yngvar

Yngvar heard the howl from behind. Then came to claws scraping against stone as the ape troll lunged. The young blood claw spun. He could still feel the hot breath against his leg as the thing’s mouth snapped close inches from the flesh. Clouds of cold steam belched forward as the beast roared. Yngvar kept his two handed grip on the weapon. He could see the eyes both red with hate. It howled and began to pull itself up for another strike.

Both hearts were pumping in unison as blood surged. Every sense was sharpened. Yngvar could smell the wet fur; he could hear the claws raking across the stone ground as rain and ice continued to fall. Cold water splashed on his face as he gripped the spear tightly enough that it almost hurt. He was the hunter now, the killer, the ender. The ape troll lunged forward. With superhuman speed the blood claw reacted, not with strength but with agility. He moved toward the attack, and dove into the air.

Claws scraped against rock, and a new ploom of steam released as the ape troll roared. Its target was not where the claws slammed into the rocks. The head twisted to get a view as the intended prey turned into a predator. The spear slammed down behind the skull. The shaft bent as the force sent it down through skin and meat until it hammered into bone. For a moment it stopped, and then the point found a weakness. It slipped only slightly before plunging down severing the spine as it slid between the heavy bones. Without information flowing to the limbs the animal went limp as Yngvar stuck the ground and halted.

The young blood claw wrenched his spear from the beast. Warm blood steamed in the cold wind as it quickly pooled around the dead creature. The battle had heightened his senses further, and Yngvar found it all intoxicating. Deep within him the hunter’s spirit, part of his inner wolf, growled for more.

His packmates were fending for themselves well. It seemed that Alrik had gained the upper hand with a sudden head butt. The older packmate would not need assistance now. The others were each gaining the upper hand, except for one, Njord. He was no where to be seen. A sudden rush caught Yngvar, had a brother died? Another, Frostulfr, was already running to the edge.

Yngvar broke into a full sprint. He could tell the other blood claw was not at full form. Frostulfr shouted something below, before turning and taking several deep breaths. Was the other brother over the side? Had he fallen? The blood claw launched his spear toward where Alrik was fighting. After launching the spear, Frostulfr turned back to the cliff.

As he approached Yngvar turned his eyes toward the ape troll. It was howling with rage. For a moment the young blood claw almost dove into the creature, but another entered his view. It was Tyr, the sheen of his metal hand was unmistakable. The older blood claw launched himself into the thing. At the cliff it was easy to tell that Frostulfr was struggling. Yngvar repressed his hunter’s spirit. There must be a brother in trouble.

Come on; help me out here, push!!” Frostulfr yelled. Even before the steam from his words disappeared in the wind a new arm thrust out. The hand locked onto Njord’s wrist. “Don’t worry brother,” Yngvar said his head turned so that he could see Tyr’s fight, “you have all the help you need.”
One brother had been saved, but if the fight shifted Yngvar would offer his assitance with all haste to keep another from injury as well.
 

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Hrothgar let out a howl as the claw of the troll sliced into the flesh of his arm but thankfully being a son of Russ and a gene-forged warrior of the All-Father his body quickly reacted to the wound by starting to pump collected blood to the wound to stop it from bleeding out too much. As he stared at the sky Hrothgar saw a claw desend towards his face and quickly rolled out to the side and thanked Russ that he had done it when he had, for had it been a second later then the trolls claw would of must likely pierced his skull and killed him. Rolling two move times Hrothgar then jumped back to his feet with spear in hand and stared at his opponent, noticing that his dagger was still buried in the things gut meaning his only weapon would be his spear unless he could get back in and collect his dagger. Formulating a plan Hrothgar let out a howl to the wind as he rushed towards the troll with his spear now held in a reverse grip with his right arm pulled back ready to thrown his spear like a javalin, but he waited until he was only five feet away before hurling the spear with all his might towards the sternum(the base of the neck where it meets the top of the rib-cage) of the troll not only hoping that the spear would cause some damage to the troll but also distract it for the second part of his plan.

As the spear flies through the air Hrothgar charges straight ahead and ducks in low to the trolls mid-rift as he out stretches his right hand when he gets close enough to the dagger imbedded within the trolls stomach. Upon gripping the hilt of the dagger Hrothgar doesn't try to pull it out but instead tries to pull the dagger to the side to try and cut open a larger wound into the trolls stomach while pushing toward on his blade in an attempt to open up the creatures stomach and make its internal digestive organs feel the below freezing wind wondering if the freezing cold would stop the trolls strange healing abilities should its organs freezing. After trying to make a large enough wound Hrothgar then finally pulls his dagger out of the troll and hurls himself backwards in and attempt to get out of his opponents range and not be wouded again, but he had made the mistake of leaving his spear where it was meaning that should the creature survive he will have to fight with only his dagger while he tried to retrieve his spear.
 

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The Emperor Protects
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Njord slid over the edge and threatened to plummet into the abyss below when he found a purchase and arrested his fall. It felt like his arm had been wrenched out of its socket from the abrupt stop and it took all of Njords willpower to not let go. Hanging helplessly for the moment he took a few deep calming breathes, trying to will the burning sensation in his arm away. In his other hand he still gripped tight his spear preventing him from using his other arm to find a more sustainable grip or to climb back up. He realised he would have to drop his weapon into the void, the thought of losing his weapon reeked of shame, but what other choice did he have. As he was about to let go though, he spied another form moving up the cliff face.

It was one of the trolls, either one like him thrown from the edge in the battle above or a fresh troll to boost the already larger force, either way it was heading right for him. Njord knew he had a decision to make. He could either drop his spear and attempt to haul himself back over the edge and deal with the troll when it reached the top as well or he could dispatch it there and then with his spear. Both decision had their drawbacks. If he reached the top he had no way of guaranteeing he would not be immediately engaged with another troll leaving the newcomer free to attack him or the others. On the other hand if he threw his spear at the troll below it could very easily make him lose his grip and potentially fall off the face. Ever the pragmatist, Njord knew which option he must take.

Weighing the spear in his hand he grinned down at the ascending troll and laughed “Time for us to find out just how big this drop is!” and threw his spear at the snarling beast. The spear stabbed into the trolls shoulder causing it to growl in agony and lose its grip on the rock face, tumbling into the depths below. As the spear left his hand Njord swung his arm up in a last ditch attempt to grab a handhold but his hand could only slide hopelessly off the wet rock. The imbalance of the throw also weakened his already strained grip in his other hand and that grip was also lost, throwing Njord, like the troll below him into the mercy of Fenris.

He closed his eyes as he began to fall, accepting that there was nothing he could do now. But then he felt a strong grip take hold of his hand and once again stop him falling, the pain in his shoulder intensified again as even more strain was out upon it. Opening his eyes again he saw Frostulfr stood at the edge, his hands grasped around Njords own, struggling to pull him back up. “Come on; help me out here, push!” He heard Frostulfr yell at him. He desperately tried push himself up, but his feet could not find and purchase with which to do so. But then another hand shot out and gripped tight Njords other hand. Yngvar had also come to their aid, “Don’t worry brother” he assured “You have all the help you need”

Njord tried to grin through his grimace of pain from his arm ad the hauled him back over the edge. He took a few large gasps of air before looking up to see Tyr taking care of the troll that had flung Njord over the edge of the cliff in the first place. He unsteadily rose to his feet and clasped hand in each of his fellows brothers hands in turn, “My thanks brothers” he grinned “I am in your debt, but for now, let’s get back into these animals” and with a growl he ran back towards the melee. As he did he thought about how three of his brothers had combined to rescue him from certain death. Perhaps the pack was not as unsound as some of them thought after all.
 

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Heimdall charged forward a howl on his lips as the troll met his charge. It roared at his howl as the two collided, the troll having the greater mass than Heimdall and therefore the advantage. Heimdall wasn't small, he was a big space marine, body rippling with muscle, but the troll was huge compared. Heimdall felt as if he had charged through a brick wall but he moved his knife around. He was aiming for its hip, hoping beyond hope that his blade would strike true.

He was fortunate, he felt his knife slide through, piercing its skin as blood welled out of its wound, covering his blade and his hand. He snarled as he twisted it, causing a shriek of pain from it. The blood smelled foul on the icy wind, buffeting Heimdall's face as he wrenched the knife free. The troll moved quicker than he thought was possible for something of its size, and with the pain that it had just been caused it wanted to do some damage. Its howling mouth clamped onto Heimdall's shoulder. Heimdall howled in anger and pain, he had been wounded twice by this creature, though he was sure that his shoulder injury was worse than the one on his thigh.

Heimdall slammed into the cold icy ground as the troll fell with him, the two of them snarling and howling as they fought to gain the advantage over the other. Heimdall was angry beyond belief, he let his wulfen out, something that he was scared off, knowing what could happen. Heimdall brought his spear to bear on the troll, stabbing it several times as he tried to force the troll off of him, each time foul smelling ichor flew free from its wounds. It splattered on the icy ground and pooled around the two fighting behemoths.

Heimdall slammed his spear through its ear, causing it to roar in pain as it reared up. He twisted just out of the way as it tried to bite at his head. Slamming his spear into its head. He was only able to hit it with the blunt end, and he still needed to get up on his feet. He brought his spear into its shoulder, and at the same time stabbed it again in its stomach. It cried out in pain, and he kicked it back, getting to his feet as the troll did the same. His blood caked his skin and had also mixed with the troll blood at his feet.

Heimdall leapt forward like lightning, slamming his spear into its leg as he brought a fist into its head. It roared in pain and confusion as Heimdall finally gained the upper hand in the fight. He brought his knife in to cut the troll, striking quickly and soon the troll was covered in deep gashes. He snarled as he brought his spear into its knee, twisting so that it fell to one knee. He stood above it, and brought his knife down into its skull, putting his weight behind the blade as it carved through its skull and into its small brain. At least Heimdall assumed it had a small brain, it was a vicious but wild creature. He panted as it ended its death throes, his shoulder caused pain that flashed through his body with the wind slamming into his body. His thigh hurt as well but not as much.
 

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The pungent scent of the ape-trolls’ blood cut through the icy bite of the wind as it thrashed wildly; Keris’ killing thrust merely scoring a shallow wound along the side of the beast’s mangy neck as it rolled away from the flashing spear tip. Keris gave a deep-throated snarl as he whipped his spear around for another strike, the cold intensity of kill arousal burning in his veins, but checked his thrust as the first of the ape-trolls sank its jagged claws into its kin in a blind rage of being jostled from its first attack.

The stink of the trolls was a fetid mixture of rancid musk and the frenzied pang of starvation that even the driving sleet did little to dissipate as the troll thrust its fellow aside, turning to lunge at Keris with madness in its pinned eyes. Keris bared his teeth but held fast as, with a feral roar, the troll’s wounded fellow smashed into its side; fangs and claws tearing gouts from each other’s flesh as the pair went down in a frothing struggle for dominance.

It was only a moment later that the victor lumbered to its feet, the steaming heart of its rival hanging free from its clawed grasp. Bloody taters of flesh and the dark fluid of one eye streaked down one side of the surviving troll’s simian features as it cast away the cooling organ with a crow of triumph that was cut short as the tip of Keris’ spear found a home in its already ruined eye socket, the mono-edged tip punching through the back of the thickened skull and the sheer force of impact snapping in the brute’s spine with a wet snick of shattering bone.

Keris planted his foot on the broken face and pulled his spear free of the corpse; crystalline eyes taking in the destruction wrought by his packbrothers and tasted the storm around him. The fanged wind howled through the darkness as a roll of thunder uncoiled from the heart of the storm like the growling of Morkai from the gates of Hel. He could feel the blood-thirst of his wolfspirit hot upon his thoughts but forced it back under the unbending edge of his will; Keris had come to accept the crimson-tinted wrath of combat that had seen foes torn to shreds by his hands alone but also understood the state could cloud a warrior’s awareness.

With the pack’s focus upon the last bleeding ape-trolls, Keris’ eyes watched the storm around them for threats to his brothers as he pressed close to where Iorek still fought near the edge of the gorge.
 

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Azahd; You desperately hold the troll back, its razor sharp jaws snapping mere inches away from your face. It’s hot, putrid breath washes over you, and it is all you can do to keep the infernal beast from making a meal of you. You glare up into the things eyes and notice something of a glint in them, and then without warning it changes tactics, taking one clawed hand and grasping for your neck. Prickles of pain sting along the sides of your exposed flesh as the hand clenches tight, cutting off your windpipe and the air of Fenris from your lungs. You grab its arm to try and wrench the limb free, but the troll does not budge and instead raises its other hand to stab those bladed fingers into you.

Before it gets the chance though, something calls out a challenge and the troll turns its attention toward the sound. In the next moment, something flashes over you and the grip of the troll slackens. Half the trolls head falls to the ground beside you, cut through the center of the mouth while you finally remove the bladed claw. Turning onto your side and spitting a gobbet of blood, you see that the others have dispatched the rest of the trolls and a lone figure stands in the center of all of you.

[The one standing over you is none other than the wolf lord himself, fully armed and armoured. He extends his free hand to you, helping you off the ground and back to your feet.]


Vermudr, Krahl, Heimdall; You dispatch the trolls attacking you, your limbs burning for the effort and body half frozen, in the case of Vermundr, from the storm. Before you can react to help Azahd while he struggles with the last of the troll’s, an object dashes from the direction of the chasm; a figure of grey-blue and black all but flies to Azahd and barks out something to the troll. The beast looks up, and there is the barest glint of metal before half the trolls head falls to the rain slick ground. While Azahd recovers from his fight, the figure stands over him, rune encrusted blade held low in one hand while the storm flaps his long black hair and black wolf pelt wildly. Wolf lord Ragnar Blackmane helps Azahd haul himself from the ground with his free gauntlet before turning to the rest of you.

“This challenge must be cut short, there is a matter of graver import for us to deal with. Gather your pack Vermundr, it is time for us to go.” He says, his voice reaching each of you with little trouble through the storm. It is only then that you hear the roar of engines behind the howling of the storm, only just able to see the outline of a thunderhawk gunship hovering over the chasm.

Vermundr calls to the rest of the pack, his voice catching in the vox unit built into the base of his throat, as one has been for all of you. However, looking around you notice that only four of you are present here, Kjartan is nowhere in sight; where did he go? Turning about in search of Kjartan, you spy something moving towards you from further into the storm, however you do not raise your weapons towards this thing. It is almost as if your mind knows what it is, but cannot completely comprehend, until the thing gets closer and you can make out that it is not one thing, but two people. Or rather, Njal Stormcaller carrying another in his arms: Kjartan. You move to help the rune-priest, and see the damage done to Kjartan’s body, his arm and leg mauled on one side and his skin pale as snow.

You help the silent priest and Kjartan’s unconscious form onto the transport before it turns to allow the rest of your packmates in.

[Vermundr; having seen it before, you know without having to ask that the wounds Kjartan has sustained have put him into the Red Dream. Even if he survives the trip back to the Fang, it is not likely he will ever wake. Blackmane will notice you staring at your fallen pack-mate and lay a hand on your shoulder, though he will not say anything as nothing can be said.

All of you should try to find a place to sit down or a hand hold to keep steady. Who knows if this contraption will stay in the air or plummet to the ground?]


Keris; As you scan the surrounding area for other dangers that may be lurking in wait, your ears pick up something else within the storm: the roar of engines. And that is when you see it, the side of the thunderhawk gunship hovering over the chasm, facing more towards where you had all come and where the last of the pack still remain. Before you can say anything to the others, part of a scent crosses you despite the winds, and you immediately turn around to look for its source. Walking toward you and the others are four individuals, all clad in pelts and wielding spears or other personal weapons.

Without their scents, without those weapons, you know in an instant who these four are for you have seen them before, and fought alongside some of them as well. Baldyr Ice-slayer, deep blue eyes and unflinching scowl, Oger Mountain-stride, keeper of the company wolf standard, Hundir Thunder-smith, a former member of the great wolf’s own company, and Gunnar Orkbane, undisputed leader of Ragnar Blackmane’s wolf guard and second-in-command of the wolf company. The wolf guard, champions of the chapter and warriors nearly without peer.

[Why are they here? Why is that thunderhawk here? Could it have something to do with the warning from before?]


Keris, Tyr, Yngvar, Frostulfr, Njord, Iorek, Hrothgar, and Alrik; Vermundr’s voice echo’s in your ears, telling you to gather to him across the chasm, towards the thunderhawk. For such a thing to be here, you guess that the challenge of returning the Ursid pelt has been ended, but for what reason? Before any of you begin to cross the small bridgeway, the ship turns to you, its assault ramp now close enough for you to jump onto. Wasting no time, you make your way onto the thunderhawk, greeted by the sight of the wolf lord in full armour and the rest of the pack already within the transport. The coppery taste of blood is in the air, and your eyes fall on the pale form of Kjartan, one of his hands a ruined mess below the elbow and leg sheared away from the mid-thigh down. Njal Stormcaller, said to be greatest of the rune-priests, kneels by your packmate’s side, a hand resting on his chest. The Stormcaller’s face tells you everything, and it is not good.

[Best find a spot to sit or hold on to, lest you be thrown about like a longboat on raging sea's.]


Everyone; When the last of you and the wolf guard have made it onto the thunderhawk, the ramp closes with a hiss of steam and clanking gears before the ship lurches to the side and away from the storm. Many of you sit in the grav couches, while a few remaining standing and hold to hand rails. Hundir of the wolf guard climbs to the cockpit, likely to help fly the vessel through the storm and back to the Fang. You look around the barely lit main cabin of the transport and see tired faces, both blood claw and wolf guard alike, as well as concern written across some; concern for the fate of Kjartan, as well as concern for the presence of the wolf lord.

As if reading your mind, lord Blackmane finally speaks to you; his gaze seemingly falling on each of you and you alone. “A call for aid has reached Fenris; the Sons of Russ swore an oath during the Macharian Crusade to fight alongside the warriors of the Aurora chapter against the greenskin horde. The green tide crashes into the Gorden Worlds once again, and we will break the enemy as we swore to do. Worlds of the All-Father are threatened, and the enemy stands capable of dealing a deathblow to a brother chapter; this we cannot allow. So the challenge of the Razor-ursid pelt must be ended, and a greater matter dealt with.”

[The thunderhawk quickly passes through the storm, and though the vessel does not shake as badly as before, it does not stop entirely. Several times you are nearly thrown about, but each time manage to catch yourself. What do you make of what has been said? Do you have questions, questions of the wolf guard, or this news from lord Blackmane, or of Kjartan?]



[This is the first of two updates we will see this week. Felt it better to stop here, for the moment, rather than post some monster update that takes everyone two months to fully get through.:p

For now though, this thunderhawk ride will last a few hours as you return to the Fang, rather than the better part of a day. It being much faster at moving about than any of you on your own two legs.]
 

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Krahl

Krahl arched his back as he stood atop the troll`s dead form. The fight had been more taxing than he`d initially thought. As he stepped off the corpse and moved to rejoin Vermundr, he became aware of all the small injuries he hadn`t noticed while caught up in the rush of combat. A bruise on his thigh, a small cut on his cheek that had frozen over, and a few others besides.

Pha, they`ll be fine once I`m out of this damned cold. He thought to himself. He looked to his packmates, all had succeeded in eliminating their foes except for Azahd.

Krahl tightened his grip on the spear and broke into a run, squinting to keep the ice from his eyes. Movement on the edge of his vision caught his eye and stopped him in his tracks. He could not see anything specific because of the blasted snow, but there was defenitely something... someone moving towards Azahd very fast. He heard a shout of something, and the troll assailing Azahd looked up. Moments later, the newcomer dashed past, and Krahl caught the destinct sillhouette of a large sword bisecting the troll`s head.

Forcing his legs to move again, Krahl started towards the stranger as he heard Vermundr`s voice call out. He looked around, Heimdall was the only other member of the pack he could make out in the vicinity. As they all converged on Azahd`s position, Krahl was finally able to make out the figure`s identity.

It was Blackmane! Ragnar Blackmane had come out to aid them, but why?

'This challenge must be cut short, there is a matter of graver import for us to deal with. Gather your pack Vermundr, it is time for us to go.' He heard the wolf lord command.

As if in response to Blackmane`s order, Krahl could hear the approach of powerful engines from nearby. Arching his head and looking skyward, shielding his face from the ice and snow, he could make out the approaching form of a thunderhawk gunship. The situation Ragnar was talking about must be dire indeed if their test was being cut short so arubtly. At the bequest of the wolf leaders, Krahl followed the others and boarded the thunderhawk. He immediately made his way deeper into the vessel and found a seat. He raised his hands above his head and gripped the harness tightly, but did not lower it. He did not relish the idea of being trapped should the craft succumb to the storm.

He noticed Heimdall seemed to have struggled more than he had in the fight, judging by the volume of cuts and gashes over his body. He turned his gaze away from his brother`s form, not wanting to look disrespectful. Instead he turned his attention to the forward section as the thunderhawk lowered itelf. Within a few short minutes, the rest of the pack had boarded the craft and the front hatch closed, finally shutting out the cold.

Krahl was glad to see them. Even Alrik, to Krahl`s surprise, was a welcome sight.
 

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Hrothgar looked at the troll infront of him and narrows his eyes to focus on the spear now jutting out of the trolls shoulder trying to work out how to fell such a beast with only his dagger and hands before it has a chance to wound him again. Hrothgar's eyes quickly dart to the cuts on his right arm from where the trolls claws had dug into his flesh when it flung him away, wincing at the slight tenderness from the biting wind on his open cut Hrothgar returned his attention to the troll before going into another charge, dagger in hand. The inner wolf within Hrothgar's mind snarls as his body gets closer, urging Hrothgar to use his own 'claws' to defeat the troll but to do such a thing would give the troll time to attack him unless he distracted it and then Hrothgar's plan finally pieced together.

Once within range of the troll Hrothgar stooped down low to avoid a swipe from the things massive claws before pushing himself back up to full height while extending out his right arm wielding the dagger aiming straight for the trolls lower jaw and after a few moments Hrothgar is rewarded with a crunch as the dagger pieces the trolls flesh and slams straight into its jone bone. Letting go of his dagger and ignoring his spear both of Hrothgar's hands shoot out infront of him towards the open wound on the trolls stomach, pushing his hands straight into the open wound Hrothgar then sets about grabbing what ever he can inside of the trolls abdominal area before pulling it out with his bare hands and throwing it behind him, covering himself in the things stinking blood. Hearing the troll howl Hrothgar narrowly ducks another its wild swipes and stares at the foul creature infront of him and pounces on it, aiming his hands straight for its eyes to gouge them out before he sets about tearing out its internal organs once again until it was finally dead and once it was, Hrothgar leans over and retrieves his spear and dagger, covered in blood, exhausted but victorious.

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Hrothgar stands victorious over the corpse of the troll and looks around for his pack brothers when he hears shouting upon the wind and strains his eyes to look in the direction of where it is coming from, he can tell it is the pack leader Vermundr but can't quite make out what he is saying so he moves closer, when he see's a large metalic contraption hovering in the air with the rest of the pack jumping inside it. Not wasting any time and not wishing to be left behind Hrothgar moves pushes forward ignoring the tiredness of his limbs and the pain in his right arm he leaps onto the ramp of the thunderhawk and moves inside of its metalic belly. Once inside Hrothgar's eyes look around at those before him before settling on one individual in particual, Wolf Lord Ragnar Blackmane...What is he doing here? Muses Hrothgar before he notices the wolf guard and the runepriest are in pelts aswell but the scent of blood draws his attention to Kjartan on the ground. Though he has many questions about what happened and is going on Hrothgar opts to remain silent as he makes his way over to one of the strange looking harness's and straps himself in before looking around at the gathered warriors when the Wolf Lord decideds to speak up.

Hrothgar stood there listening to the Wolf Lord as he explained the situation in a place known as the Gorden Worlds the home of the Aurora Chapter, Hrothgar's mind wheeled back to what he hand learnt from the great learning machines in the fang(they may have a different name, sorry its been awhile since i read the Ragnar books) and registered that they were worlds in the great black ocean of space meaning that the pack would be leaving Fenris. This excited Hrothgar as it would be his first time off of Fenris and his first real battle against the enemies of the Imperium, Russ and the All-Father...yet he felt unsettled and nervous about leaving his homeworld and knew not what the future and war has instore for him. Well...He thought, I am a Son of Russ, I will meet what ever challenges are ahead with weapon in hand and courage in my hearts. Nodding to himself Hrothgar then shifts his attention back to the rest of the back before looking to his right arm again and gingerly poked and prodded the claw wounds on his arm before letting out a sigh.

Finally finished with examining his wound Hrothgar shifts his attention back to the Wolf Lord and then looked at the Stormcaller, yet when his eyes settled on the Runepriest he felt a shiver run down his spine as if he was staring at the ice, snow and storms incarnate. Finally through all of the silence and roar of the engines Hrothgar cleared his throat and looked once again upon Rgnar Blackmane. "Lord Blackmane...Is it possible to ask how long it will take us to travel to these Gorden Worlds? Do we know the size of the force we will be fighting against? The size of our allies forces?" Hroghar then stood there awaiting the answers of the Wolf Lord or any of the Wolf Guard who decide to answer before mulling over the answers inside of his head before asking two more questions. "Does the Great Company leave as soon as we are ready? And finally do you believe that Kjartan will ever recover from his injuries?"
 

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Vermundr ran to Azahd's aid, and he saw the form of another doing the same, running through the sleet and rain towards the troll over their packmate.

but his help was not needed. Perhaps due to effects from the cold on his body, or because his mind was simply focusing on the battle and nothing else, he did not notice the thunderhawk of his lord until Blackmane appeared before him, slaying the troll's head in half with his frostblade. In an instant, at his Lord's words, the pelt that took months to obtain meant nothing to him. Vermundr addressed is pack immediately.

While uttering his words to those across the chasm, finally having time to see who of his pack remained, a figure emerged from the storm cast shadows who Vermundr instantly recognized as Njal Stormcaller.

His spirits sunk to a new low as he finished his statement over the vox, his eyes coming to rest on the form being carried by Njal. One of his pack has fallen to a band of trolls. He knew how rare it was for those who slipped into the red dream to return and he had already been lucky enough to see Iorek's revival. A wrath built inside him as he moved into the thunderhawk. The icy sleet slamming into his face.

He had hand picked Kjartan along with the other new additions to the pack, and he had done so seeing much potential in each one of them. The long, grueling processes of becoming an astartes, months upon months of training just to never set foot off of Fenris...to never fire a round at the enemies of mankind...to never slay a single, true foe of the Imperium in hand to hand combat in the name of Russ.

A powerful hand braced his shoulder, his feelings over Kjartan likely obvious. the touch of his Lord's hand reminded him of how blessed he was for he and his pack to be so favored by him. It also reminded him of his excessive grief over those brothers he witnessed die in a riot upon first landing on Hecutor. The priest had scolded him for that, and had worked hard to never let that happen again. To almost slip into his old inexperienced attitudes toward losing brothers in battle was, he had to admit, an embarrassing moment.

The rest of his squad entered the thunderhawk, with no further casualties. Thanks be to the All-father

Justification was just as hard to swallow, but the thought entered his mind nonetheless: Kjartan had fallen to a single troll. The Orks would be just as relentless and far, far greater in number. If he hadn't fallen here, he would have fallen soon.

When all of his pack was accounted for, he was surprised to see extra figures climbing aboard. Of course, he thought, naturally he would bring his wolf guard with him. Baldyr caught his eye over the others, and was happy to be among the Ice-slayer once again. Of course, being in the presence of any of the four was always a tremendous honor.

As the Transport closed up and began to move, the storm refused to be forgotten. Vermundr remained calm. Even if they crashed, they would be with his Lord.

One of his new pack brothers suddenly spoke up, badgering his Lord with questions. Vermundr would have stood straight up if he could, but in his frustration, had to remain in his grav-seat if he didnt want to be thrown into the side of the hull from the storm shaking the thunderhawk so violently.

"Hrothgar, do not badger our Lord with questions! If you would pause your thoughts for a moment you would not have to ask such things here. We will be given more detailed information about the mission once we are on our way there, and obviously we will leave as soon as we are ready, we are space marines for Russ's sake."

He turned to Lord Blackmane, lowering his tone, "Forgive me for speaking for you, My Lord."

To his surprise, the Thunderhawk had already made it out of the storm.
 

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The blade lodged in the beasts throat, slicing through its feeble trachea with ease, sheer momentum breaking through the tendons, causing the head to loll and roll with the gross sickening momentum of a failing ship upon a stormy sea.

The body pondered its demise the blade meeting the fading strength of the claw, its dying scream reduced to a timid gurgle as the beast toppled, blood soaking into the ice revealing the form of Keris, approaching his position with spear raised.

Yet his brothers back was stiff his nose raised and eyes sharp as he peered away into the distance.

From his subconcious a low soothing growl made him drop his gaze and lower the knife he held out stretched, blood still dripping upon the snow strewn ground.

His body eased as he wiped the blade upon the trolls matted dank fur and a voice rang out across the clearing calling them back.

The packleader called them back, something had morphed, a new electricity lanced through the air, the dying fade of combat enchanced beyond its exhilerating levels by something new.

Change, a new path opened upon the winds.

Alongside him keris had not moved, his eyes focused upon something Iorek could not see, though his eyes strained into the distance.

The wolf in his head could see and he felt the familiar taste of four wolves, mind sage and muscles broad, veterans, lords amongst wolves.

One amongst them left a bitter in the wolfs mouth, a tang on Iorek's own conscience. A wolf with fangs of ice and a mind of blood and rage.

A warrior, a veteran, a mentor, one who had shamed him.

A low snarl blossomed from the wolfs lips, pure rage ricocheted through his own mind and his own hiss of irritation slipped through his own lips turning into a grunt of shamed exertion as the wolfs influence was rebuffed again

Hurriedly he tugged upon Keris's sleeve.

"The packleader calls us brother. Something has changed upon the wind, a new path opens, allfather be praised if it fails to swallow us whole."

Not waiting for his brother, fearing he may desire words with the iceslayer, Iorek hurried on, hunching against the cold pressure of Baldyr's stare which he was sure was upon his retreating back.

The route back across the chasm was far less eventful then the first and he crossed with little difficulty, scrambling with cat like grace across the plinth, his footsteps harried by the shame of the wolf guard.

Upon the other side, he saw Vermundr aside the wolf lord, immense, an aura of power seeping from his pores as he helped a new wolf to his feet from beneath a trolls sinewy body.

Yet Iorek's eyes flitted from him with little attention, a small mental nod of affirmation, changes indeed.

His eyes slid on to the figures whose shadows and bodies were intertwined the conversation of the others drowned in a fade of memories.

A torrent of emotions, a cascading waterfall over rode his body and his eyes closed upon the stormcaller, yet the image was burnished, branded upon his iris. Once again he saw the raging anger that had burned above the fear in the stormcallers eyes, pain that echoed in his voice, the victory laced through his assailants features.

His scar seered with agony and the wolf riled against his subconcious, savage snarls of hatred buckling the walls of its mental prison.

He longed to meet the stormcallers gaze, yet the ancient rune priest worked intent upon the limp figure in his arms.

Had he done wrong, had his actions truly been folly, had Njal had the traitorous wretch well within his grasp.

Had his attack been yet another stain upon his honor, an affront to Njal's skill over the wyrd.

Even as he sat and listened to the others, his eyes locked upon the rune priests back, watching the graceful movements of his shoulder as he worked.

Even as Blackmane spoke, as the new path opened before them and youthful curiosity was met with the snarl of the packleader.

He let out a rye smile a lilting whisper half to himself, half to all

"The curiosity of youth, are we so old?"

He let out a soft laugh eyes still upon Njal's back

Yet his true question went unsaid though it burned in his eyes

"Look at me rune priest" he thought "Did i stain both our honours the day my body was cleft in twain?"
 

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The troll shook, in an uncontrollable spasm, blood rushing from its mouth. Alrik Firehawk, bleeding himself, could not stop the smile which separated his scarred countenance; red and wide. Admirably, the beast had died fighting, if piteously, but it had refused to submit to pain, pawing uncomfortably at the Wolf’s sides and arms. The muscle of his arms burned, crisscrossed and leaking, though he played such superficial cuts little heed.

Relatively unarmed, when in comparison to his ape-troll counterpart, the Space Marine stood, running a hand through the furs which covered him. They were sticky, the rain dyeing the browns and blacks and greys, a wonderful red. With the tip of his boot, he prodded the creature’s side, until it rolled over, lying face-down in the mud. With a sigh, Alrik slipped his knees either side of the thing’s back, and sat down.

He tangled his left hand in the ape-troll’s hair, giving a savage yank, until the head was held aloft. The Cretacian Blade, Black Bite, was graceful in his grip; a shard of rock, with an ostentatious pommel and a fierce touch. There was a crunch, followed by an audible splatter, and slowly, the Firehawk sawed his way through the neck.

Semi-solidified blood, growing black, ran out from rupturing veins, over his encrusted hand. Muscles squelched, contrasting against the crunch of ligaments and bones. He felt the spine shatter, witnessed shards of bone tear through callused skin; smiled as the edge of his blade pressed against a thin layer of flesh. And then, the body fell to the ground, spewing forth a torrent, and the head was dangling in his hands.

For a moment, it was Frostulfr’s head which dangled in his hands, staring outwards with bloody sockets, mouth agape in pain.

His hallucination had captivated his imagination, stalking beneath his eyelids, foreshadowing each of his sights and movements..

Standing, the Space Wolf sheathed his flaying knife, and unweaved his hand from the grey mane. He clasped the head to his chest-borne scabbard, and with each step he took, it bobbed hauntingly, all white-eyed and guilty. Vermundr’s words rang in his ears, calling for the squad to assemble, back across the chasm. Uncaringly, Alrik sauntered across, and stopped at the sight of the hovering Thunderhawk.

It was immense, a bird of metal, the engines screaming. His eyes danced across the figures assembled - The Pack, all ragged and coppery; five others, four in pelts and leaning upon tall spears; the fifth regaled in a set of Power Armour, a blade in hand, aglow with arcane runes. Blackmane, he knew. The Wolf Lord was bedecked in blue-grey plate, his black hair wet and flickering, his eyes narrow and intelligent. There was a ferocious majesty about him, hanging upon his shoulders like a cloak. They shambled into the Thunderhawk’s mouth, disappearing in the red-lit interior.

Within, Alrik found another beast, this of a different calibre to all others - A Witch, with fiery hair and solemn eyes, his face framed with a heavy, braided beard. He knelt over a Packmate, who’s arm and leg had been sheared away, now sinewy and hardening.

‘The Stormcaller,’ Uttered Alrik, and then turned to watch the others. ‘Blackmane, Orkbane, Ice-Slayer, Mountain-stride, Thunder-smith.’

He gave each of the famed warriors a nod, before taking a seat nearest the Stormcaller. There was an aura of fire-play about him, of dancing upon thin-ice. It invigorated Alrik, made his every sense prickle and grow cool. The Stormcaller controlled the elements themselves, and by right, was a monster - An all-powerful being, untouchable by blade and bullet; who could call upon hail and lightning and fire to aid him.

That notion - It made Alrik jealous.

When Blackmane spoke, Alrik’s tongue slithered across his lips, savouring in the last specks of blood.

They were to fight with the Aurora Chapter, against the Orkish hordes. The Firehawk had insufficient knowledge of the Aurora Chapter - They were the Children of Firestorm; the Seed of Guilliman, powerful, with large amounts of armoured units.

Of the Gorden Worlds, he knew nothing. That, he would need to change. Previously, he had made the mistake of knowing little about Hecutor, and had paid with his features and the friendship of his brethren. He could not allow that to replay, nor would he.

And yet, his thoughts were still haunted, by Frostulfr’s dread features, bloody and ruined.

After an hour or two into the flight, with the troll’s head bobbing upon his chest; while the Thunderhawk tossed and turned in the storm. And yet, Njal remained serene, calm, brooding over Kjartan’s slumbering form. It was unlikely that the Blood Claw would ever awake, doomed to the Red Dream, a state of hovering between life and death.

‘Stormcaller,’ Alrik said, respectfully, his voice a dim whisper. ‘When we return to the Fang, may I seek your guidance? I fear that I have foresaw..’ He trailed off, biting back the urge to say: Frostulfr’s corpse, with his blood upon my blade.

He growled, irritated with the lack of his words, and simply said - ‘The future.’
 
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