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Keris and Vermundr; Keris, as the hololith moves closer to the Gorden Worlds, you notice something strange about what you see. When you speak of it, the first to respond to you is the grey hunter Heimdal Stormclaw. “Speaking in riddles? Are you sure you are not one of the Stormcallers kin rather than a claw Keris?” He asked, garnering a number of smirks from the gathered, Njal included. “But only four packs? We cannot send more?” Heimdal asked after the revelation from Blackmane, that it was not the entire company that would be going. "The Fang has always had a company to guard it, by sending even a single pack that tradition is tested, you know this Stormclaw." Sigurd growled before inclining his head to the wolf lord.

The long fang Bruni brings things back to the problem at hand, who is to be sent. “Runes aside, I nominate the long fangs of Enkil.” He said before looking to the others. “You all know that at most only one of us is going, and I cannot deny that Enkil has fought the orks longer than I have.” He added, drawing out the nodding of heads from several others.

Vermundr, you are the one to speak up next. Your thoughts more on how four packs will be able to do what larger forces have not, and just how large those others forces actually are. Both Enkil and Bruni nod in support of your words, looking in the wolf lords direction for the answer. "As I have been told by the one who came to us, the Aurora chapter currently has four companies fighting the orks. Between their strength and the Black Templars and what we will send, roughly six companies by the standards of Guilliman." He answered at length, the desire to send more evident in the air but the knowledge that this is all that can be sent equally as clear.

Gunnar Orkbane, leader of the wolf guard, seconds the selection of Enkil and his long fangs, before pointing out that it will not be the entire group of astartes present who follow the tenets of the codex astartes. "For what good it does them." Leidorlfr added, "I nominate my own pack, we outdid the lot of you when it came to ship-to-ship and there may be some of that." "Darkstalker has a point, I support him and call for the silent one. He and two of his pack were deathwatch, they may know things the rest of us do not." Njal Stormcaller adds in support of Leidolfr Darkstalker.

With two packs already supported to go, Vermundr you put forward your own Claw. However yours is not met with outright agreement as was the case with long fang Enkil. "You truly believe that you and your brothers deserve this honour blood claw?" Hundir growled. "You may have the spirit and be willing to toss your lives away but you lack the experience boy. I say Enkil's fangs, Heimdall and Leidolfr's hunters, and the wolf guard as the fourth." "Still think you cannot trust those who have sworn to the inquisition for a time wolf guard?" This from Ani. "And would you have yourself lead this group?"

Despite the harsh words and lack of support from Hundir, not everyone seems to agree with him. "This was seen in the runes, I support them in going, as much as some might want older wolves in their place." Enkil said, siding with Vermundr "And our numbers will be greater for it." "Enkil's fangs, Leidolfr's hunters, Vermundr's claw and who else? Does Mar or Heimdal go with their hunters or do you all get eclipsed by the vanity of Hundir, the brooding of Oger, Gunnar's leadership, and Baldyr's rage?" Blackmane asked with a grin; Hundir simply snorted at the statement, while Gunnar cracked a smile.

Gunnar grinned at Keris from the idea of going as the fourth pack. "If the one who leads us will have me then yes; and unlike Hundir I shall throw my support in favour of Mar. Secrets or not he would use what he knows even if it is kept from the rest of us." "Bah! And next someone will want the Stormcaller to go as well then?" Hundir said, throwing his arms up. “I will be going wolf guard, whether the one who leads us likes it or not; my presence in this has already been cast by the runes.”

Vermundr’s claw for more than a dozen, Enkil’s fangs for half that, and as many hunters as blood claws between Leidolfr and myself.” Mar the Silent rasped like low gust on the chill nights air. “That gives us a force of forty from the packs alone, add in another by the Stormcaller, but none of that answers the question of who leads this. It is not to be Orkbane, he confirmed as much, and nor will it be Ice-slayer; he made it clear years ago that he would never lead if not present for the council. So who is it?”

But before any could answer the question, the doors again groaned open, this time for two vastly different figures. The first, small compared to the second, was clad in bright green power armour and white trim, a plumed helmet nestled in one arm. His face was a light tan, with four service studs embedded in his brow and short cropped brown hair framing the top of his head. This one could be none other than the bearer of the call for aid, one of the Aurora chapter.

The second was a Space Wolf, from his grey armoured frame to the charms and totems bedecking his armour. I shall be leading this gathering of wolves grey hunter. My vow will not be left for another to uphold, not while I can still walk about and kill the enemies of man. The ancient dreadnought Aldr announced as his massive frame strode into the chamber. Each footfall sent vibrations through the stone, which became greater as he came closer. As ancient Aldr came within a dozen paces of the gathered wolves, he stopped and his armoured body sagged, which you quickly realized was his own way of kneeling before lord Blackmane as a sign of respect to the wolf lord. Lord Blackmane already knows of Davis Namur, but few of the rest of you do. With me is Davis Namur, champion of the fifth battle company, Aurora chapter, here for aid from the vow I made a lifetime ago.


[Since we three have been in contact, for the most part, nothing I really need to add here at this time.]
 

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Azahd wooped and howled in victory as the match between the wolf guard and the Aurora champion drew to a close. In a show of true wolfish spirit and cunning, Baldyr has shown the staunch son of Guilliman that the Wolves were better fighters. Most of the cheering came to an immediate halt as Baldyr threatened to face anyone left standing around in the cages. Having seen the ferocity of the wolf-guard, and knowing that even though he was of the same chapter he could expect no mercy from the veteran wolf, Azahd didn't fancy his chances. Just as Azahd was about to look around for a practice cage to fight in, he notices three figures in his peripheral vision approaching him and the other Wolves of his pack.

The green plated Aurora marines stood before him, Heimdall, Hrothgar, and Njord. One had a gold service stud imbedded in his brow, which marked him out as the more experienced of the three. The other two looked rather similar, but one showed signs of shrapnel damage to his face. “Greetings warriors of Russ. Were you out on the plains of your world as your champion was?” Although the question was directed at Njord, Azahd answered for him.
"We were, but your Chapter's call for aid force us to return earlier than intended" The Aurora marine regarded him. His calm facial expression cracked slightly and a mixture of curiosity and a slight annoyance bleed through. A moment later, all trace of emotion was scrubbed from his face. *Typical son of Guilliman. Never let an emotion show through*

The Aurora had turned his attention back to Njord. "I'm sorry for cutting your quest short. I know how fond Fenrisians are of these quests you partake in. I am curious whether all Wolves are as capable as the Wolf Guard, or he just got lucky as I suspect. What do you say, will you give me a bout in the cages and I'll show you what the sons of Guilliman are truly capable of?" Once again, before Njord could respond, Azahd laughed heartly. "Ha, yeah. And while Njord is kicking your sorry ass, I'll face one of your brothers in the cages. That way if YOU get 'lucky' and beat Njord, at least it will be two scores to the Wolf-King! Come on, there is a cage free. Which one of you two will defend you Chapter's honour?" Azahd walked over to one of the free practice cages and picked up a sword and shield and stripped to the waist. After giving the the sword a few practice swings, being satisfied with it's weight, he glared at the three Aurora marines. "Come on then! Who'll face me?" Azahd gave them a wolfish smile and waited for one of them to step into the cages. He'd show them what the Sons of Fenris were made of...
 

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Krahl

It seemed strange to be back in the Fang, but perhaps Krahl simply hadn`t readjusted to being home after spending such a time in the wilderness. Oh, how much he had enjoyed it at times, at others he had cursed the weather, the cold, his packmates even...

His mind kept coming back to Alrik, and the impending confrontation. Keris had been kind enough (in his own straightforward way) to help him see the error of his own brashness, and the pack leader Vermundr had been likewise caring enough to advise him on Alrik`s nature. It seemed unlikely that Alrik would simply cool off, which meant that their sparring match was going to be more a case of Alrik venting his rage upon Krahl than a true practice duel.

Maybe it would be prudent to have someone else present at the time? Krahl didn`t think that Alrik would actually try to inflict serious harm, but at the same time, he didn`t know the warrior as well as the others. Damn, but what had Krahl gotten himself into?

He looked up suddenly as he walked... Where had he gotten himself into...? Oh, it was the Fangthane. He stood at the beginning of a walkway lined by statues of great heroes. Seeing no reason not to, he continued a little further. Smiling ironically, he wondered how marvellous it would be to one day have his own likeness standing among these legends, but instantly dismissed the thought.

He was not so vain as to think he deserved that. Not anymore at least.


After a few moments, his eyes came to rest on two figures at the other end of the line of statues. One was an astartes, wearing the armour of another chapter. It seemed to match the colours of the thunderhawk he had noticed earlier. The other was of the Rout, though much larger. It was one of the great dreadnoughts, a revered ancient of the chapter.

Whatever they were discussing, it had to be important right? Curiosity piqued at the young blood claw`s mind and he stepped softly forward, hoping to catch more of whatever they might be saying. He froze as the two of them moved. They hadn`t noticed him, no. They were moving on now, meaning Krahl could go forward without being seen. But was that really the right thing to do?

Maybe they were friends from a previous campaign? Maybe they were discussing some matter of import? Krahl kept walking forward, softly as he could. Even if he only caught the gist of the conversation, that would be enough...
 

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Otkell, strong as he was, shambled into the room, red-faced and panting. Dutifully, he laid the clothing which he had gathered at Alrik’s feet - A hauberk of mail, inlaid with grey-black fur; woolen breeches, thick and itchy upon the skin; a pair of elk-pelt gloves, leather on the exterior, furred on the interior; a jerkin of soft clothe, to prevent the chainmail hauberk from rubbing, and finally, a large, black-white mantle, to give him that regal appearance.

It took Alrik moments to get himself dressed, pulling his jerkin and breeches on first; before proceeding to slip into the hauberk and mantle. He clasped the Obsidian Blade onto his thigh, alongside a notched combat blade. The Firehawk snarled his good-bye’s, pulling on his gloves and boots, and crept back out into the Fang.

The quietness was uncomfortable; sounds traveling from deep within the depths of the Fang, echoing along the hallways and feasting halls. He passed the occasional Astartes, huge and fearful; with braided hair and monstrous fangs, their faces pinched and wind-bitten. He greeted these in low tone, speaking fluent Fenrisian to them, with a commodious, broken-toothed smile. The Thralls which he passed were ignored, unless they made contact; which they did not, too fixated upon performing their duties.

He made short work of the hallways, taking great, powerful strides. The feasting hall was largely empty, by the time Alrik came striding in, broad-shouldered and angry-featured.

“And what makes you believe that we shall be fighting the greenskin plague any time soon?” He heard, from a hoarse throat; as he entered at the back of the hall. A portion of the Pack were gathered around Tyr, a mountain of muscle, with his glittering, mechanical hand. One of the Pack, Iotki, answered in return, though the Firehawk cared not.

He gathered a chalice of hippocras, brewed from deep in the depths of the Fang; along with a platter of cold meat. The seat he took was near the others, on a wooden bench; long and spreading out across the hall. Empty plates and drinks were scattered along the length, some with films of grease clinging to the surfaces.

He sipped at the hippocras, watching intently. It slipped down his throat, cold and burning; sending his senses reeling. And then, there was a knife through the table, and the youth, Ørrgrimr, stood, bellowing a challenge. Alrik’s lips peeled back, over his sharp teeth, liquid glistening within.

‘It is an ill omen to draw your blade, without intending to blood, fish-man,’ He rasped menacingly, smiling scornfully; looking up at the tattooed face of the Wolf. His teeth were cracked, a forest of splintered bone. He took another sip, sliding one hand down to the pommel of his blade, beneath the table, and out of view. ‘Careful with that, you don't want to get your pretty clothes all covered in blood, now.'
 

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The stormcaller seemed to heed the Ghostwolf's words, eyes of ice and flame rising to lock with the single bead of blood red tinged with gold, pillars of calm in a face built with steady wisdom.

Yet words popped into his head that brought rage to a feral mind

‘Do you speak of us Ghostwolf, or you and the spirit that wars for control within you?’ The words bubble into your head. ‘You were alive with the need for vengeance and paid a price for impetus. Others can claim such a thing, but few to have fallen into the sleep and come back from it.’


Vengeance.... was that what the runepriest saw in him, was that why he thought Iorek had pushed to his aid, surged to his side.

Nay he remembered, remembered the moment he had embraced death, gone to his side.

He had feared for the runepriest, feared the elder outmatched, dreaded their doom if he had been cast down to the halls of Morkai.

Did the runepriest know his soul better than he did?

More words seemed about to come yet it was disturbed by Alrik, the firehawk's low whisper causing the rune priests eyes to fix elsewhere, the vestiges of unsaid words and burning concern fading from his consciousness.

Unfilled the rage built swelling yet he forced it away as the transport lurched and the beast within growled in ire.

Blackmane's words floated to him, the fate of their comrade upon the floor likened to his own, yet none brought the question to light, Iorek's low glare and the slight rumble in his throat enough to keep any curiosity silent.

Anger and unease riddled the transport, the conversation scattered and inconsequential, the laughter sparse and distorted, punctuated by rippling excitement as the fang loomed closer.

Upon the ground Blackmane dismissed them to tend their wounds. Iorek intended to do so, yet they were not wounds of flesh.

Wordlessly he stalked away, the ghostwolf fading into the fang, the greying pelt of the wolf billowing behind him.
________________________________________________________

Clad in full armour, helm clamped at his side, chainsword and bolt pistol strapped to his waist, he felt complete, his hand clamped around the pistol as a babe returned to her mothers embrace.

He strode through hall after hall, searching, seeking the one who shared the disruption in his mind, who had fought and one and now strode the stars, the forerunners of russ.

Outcasts, more similar to him that he had ever felt.

The long fangs he longed for, had dreamed of joining their hallowed ranks, til the change came, til he had lost his comradery, replaced it with bitter hatred, contempt for his fellows, tinged with a continual longing for solitude.

Yet now he sought scout Morguns company, to come up empty handed, the wolf scout as elusive in peace as he was in battle.

An now Iorek turned downwards, his plan thwarted, his feet moving upon a path of little consequence, deeper and deeper he delved mind lost in thought, frustration gnawing at his veins.

Everywhere he turned, everyone he tried to talk to.... they were never there, answers to unasked questions flittered from his grasp.

"Will I ever be rid of you?"

The wolf in his head let out a rumbling cackle which turned into a snarl at the sound of movement further along the corridor
 

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Tyr's mind was on the brothers they had lost agains the Greenskin horde, it was folley to simply rush into battle with the Orks, they would most certainly make them pay. Yet he had confidence in himself and those of his pack and his lord's company that they would do well. "I do not claim to know how Lord Blackmane plans on sending aid, I am no Wolf Lord, my duty is to kill the enemies of Russ and the Allfather whenever the need arises. Our brothers require aid and there is an oath to be fulfilled, I can only hope that my brothers and I are sent, it would be an honor to fight alongside brothers from another chapter and show them how the Sons of Russ do battle."

A smile cracked his features as he downed his ale and saw Alrik come in and take a seat, he nodded silently at his brother before hearing a challenge. He turned to see Orgrimmar with his blade stuck in the table and his drink finished, a challenge to fight, yet before he could say anything Alrik was already talking.

Tyr chuckled, "Well Alrik? If you do not accept the challenge I will."
 

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The doors to the war chamber opened on heavy hinges and the room suddenly felt heavier as if the sheer force of personalities that entered it were too much for the confined space to bear. Legends amid heroes, the Wolves that entered were warriors beyond kin each and every one. Keris bowed his head in respect; feeling much like a newly weaned pup next to the elder Wolves, though he could not deny the fierce pride that kindled within his heart as he stood by Vermundr’s side. Their very presence spoke of a trust and honour that their Jarl held in them.

Keris watched each as they entered, weighing their responses to the presence of the two Blood Claws in their midst. Their scents carried a heady mix of predatory strength and smoldering facets of personality. None of the veteran Wolves showed surprise at the presence of Vermundr in his role as packleader, yet Keris caught a mixture of reactions when eyes slid from his packleader to where he stood at Vermundr’s side. Some, such as Grey Hunters Heimdal and Ssveruk alongside the scared visages of Long Fangs Enkil and Bruni, seemed to anticipate his attendance. Only Hunter Ani Silverclaw radiated disapproval, Leidolfr Darkstalker’s scent trace carrying a note of wary indecision and the reactions of Mar the Silent were, as if echoing his namesake, entirely unreadable. A few of the Wolves were already clad in their armour, but some answered their Lord’s call in hunting furs revealing that Keris’ packbrothers had not been the only ones pulled in from the icy plains.

Blackmane’s commanding voice drew all eyes as the last of the council took their places, the glow from the hololithic projector casting grizzled features in cold underlight. Motes of light spun upwards, defining star systems beyond where the eye could see from Fenris’ highest peaks. The play of the stars shifted as Lord Blackmane spoke, becoming more focused and finally detailing a system under siege.

As the veteran Wolves spoke up; the hairs on the nape of Keris’ neck slowly rose as he leaned forward, muscles taunt and heart rate increasing with arousal like a predator slipping into prey lock. Deep in his soul, Keris felt his wolfspirit rouse as his crystalline eyes danced across the pattern of stars. Recollection gnawed at his thoughts before a memory surfaced. Understanding uncoiled from somewhere in his heart as he spoke into a moment of silence, his voice low and weighted,

‘I know these patterns; I have seen this before…’

His eyes flicked to the shadowed features of the Stormcaller,

A world wreathed in flames, reflected in the eye of a green monster. You circle that world, the growling of your wolfspirit is different… older.

The Hunter Heimdal’s reply brought low chuckles from many of the older Wolves, including the Rune Priest himself, before turning back to Blackmane to question the worth of only sending four packs. Keris gave a lupine smirk at the thought before shaking his head even as Heimdal’s question was answered by the growling voice of Wolf Priest Sigurd, his words a reminder to all present of the Great Company’s existing duty.

'That was the riddle that was cast in my runes, Grey Hunter, when I sought clarity a winter's passed.'

Keris nodded respectfully to the Stormcaller,

'Riddles that I have kept close for the runes never lie.'

The grating voice of Bruni brought the topic back to the question of whom should be sent, the Long Fang bowing to the experience of his wolfbrother’s pack in casting Enkil’s name forward over his own and drawing forth nods of approval from many of the others present. Vermundr shifted beside him and Keris listened to his packleader’s words as the older Wolves nodded in approval. Keris gave his packleader a weighted look before speaking in turn,

'There are times when swiftness, cunning, and ferocity can overcome where numbers do not, my packleader. Too many hunters can spook the beast on the ice when a few can draw it out.'

Their Lord spoke next, answering Vermundr’s question though the keenness of his scent betrayed his displeasure at the choice he was forced to make in sending only four packs of his men. Keris felt the wolf in his soul giving a low snarl of aversion at the thought of willingly hindering one’s tactics to the strictures penned in a moldering book, voicing as much while Vermundr added his weight to Enkil’s behalf. The leader of the Wolf Guard finalized the selection of the Long Fang pack before remarking that the Templars did not wholly follow the Codex in form though the comment brought a harsh grunt from Leidolfr Darkstalker before the Hunter made a case for his own pack’s inclusion.

As the veteran Wolves continued, the Stormcaller adding his thoughts into play, Keris felt a sense of restlessness claw at his mind. The call for aid had kindled a hunger from the beast in his soul, the kill-urge genelocked in the spiral of the Helix. He could taste it in the air from the older Wolves as they debated who would be honoured with the murder-make. Keris turned and placed a hand on Vermundr's shoulder,

'This is your choice, packleader. I cannot speak for the pack in this, but we have fought the greenskin before, you and I.'

Vermundr took the implied meaning of his words, finally stepping forward to argue for their pack to be included in the hunt. Despite the fact that Keris felt his jaw clench at his packleader's words, he held his gaze steady though it took willpower to do so and defended his wolfbrothers readiness under the questioning of Wolf Guard Hundir,

'The pack has been re-forged; let it be tested on the soil of another world under the hot breath of greenskins. Would you deny us that, Wolf Guard? Would you deny the runes as well?'

Keris stood firmly at his packleader's side; lending his own tenacity in presence to Vermundr’s argument as the Blood Claw responded to Hundir’s words, challenge marking his tone. Enkil followed his statements, casting his own support for Vermundr’s claim as foreseen in the runes. Blackmane silenced them all with his approval, finalizing the Claw as one of the four before drawing chuckles from the council with his words.

Keris gave the Long Fang leader a nod of respect for his support before favouring the Wolf Guard leader with a brief lupine grin,

'Would you fight at our side instead of hunting us through a blizzard, Elder?'

Gunnar returned the statement in kind, though Hundir threw his hands up in mock disgust before the Stormcaller made his intentions to join the hunt clear. Keris shook his head and let a low chuckle coil from his chest,

'If the Stormcaller wishes to join, then I’m sure none of us would deny him,'

Keris bowed his head to the might of the stormborne,

'But my question lies with another...'

Keris turned his ice-pale eyes to another face, one that held the same icy gaze as his own,

'Lord Sigurd, tradition must be kept with guarding the Aett, that cannot be denied, but who will watch over the packs in flesh? It was not just for the runes that I was called to this council… was it?'

The Wolf Priest had been a mostly silent at the council, but Keris had felt the weight of his presence keenly as the older Wolf gave him a weighted look before responding into the sudden hush. "And what else do you believe you were called here for young Keris?"

Keris met the wolf priest's piercing gaze feeling as if his soul was bared to the elder,

'My faith, Wolf Priest. My brothers take strength from it and I find my tenacity from them in turn. I have been their will and reminder of duty when they needed it and that will never change.'

"Nearly got it in one." Lord Blackmane chuckled before elaborating. "That is a quality that has been seen from you, but you possess another one as well. You display a control for your temper, something that is of great value for a younger pack leader." The Wolf Lord nodded to Vermundr as he spoke to show no offense was meant by the words; they were merely a statement of fact.

'I had a good mentor,'

Keris' voice was one of respect to the memory of the Grey Hunter who had helped shape his path,

'There is much that I need to learn still, I am not blind to that, but I will not falter in my oaths to Russ in the Allfather in this.'

It was Mar who spoke next, his voice like the low snarl of the wind that cut through the world’s spine, but Keris did not miss the approval that tinted Sigurd’s rough features at his words. Yet the groan of the great doors drew the group’s attention before any could respond to the Silent Wolf’s statements and Keris felt his wolfspirit bow its head in honour to the revered warrior whose voice echoed like the rumble of thunder.

The mighty dreadnought Aldr entered on booming strides, the rumble of his engine like the growling of a Thunderwolf and grey-flanked sides bedecked in charms and furs turned back with age, seeming to dwarf the power-armoured figure at his side. Aldr had been there when the whoresons of the Red Sorcerer had dared to set foot upon Fenris, one of the few who had withstood while the Fell-Handed himself faced the might of the daemon primarch. Keris could not deny the fierce sense of pride that welled up from within his soul at the chance to fight beside such a legendary warrior of Russ, clenching his right fist to his chest in the archaic warrior greeting he favoured. The ancient came to a halt before his armoured chaise visibly dipped with a hissing of released gears, a gesture of great respect to Lord Blackmane from a warrior of ages past.

As the revered ancient raised himself again, Keris’ eyes shifted to the warrior at his side and found a strange uneasiness stir from the beast in his soul. The warrior’s skin lacked the coarseness of the tribes of Russ, tanned and shaved smooth. His hair was cropped close to the scalp in a fashion that somehow suggested a standardized regime. In absence were the distended jaw line, pronounced canines, and predatory cast to the features that marked every other countenance in the room; leaving the warrior in some way diminished for their lack, somehow more human.

The rich green of the warrior’s lacquered armour plates were devoid of fetishes or carved runes, seemingly severe and coldly functional. His scent was one of other worlds, oils and finery unable to wholly hide the lingering trace of smoke and blood from Keris’ keen senses. There was a measure of respect directed at the gathering of Wolves, underscored by a haughtiness that lingered on the back of Keris’ tongue like a bitter fruit and tinted by the unmistakable frustration of a warrior forced to call on the aid of others.

‘You would rather not be here,’

The words felt awkward on Keris’ tongue, spoken in gothic instead of the hearth cant of the Wolves, as he took a step forward to meet the warrior’s gaze, the storm-grey pelt around his shoulders glistening in the pale light of the hololithic projection that hung over the table.

‘Such would be clear to a blind konungur caught in a Helwinter storm. Of that, you have my regard as warrior-blood, Champion Namur of the Fifth, gene-son of Guilliman. Now, what does this map fail to show us of this greenskin hoard that you have seen with your own eyes?’
 

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Hrothgar watches the continuing spar between Baldyr and the Aurora marine with interest until the fight finally comes to its conclusion with Baldyr being the winner but the look of anger on his face makes Hrothgar think that he came close to losing to an offworlder and that is why the wolf guard is now in such a foul mood. Hrothgar looks around at the three pack brothers he is standing with before hearing the hum of powered armour and the heavy clanking foot falls of three marines approaching them. Turning to face those three astartes which were stood apart from the rest Hrothgar looks over their white and green power armour and starts to wish he was in his to seem more intimidating, however he was a son of Russ and a child of Fenris so he would not back down infront of these three warriors.

Hrothgar listened to the Aurora marine ask about if they had been out on the plains of Fenris like Bladyr had and Hrothgar nodded his head to give his answer before he looked over the three again trying to look for any other differences in their appearance. Looking at the Aurora marine with the scar down his face Hrothgar smiles before finally speaking "Baldyr is one of the best warriors in the great company and is as strong as any son of russ, if you ever want to find out how strong teh rest of us are then I will gladly fight against you inside the ring when ever you wish." With that Hrothgar waits for the scarred warrior to say something before heading off to one of the training cages to get in some practice not minding if the Auroro Marine take shim up on his challenge.
 

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The meeting had beun, and blood quickly began running to Vermudnr's head, trying to keep up with the elder wolves. The information they spoke, the jokes and prods between, nominations already coming up. Everything was really just a bunch of small talk getting to the real question he wanted to be answered: would his pack be sent?

He participated eagerly in the small talk nonetheless, not wanting to sit silent in his first war council. He raised questions of their small numbers being sent where the chapters already present with larger numbers had failed. His argument was refuted well as he knew it would be. He spoke of differences between the wolves and the Templars, but as he knew would happen, this was also something able to be put to rest.

Upon hearing a nomination for Enkil and his longfangs Vermundr was quick to agree, seeing as they helped his pack greatly on Hecutor and he had seen with his own eyes just how durable they could be.

He wanted nothing more but to nominate himself and his squad to go, but couldnt find the space between his elders words, until Keris prodded him to do so. As soon as keris whispered to him he nearly stood from his seat, responding to one of the other wolves's reasons for self nominations,

""My own pack has fought a ship to ship battle as well, defending our Lord's ship in fact, against the hated traitors, and with the help of only a few we were successful in repelling the attack. We also have had experience fighting the greenskins, and recently at that. I know some of you may not have a very good opinion of my and my pack, and for that i cannot blame you. However, we are solid now, and I think it would benefit us as a whole to have a pack who is willing and able to throw themselves headlong into the enemy so that the rest of you can do the real work and have the time to excel at your pack's abilities."

His blood was rushing so fast all he heard were the words against him. He had hoped no one would disagree, but with his pack's reputation that had been unlikely. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before expanding his argument,

"I do, I do believe My pack deserves this Honour my Brother. Blood Claws have always served an essential role on the battlefield for the Space Wolves, and all the other blood claw packs are currently too broken to fulfill that role. I became the packs leader upon my first off world mission. I led them through Hecutor, I am less than 30 years of age and have slain a traitorous Alpha Legionnaire. I have fought by my Lord's side and defended his vessel. Do I truly not deserve this Honour? Does my pack, eager to show their worth, do they not deserve this honour as well?"

And before he knew it, it was decided. his pack would be on of the four going to aid the Aurora chapter against the Ork horde. Unbelievable. He sat back in a more comfortable position as the rest of the council meeting went by him. He couldnt think of anything else, only that what he had hoped he could do had been done.

He was surprised, as he assumed many in the room were, when the aurora chapter representative and the hulking form of a dreadnought carapace strode into the war council chamber. Secretly, Vermundr had hoped that Baldyr would be the one to go with them. However, the pride and honour he could gain from going to battle alongside the ancient Aldr was no small amount. As unfamiliar with this ancient battle brother as he was, one could hardly begin to doubt that such an individual's skill in battle and tactica was lacking by any means. There chances of success in killing the warboss were surely increased being led by Aldr than one of the wolf guard.
 

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Yngvar

Yngvar listened to the long fang, and the others as he tore a mouthful of meat from his plate. After their ordeal hunting it felt good to have hot food in his belly that was not Ursid meat. A second small charm was finished as he listened. This spearhead was broader than the first by purpose. It was not slim and sleek able to pierce hide with ease; but was wider slightly more brutal, made to cut and bleed the opponent, an aggressor’s spear.

"… I can only hope that my brothers and I are sent, it would be an honor to fight alongside brothers from another chapter and show them how the Sons of Russ do battle."
Tyr spoke. Yngvar looked to the long fangs he could not tell if their question had come to test the younger, or if it was that they did not know. “We were carried back here within the belly of the Wolflord’s own vessel. He spoke to us of the threat. I know I am not as long in the tooth, or wise as you. I have not seen a true war as you have, but I wish to. To see my brothers around me, to feel the rush of battle, to see my foe fall! To bring those stories back to this place. To stand proud here among my warrior brothers as a Son of Russ, as a warrior in my own right.”
 

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Heimdall watched the bout between Baldyr and the Aurora marine veteran, Baldyr was going to win this for the honor of the Space Wolves, of that Heimdall had no doubt. He found himself cheering at every attack the space wolf inflicted upon the Aurora marine, though he did fight hard in return and was obviously a worthy opponent. Heimdall roared with joy, as did the majority of the wolves around him, as Baldyr got the final blow, he was the victor and the chapters honor was upheld.

However Baldyr looked annoyed, even angry with his victory, and bellowed at the assembled wolves to disperse or he would face them in the cages. Heimdall was no coward, but he couldn't hope to fight the legend that was Baldyr, and so quickly departed with his other pack members away from that particular cage.

Three figures walked over to them, the other Aurora marine members, one with a Golden stubb obviously higher than the other two that flanked him, one of which had a scarred face. They challenged the pack, believing that it was a fluke that their veteran lost. Heimdall smirked as Azahd and Horthgar taunted them, trying to get the other two marines into the cage, while it became apparent that Njord was being challenged by the leader. "For the honor of Russ and the Allfather you better accept the challenge Njord, four wolf victories today is what I want to hear about sung in the great hall as we teach the sons of Guilliman how to fight." He smiled at the marines and held his hands up to show he was joking, the marines were sons of Guilliman, and therefore too rigid and disciplined to probably get the joke.

Heimdall decided he would watch the fights, and then go and get his armor, he hoped that if their Lord Blackmane had brought them back early from their trials then he would choose them to accompany the Aurora's and help them win their fight against the greenskins.
 

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Krahl; As the pair leave the great chamber, you carefully follow in their wake. To be able to return to the others with what you have seen will garner many questions, and being able to lord answers might be a treat in and of itself. You cross the expanse with relative ease, pressing your back against the cold stone wall until the sound of the ancient’s footfalls recede enough to tell you they are not near. At that, you turn to follow, fires casting long shadows along the slightly winding corridor deep within the mountain. You hear one of the two speak, likely the Aurora warrior for the voice is much less powerful than the dreadnought’s, which filled the entire chamber you had been in with no trouble.

Throwing caution to the wind, you increase your pace until you can see the pair once more. The dreadnought’s tread is slow, allowing the Aurora to match pace. Lord Aldr, many would be honoured beyond words by all that you have shown me, but I am not here to be impressed. The Space Wolves have an oath to uphold, all that we do now is waste time that can be better spent making ready.” The Aurora marine’s voice carries down to you, annoyance rife within his voice. But that name, Aldr, it feels so familiar to you; but why?

I need no reminding of the oath boy. The boom of the dreadnought’s vox amplifiers shakes the very walls. You forget so quickly who it was that made such it all those decades ago. You have never been present for the awakening of one of your own ancient brothers. It was not a question, but a stating of fact though how this Aldr would know such a thing eludes you. To be held outside time and then torn back into the realm of the living is a burden upon the mind, something that takes time so that we may regain our thoughts and be of use once again. You are here walking with me not so that I may impress you, but so that I may fully regain myself and be able to tolerate the childish prodding’s of one of Guilliman’s seed.

But it seems that your impatience for things is not all that I shall meet this day. The dreadnought said, suddenly coming to a stop and then swiveling around on its main axis to bear in your direction. Return to your pack-brothers you blood claw. My patience is enough only for one this day, and it will not go to you. It said to you, and the air was stolen from your lips at the undisguised threat. This ancient dreadnought did not sport the heavier weapons of others, but instead was equipped with a pair of arms that ended in deadly claws. And to further the point of the threat, both crackled to life, opening and closing to shower the ground in blue sparks.

Despite your desire to learn more, the old warrior before you did not need his claws to prove the point of his thread. His bulk alone, against your unarmed and unarmoured frame would be more than enough.

[Unless you’re up to chancing fate, returning to the great hall with what you have seen is likely the best course of action. When you arrive, you will bear witness to the first of punches being thrown, a large blood claw will hurl himself on top of you moments after your entry. You don’t know why you’re being attacked by a wolf brother, and he doesn’t seem to be content to answer any questions. Best get him off you, though subduing him will not be the easiest of ventures.]



Frostulfr and Iorek; A snap of movement in the distance brings Iorek from his thoughts, letting him know that in his silent travels he is no longer alone. In the half light of distant fires he sees the still unarmoured form of Frostulfr scouring the shadows for something. Though what that something is, that is a mystery of equal to where the pair are at this time. It is no more than a scant few seconds before Frostulfr feels the one eyes gaze of the Ghostwolf, briefly informing him of the shadowed movement.

You both continue to search for what might be the source of such a thing, something deep within Iorek giving him a feeling of familiarity while all Frostulfr gets is something similar to back when he had been with the others hunting the Ursid. As if whatever is out there knows it is being sought, but does not know what to feel. In the searching, Iorek notices claw marks torn into the stone walls, however when he points them out to Frostulfr, they are no longer there. Maybe a trickle of the past? Could that be the significance of this section of the Fang?

Something moving behind you, something more defined and wholly real, tears your attention away from searching for the creature. When you turn to face this new presence, it is none other than Baldyr; deep blue eyes seemingly blazing in the near dark. “Halls of our ancients are not the place for the wary; nor is seeking out the cursed and the damned.” This he says, inclining his head slightly in Iorek’s direction. “You would not like what you find, for some the eventual truth of things is a burden left in darkness for as long as possible. The council is likely near its conclusion; with me, now.” He growls before turning to leave but pauses a moment and mumbles something that not even your enhanced hearing can make out.

[Best follow the Ice-slayer or be left in his wake. He will lead you in the direction of the Training Hall where you will come across Keris. The wolf guard champion will exchange words with your brother for a moment before being off, leaving you to follow Keris and learn that though not all of the company is going to fight the orks, your pack will most certainly be amongst those who do.]



Hrothgar, Azahd, Heimdall, and Njord; The one Aurora with the old scarring looks to Azahd and his challenge with the shake of his head before entering one of the cages. He takes up a slender blade and holds to it in a two handed grip across his chest, waiting for you to make the first move. This fight is the first to three blows that draw blood, something you expect to perform with relative ease in order to prove who is the better. However as you charge at the Aurora, he sidesteps and the flat of the blade smashes into your face, cracking your nose and drawing blood. Faster than you can recover, he swiped your feet out from under you, slashing the tip of the blade across your left bicep before jumping back and avoiding a counter from you. Within a heartbeat you were on the ground, two blooding blows to you and none to your opponent.

He does not give you time to think of this or recover for more than a handful of breaths before coming in again. You spring to your feet and make to break through whatever attack he sends your way, but his charge is a feint and instead he locks his blade with your own weapon and rolls around you, a fist connecting with your back and robbing you of your balance. A desperate sweep of your weapon keeps the Aurora back, but you are forced down to a knee and are unable to keep him back for long. Eventually, and without scoring any hits of your own, you lose to the Aurora and are greeted with silence from any onlookers. Making things worse, the warriors stands over you, offering a hand to help you from the ground where you lay, wounds already clotting and bruises healing.

Hrothgar turns to find another of the Aurora warriors, the one with the golden stud in his head, has indeed joined him in a cage. He takes up a blunt axe and short blade, swinging both to get the feel of each before saluting you from one warrior to another. Without any preamble, he launches himself at you, axe chopping down from his but stopped by your own weapon, if only just stopped. Unlike Azahd, this is a battle of submission, if a warrior is disarmed or unable to continue fighting then the bout is over, and that first attack left you reeling.

It took both your arms behind the counter of the attack to stop it, and that had nearly not been enough, especially when you were forced to jump back and avoid the short blade. However the Aurora was slow to press, stalking forward and pushing you back with each attack while fending off anything you gave without being forced to lose ground. Eventually, the hairs on your neck began to stand on edge as you neared the side of the cage. This was what the Aurora had been aiming for all along, to force your back against the wall and force your hand in a single blow! But any creature, especially a wolf, is at its most dangerous when cornered. When the attack you knew was coming did in-fact come, you sprang toward it and lashed out with your own weapons. But the Aurora had planned this situation, your attack had been intended to throw his weapons aside and secure your victory, instead it was you who found yourself unarmed and with a blade against your throat.

Ultimately, you were forced to relent; the Aurora had won this fight and there was nothing you could do about it. Looking through the bars of the powering down cage, you peer over and see Azahd on the ground, having fared no better than you, if not worse.

As the fights go on, the remaining Aurora, soon joined by the champion that had fought against Baldyr, turns to Heimdall and Njord. “Your champion Baldyr is of remarkable quality, if rather blunt and led by his anger. A shame that your own brothers lack his raw talent.” He says, the words carry the feeling of him almost being bored with what he sees, as if he had expected no less!? Though you will not admit it, Azahd and Hrothgar were to easily led though it is rather clear that their opponents possess skill greater than either of your brother blood claws, or yourselves for that matter.

Heimdall looks about the great chamber, catching looks from the few Grey Hunters still about. You spy Baldyr leaving, had he watched the fights? When he leaves, a measure of warmth returns to the ever present cold of the Fang.

[Azahd, now that couldn’t have been terribly fun. Do you take the offered hand, ignore it, or cast it away in a display of anger for the loss?

Not that Hrothgar can claim much better; do you have anything to say to the Aurora, who is already making way out of the cage and back to his own brothers.

Heimdall, You do not take to the Aurora’s tone at all. Though it is subtle, you know his comment is aimed to insult; are you going to let him get away with that?]


Alrik, Iotki, Orgrimmar, Tyr, Ulvbror , and Yngvar; A great goblet of mead is hurled across the tables to shatter against a wall. The blood claw who hurled the vessel stands with his arms pressed into the stone table before him. “Pah,” he spits in the direction of the Long Fang, “Or perhaps you no longer have the spine for such fighting old timer. Caution in the face of piggish xenos like the orks! And what next? Are we to search the dark corners for monsters?” He declares with arms held out, eliciting laughter from a number of his packmates.

“Quick words from someone who has fought in no wars, just had his ass kicked back and forth along the cages.” One of the grey hunters retorts, only to have four of the blood claws stand up and edge towards him. The other grey hunters in the chamber took notice of this, both giving their full attention to the things now going on. Tyr and Alrik each attempt to calm things, or at least Tyr attempts to calm things, with the other pack-warriors, only to have the venom of the first turned on them. “Hold your tongues fools; who are you to speak of anything? A half broken brute and a wild yheetee’s ass? It took your lot months to defeat a single Ursid; I slayed a full grown wolf all my own in a third that time.”

“Full grown in body, maybe, but I saw the eye you returned with.” The long fang started, standing up and crossing over to the hulking blood claw. “What little of the creatures spirit that remained spoke volumes. You hunted babes in order to lure out something more, and were presented with a cantankerous old wolf on its final leg. You fought a beast at the end of its life, letting its thread be cut knowing that you would be denied the prize you so sought to obtain.” He finished, and after a full minute of silence the blood claw rammed his fist into the side of the older wolf’s head. Perhaps the blood claw was a good fighter, maybe the long fang too old to react properly, but whatever the reason for it, the blow connected solidly and sent the old timer flying across a table.

The great hall exploded from that, blood claws attacking the trio of grey hunters spread out amongst them. None of you just sit there and watch this, jumping into the fray and taking on an enemy where you can. Tyr backhands one wolf with his metal arm, knocking him out for a moment while the large wolf goes after a second enemy. But that was only a moment, and he then jumps on Tyr’s back while he is distracted.

Alrik takes after the one who started everything, getting between him and the downed long fang and brandishing the flaying knife with a half snarl, half smile. “Fine, time for someone to put you in your place Firehawk; maybe improve your features.” He says before grabbing one of the smaller stone benches and throwing it at you before charging.

Before Yngvar and Iotki have a chance to throw themselves at anyone, they are each beset by a pair of blood claws. One pair toppling into Iotki and laying into him with punches and kicks. The other pair circle about Yngvar, preventing him from helping anyone while looking for a good spot to rush him from. It is not long before one grows impatient and hurls himself forward with a howl, only to find Yngvar’s elbow waiting for his face. The second wolf, however, crashes into his side and sends all three into a stone table and shatter it.

Ulvbror jumps in to help Yngvar, kicking the head of one wolf and sending him to the ground clutching at a broken nose. Before he can do anything to the second claw, a powerful arm wraps itself around his throat in an attempt to toss him.

Orgrimmar lies closest to the long fang, and attempts to haul the old wolf back to his feet, narrowly avoiding a punch from the long fang in the attempt. Something hard and cold crashes against his head, sending both of them to the ground in a daze.

[Tyr and Alrik, I think neither of you need much prompting in what to do. The general outcomes of your respective fights can be seen in the end of the update for Vermundr, however I leave the middle ground up to both of you.

Yngvar, Iotki, Ulvbror,and Orgrimmar; while you will eventually overcome your foes it shall not be the easiest of endevours. I leave the content of the fights to each of you, though take care not to go too far with them. These are still Sons of Russ, though they may not act entirely like it, so you cannot kill them.

As your fights come to an end, you will be joined by Vermundr though he will come too late for the fun.]



Keris and Vermundr; Without even sparing Keris a glance, Namur steps around him and proceeds towards the hololith. He places his helm on the great table before regarding lord Blackmane with his stoney features. “My lord, everything that we have here to work with, all that I have brought you to this point, there is little more month old information can do.” He said, “We must be off, not wasting time sitting here and debating how few of your number you shall send to honour your own vow. That you must do so to begin with…” He trails off, the deathly look spearing away from Ragnar Blackmane more than enough to silence any further insult.

You are so quick to forget, champion Namur, that while nearly a third of the Aurora chapter hides within the walls of its own fortress, all but one company of the Sons of Russ fight in more than twelve engagements across three Segmentum’s. And that number is soon to see us active in a fourth Segmentum, to honour a vow while compromising our own strength on OUR home-world. Do not let your desire to rejoin your chapter cloud your judgement. You will find no one here that shall support your insults, not of our own commitment. Aldr boomed, taking but a single step forward and silencing comment from any that may have been about to speak.

“Unless there is anything more that can be added,” Lord Blackmane began through a clenched jaw, clearly trying to keep up a fraction of resolves after the measure displayed by Aldr. “This council is concluded. Pack leaders, gather your wolves and make ready to depart. Hunt well my warriors, and let all know why the Wolves of Fenris are to be feared, few in number or not.” He finishes, and many of the pack leaders make their leave to be about their business; the few going to gather their packs, others to inform the remaining packs of the events here. Before either of you can leave, Njal intercepts you but his attention is on events not entire at the ready. You are told that your claw is divided, many in either the Great Hall or the Training Hall. Since there are two of you, you each take a location to gather the pack: Keris to the Training Hall and Vermundr the Great Hall.


--
Without another word, you both split away, Keris descending further than Vermundr in order to locate the training halls. As your travels take you further from the great hearth of lord Blackmane’s chambers, a familiar cold enters the air followed by one of indecision or difference. It is not long before you come upon Baldyr, and with him are both Iorek, who you had known you would find, and Frostulfr, who’s own scent was simply overpowered by Baldyr and Iorek. Baldyr stops long enough to inform you of the losses in the training hall, but not before finding out of the conclusion of the council. You cannot place your finger on why, but you feel as though there is something amiss with the wolf guard champion; like something is gnawing deep within him.

But all too soon, and before many of your own questions can be answered, Baldyr is gone, leaving only your brothers left in his wake and the current task at hand left to be performed. Travel to the training hall is without any other incident, though as you approach a wave of tension flits into your being; something is not right and it is likely only getting worse. Entering the chamber proper, you spy a few older wolves within, some burning away time by dueling with one another while a scant few observe a different scene. Across the hall, between a pair of the cages, you spot Heimdall and Njord alongside the more battered forms of Azahd and Hrothgar. Opposite them are four Aurora marines, two fully armoured while the other two are returning to their armour.

And there is the source of the tension, all but oozing off of Heimdall and lancing in the direction of the armoured Aurora marines, the backwash of such feeling strong enough to exude across the hall itself.

--
Traveling to the great hall is a quicker endevour. Unlike Keris, Vermundr comes across no one to occupy his thoughts. However the peace that can come from such a thing is shattered in an instant when the sounds of fighting reach his ears; and without a second thought he is sprinting to the source. What the young pack leader finds, however, is a picture that gives him mixed feelings. A scene of brawling, or rather the end of one, spreads out before him.

Tyr stands with a pair of foes, blood claws of the other pack within the company, held firmly in both of his hands as he pins them down. Alrik and Orgrimmar each have another claw, Orgrimmar holding the head of his enemy, whom he had knocked out cold. Alrik, on the other hand, subdued his claw opponent by knife point, one powerful arm locked across the claw’s chest while his other hand held the flaying blade to his opponent’s neck. Blood was in the air, a small welter of it dripping down the neck of the young warrior.

Iotki, Ulvbror, Krahl, and Yngvar also stood over defeated blood claws, though they had apparently not been as apt in their respective fights and had sustained light injuries in the process. Other members of the blood claw pack lay in varying degrees of defeat, many at the hands of the few older wolves in the hall.

[Keris, when we have a chance I would like to speak with you on the contents of the brief conversation between yourself and Baldyr. After that, you head to the training hall with Frostulfr and Iorek at your side in time to come upon what looks like Heimdall getting ready to trade blows with an armoured Aurora marine. That can’t be terribly good, especially not when that marine is backed up by a second one, and this one has a pair of sheathed blades across his back. Diffusing the situation might not be possible, so informing your packmates and the Aurora marines of what has transpired in the war council, and that it is time to go, might be enough.

Seems you missed the party Vermundr; however perhaps you should get Alrik to release his opponent before he decides a trickle of blood is not enough. Inform the warriors of your pack what is to come, though when you announce this the other blood claws not beaten to badly will look at you with nothing short of hatred. One of them, the alpha of his pack though not its leader, will challenge you for the right to go. His pack is more often looked over by lord Blackmane, largely because it does not have an older wolf to train it yet. It was decided by the heads of the company that your pack would go, you do not have to challenge this blood claw because he does not speak for his pack, Blackmane does.]
 

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Krahl

Krahl was overcome by the need to hear more, hardly surprising really given how far he had come already. If he could discern more of what they discussed he could return to the halls with bragging rights the others would be envious of. He felt a momentary pang of shame given his recent epiphany. This was not exactly the best course of action to garner the respect of his superiors, but he could certainly make an attempt to gain the envy of his equals.

He pressed himself close to the wall as the pair began to move. As the heavy footfalls of the ancient began to recede into the distance, he began to move. Following with the same stealth and swiftness he had employed during the trial, he followed at a discreet distance. He could hear them converse as he followed. From this he was able to discern the Ancient`s name as Aldr. For some reason, that name sent bells ringing in Krahl`s mind, but this was hardly the time to be dragging up old memories and Krahl increased his pace to try and catch more of the conversation. Evidently this aurora marine was impatient to begin preparations for some battle, and seemed intent on holding the Rout to some previously sworn oath.

Krahl froze as the dreadnought boomed its reply. The walls shook with its voice, and the young blood claw started following again with increased trepidation. The dreadnought spoke of an unworldly fate, to be forced to sleep between millennia only to awaken to one conflict after another. Such a fate sounded horrifying to Krahl, and his reverence for the ancient one increased tenfold on that very spot.

Krahl had come much closer than he meant to, catching the end of the conversation with clarity as he rounded a corner of the winding corridors. He froze as the two came into his vision, not realizing he had come so close in his eagerness.

'...not so that I may impress you, but so that I may fully regain myself and be able to tolerate the childish proddings of one of Guillemans seed.'

The constant footfall suddenly stopped and the ancient paused for a moment.

'But it seems your impatience for things is not all that I shall meet this day.' Swiveling suddenly, Aldr turned to face where Krahl had attempted to hide directly. 'Return to your pack brothers you blood claw. My patience is enough for only one this day, and it will not go to you.'

Krahl was too taken by surprise to offer any apology or pathetic excuse, instead simply backing away hastily before turning and walking back the way he had come. The sight of those crackling claws had been more than enough to quell the delusions Krahl had cooked up for himself. With nothing but a half formed story of meeting a dreadnought, Krahl decided to return to the Great Hall.

* * *​

On his final approach, he could hear the sounds of what seemed to be a fight breaking out.

Interesting. He thought, grinning as he wondered who and why a scrap had come about. He was completely taken back as he jogged through the doorway to see what was happening, he caught a glimpse of a brawl between an Aurora marine and a wolf brother, but before he could give any thought as to why this was happening he was barreled to the side by a heavy force. Turning to see his attacker, he was surprised to see it was a fellow blood claw!

'Pining for some pain are you?' Krahl snarled, no longer caring why he had been attacked, just wanting to exact the proper payment. His attacker was a good deal larger than him, but didn`t seem too focused for a true warrior. Krahl blocked two clumsy strikes before landing a palm strike back on his opponent`s wild face and lifting his leg enough to throw his opponent onto the floor. Krahl righted himself immediately and charged his downed opponent. To his surprise, the other blood claw was also quite nimble for his size and managed to reach his feet before Krahl could pin him down.

They exchanged blows fiercely, Krahl taking a few strong hits to the chest and midsection as he reciprocated the attacks. Tiring of this senseless scrap, he resolved to do what he had to to end it quickly and stepped forward. Inside his opponent`s guard, the rival blood claw made the obvious move and attempted to headbutt Krahl backwards. He was prepared for this though and simply ducked, causing his foe to overcommit himself. Krahl then surged to his full height, inflicting a headbutt of his own and immediately followed through with a hook that knocked his opponent off balance.

Siezing the moment, Krahl barged his opponent from behind and pinned him to the floor under his weight. He could feel one of the wounds on his forehead leak blood for a moment before clotting as he reached down and wrenched the marine`s arm backwards. He could feel the bone straining as the wolf brother started to yelp in pain, but Krahl was in no more mood for foolishness than Aldr was after the unpleasant welcome he had received...
 

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It was like being grabbed by a troll.

The large bloodclaw that had grabbed Ulvbror was trying to toss him but fights from his village had taught him to easily avoid it, Ulvbror shifts his weight into the middle of his body quickly, abruptly disturbing the bloodclaws balance and that was all Ulvbror needed, with a feral punch Ulvbror quickly released himself from the Bloodclaw but that wasn't enough to defeat him. Ulvbror could see now that this Bloodclaw was very large and the best way to defeat a large opponent is knock him over, Ulvbror charged the bloodclaws legs but he was quickly deflected.

Ulvbror felt dizzy and he knew at this time this was dangerous. The mighty bloodclaw charged like a bull at Ulvbror and unable to move out of the way he was struck hard in the chest repeatedly, the heavy blows each sapping what little energy ulvbror had left. Ulvbror looked around desperatley for something he could use, a weapon anything but sadly there was nothing... as he began to slip in to an unconcious sleep, Ulvbror felt a feral presence welling up inside him and what ever it was wanted to fight.

Ulvbror swiped at the bloodclaw, he tried to think of a clever retort but all he could manage was a fierce roar, there was no time to loose Ulvbror launched blows after blow at the blood claw. Ulvbror's fury was unrelenting, the bloodclaw had tried to hurt his friend and he must be punished.. He had no right being a son of Russ and Ulvbror could remedy that... he could make it look like an accident...but the choice was not up to Ulvbror his hands were moving by themselves going for a killing blow. "No! I will not be controlled" and with that he stopped, silent as a grave Ulvbror contemplated what he could of done.
 

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Hrothgar was pinned up against the cage with his head tilted up slightly as his throat was bared towards the blade that the Aurora marine was wielding. The fight had been one which even if he was at full strength and not suffering the injury from the troll he had fought earlier, he may not even been able to do much better than he had already. His opponent had toyed with him throughout the entire fight as he forced him back towards the cage step by step without even allowing any opening for a counter attack, these Sons of Guilliman were good and as Hrothgar looked at his opponent his eyes fixed upon the golden stud and tried to recall what exactly the golden stud meant for those marines that followed the codex.

The golden stud...Hrothgar continued to stare at it as the blade was removed from his neck and he tried to recall what it meant, thinking back on what the learning engines had implanted within his mind he briefly realled that the silver stud meant that the marine had served for fifty years and the golden stud was given to those that had served for one hundred years...No wonder he lost to this marine the opponent Hrothgar had decided to pick a fight with had atleast one hundred years of fighting in the name of the Emperor and their own primarch. Curse his own cockiness for choosing such an opponent...however he did last alot longer than his pack brother had in the battle which made Hrothgar feel slightly better.

Just as the Aurora marine was about to leave the cage Hrothgar turned to him and called out: "If you sons of Guilliman fight this well within a sprring change then what need is there for the Wolves to come to your rescue?" Hrothgar stared for a moment before waiting for an answer from the marine before he looked down at his arm where the troll had cut into his flesh earlier and winced slightly at how tender the wound still was. After a few moments Hrothgar allowed the Aurora marine to leave the cage before walking out after him and went to rejoin his fellow pack brothers.
 

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description whore
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Thoughts of swirling blackness dominated him, the wolfs laughter and echoing reverberation that rippled through his subconscious dominating him, holding him within, an eyes of blood red locking with a single eye of burnished gold.

Then the gaze splintered by a rough trodden footstep and Iorek came too, realising his position for the first time, lowering himself to a defensive stance, hand slipping to the pistol at his hip, eye piercing the darkness.

Ahead he saw one of the new bloods, the pups yet to be blooded, well he had been blooded, nose bloodied by Alrik's brutal fist, his brothers temper kept on a short leash at best, in truth it probably kept a leash on him.

He moved as if stalking, hunting eyes flitting in the darkness, an Iorek frowned, tasting the air, the unfamiliar scent of his brother contrasting with the familiarity of an unknown odour. It lingered just ahead of them, wafting tantalisingly forward, even as the pup moved forward again, blissfully ignorant of the wolf that stalked towards him.

Two meters away, he called out
"Fixating on your prey ahead, can often lead you to become prey to what stalks behind"

His face was impassive, his voice a gruff caress of cold indifference and distaste.
"What do you hunt in the depths of the fang?"

"shouldn't you ask yourself that question?" came the sly snarl of the wolf in his head

He tasted the air again, was it familiarity or similarity?
 

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Heimdall watched the fights that his brothers initiated against the Aurora marines. He was shocked to how quickly they were all dispatched, it wasn't what the Space Wolves wanted to watch. Heimdall knew that the Aurora's would use this as a way to claim victory, even though he and his fellows were all young blood claws, not having fought an enemy, or even left the world Fenris.

He felt a presence soon near his shoulder and turned to see the Aurora marine champion that had been bested by Baldyr had come over to watch his brothers and how the fights went. “Your champion Baldyr is of remarkable quality, if rather blunt and led by his anger. A shame that your own brothers lack his raw talent.” The Champion uttered. Heimdall narrowed his eyes at his words, he was insulting his pack brothers and seemed to insult the Space Wolves abilities.

"Well its hardly a surprise that my brothers have been bested now, is it champion? We are Blood Claws, we aren't veterans of campaigns like you are, in fact we have never been on a campaign before. I would hardly say that you can take these "victories" as a consolation prize for you being bested by our company champion."
He kept his tone calm, though he couldn't help to have a slight edge on his voice as he bristled at the implied insult. He could tell the marine had done it deliberately and was sorely tempted to challenge him to a fight, even though he knew what the result would be. Even if he could get one hit on this smug Astartes he would be happy. Heimdall's may have gone too far with his words, he might have insulted the Champion a bit too much, but he cared not for now.

Heimdall quickly looked around the chamber, he could see several of the few Grey Hunters watching the fight, and he caught a couple of looks from them. Heimdall could also see Baldyr leave, he didn't know if he had stayed and watched the fight, though he could imagine what Baldyr's reaction would be if he had seen the fight. Though he was in awe of his Champion, he couldn't help but see the atmosphere liven a bit after he left. He turned back to the Aurora marine champion and waited for his inevitable rebuttal.
 

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Yngvar

Yngvar turned his attention when the tankard smashed, and the other spoke. Some of his own words had been spoken in haste, but respect had not been completely lost. This blood claw spoke in mocking tones.

Anger poisoned every word as one of the long fangs spoke. Yngvar listend and watched as he placed the charms back into a pouch. Was he partly at fault for this? Then came the words of his own packmates. Surely seeing another blood claw taking the side of peace may sway the hotheaded one, but it was not to be so.
Yngvar’s face turned into a snarl as the other spoke. It was one thing to show disrespect to his warrior brothers, but to his pack brothers was another thing. The long fang spoke again. And then came the silence. Tension was almost palatable in the room as each waited. Release came to the sound of meat striking meat. To the waiting ears it was louder than any gunshot, and greater than any battle cry. Bodies surged forward to the fight.

Two of them rushed in for Yngvar, and two for Iotki. In an instant the two packmates were separated. Flurries of blows were launched into Iotki. Yngvar snarled as the other two circled him like sharks. The young blood claw continued to glance back to his packmate and to the pair circling him. The others could easily see his desire to assist. “You’ll never reach him,” one said. Yngvar’s vision locked in a hateful glare. The hunter within him growled. This fool thinks he can stand between you and our destination, the thought entered Yngvar’s mind. As it did another followed There are two. This one was less instinct, calmer, more collected. For every pair there is one aggressor and one hunter, the words echoed through his mind. Senses quickly lashed out searching for the threat, the hunter.

There was a howl, an aggressor’s move not a true hunter. Yngvar’s snarl twisted into more of a smile. He didn’t have enough time to bring a full swing to meet this foe, so an elbow would have to do. The would-be prey turned hunter for a single strike. His legs slid to absorbed the impact, and allow a quick recovery. Yngvar turned his head bringing the attacker into view. He balled one fist, and used his other arm to brace it in place. The blow landed with a sharp crack, impacting the assailant in the center of his forehead. Momentum carried the stricken warrior forward forcing the blood claw’s defense.

Keeping upright was the primary concern when Yngvar moved. He pushed forward losing his stance to avoid being drug down with the now falling foe. As he did the other launched himself into the fray. The strike sent all three blood claws sprawling into a nearby table as a single mass. Under the impact the stone table buckled throwing them into the floor.

A sudden surge of energy shocked Yngvar’s system. There wasn’t enough room for a proper strike so he slammed his fists against the man on top of him. Every instinct told him to get distance, to free himself from this position. The man above him was easily larger making the blood claw’s position even worse. The two traded snarls of anger. A fist flashed up as it prepared to hammer into Yngvar’s face. The blood claw twisted his head at the last instant turning what would have been a perfect shot into a glancing strike. Below them there was a grunt, the other of them had taken the strike directly to his gut. Yngvar wedged one arm between him and the man above trying to get enough leverage to force him away. The fist flashed up again as another arm pressed back down onto his chest. This time the blood claw had forced himself into a position where at least most of the blow would be taken. With one last effort Yngvar hammered his free arm into the other’s side receiving a low grunt, but not managing to free himself. He braced for what of the strike he could not deflect.

But the strike never came. With a sudden smack another of Yngvar’s pack mates had come to his aid. The strike sent the man above to one side. Without the weight pressing him down the blood claw lept to his feet, only to see his brother assaulted by another. He turned to the pair and prepared to strike. As he did a blow caught him in the hip, though it was easy to tell it was intended for somewhere else entirely. The foe was the last of the pile. He had managed to move to his knees, but the sluggishness in his movements made it clear he was feeling the blows already landed on him. With a growl Yngvar faced him as a hunter, as an ender. He twisted and stepped forward reinforcing the bow on the recovering foe. His fist slammed into the side of the other’s face. Blood splattered from his mouth as the other wavered, and fell back to the ground.

As Yngvar turned back to his pack brother something splattered against his face. It was thick, warm, and filled the blood claw’s nostrils with the smell of copper. His left eye twitched as he tried to blink the stuff out, but there was no time. A fist slammed into the side of his head sending him staggering to one side. Yngvar turned to bring his unobstructed eye around. There stood the other. Blood covered the middle of his face from the broken nose. Behind the young blood claw’s eyes the hunter howled in rage. The attacker stepped forward and swung again with a blood covered fist. Yngvar dove in putting himself below the strike. He hammered a fist into the other’s chest below the fused ribs. There was a loud exhale as the blow forced air from the other warrior’s lungs. A nearly instantly breath told Yngvar that the extra lung had robbed much of the blows effect.
The hunter drove the young blood claw’s moves. Before his foe could completely recover he came with fist in hand again hammering his elbow into the side of the other’s head as he tried to spin. Staggered several feet, the other tripped to his hands and knees. His head twisted up only to see a knee. The blow sprayed spit and blood in an arc as the other tipped to one side, and collapsed into a heap.

Yngvar felt the pain in his knee as he raised a fist. No he told himself looking at the fallen brawler. The hunter growled. He is a brother, and not a true foe. The young blood claw lowered his fist and looked to the others. Both he had fought were lying quietly, but breathing. The others were quickly finishing their own foes as Yngvar looked to himself, and the others around him. He glanced down to see a cut across his knee. As he reached down to examine it he felt a bulge. When he pressed it back a small white shard appeared in his rapidly closing wound. A broken tooth was what he found when he held it up. A morbid smile covered the blood claw’s face as he looked to the foe.

Well fought,” Yngvar said to Ulvbror who was standing silently over his defeated foe. He turned to the others with a barely visible smile a small trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “If I wanted a fight I would have gone to the cages,” he said in a loud voice surveying the scene.
 

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Ia! Ia! Cthulhu Fthagn!
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1,727 Posts
OOC: Deathy and me will continue this until we reach the part with Keris I guess.

His hearts pumped with adrenaline as he moved forward towards the ill lighted spot, to Frostulfr it did not matter, one of the many gifts bestowed upon a space marine was heightened senses and increased sight which meant that the slight darkness did not make it any harder for him to see.

He crept closer and then with a burst of speed he charged into the corner, nothing… There was nothing there except Frostulfr’s disappointment. If that was not annoying enough the fact that he did not even know what he was stalking was infuriating. He smelled the familiar smell of a pack mate, yet he paid no attention, if the one would like to exchange words he would come to him.

Frostulfr sniffed again, below the familiar smell of a pack mate he could smell something unknown, he could feel that that thing, whatever it was, knew that it was being sought.

He heard a voice from behind, one that belonged to the ghostwolf, Iorek. The wolf told him that by fixating on the prey ahead one can become prey for the one from behind. That was true yet not in this case. Frostulfr did feel Iorek’s presence and as such did not react in any way.

Before he was able to reply Iorek already asked a question, he wanted to know what Frostulfr was hunting in the depths of the fang. That was a good question, the problem was that he did not know himself what. He scanned the room around them, looking for anything that might catch his eye as unnatural yet he could see nothing.

“I do not hunt anything grimwolf. I sought solace and silence. Had to think. Yet I found none when this thing caught my attention. There is something here, can’t you feel it? Sense it?” He turned and looked at Iorek just to see a frown written all over his face. “But what is it to you? You did not seem too caring for any of us, unblooded, why so interested now? Nothing else to do?” Frostulfr spat back at the grimwolf, every word sounding more venomous then the other.
 

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The Hammer of Olympia
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2,116 Posts
It was getting edgy, the venom in the blood claw's words directed not at his pack now but at the older wolves sitting in the Great Hall, this was getting out of hand. Tyr bit into a leg of meat before speaking, "Sit down before you make more of a fool of yourself." the claw spat his words of hate back at Tyr and Alrik. Tyr turned to look at his brother with his eyes raised, "Lets hope this continues, for their sake." he said quietly to Alrik before turning back.

A Long Fang stood up, his words causing the Blood Claw to go silent, Tyr putting his leg of meat down as he took a draw from his mug. Suddenly the Claw's fist was connecting with the older warrior's face, the Long Fang not even having any time to react as his body was flung back. Without hesitation Tyr was moving for the closest of the other pack, the back of his metal fist slamming into the side of his face and knocking him out, the large wolf quickly moving onto his next target.

He threw a punch at the claw's chest causing him to jump back to dodge the hit, something large slamming into his own back and causing him to stumble forward to catch his balance. His other target had already leapt back at him, throwing a hard knee straight into his gut causing him to grunt in pain, unfortunately for his attackers it only served to ignite his anger. He roared as he reached up and grabbed the warrior that had his arms around his neck, his living hand slamming into the side of his face over and over as his metal hand closed around one of his wrists, the sound of bones snapping being accompanied by a howl of pain as the warrior let his hold on Tyr's neck go.

A fist collided with the back of his head and his vision went black for a second, returning as quickly as it had left, his vision slightly hazy. He pivoted on his left leg and swung his body around, his elbow hitting his attacker in his temple and knocking him to the ground, leaving his back open for the other to attack again. The claw took the bait and caught a left hook to his jaw as Tyr spun himself around again, this time on his right foot, throwing as much of his weight as possible behind the blow.

The wolf hit the floor next to his friend who was now pulling himself off of the floor and swinging at the huge knot of scar tissue on the side of his chest. Tyr dodged the blow and leapt to the side as he grabbed the wolf's arm and, using his momentum, flung him at the closest wall. He grabbed the other wolf as he was getting up and threw him too, his body hitting the wall with a thump, he had to subdue them quickly before this got too out of hand, he would not be forced to kill or seriously hurt another brother.

He grabbed both of them and slammed their backs against the wall, one hand on each of their chests, his full weight behind each arm as he pinned them against the wall, their chests heaving as they stared at him with anger in their eyes. He chuckled as they realized they were too weak to escape his hold on them, "Who's broken now?"
 
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