Saturday, 3 September 2011

Show Some Respect Whelp!!! Ulf's pack arrive!

In a warrior society such as the Space Wolves Chapter respect is a hard earned commodity and so when the blood claws hear the saga of Ulf Steinn as recounted by Ulrik they view make sure to avoid Ulf’s eye. With the exception of Erik himself Ulf is the most revered member of Morkai’s company. A disciplined member of the wolf guard and a peerless pack leader Ulf is an age old friend of Erik, a bond dating back to before they first entered the Chapter as part of the same blood claw pack. Over centuries of battle and warfare Ulf has learnt almost every trick in the book from how to gut a Tyranid to out witting an Eldar.
From the most arrogant blood claw to the oldest and most wizened long fang, all make way for Ulf when he strides the halls of the Fang such is the respect the company have for him. One blood claw was slow to learn this respect however.
Recently having returned to the Fang after a campaign reclaiming a world from the grasps of a Tyranid invasion the company were attending the returning feast held in their honour. One of the newly blooded blood claw packs were eating on a table next to that of Ulf’s pack and were getting rowdy on their ale. After an intense discussion amongst the youngsters one of them stood and approached Ulf’s table. The blood claws had quickly finished their roasted stag and had been glancing covetously at the vast slab of meat on Ulf’s table ever since. Stepping between the shoulders of two of the revered warriors the young wolf grasped the stag platter and began to lift it from the table. As the blood claw turned with the platter to walk away a voice spoke from the head of the table. ‘And what do you think you’re going to do with that, whelp?’ It was a low voice, quiet and calm and yet it carried clearly through the hall. The young wolf glanced casually over his shoulder and yelled back ‘what else do you think old man – eat it!!!’. This exclamation was followed by raucous laughter from the young pack, but the claw carrying the platter didn’t laugh instead he looked around to find a hand resting on his shoulder.
It belonged to a giant of a man stood behind him. White hair streamed over his huge shoulders and his barrel chest was at the height of the whelp’s neck. Morkai’s standard bearer, Olaf, was grinning whilst he looked down on the young wolf.
The whole hall fell into silence.
‘No you’re not whelp’ came the voice again.
Another member of the blood claw pack, with a crest of red hear running down the centre of his head, stood and shouted ‘and who are you to say so?!’
A knife flew across the hall from Ulf’s table, trimming the new comer’s hairstyle by several inches. There was a resounding ‘thunk’ as the knife hit the wood panel of the halls wall, point first, over fifty meters away. The claw with the recently altered hair cut sat down again.
‘Enough’ growled the low voice. The wolf which had thrown the knife grinned. ‘Feri, sit down and boy, do the sensible thing and bring that meat back.’
The giant called ‘Feri’ waved the blood claw past him indicating the table, a smile creeping across his face revealing huge fangs. Just as Feri turned his back there was movement at the blood claw table, two of them had leapt from their seats rushing Feri, but before they could get there, there was a blur between them and the huge wolf. Within two heart beats one blood claw lay on the floor of the hall, out cold, his skull cracked and another was sailing through the air over the heads of his pack.
The blood claws started, the scraping of benches showing their intent, but each and every one of them stopped at the sight that confronted them. 9 pairs of yellow eyes, 9 pairs on horribly long fangs, 9 scarred faces all regarding them calmly, waiting.
And Ulf, the symbol of the wolf guard on his shoulder stood at the head of the venerable, growling pack. The blood claws sat as one. There was a clapping sound from the end of the hall. Erik, sat a grim smile on his face, clapping nonchalantly. The Claws returned to their food and Ulf returned to his seat.
When everything had settled, Morkai winked to Ulf and received the slightest nod in return.
Resting on ones laurels, however, isn’t in Ulf repertoire. Tales by the fire side are one thing but seeing Ulf in battle is another. Mercilessly gunning down enemy warriors with calm double taps from his combi-melta, sending challengers skyward with a crackling powerfist or directing his pack to lay down a lethal hail of bolter fire is where Ulf is in his element.
As a result of Ulf’s peerless leadership, his pack, although as old in years as many long fangs, are still strong enough in numbers to stride the field of battle as grey hunters. In honour of this battlefield experience Ulf’s pack wear both the red of a grey hunter and the white of a long fang on their shoulder pads.
Right folks, i'm quite proud of this pack - a couple of things to draw attention to. 1. the extended mags on some of the bolters, especially the drum mag on Ulf's combi-melta, 2. The Banner 3. Feri's twinned bolt pistols.
Hope you enjoy them
All the best
Praise Russ
(Rhinos for the packs are coming in the next shipment from mars... mech is coming)

Saturday, 26 February 2011

New Records uncovered in the Fang's Libraries

The full names of the prominent wolves of Morkai’s great company have been uncovered:

Haegr Hallvardr

Wulfgar Aki
Sven Randulfr

Ulrik Radulf

Haarkon Hakon
Harald Odinn
Hengist Gunnarr

Praise Russ

The Fury of the Storm joins the Space Wolf ranks: Rikulfur Gudbrandr (and Arni)

The weather of Fenris is cold and ruthless with no exceptions. Savage lightning, punishing snow storms, booming thunder and howling winds are common place and in many ways this has hardened the people of Fenris, the conditions having shaped their lives. However, there are those who are an exception to this normal way of Fenrisian life, there are those who hold the power to control these forces of nature.

These chosen few are dubbed the Sons of the Storm and hold the power to send razor sharp shards of ice into their foes, roast them alive inside their own armour with lightning from the heavens or part the earth beneath their feet. These men exist within normal Fenrisian society as shamans and fortune tellers however within the ranks of the Space Wolves they serve the Great Wolf both on the battlefield and when interpreting the runes. The full extent of their powers can only be used with extreme caution and after rigorous training for the power of the warp is fickle and will break an unprepared man without hesitation.

Although a trained rune priest can let loose spectacularly powerful displays of their power with little effort it’s a different matter for those who bear the ‘gift’ and yet are untrained. As a result the gift can only be spotted when one with potential is in extreme and often life threatening circumstances.

Rikulfur was one such man. Inducted into the Space Wolf chapter due to the cold fury he demonstrated in killing a sea dragon after jumping into Fenris’ icy seas armed only with a single harpoon. The dragon should have claimed his life and if not the dragon surly the sea should have done. However, to the astonishment of the crew of his father’s ship and the wolf priest observing the scene from an unseen Thunderhawk the boy Rikulfur emerged from the fearsome waves battered and bloodied, but alive. One who’d been in freezing seas would usually die within the hour yet there was no hint of cold on the boy or any suggestion that he wasn’t completely healthy. To the men of the ship Rikulfur saved, this turn of events was a miracle, to the wolf priest who swooped down to collect him, it was a suspicious event, and he made a mental note to ask the chapter’s Rune Priests to give the boy a particularly thorough examination. However when investigated for the talent the rune priests couldn’t detect the taint in Rikulfur, the only thing they found was a fiercely loyal young lad.....with fury in his heart.

Fury is a predator. It sleeps when its master is comfortable and at peace, only raising its head occasionally to sniff for challenges, but this changes when confronted with those that would harm its master’s kin. Late in Rikulfur’s third campaign his blood claw pack was in dire straits. Surrounded by Orks they fought with reckless abandon slaying mercilessly, but soon enough one of their own fell. Olaf had been Rikulfur’s closest pack mate and his death demanded vengeance.

Unseen in the heat of battle small arcs of lightning jumped from Rikulfur’s pupils to the outer rim of his irises and a chill wind settled around the melee. By the time anyone noticed the icy chill emanating from the blood claw his gauntlets were wreathed in lightening. Kneeling at the side of Olaf’s mangled body amongst the swirling fury of combat Rikulfur returned his chainsword to its scabbard, his pistol to its holster and retrieved the wolf tooth necklace from Olaf’s neck, hanging it around his own. Returning to his feet he ducked a clumsy ‘choppa’ swing from an Ork and let loose his rage.

Shards of ice materialised in this air swirling around the massed bodies shredding Ork flesh whilst blue white lightning cascaded from his fingertips incinerating any foe which survived. All the while his pack mates stood staring at Rikulfur, his eyes now as black as the pits of Morkai’s domain. When the last of the Orks was dying due to the sheer cold of the ice storm Rikulfur collapsed, drained of all energy.

Moments later the storm parted, as the elderly rune priest Ulfstein, strode into view a long rune etched staff crackling in his hand. Briskly shaking Rikulfur awake he growled at him, half angry, half urgent – ‘get up whelp and follow me’. From then on Rikulfur was trained to harness his anger and warp born power by Ulfstein to the point where he could control it and bend it to his will. Along with this he learnt the means by which a skilled seer could read the runes and discern the future.

With his training complete Rikulfur became a dependable member of the Great Wolf’s Rune Priest council proving his wisdom over the centuries and becoming a warrior of horrifying wrath in the face of the Great Wolf’s enemies.
Praise Russ
(oh yeah the hovering skull thing/chooser of the slain is Arni)

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Move aside whelp: Long Fang Pack

Enter the true veterans of the galaxy - Space Wolf Long Fangs

Having been tempered by many decades in the fires of war the Long Fangs are some of the most experienced warriors available to the Imperium and as such are granted access to the arsenals of the Space Wolves. As a result they carry lascannons, missile launchers, heavy bolters and plasma cannons. There are those among these venerable heroes who don't cradle in their arms destruction incarnate - these pack leaders direct the fire of their comrades to devastating effect orchestrating the eternal play that is war.

P.s. Hello AP 2 & 3, how I have missed you!!!
Praise Russ