The Saga of Finn Firebeard
The rhythmic sound of another magazine clipping into place was as familiar to Finn as the pattern of his own hearts, or the scents of his brothers beside him. Sighting along his bolter for what felt like the thousandth time that day, he tuned out the stream of curses from Olaf as his brother's own weapon spat vengeance from behind their barricade. Olaf was the loud one, with an oath for every occasion. Behind Finn crouched Rokir, his own meltagun useless at long range, contenting himself with studying the holo-readout.
"Last wave incoming boys, then I think we can take a breather."
Amid the milling mass of forms Finn selected a target. As the explosive round detonated, the plaguebearer's putrescent features took on a brief expression of alarm, before its already decayed torso was blasted apart. The rush of joy at a neatly executed kill caused Finn to grin despite himself, displaying the lengthened canines typical in a marine of his age.
"Finn! Stop drooling and get on with it," Snarled Borri. The Alpha of their squad, Borri's voice betrayed his own excitement, high on the taste of battle like the rest of them. It was simply the way they were made. Even light-years from Fenris, its warriors still retained the hardiness and savagery of their people.
Rokir gave a whoop of glee as the daemon horde suddenly focussed its purpose and began a charge upon their position, hefting his meltagun to his shoulder. Finn set his bolter to auto, hearing as he did so the thrum of Borri's chainsword spitting into life. He could feel his augmented system flooding with combat stims, sharpening his reflexes and temporarily numbing his pain receptors. Beside him, ever-calm Leif silently reached for a frag grenade.
And that was when the blast hit.
"Damn it Finn, it's a waste, that's what it is. You're a good warrior. The chapter needs men like you..."
The Wolf Lord's voice, habitually a thunderous roil, trailed off into silence. He didn't need to say more. They both knew the inevitable consequences of Finn's decision.
"Sir. They were my brothers."
"At least think about it a little longer. There's a new Bloodclaw Pack joining the company soon, and they shall need a sergeant. A Grey Hunter of your experience still has a place here. With us. But the path of the Lone Wolf..."
"With respect, Sir, it is my choice."
From his raised granite throne the Wolf Lord scrutinised the man before him. Despite his recent wounds, Finn was back in his slate grey power armour, which boosted his height to almost nine feet. Its rune etched surface bore the scars and corrosions of countless conflicts. The iron stud above his right brow denoted five decades of service with the chapter thus far, although the Canis Helix woven into his genetic code kept his appearance and physique that of a much younger man. To look old amongst the Astartes, one had to bear witness to centuries of warfare.
But the Canis Helix had other powers also. The eyes that burned so defiantly back into the Wolf Lord's own were an animal tint of gold, betraying the beast that lurked under the skin of every son of Russ. The thick red mane, braided and hung with bone amulets and runestones, spilled onto the marine's shoulders but failed to hide the scars seared into his left cheek, still shimmering a deep iridescent blue. The scars of the wych-fire that had claimed the lives of his pack, all but one.
And what good is a wolf without his pack?
The crew aboard the Starfang got little rest that night, for an eerie howling echoed for hours through the corridors and control decks of the spacecraft. Piercing and desolate, it shredded the darkness with such pure agony that the Navigator's aide, torn from her slumber, knew not whether she wept for terror, or for pity.
And every marine aboard knew the danger of a son of Russ pushed to his limit, and prayed to the Allfather that the beast whose pain cracked the night would stay behind the eyes of the man.
Day 27
Ice crystals had formed on his lips but he paid them no heed. The biting wind forced him to narrow his eyes. Finn snarled. How dare it make him do anything! He would ignore it. He strained his lids wider, the tears of moisture freezing on his face.
Through his blurred vision, Finn suddenly spied movement. The figure was even taller and broader than himself, with a loose swaggering gait. Olaf? No, Olaf was hunting beside him, as always.
The wind turned, and Finn's lupine nose caught the sour, unmistakable scent of troll. With a wild yell, he flung himself toward the creature, catching it off guard. The brawny, shaggy pelted beast stumbled once, but was easily strong enough to lift Finn off his feet and toss him into a snow drift. The surprise at being assaulted by its erstwhile prey quickly wore off, replaced by a foul-tempered aggression. It bellowed with rage, beating meaty fists against its chest.
Finn was winded, but immediately renewed his efforts. He realised that in fact the snow had blinded him, and this wasn't a troll at all, but Alvi, the one who had locked him out of the barracks his first night at recruit camp, and now he and Olaf were going to settle the score. He could hear Rokir and Leif cheering them on in the background, and saying to hurry up before Sergeant Borri got back.
Throwing himself into the brawl, Finn head-butted his opponent hard enough to see stars. He blinked, stunned. This was the point where Alvi had cried mercy, and the two were even. The troll, however, wrapped its limbs around Finn's torso and began to squeeze. Even with his reinforced bone structure, Finn may have been in trouble were it not for the power armour shell encasing his body.
With a snarl, he buried his teeth in the troll's jugular. The rich salty blood poured over his face and ran down his breastplate, filling the etched runes with a crimson stain and matting the twin braids of his beard. As the beast spasmed in his grasp, Finn snapped its neck, before letting the carcass fall to the ground.
"Haha, dinner is served," He took a mocking bow. "I hate to eat troll without Kih-Chupp sauce at least, but we'll have to make the best of it."
Pulling out a long combat knife he started butchering the troll, dividing the most edible cuts into five piles.
"…And there's no wood, so we'll have to have it raw-"He turned to face the empty barren expanse of snow. He was alone. That was fine. He would just sit right here until they all came back.