Chapter 15: Index Astartes- Space Wolves
Index Astartes- Space Wolves: Lords of Winter and War
Heard even amidst the roar of the storm and the clamor of battle, the sagas of the Vlka Fenryka sing out, the mighty Sixth Legion who laugh in the face of death. From the icy wastes of Fenris to the fortress-cities of the Cadian Kasrs, the Space Wolves maintain their eternal hunt, the first line of defense against the infinite horrors spewing forth from the Eye of Terror and other realms of darkness. The maligned sons of Russ are considered a necessary evil by the people they protect, for the absence of their primarch during the Leonine Heresy has cast a long shadow of doubt upon them. So too does the Legion's methods arouse suspicion, a distrust that may well spell the Imperium's doom should the forces of Chaos manage to overwhelm the isolated Cadian Gate. Even as they defend an empire that misunderstands their very name and nature, the Space Wolves refuse to give in, and they will continue to punish every intrusion with the same savage fury until the foretold end times come, when the Wandering King will return to bring the legendary twilight of the gods and the restoration of the Allfather.
Origins: The Untamed
Long before the first boy was taken to become more than human, before the first Astartes ever set foot outside the walls of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor of Mankind labored in secret to master the lost arts of genetic augmentation. The Dark Age of Technology, that age of horrors and wonders, had long since passed, giving rise instead to the Age of Strife, which had seen science and discovery rightfully forgotten. However, not all of its secrets had died with their creators. Building on the work of those before and perfecting their mistakes, the Master of Mankind crafted not merely one new breed of warrior, but dozens. Each template was a masterpiece in its own right, the limitless potential contained within the initial gene-seeds far more powerful than those that would come later, and as time passed, the Emperor would refine his work with more and more esoteric experimentation. The gene-seed which would later give rise to the VI Legion was utterly unique, its creation shrouded in more secrecy than perhaps any other. All that is known of its composition was that it included a mysterious catalyst known as the 'Canis Helix', a powerful yet unstable addition which was added to no other legion template. No solid information on its makeup has ever been determined, but its power and volatility cannot be questioned, for many neophytes died attempting to receive it, and so the VI remained few in number.
Whatever the case, it was perhaps fitting that the legion bearing this particular gene-seed should happen to be part of the legendary Trefoil. Alongside the XX and XVIII Legions, these were unique expressions of the Emperor's handiwork, set apart from their brethren from the very beginning by their unconventional methodology and tactics. The initial recruits of the VI were selected from those individuals who had regressed into utter barbarism, from outcasts who had no culture of their own who could be molded into a calculated exercise in ferocity. Rather than having cultural ties to a particular region as did the other proto-legions, the VI were a blank slate, retaining only the savagery of their past lives. The legion was kept apart from their cousins, deployed alongside mortal Imperialis Auxilia forces, though they tended to behave more like a wildfire than a disciplined force. The VI fought with barbarous brutality, possessing quite the talent for collateral damage, and oftentimes lacked the discipline of their kind. Thus from amongst their ranks were appointed veteran disciplinary officers known as Consul-Opsequiari, who bore a twin flame-blade Sanghauta, an insignia of authority showing they bore the power of life and death over those they fought alongside, even their own brothers. Every compliance ended with executions, not only of the foes they had subdued, but amongst the very ranks of the legion, and thus the reputation of the VI was not regarded favorably by Imperial High Command, who regarded them as no better than hyenas who only fought against weakened enemies. Many commanders considered their size to be a fitting punishment, desiring for the VI to remain small as a method of censure.
As can be imagined in a legion where fratricidal execution was the norm, the Sixth were a fractious group. They were utterly ruthless to those that faced them, and it is said they were never more gleeful than on the counter-attack, butchering retreating foes without mercy as soon as their backs were turned. Many times the legionaries of the Sixth would break formation to envelop the foe in a sweeping advance that left few survivors, a breach of discipline unheard of in all but the most savage legions such as the IX. In contrast to the respect for authority that was second-nature in the other legions, the officers of the Sixth ruled by force, their every plan subject to backtalk and discussion. None could doubt their loyalty, but their discipline left much to be desired, and the derogatory but fitting nickname of the 'Rout' was soon applied to them. Their first commander was Enoch Rathvin, an unforgiving fighter who met his end during a suicidal charge on the world of Xyat, where he was crushed beneath a colossal metal cylinder mounted on the front of a greenskin battlewagon, and his successors met similarly violent ends. Their leadership was constantly changing, for they were led by the most ferocious and reckless warriors imaginable, and the legion remained quite small due to their genetic instability. Even as other legions such as the I or XVI swelled into the tens of thousands, adopting new traditions and liveries, the VI remained at barely five thousand in total. Doubts of their efficacy were constant, for many were skeptical the legion could stay in line, but such concerns were soon silenced with the discovery of their primarch, whose reunion with his sons would transform the legion forever.
The High King of Fenris
The passage of time has obscured the origins of many of the Emperor's sons, the legendary primarchs. However, this is not the case for the Primarch of the Sixth, whose life story is extensively told by the Skalds, who sing these tales of glory not only to his sons, but to the people of the world of Fenris and everyone they meet as well. The Saga of Leman Russ begins in the distant past, when the wicked powers of Hel stole him away from the halls of the Allfather upon Terra, casting the infant Primarch into the outer dark. Such fanciful poetry is essentially correct, if slightly embellished, for in the waning days of the 30th Millennium, the life-pods containing the Primarchs were stolen away from the Emperor's laboratories upon Terra. Pod VI was one of the first few pods to be snatched, but its journey would be altered by the Emperor's actions, for the Master of Mankind would not let his creations be taken so easily. Though it was too far gone to retrieve, the mighty psychic force of the Allfather held tight to this pod, slowing its trajectory until it stopped right on the edge of what would one day be Segmentum Solar. Thus rather than being hurled to the galaxy's edge like so many others, it was cast a shorter distance than any other save Pod XVI, and as such would be discovered far earlier than the rest, but such a reunion was still decades in coming. The pod bearing the young primarch transitioned from the Sea of Souls into the Sea of Stars, coming to land upon the icy death world known as Fenris, a fiery meteor that soared through stormy skies as it narrowly missed the wolf-haunted slopes of Mount Alfadr to come to rest in the shallows of the Worldsea.
A death world among death worlds, Fenris is perhaps one of the most inhospitable planets in the galaxy. Perpetually frozen and wracked by tectonic forces which reshape the world on a yearly basis, and haunted by countless carnivorous megafauna, it defies reason as to why Mankind ever settled Fenris. According to the skalds, it was ravenous beasts that opened the protective shell of Pod VI by claw and by fang, but the individual inside was no ordinary child, and he was far from defenseless. With steely sinew and rippling muscle, the young primarch slaughtered the beasts with ease in a battle lasting for a day and a night. Ever more creatures arrived, called by the scent of blood in the water, and soon the boy contended with many-armed kraken and a reptilian sea dragon the size of a longship, but they too proved no match for his might. Only when the last beast was slain did other humans approach, discovering a scene of carnage whose sole survivor was a young boy, covered in both gore and primitive scale armor fashioned from the hides of the would-be predators. Impressed by his valor, the boy was adopted by King Thengir, chieftain of the Russ tribe, who named him Leman. Thengir raised him as his own son, personally teaching him to speak Juvyk, the local language, and the two were as close as could be, fighting together in battle against both other tribes and the fearsome wildlife in grand hunts. The two slew many foes, including a trio of colossal Fenrisian wolves, whose pelts would adorn Leman's armor, and the tribe swelled with every conquest.
As the Sagas tell, Russ would continue to perform epic deeds for nearly five great years, essentially twenty Terran solar cycles. Rather than be content as chief of a single tribe as Thengir was, Leman of the Russ was a man of immense pride, reveling in both his status and his unparalleled might. He spent his time traveling the land, fighting giants and trolls and other megafauna as he sought out glory. From the heights of Mount Alfadr to the depths of the Cavern Cities did he roam, adding every village and town to his realm until the entirety of Asaheim paid him fealty. With no more land to conquer, he took to the Worldsea alongside fleets of longships, conquering the many islands and hunting the great beasts which prowled its icy waters. Chief Thengir did not live to see the end of this epic saga, for he died a warrior's death in battle fighting to protect his adopted son, and thus Leman became chief of the Russ. However, with all the Volk of Fenris united under his rule, such a title was no longer enough, and so the rune priests crowned him Har-Fylkir, the High King. During the five great years it took to conquer Fenris, Russ's pride had grown in proportion with his lands, and he spent many feasts boasting of his prowess to all who would listen. He shouted his deeds to the very stars, but little did he suspect anyone was truly listening. One stormy night, as the High King sat atop his Bein-Haeseti, his grandiose Ivory Throne which overlooked his Feasting Hall, a Stranger approached him. Russ laughed as the small man asked to challenge him, seeking only a place to stay and a drink from the King's Cup in exchange should he prove victorious. None had ever bested the High King before, and this Stranger seemed to be no different, for Russ quickly claimed victory in the first two trials, consuming three entire aurochs in an eating contest and downing six whole barrels of mead in a drinking contest.
With only the final contest remaining, one of combat, Russ was now sure victory would be his. The High King began to boast, cheered on by his people as his laughter shook the entire Feasting Hall. However, the Stranger remained undaunted, challenging Russ to up the ante if he was so certain. With a mocking flourish, Russ took off his crown, swearing to never wear one again should he lose this challenge. However, as the two stepped outside to the dueling ring, the Stranger cast aside his cloak, and in the place of the small and unassuming man now stood a muscled giant, undaunted by the icy winds blowing through the encampment. The Lord of Fenris roared in delight, for this was a challenge, and swung with all his might, punching the Stranger squarely in the face in a blow that would have killed any other man. The challenger did not so much as stagger as his raven-black hair was blown backwards by the force, and in response, swung back, knocking Russ unconscious in one titanic punch that sent him flying backwards into the Feasting Hall. The High King awoke amidst the shattered remnants of his throne, the Stranger standing before him. However, rather than a simple cloak, the man was now covered in resplendent golden armor. It was at that moment that Leman recognized the man as his true father, the Emperor of Mankind. Laughing at his own foolishness, Leman saw his father had been holding back, and gratefully accepted a helping hand to get back on his feet. Kneeling down, Russ honored his promise, swearing eternal fealty to the Master of Mankind before being helped up once more.
In honor of their reunion, Russ ordered the feasts to begin anew, and spent the night in revelry with his father. As the two laughed and drank, a new man entered the room, obviously a warrior. He was taller than Russ but shorter than the Emperor, and wore white armor bedecked with a pelt to rival his own. His father explained to Leman he had many brothers, a prospect which delighted him to no end. While the man strode down the length of the hall toward the two, Russ decided to play a prank on this new brother of his. As the Emperor introduced the man as Horus Lupercal, the High King feigned a bestial nature, sniffing the man as though he were one of the Fenrisian wolves whose pelts hung on his walls. He was quickly rewarded as the warrior tried and failed to disguise his disgust. Leman laughed, as did the Emperor, and clapped an arm around his shoulders, and the three men feasted as though they had never been separated. When the celebrations had ended, Russ took the time to show his father and brother all the wonders of his kingdom, teaching them about his home just as they taught him about what his future was to be. Nothing could have excited Russ more than the prospect of leading warriors of his blood across the Sea of Stars, for he had always known he was meant for greater things. However, a note of unease was introduced when the High King grasped what it meant for his people to become Astartes. When comparing the scattered tribes of Fenris to the teeming masses of Humanity already under the Emperor's rule, Russ felt inadequate for the first time in his life, an unwelcome experience.
Now uncertain of his future, Russ swallowed his pride, offering to leave Fenris behind as it would not be able to provide enough warriors. However, after no more than a moment of thought, the Emperor declined this offer, telling his son he had arrived on Fenris for a reason. In that moment, his doubt transformed into depthless gratitude, and in his heart of hearts, Leman of the Russ swore to become whatever his father desired. He now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt his fate, his wyrd, would be forever tied to that of his father. As if in recognition of this newfound resolve, the Emperor aided Russ in laying the foundations for the construction of a new citadel, a towering structure known as the Aett or 'Fang', which soon soared higher than any mountain. It would only continue to grow as the years passed, for the wisecraft of the offworlders was mighty indeed, but it would only come into its full splendor in Russ's absence, for his time on Fenris was over. Terra now awaited him, and accompanied by Horus and the Emperor, Leman of the Russ left Fenris to sail the Sea of Stars.
Great Crusade: The Strong are Strongest Alone
As the Sagas relate, Leman Russ was to spend the next few decades fighting beside his new people, learning their ways and gaining their trust. Russ's rough nature was a natural fit for the boisterous Sixth Legion, and he never hesitated to throw his weight around, the polar opposite of the more reserved and diplomatic Lupercal. Despite their opposite natures, the two brothers were incredibly close, and Russ spent many years by his brother's side. He was a proud man, though not too proud to admit when he was wrong, and his charisma greatly impressed those he met. Accompanying him on this journey were hundreds of brave Fenrisians, who not only survived the gene-processing to become Astartes but seemed to thrive in it in a way that Terran legionaries never had. Some say it was the harsh conditions of their icy homeworld that was the source of their resiliency, but whatever the case, these men were the first of a new breed, and in time would go on to become some of Russ's closest confidantes and bodyguards, the legendary Varagyr. Oathsworn and unshakably loyal, the Varagyr would form the iron core of the Sixth, and under Russ, the legion would finally swell in size to surpass the other legions who had not yet been reunited with their primarchs. With such men by his side, the first major campaigns undertaken by the Sixth Legion were resounding successes, and Russ was quickly confirmed as a talented field commander. He could most often be found on the frontlines, leading by example as he swung his mighty Mjalnar, a power sword whose heart was a kraken's tooth, in mighty arcs. From towering greenskin warbosses to spindle-limbed Aeldari wraith-constructs, no foe could stand before his might, and his sons always fought harder in his presence. Once regarded as ill-disciplined, it had become clear the Sixth Legion prosecuted wars in their own way, and had simply required a more flexible commander to truly shine.
As the years passed, more and more primarchs were discovered, starting with /REDACTED/ only a few years after Russ, then Ferrus Manus, and so on for decades to come. As the second-found, Russ began to see himself as an older brother of sorts, reveling in his close ties to Horus and the Emperor, and he did not hesitate to step in when he saw his brothers doing something that he believed the Emperor would not approve of. His commanders did not hesitate to talk to superiors as equals, including Primarchs, an arrogance matched only by their obvious loyalty to the Emperor. However, this demeanor of apparent impunity quickly fostered silent resentment from others, and as more legions came into their own, the Sixth and its Primarch began to become isolated from their kin. Multiple incidents were kept hushed and hidden in which the Sixth came to blows with other legions, such as the infamous 'Night of the Wolf' with Angron, though few were wise enough to comprehend the lesson Russ wanted to teach them. However, the Wolves cared little for the opinion of others, scorning those they saw as weak or misguided, and the appearance of barbarity was cultivated as a shroud to hide their true intentions. Upon taking control of his legion, Russ had named his sons the Vlka Fenryka, or Army of Fenris in his native tongue. However, translation errors soon crept in, and before long, many had begun to refer to them as the "Wolves of Fenris", or Space Wolves, as a natural complement to the other legion led by a primarch, the Luna Wolves. Russ and his sons despised this foolish title, for it was one given by those who had no respect for his homeworld or traditions, but there was little they could do to stop it from proliferating, yet another barrier between them and the rest of the Imperium. Even his own brothers began to refer to his legion in such a manner, often to poke fun at him, and eventually Russ himself stopped bothering to correct them.
This is not to say the Space Wolves were without allies in this time. For many years they traveled alongside the Emperor's forces, Russ enjoying fighting beside his father's side. However, this came to an end as the Emperor turned his attention toward the rest of Russ's brothers as more and more primarchs were discovered, and so the Space Wolves transitioned to fighting on their own. At Nova Borilia, the Sixth recovered an ancient STC fragment containing schematics for a tank, which the grateful Mechanicum quickly named in Russ's honor. So too did seminal victories over the Saharduin and Taralais species of xenos win them the approval and loyalty of House Belisarius of the Navis Nobilite. The Space Wolves had decided to let their record speak for itself, a tally surpassed only by the Firstfound Lupercal, though there was one other whose sons could match them. Found over thirty years after Russ, Lion El'Jonson had quickly achieved a stunning record of success, accumulating a vast tally of compliances at a rate that superstitious people called magic or foresight. The First Legion, long favored by the Emperor himself, had grown to be the largest legion at over two hundred thousand strong, and as such would not accept the condescension of the Space Wolves as others were forced to.
In order to foster goodwill between Russ and the Lion, Horus Lupercal decided to intervene, acting as intermediary to facilitate a joint campaign between the Dark Angels and Space Wolves. Playing off his brother's ego, Lupercal asked the two primarchs to work together to overcome a technologically-advanced human civilization known as the Faash. From the start, joint operations went poorly, for both legions were too proud to consult one another, and when the Space Wolves destroyed a vessel containing an entire company of First Legion boarders, the two nearly went to war right there. Only the direct intervention of Russ halted any further violence, publicly broadcasting an apology for his sons' actions to the Lion and his entire fleet. After this incident, the campaign began to go more smoothly, and the Faash were pushed back until only their capital remained, the world of Dulan. Even on the brink of defeat, the Tyrant of Faash refused to surrender, and thus Russ swore to take his head personally. The two legions launched their assault, tens of thousands of Astartes fighting to seize the Crimson Citadel, the planetary capital, and Russ quickly fought his way into the Tyrant's throne room. However, he was not the first to do so, and the Lord of Fenris was beyond furious when he learned the Lion had already slain the Tyrant despite knowing Russ had desired to carry out the deed himself.
This was the first time they had met in person, Russ realized. The Allfather had asked him long ago to remain apart from his brothers, but for the first time, he questioned that judgment, for something was wrong with this brother. However, the Lion was unlikely to stand there and let Russ analyze him, so he would need a different approach. Russ loosened his arms, letting Krakenmaw swing lazily before him.
"I know why you did this. I know why you conquer, world after world, driving your sons after every campaign Malcador finds for you. It won't work though. Father won't choose a favorite, and even if he did, it wouldn't be you. Might be Sanguinius, or Horus, or even Ferrus, but definitely not you. You're wasting your time trying to be noticed like this." Russ said idly, noting with amusement the conflicting emotions playing out on his brother's face. Anger appeared to be winning though, so there was no point in waiting any longer, and thus he swung a right hook, and their battle began.
Seeking to let go of their mutual tensions, Russ provoked a fight with the Lion in a manner he thought would assuage his brother's pride. The two fought for hours, eventually sending each other's weapons hurtling from the height of the tower only to begin brawling even as their sons finished off the Faash below them. Such was the Lion's skill that Russ soon forgot his original motivation, enjoying the thrill of battle rather than attempting to analyze his brother as he had initially intended. Realizing the absurdity of the situation, Russ began to laugh, and as he did so, the Lion struck a mighty blow, rendering him unconscious. When the Lord of Fenris awoke, his right canine tooth, his brother, and the Dark Angels had departed. The Lion had clearly not understood the efforts he had gone through to reconcile them, and with some annoyance, Russ and his legion departed, returning to their own campaigns. They did not encounter the First Legion again for many years, and it was under much different circumstances. Shortly after the events of Dulan, the Space Wolves were ordered by the Emperor himself to make for Segmentum Obscurus, for the dreaded Rangda had returned. Tasked to support the advance of the Death Guard on the western flank, the Sixth Legion were joined by / REDACTED /, a legion with whom they had long been close, and Russ was delighted to fight beside them again, despite the daunting task which lay ahead.
Years passed, and the Sixth became ever smaller, taking on heavy losses to halt the xenotic advance into Imperial space. Decades of war left them a shell of their former selves, Fenris unable to supply recruits that quickly, and Leman's enthusiasm became a thing of the past. The weight of his responsibility was heavy indeed, and he began to see for the first time what he was meant to be. The Emperor had many warriors at his disposal, but the Sixth Legion was to stand alone, for their wyrd was now that of Executioner. This mantle was first bestowed on them for the many corrupted worlds they were forced to cleanse lest even a single Rangdan slip the cordon sanitaire. However, this heavy burden was to become truly theirs in the most foul way possible, for many years into the Second Rangdan Xenocide, Russ was / REDACTED /. Seeing / REDACTED /, the Lord of Fenris was forced to carry out / REDACTED /, which would forevermore haunt him. The weight of it nearly broke him, and the man that emerged from the crucible of war was not the same who had gone in. Only Lion El'Jonson, Malcador the Sigillite, and the Emperor were privy to the truth, and even the Sagas do not speak of what task Russ was called on to perform that dark day, for it is said the Master of Mankind wiped the memories of the First and Sixth Legionaries present. The two legions departed on bad terms, and several months later, the Second Rangdan Xenocide came to an abrupt end, a pyrrhic victory if there ever was one which left Russ on his own to rebuild his shattered legion. The mantle of Executioner meant few dared look too closely into legion business, and the Wolves stalked alone, bearing the terrible weight of the secrets they had been charged to keep by the Allfather. The campaigns they undertook in the decades after the Second Xenocide can best be described as pogroms, secret wars hidden in the shadows given off by the brightness of the Great Crusade. Many races were exterminated in silence, never to be entered into the history books, a stark contrast to the glories of the early Crusade which still live on in song.
This change can also be seen in the increasing distance between Russ and his brothers, and thus by the time Russ learned of the events of Ullanor, he was unable to come to Lupercal's aid. The Lord of Winter and War did not begrudge his brother for his new title, for he was never meant for such a role: Russ was certain the Emperor had desired him to be an Executioner rather than a warmaster, and thus he would remain until told otherwise. However, Russ was firmly convinced that the heavy burden of his duties did not preclude him from enjoying himself, and at the first available opportunity, rushed to reunite with Horus. A grand feast was held, where the King of the Russ swore to remain true to the Warmaster, and the two renewed their fraternal bonds. When the revelry had concluded, the brothers parted ways, exchanging gifts to commemorate their kinship. To Russ went a master-crafted pistol forged by Vulkan himself, which he named Scornspitter; to Horus went a rather different gift, Jarl Hvarl Red-Blade and his 4th Great Company, who would accompany the Warmaster and carry Sixth Legion banners through all their future conquests. Touched by this commemoration of the olden days when they fought side by side, Horus gratefully welcomed the sons of Russ aboard his vessels, and as he departed, seemed to be thoughtfully contemplating their presence. Though curious as to what his brother would come up with next, Russ and his legion departed to return to conquering the Sea of Stars once again. His good spirits buoyed his sons over the subsequent months, and the Sixth Legion achieved several dozen compliances in record time.
As the first year of the new millennium drew to a close, Russ was intrigued to receive visitors from Terra itself, a delegation of Custodes. Receiving the Emperor's bodyguards with due ceremony, Russ listened with growing anticipation as they announced there was to be a Council upon the world of Nikaea. Questioning them as to the purpose of this summit, the Lord of Winter and War felt a sense of vindication upon hearing they were to discuss the question of psykers and the Librarius Project. Leman had long mistrusted those who utilized black magic and maleficarum, and knew all too well that such a gathering was sure to bring his brother Magnus running. The Crimson King had long been a thorn in Russ's side, an arrogant fool who meddled in things beyond his ken, and Russ had gone so far as to petition their father multiple times to censure Magnus and his Thousand Sons. The Fifteenth were no better than their father, having actually dared to fire upon the Sixth Legion during the Aghoru Campaign many years earlier, only to escape justice by fleeing and leaving the Space Wolves to finish up the campaign on their own. Russ knew this was his chance to make Magnus pay for all the wrong he had done, and thus when the time came, the Space Wolves rushed to Nikaea with the full force of their legion. The days before the Council were filled with anticipation for Russ, who passed the time aboard the flagship Bucephalus, regaling his father with tales of his glory and downing many tankards of mjod.
When the Council began, Russ burned with anticipation for his time to speak. Great was his impatience and disappointment as his brothers bantered, none of them truly grasping what was at stake, and the first day ended before he had a chance to speak. Russ had suspected this might be the case, and he had prepared accordingly, for this was a chance he had long awaited, and he would not let it go to waste. Thus over the next few days, an impressively diverse group of witnesses spoke in favor of his viewpoint, a coterie he had painstakingly gathered in the months before the Council began. From harrowing tales told by representatives of worlds the Sixth Legion had liberated from psychic overlords, to the terse ThoughtMark sign language of the Silent Sisterhood, to Rune Priests from Fenris itself, Russ's witnesses laid out a compelling argument, and when the final day of the Council began, Russ himself summarized and combined all their arguments into what he considered a speech worthy of any skald. From the poorly-disguised shock and anger on the faces of many in the audience, it was clear they had not grasped the full import of the evil that was witchcraft, nor had they expected such attention to detail from one they had considered a barbarian. Even dour Mortarion looked shocked at his words, and now gratified to see his brothers taking his warnings to heart, Russ finished his oration, and took his seat once more, proud of what he had done. The final speaker before the Emperor passed his judgment was Magnus himself, and Russ watched with disbelieving eyes as the crowd gave heed to the retorts of the Crimson King. However, just as it seemed all was lost, their father showed why he truly was the Master of Mankind. The Lord of Fenris struggled to contain his glee as the Emperor rose in glorious fury to pronounce the abolition of the Librarius and the punishment of the Thousand Sons. Yet in this moment of triumph, Russ felt the slightest twinge of regret upon seeing the utterly-crushed spirits of Magnus, a look he had not seen since / REDACTED /.
Shaking off his doubts brought about by memories of the past, Russ departed Nikaea, returning to campaign once more, this time against the greenskins. Countless foes fell at their hands, new sagas written every day, and for the first time, these tales of glory were spread beyond the legion by the mortals who had accompanied the fleet. These so-called Remembrancers were overawed by the might of the Sixth Legion, though to Russ's annoyance they referred to his sons as Space Wolves and him as the Wolf King. However, Russ had always enjoyed a good joke, and on multiple occasions, he allowed them to accompany his sons into battle, forcing them to bear weapons alongside their picters, thus ensuring his fearsome reputation would be at the heart of their stories. Years passed as the Space Wolves brought world after world to compliance, apart from the rest of the galaxy and untouched by the troubles which swept the other legions during this time. Some scholars have posited this isolation was intentional on the Archtraitor's part, a scheme relying on the assumption Russ would be inclined to stay away from the Warmaster if he knew the Lord of Caliban was working closely with him. Thus it was perhaps personal dislike that never saw the Archtraitor attempt to sway this brother to his cause, for not even a token attempt at corruption through the warrior lodge system was ever tried in the Sixth despite their obvious communal and fraternal natures. There is precious little communication between the Sixth and Sixteenth Legions during this time, save for Hvarl Red-Blade's Great Company that was part of the Legion Auxilia. Thus Russ did not learn of Horus's fall on Davin until many months after the fact, by which time the galaxy was a much different state than Russ and many others had assumed.
The Hunt Begins: The First Battle of Prospero
By the twelfth year after the turn of the millennium, the Space Wolves stood nearly one hundred thousand Astartes strong, split into thirteen Great Companies. Such a dispersal had been ordered by Leman Russ himself as a way not only to increase the amount of compliances, but also to give himself a greater challenge, for there was little glory in toppling a foe with the might of his entire legion by his side. The ever-increasing disturbances in the Immaterium meant few messages ever arrived, and thus when the golden vessel Aetropas appeared, the Sixth Legion was caught unawares. The presence of such an august vessel, one of the infamous Moiraides, did not bode well, and Russ received the delegation with full ceremony upon his flagship, the Hrafnkel. Entering the Champion's Hall, the multi-level vault that served as the Primarch's throneroom, was a delegation of Custodes, and at their head was Constantin Valdor himself, Captain-General of the Emperor's Companions.
Constantin Valdor
Also known as the First of the Ten Thousand, Constantin Valdor was the head of the Emperor's bodyguard for its entire existence. Such was his fighting prowess and genius that many considered him the equal of the primarchs themselves when it came to combat. However, Valdor's sole purpose in life was to carry out his master's wishes, and to that end, he has long been invested with Magisterium, the authority to speak as the Voice of the Emperor himself. Only the Regent of Terra has ever defied him and lived, though some speculated the Warmaster might have similar authority. Valdor's opinion on the primarchs was known only to a select few, but on the whole it was rather negative, as close to disagreeing with the Emperor as he ever came, and the feeling was mutual. In battle he bears the Apollonian Spear, a weapon crafted by the Emperor himself, and whose twin would shortly thereafter be revealed.
Armored in a battleplate whose hues shimmered between gold and yellow, kingly Valdor made no move to bow or show respect to the Primarch whose ship he now stood on, his imperious voice announcing himself and the warriors beside him as the Dread Host. Russ demanded to know the purpose of this visit in a tone as cold as the ice of Fenris, for he had long despised the Captain-General, and without hesitation, Valdor informed him that by order of Warmaster Horus and the Emperor of Mankind, Magnus the Red was a traitor who must be apprehended at any cost. A feral smile creeping over his face, Russ did not waste any time asking for logic or reasons, and quickly issued orders to his sons to recall the fleets, for this would be a mighty hunt indeed. From his own personal experiences as well as the tales relayed to him by the First of the Ten Thousand, Russ knew the sons of Magnus would not give up without a fight, and would thus require the full might of a legion to subdue. Later on, the Captain-General met with the Lord of Winter and War in private, and presented him with a new weapon. From the hidden troves of the Emperor's own armories, Valdor brought Russ the Dionysian Spear, a mirror of his own Apollonian, and bade the primarch to accept it, for such was commanded by the Master of Mankind. Upon accepting the gift, it is said Russ began to truly realize for the first time the full weight of this duty, and spent many nights in counsel with the Captain-General. Together they planned out the campaign to follow, for Valdor had brought not only an entire Shield Host of the Talons of the Emperor, but agents of the Regent as well, who would be of use in tracking down the Crimson King.
His sons mustered, the Wolf King set out on the hunt, accompanied by all his sons save for those of Red-Blade's For Great Company taking part in the Legion Auxilia, including nearly a thousand Custodes. Nearly all the Great Companies had come to take part in the hunt, and as one the fleets of the Censure Host swept westward, seeking trails in the Warp that might indicate where the traitors had fled. Russ was certain he would be able to best his brother in a fight, but what would come next was uncertain. The Warmaster's decree had multiple ambiguities in the text, including the central command of 'holding Magnus accountable', but did that mean capturing him for the Emperor's personal judgment? The Sigillite may have been able to clarify, but his agents could not, and the Captain-General was of no help whatsoever, for he categorically refused to indulge in a legal debate. The weight of Magisterium had been placed upon Russ, at least temporarily, so he understood full well that the ultimate judgment was up to him. As such, he spent many a night wrestling with this dilemma while his fleets drew ever closer to finding the Thousand Sons. For months on end, the fleet chased false leads and deceptive trails, no doubt planted in the Warp by the sons of Magnus. However, the foe could not hide forever, and the truth was finally revealed after many dead ends, during which many ships had been lost in the ever-worsening storms. In a move so brazen and audacious even Russ wouldn't have considered it, the Thousand Sons had gathered on their homeworld, and with mounting irritation, the fleet made the final jump for the Prospero System.
Scattered by the tides of the Warp, the fleet of the Sixth Legion began to arrive piecemeal in the Prospero System, the foe's presence immediately confirmed by the heavy firepower which began to rain down upon the vanguard. The enemy seemed to be firing impossibly well, their shots aimed with what seemed like prescience, and many ships were lost as the rest of the legion slowly trickled in. However, the Vlka Fenryka had the advantage of numbers, and soon established a solid foothold. The full might of their fleet mustered behind the ever-swirling ammonia clouds of the gas giant Telkhine, and the protective efforts of the Rune Priests lessened the deadly attrition to the point where they could now take the offensive. The Sixth Legion pushed forward in tight formation, their protective void shields overlapping to form an impenetrable shieldwall, and soon the battle tipped in their favor. Right by their side were the trio of sleek golden vessels, the infamous Moirades, which spat death from weapons older than the Age of Strife, though even their fearsome tally could not match that of the Hrafnkel. Russ's flagship was a mountain in the void, its slate-gray hides shrugging off every shot sent its way while the hundreds of thousands of menials within ensured its guns never ran dry on ammunition. Faced with such might, it was only a matter of time before the Fifteenth Legion was forced back, taking fearsome casualties as they exposed their backs to the Executioners. The Rout was loosed once more, and they closely followed the enemy, outpacing the Custodes and the rest of the Censure Host in their eagerness to claim victory.
Ensconced at the heart of his command bridge, the triumphant presence of Leman Russ filled the room with a palpable sense of victory. Even the mortal officers manning the stations could feel his enthusiasm, and they worked with alacrity to carry out his commands. Certain of success, the reversal of fortunes to come was that much more devastating. In the heart of the fleet, now stretched out into an attacking wedge instead of the line formation they had initially formed, a pulsating rip in reality emerged into being. Yet this was no new arrival, no last minute reinforcements pushing their way in, but a rift in time and space. Those legion vessels caught in its event horizon were torn to shreds, the kilometers-long ships utterly powerless to resist the psychic black hole which pulled and stretched them into thin strands torn between this reality and the next. Veterans of centuries of combat were killed in an instant, smeared and crushed in their armor within the rapidly compressing halls of their ships, perishing without even the chance to scream. Within a minute, nearly a hundred vessels had been stolen out of reality, some destroyed, others simply lost, a full third of the fleet gone without so much as a shot being fired. The laceration in reality began to stabilize, its gravity now pulling in other vessels, and with mounting alarm, the mortal officers of the Hrafnkel began to realize they too had been snared.
Caught between horror and fury, Leman Russ was quick to accept the hails coming in, though he soon wished he hadn't. The hateful cyclopean visage of Magnus the Red filled every screen, his laughter booming out over the voxspeakers as Russ howled oaths of recrimination and vengeance, alongside a steady stream of insults at the traitor who had killed so many by his actions. The Hrafnkel shuddered as it reached the edge of realities, its Gellar Field shuddering to protect it as the vessel tipped over, falling and falling into a realm of madness. As the pride of the fleet vanished from being, the rift snapped shut, leaving behind perhaps a third of the fleet still together, including the Moiraides commanded by Valdor himself. Instantly recognizing the untenability of their situation, the Captain-General ordered a full retreat, for they were now outnumbered. Those who preferred life were left with little choice but to follow them, for victory slipped ever further out of reach with each vessel that turned to flee, but escape was far from certain. The scales had now fully tipped, a reversal of fortunes which had placed the Sixth Legion in the position of retreat with their backs turned to the withering fire that continued to rain down on them, lances and batteries aimed with supernatural precision by the witch-lords of Prospero. The Custodes were the first to escape, for their duty was to the Emperor and none other. In the depths of despair, many Space Wolves gave voice to heretical thoughts, cursing the Custodes for leaving them to die, but the ships of the Dread Host left without responding. Many of the remaining Space Wolves commanders chose an honorable death in battle, hurling their ships into the midst of the Thousand Sons battlelines, where they perished amidst fire and void. However, this sacrifice was not for naught, for it gave the remaining vessels the chance they needed to effect an escape.
Reversal of Fortunes: The Heresy Revealed
"I recognize my failing, and will be sure to correct it."- Sixth Legion penitent oath
To say the command structure of the Sixth Legion had been broken would be an understatement. The senior Jarls were no more, cast into the Warp alongside the Hrafnkel, for their vessels had been in the places of honor beside the flagship. Others had been killed in the battle against the Thousand Sons, their ships wiped from existence by the guns of the Fifteenth Legion. Thus it was that command fell to Jorin Bloodhowl, Jarl of Dekk-Tra, the Thirteenth Great Company, who was left to lead perhaps a third of his brothers to safety. This battered force continued to dwindle by the second, for the first vessels to engage their Warp drives had jumped blindly, just hoping to escape the utter death which had taken so many of their kin. Those that had sought to sail west to Fenris or Terra were torn to shreds, for powerful Warp storms blocked their path, and all that slipped through were their dying screams. However, it was in this, the legion's darkest hour, that the Shieldbearer of Russ was to prove his worth, cutting through the chaos and tumult with a stentorian roar of authority. With some measure of order restored, Bloodhowl quickly ordered his men northward, utilizing the dead world of Khalkhon as a shield between them and the Thousand Sons, whose vessels were slowed as they were snared by its gravitational pressure. Reaching the Mandeville Point, Bloodhowl's fleet transitioned, hurled through the Warp by bands of aetheric pressure radiating from the intense stormfronts that had blocked their westward egress. All the Rout could do now was hold on and hope that their Gellar Fields remained functional against the battering of the storm, all the while burning inside from the knowledge they had failed in their duty.
When the fleet emerged back into realspace, astrogational sensors soon revealed they had drifted further east than anticipated, arriving on the outer edges of a rust-red gas cloud known as the Alaxxes Nebula. No sane navigator would have willingly come this close, but they had lost their bearings amidst the storms, and no sooner had they transitioned back into reality that the Gellar Fields had collapsed. Alaxxes was a dark blotch on the galactic map, for none had ever bothered to look too closely into the vast stellar tunnels that honeycombed its interior, or at least, none had survived to tell the tale. The tall tales of stellar explorers told of hidden worlds contained within, of secret fortresses contained at its heart, but Bloodhowl and his lieutenants did not have the luxury of time even if they had desired to map its trackless depths. Within days of their arrival, a new fleet emerged nearby, whose tags and velocity revealed them to be the Star Hunters. Long known to be operating in the nearby Chondax Sector, the aggressively-swift Fifth Legion would normally have been a welcome sight, but the treachery of the Fifteenth had left all the Space Wolves on edge, and so they remained cautious and alert as they hailed the new arrivals. Such suspicion proved all too necessary, for the sons of Jaghatai did not answer their hails, but instead opened fire as soon as their forward guns obtained a firing solution. The two legions began to battle at extreme range, both sides hurling macroshells and lances across a battlefield ill-suited for such combat. Vast shoals of clouds drifted between them, fouling the integrity of their energy weapons and interfering with guidance systems, while unseen dangers such as gravitational fields threatened to crush any vessels that strayed too close.
Thus stymied by the unyielding forces of nature, the Fifth and Sixth clashed in a protracted engagement lasting for weeks, neither side able to close in on each other without exposing themselves to lethal conditions. There they may have remained until one or the other perished, for while the Space Wolves were outnumbered, they had nothing left to lose, their souls weighed down by the loss of their primarch. However, it seemed fate had other plans for them than an ignominious end at Alaxxes, for out of nowhere, a fleet of Death Guard arrived, anchored around the featureless gray mass of their flagship, the mighty Endurance. Now outgunned, the Star Hunters fled the system before they could be trapped, and as the last slipped beyond weapons range, Jarl Jorin found himself in the personal quarters of the Sire of the Fourteenth aboard his vessel. The humorless Mortarion demanded answers for their extended silence, and the Shieldbearer knew he must tread carefully lest he and his men be accused of treachery. Luckily for him, the Jarl knew full well of the Death Lord's hatred for all things psychic, for they both had been at Nikaea, and thus the son of Russ was quick to focus the primarch's attention on the treachery of Magnus. Satisfied for the moment, Mortarion ordered the Sixth Legion to fall in line, and together the two legions continued on together, jumping from system to system as they attempted to find passage through the storms to reach Terra. This treacherous path was made all the more deadly by the incessant raids of the Star Hunters, who targeted their engines and communications systems to prevent any calls for aid. This intolerable state of affairs eventually came to an end when the combined fleets rendezvoused with the Warmaster himself, where a similar standoff occurred, but, to Bloodhowl's surprise, was resolved when Mortarion actually vouched for them. The combined fleets continued on their path northward, now in a better state without the constant raids, and actually began to head westward for the first time after a short battle against the Star Hunters and other traitors in the Molech System.
A new opportunity presented itself at this stage to Bloodhowl, for their path had brought the armada close to the Fenris System. The call of their homeworld was too much to resist, and so the much-diminished Vlka Fenryka split away while the rest of the fleet traveled on to Terra. Joining Bloodhowl on the journey home was Jarl Red-Blade and his Great Company, for the Warmaster knew they would need all the strength they could get for the conflicts to come. Lupercal ordered them to be ready when he called for their aid, warning them their services would be needed, but Jorin and his lieutenants expected nothing less, swearing their loyalty when the time came. Only twenty thousand sons of Russ still lived as far as they knew, and it would take a great deal of time for new recruits to begin swelling their ranks once more. However, time was not a luxury they possessed, and within a few years, the call to arms resounded once more. The Warmaster had assigned the Space Wolves to be under the overall command of Mortarion as part of the northern front of Bastion Omega. From Cypra Mundi to Trisolian, the Rout was to unleash havoc, hunting down and destroying all who thought to turn their backs on the Allfather's realm. The thought of revenge was sweet indeed, and so Bloodhowl and Red-Blade answered the call eagerly. Over the next four years, they remained on the prowl, disrupting every attempt by the traitors to pierce their defensive lines. From the outset, they knew it was a hopeless task, but they were determined to make the traitors pay for every bloody inch.
The traitors it seemed were willing to pay this price, for they were equally relentless but with numbers far in excess of anything mustered by the loyalists. To the north beyond the frontlines of Cypra Mundi and Medusa, the vast domain of Segmentum Obscurus was now firmly in enemy hands, conquered in a lightning campaign by the hated Dark Angels. From their mysterious homeworld of Caliban, the traitors pressed ever-closer in a two-pronged assault aimed at taking the systems around the permanent Warp-stormfronts that existed to the north of Fenris. Joining the First were the other traitor legions such as the Thousand Sons, who took particular spite in taunting the sons of Russ for their father's ignominious death. Deep hatreds were ingrained between the Space Wolves and the slaves to darkness that they fought, inspiring many in the legion to fight with a sort of berserk fury that enabled the warriors of the Rout to perform great deeds at the cost of any regard to their own lives. Thus the legion continued to shrink in size at a rate that made many doubt whether any would survive the Leonine Heresy. However, the Space Wolves could not, would not go quietly into the night, and when Mortarion called for their service in defending the world of Verzagen, the Vlka Fenryka were quick to answer. Jarl Bloodhowl was no longer in command, for he had perished on the battlefield, but his successor Bulveye 'the Axeman' was just as fierce. As his epithet suggests, Bulveye was much more aggressive than the Shieldbearer was, and had promoted warriors who shared his philosophy of war such as Geigor Fell-hand; thus when the traitors arrived, the new Jarl was quick to bring the fight to them, picking off traitor scouts so that their enemy would pay a heavy toll and be forced into attacking blindly.
Recognizing their skill at hunting the wounded and isolated, Mortarion stationed Bulveye's forces above the plane of the system, a hidden mobile reserve to counter any unexpected traitor assaults that might attempt to flank the entrenched forces around Verzagen itself. First to arrive in the system were the Star Hunters, followed by the Crimson Fists. It seemed Dorn himself was taking part in this assault, for the mighty Phalanx was reported to be holding its position in the rearguard of the massive invasion fleet. Scouts reported a curious wound on one of its flanks, a veritable canyon of a scar that looked as though it had been repaired in a hurry, and it seemed the Lord of Inwit was unwilling to risk further damage, allowing his allies to soak up the veritable firestorm hurled their way by the ever-more desperate defenders. However, even with such a tempting target in their sights, Bulveye's forces remained where they were, for Mortarion had not yet given them the signal. Even as trillions of baseline traitors landed upon the three fortress worlds themselves, still they remained silent, waiting for the right time. At last the primarch ordered them into action, sending them to counter the advance of the newly-arrived Dark Angels, and Bulveye and his fleet leapt into action, eager to close with their hated enemy. Though they were only ten thousand strong, only a seventh of the loyalist Astartes present at Verzagen, their ferocity was legendary indeed, a might strengthened by the protection of the Rune Priests, and they proved more than capable of handling their unprepared foes. With roaring fury, the Rout smashed into the advancing lines of the Dark Angels from above, snarling their formations. The sons of the Lion were quick to turn their attention to this unexpected assault, for years of bloody conflict had established deep grudges between the two. The two fleets spat molten death at each other as they wheeled and chased each other about, but this only played to the loyalists' advantage, for hidden about the triple star system were the tomb ships of the Death Guard, which groaned to life to provide some much-needed assistance to the outnumbered Space Wolves.
In the end, it took over a month for the Verzagen Campaign to come to its expected conclusion, a preordained outcome both sides had known would be the result. The stars ran red with blood on the fields of Verzagen, but from the start, it had been a hopeless fight. Both traitor and loyalist legions alike had suffered deeply, dying in the tens of thousands amidst the silent void lit by the sanguine light of the red dwarf Proxima Centauri. Nearly eight thousand Space Wolves died during the campaign, and though they reaped a fearsome tally, in the end, they were forced to retreat, diminished in numbers but rich in glory. Jarl Geigor had been one of the last to fall, his final transmission indicating he and his retinue had managed to board the flagship of the Dark Angels, the Invincible Reason itself, in order to attempt an assassination of the Archtraitor. Such suicidal bravery earned him the respect of all the fleet, including Jarl Bulveye himself, who promoted Geigor's protege Bjorn to be his successor with his dying breath. Bjorn and his men were left to tell the tales of the fallen, but none felt like singing the sagas in the lonely, echoing halls of their vessels as they fled in humiliating defeat. It seemed a glorious death in battle was not to be their wyrd, for try as they might, the tides of the Warp proved too strong. Rather than making it to Terra alongside Mortarion and the other survivors of Verzagen, the sons of Russ were swept northward, drawn further away from the Solar System. Battered by the omnipresent Warp storms, Bjorn and his men were forced to go elsewhere, unable to make it to Terra, and so it was that no son of Russ would be able to fight at that battle to end all battles that was sure to come now that Verzagen had fallen. As the years passed, the Space Wolves remained trapped and isolated, slowly rebuilding themselves as they waited in ignorance for some inevitable assault to come. However, when a fleet eventually did arrive, it was not a traitor armada bringing war and death to the Fenris System, but rather a force radically different than anything Bjorn and his men had expected.
To Hel and Back: The Journeys of Leman Russ
Down and down the Hrafnkel fell, plucked from the tumult of battle and hurled into a realm of elemental madness. As it descended into the Sea of Souls, its companions, the rest of the Space Wolves fleet, accompanied it, attracted to the emotional gravity of such a monumental vessel. At that moment, the falling ships were like stars, a million souls forming a radiant meteor shower in a lightless realm. Terror and the desire for protection dominated the thoughts of those terrified mortals trapped upon these ships, and even the Astartes, who knew no fear, turned their thoughts toward their indomitable gene-sire aboard his flagship. Thus united in a singular will, the collective wills of so many souls began to bend the Warp to their subconscious desires. Even as some ships were snagged away, borne off by conflicting currents and tides, others began to merge with the Hrafnkel, the hulls of dozens of ships melting like wax and flowing together to form a grotesque amalgamation. Soon the supercapital ship was unrecognizable, a lumpen gestalt formed from an entire fleet that had been mashed together into what Imperial sailors called a space hulk. In any other circumstance, this would have been considered an irreparable loss, but in the protean madness of the Warp, it was all that saved even a fraction of the fleet. Even as dozens of other ships were lost forever, never to emerge as they had been, the populations trapped on the hulk were able to survive, tens of thousands of Space Wolves and the millions of crew under their protection safe from the tempest which surrounded them.
At the heart of this new vessel, whose sheer size ensured both atmosphere and gravity, deep within as far from the elemental insanity swirling outside as it was possible to be, the primarch Leman Russ brooded upon his command throne. Around him, the Jarls bickered and argued amongst themselves amidst the backdrop of an ever-growing tally of casualties, for of the hundred thousand or so Astartes who had entered the Prospero System, barely thirty thousand were present and accounted for. Perhaps a third of the legion were as good as dead, either lost during the battle or when their vessels had been swept into the Warp. Another third were beyond reach, likely left behind in the merciless hands of Magnus, and while their ultimate fate was unknown, it seemed unlikely that they had survived. The shock of being so soundly defeated was a new experience for the legion, but the danger was far from over. Patrols began to report the presence of Warp-entities manifesting on the outer sections, predators that forced their way through weakened sections of the Gellar Field in order to prey upon the terrified souls within. Teams of Iron Priests worked feverishly to strengthen and repair the protective shield, but it quickly proved to be not enough. Reports of battle began to come in, as more companies established contact, and it soon became apparent that legionaries from all but the Thirteenth Great Company were present, many of whom were already engaged in skirmishes. Yet so many powerful personalities gathered in one place only created more chaos, for rather than issue orders, Russ stalked from the command bridge, ignoring the voices of his Jarls as he went to search for new counsel. Guided by instinct, the primarch sought out those most attuned to the Warp, the surviving astropaths and Rune Priests, bringing them to his personal chambers for some unknown purpose.
Now bereft of their primarch, the arguments of the Jarls began to become more bitter, accusations and insults hurled like spears even as more and more Space Wolves died trying to defend the upper levels of their mobile prison-sanctuary. Recognizing the intolerable situation they were in, and tired of attempting to reason his way into authority, the Jarl of Onn, Gunnar Gunnhilt, let loose a stentorian roar, silencing his bickering comrades before bellowing out a series of orders which the other legionaries found themselves obeying almost automatically. The First Captain had long been known for his aggressive methods, exceptional even amongst a legion such as the Space Wolves, and so his plan was utterly straightforward. With Gunnhilt at their head, the Rout marched to war, determined to cleanse their eternally-falling vessel of interlopers. Time itself slipped away, as days turned into decades into seconds. Warriors who fell in battle soon found themselves at their companion's sides once more, while others fell dead, slain by unseen causes that only manifested after the bodies had hit the floor, for the laws of causality meant nothing here. It was a Sisyphean task, but it was not in their nature to consider surrender. Eventually they were aided in their mission by teams of Rune Priests, who claimed the primarch had sent them weeks ago. Unknown to Gunnhilt and the other Jarls, Russ had been far from idle, desperately searching for some way to escape their predicament. Once he had gathered all those who had knowledge of the Sea of Souls, the High King set his vassals to their assignments. Some were tasked with divining their position, to determine if it was possible to forcibly drop their prison out of the Warp back into reality and discover where the tides were taking them. Others were ordered to defend certain locations, those whose gifts were primarily oriented toward battle. Still more began to cast runes and consult the tarot, to seek knowledge of the future.
Now accompanied only by a select few, those psykers who remained beside Russ were primarily astropaths, those whose talents lay in the fields of sending and receiving messages. Caught in an untenable position, Russ had considered long and hard just how he had gotten into this scenario, and soon came to the conclusion that the Emperor might be able to help. Thus he now strained to make contact with his father, the mortal psykers acting as a focus to direct his mind in the right direction, for even in the midst of the storm, the light of the Astronomican still shone, and it was toward that beacon that Leman's mind strove. These chosen few formed a ring around Russ in his private chambers, combining their talents to achieve something no one would have believed had they been told even a day before. However, this was no easy task, for the knowledge that they were breaking the Edict of Nikaea and utilizing powers not akin to the safer methods of Fenris weighed heavily upon the primarch's soul, and it took many weeks to achieve a breakthrough, which only came after Russ was able to reconcile the mental contradiction which plagued him so. One final time the Primarch's mind quested forth, hurled toward the blinding light of the Emperor's beacon by the deaths of the astropaths, who burned themselves out as the strain of so many repeated attempts became too much to bear.
The golden-white light came ever closer, solid compared to the ever-changing blur which flowed past him, trying and failing to keep him from reaching his destination. The weight of his determination buoyed him onward, but even as the thought crossed his mind, his rate of ascension began to slow, becoming a crawl and then halting entirely. Panic began to creep in as Russ felt himself falling in reverse, and he roared in frustration. As he did so, his descent halted, and he found himself on an icy shore, one all too familiar to him. Russ peered around, wondering why he was here once more, the site where he had first met Thengir, and caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, who stepped from beneath the same tree his foster-father once had. As the light caught the man, Leman was confronted by himself, but not as he was. This Russ had no sign of being Fenrisian: short military-style hair, no tattoos, no pelts or furs adorning his uniform, which was undecorated save for a collar stud shaped as the numeral VI.
"What are you?" Leman asked.
"I am you. A version of you that might have been. Not as you should have been." The figure quickly added, answering a question that had not been asked.
"How do you exist? Why cannot I not seem to reach the Allfather?"
"I cannot say. Even I do not know, just as you yourself do not. You must learn this for yourself, Leman of Fenris." said Leman of Terra. "Behold, Gungnir!" The false Russ brandished a golden spear, the same weapon which Valdor had brought him. "Will you perform your duty, Leman of the Russ? No matter the sacrifice, no matter the pain, no matter what unthinkable acts you may be called upon to perform?"
"I do. I will perform my duty, as is my oath and my bond, freely and of my own accord. Just get it over with."
"Then know thyself, Leman Russ." The doppelganger cast the spear faster than the eye could follow, and Russ bellowed as it entered his primary heart, bones and organs shattering from its might. Leman clutched at the wound, screaming in agony as the false Russ pulled the spear back out with a fountain of blood. The cold of Fenris began to bite as it never had before, and Russ toppled into the snow, knowing full well that he was dying. Enlightenment began to press in from the edges of his consciousness, the full weight of the truth more crushing than even the mortal wound he had received.
"What are we?" he gasped. The familiar face of his doppelganger now seemed alien, for there was so much he had not known about himself.
"Knowledge always has a price. It will forever torment you, and drive you from your home. But know this, Leman of the Russ: your location is not the only prison you must escape, and the path of this enlightenment is not something that can be completed in a single step."
Now freed from the first of his shackles, Leman Russ began to undergo the first stages of ego death, his mind's-eye turned inward to contemplate the vision of himself as he was once, now, and would be. The full weight of his mistakes was made manifest as he saw himself as it were in the third person, recognizing his arrogance and thoughtlessness which had infuriated so many. The consequences then showed themselves, as knowledge of his brothers was revealed to him in a never-ending train of visions, many of which showed the Lion moving about freely, carrying out steps in a nefarious plan whose future was as yet uncertain. Russ now knew his aloofness, his lack of attention had allowed his brother free rein, and Russ wept helplessly as he witnessed the deaths of Corvus Corax, of Konrad Curze, and other brothers yet to come as a result of these machinations. In other mirages, the Lord of Winter and War observed Magnus the Red, growing ever stronger as he attempted to obtain the mantle of godhood that he might cast down the Emperor, a realization accompanied by the knowledge Russ was currently powerless to stop him. For the first time, Leman realized the similarities they shared, the overweening pride and other traits that connected them in a way unlike any of the connections he shared with his other brothers. He saw his sons, cast into the Warp and changed by its mutative energies, emerging in the far future at random intervals, and the fratricide that followed their appearances, of allies betrayed in a desperate attempt to keep secrets. Most of all he saw himself for what he truly was, and that more than anything filled him with the desire to change.
All this was but the first page of the book of knowledge gained by Leman Russ, the weight of wisdom causing his comatose body to thrash about in his chambers. However, he could not remain in this trance forever, and the time came for Russ to open his eyes once more and face the reality of the unreality he and his sons were trapped in. Bolting upright, Russ saw the price of the knowledge he had gained, for he was surrounded by ash, all that remained of the psykers who had aided him. Though saddened by their loss, Russ knew their sacrifice had been necessary, even if their original goal had not been met. Leaping to his feet, Russ rushed to the Champion's Hall, for his goal was clear. His Jarls were amazed to see him, for time had passed differently for them as they led their brothers in grueling combat in the upper sections of the hull still coming under periodic assault by creatures of the Warp. The Primarch began to issue orders, demanding his sons gather within the heart of the space hulk while he began to plant explosives at precise coordinates known only to him. When this nonsensical task had been completed, Russ triggered the detonation, and countless tons of debris began to slough off from the space hulk, the excess mass shedding away like the skin of a snake. What was left was still a misshapen lump, but one that could now move about with some semblance of purpose if not grace. Mobile once more, Russ gave his amalgamated vessel a new name, and so the Naglfar set sail, a voyage of the damned whose destination was known only to its captain.
With the mistakes of his past now clear to him, Russ's presence seemed different to those around him, far more subdued than it had once been. As the Naglfar journeyed, the Primarch spent most of his time in the Navigator's Quarters, and his Jarls noted that the Dionysian Spear, that precious gift of the Emperor given to him by Captain-General Valdor, never left his side. Many whispered rumors of the abilities of this so-called 'Spear of Russ' began to spread amongst the superstitious mortals, who remained confined belowdecks, lest the madness of their journey overwhelm them. Many turned to religion during the journey, for surreptitious copies of the Book of Lorgar existed even in the fleets of the Legiones Astartes, and the ranks of those who worshiped the God-Emperor were far larger by the time it ended. Russ exuded a new air of authority and assuredness, for even though he had not been able to contact his father, he knew now it was his destiny to stop the Lion and whatever schemes his traitorous kin had concocted. Lingering visions haunted his dreams in what little sleep he was able to obtain, lithe alien phantoms with strange masks that cackled as he attempted to catch them, and he spent much time pondering what they meant as the Naglfar drew near to its destination: the Gate of Khaine.
Gate of Khaine
In ages past, millennia before the Age of Strife, the Immaterium was far more calm. Though they primarily utilized the galaxy-spanning Webway for travel, there existed many gateways linking the Materium, Immaterium, and realms of the Webway together, for the Children of the Stars had sought to master all domains in their pride. After the destruction of the Aeldari Empire and the birth of She-Who-Thirsts, the scattered survivors sought to destroy these gates, to cut themselves off from the realm to which they were so intimately connected. However, the sheer number of these gates, combined with a growing instability in the Webway, meant new rifts were constantly forming as the elemental madness of the Warp threatened to spill into the Webway just as it did the Material universe. One such breach was the Gate of Khaine, a portal large enough to admit starships, for such was its purpose in ages past, utilized to enter the Warp to reach worlds which lacked Webway gates close by. However, after the Fall, the Gate became a liability, for this tunnel led almost directly into the heart of Port Commorragh, and had since been shut down by its creators. It is unknown how Leman Russ learned of its existence and location, but however he did so, it is clear the Lord of Fenris knew enough of it to use it as a possible escape from the prison he found himself in.
As the Naglfar traveled the Warp, it remained relatively unscathed, its sheer mass passing far more smoothly through the tides of insanity than it had any right to. Perhaps the denizens of the Warp saw it as simply one more of the countless hulks inhabiting the Warp, or perhaps the faith of those inside saw them through, it is impossible to tell. Whatever the case, the Naglfar soon stood before the Gate of Khaine, unharmed save for a few thousand tons of mass sheared off during travel. The Gate itself was a colossal structure, a Klein bottle of unparalleled size fashioned from tessellated wraithbone engraved with countless Eldar runes, whose intricacies were far beyond the capability of any outsider to read. The ship remained stationary before it, for none were quite sure how to open the alien portal, but Russ remained sure of his course, now certain in his wyrd. As his horrified Jarls watched, Russ walked out onto what was once the observation deck of the Hrafnkel, now exposed to the raw madness of the Warp. Protected only by the dubious strength of the Gellar Field, the Primarch spoke a single word, and as his companions watched from within the hulk, a warrior in silver armor emerged to stand beside him, clearly an Astartes by size but bearing the livery of no known legion. Russ and the Knight regarded each other for a moment which stretched on, then the mysterious figure leapt from the deck, falling out of sight. As he disappeared into the swirling madness, gold and silver lights filled the Warp around them as an echoing boom resounded, audible throughout the Naglfar, and the Gate of Khaine began to open at last.
Once more the Naglfar lurched into motion, its crew desperate to at last escape their aetheric prison, and soon enough they had left behind the protean madness of the Immaterium for the endless white halls of the Webway. However, it did not make it very far, for sleek starships streaked out from hidden side tunnels, their hulls a patchwork of many colors as they whirled around the lumbering brute that was the Naglfar. Moving at speeds which would have impressed even a Star Hunter, the vessels were a prismatic blur, though clearly alien in design. Still out upon the observation deck, Russ remained impassive, watching smaller vessels, swarms of elegant aircraft and impossibly-agile skimmers, spill out from the ships which did not slow a bit. One of the ships broke off from the swarm, coming to a halt directly in front of the primarch, and from it emerged a lithe figure, somehow imposing despite how small it was in comparison to a son of the Emperor. From its appearance, the xenos was clearly one of the mysterious Harlequins, a group of Aeldari who were known to pursue their own inscrutable agendas separate from the rest of their perfidious race. The Troupe Master and the Lord of Fenris spoke then, and it soon became apparent that the Naglfar was expected. Though it galled the Space Wolves to leave xenos alive, they recognized the untenability of their situation, nor would they disobey a direct command from their primarch, and thus the Naglfar began to follow the Harlequin ships deeper into the Webway. Now subject to more conventional laws of reality, vast chunks of the space hulk began to slough off, and by the time it reached its destination, it was only a fraction of its former self, still far larger than any conventional vessel but shaped very differently. They had traveled deep into the domain of the Eldar, down twisting tunnels and forked paths which strained even the eidetic memory of an Astartes, and it was clear they would have never found this place without their masked guides. The Imperials and Xenos remained apart, both sides clearly untrusting of the other, and their only interaction was when the Harlequins brought them Imperial rations of dubious origin.
While the ten thousand or so Astartes of the Sixth Legion and the few remaining mortal allies remained aboard the Naglfar, Russ himself left them behind, traveling with the Troupe Master deeper into the Webway, passing through its never-ending tunnels to eventually stand before a sight few humans ever had or ever would see: the Black Library. No descriptions can adequately convey the wonder of what Russ witnessed that day, for this was no mere repository of tomes, but an entire craftworld, one filled uncountable knowledge gathered over millions of years, every scrap of information regarding the Warp and Chaos ever collected by the Aeldari during their long rule over the galaxy. However, Russ's sons were not permitted to come aboard the Library, much less what it contained, and thus scholars of the Inquisition have only Russ's own description of his time there. In his accounts, the Primarch describes his time there meeting a group known as the White Seers, a group of Eldar bearing featureless masks who aided him in opening his mind and understanding the visions of the past which he had already received. It was during this training that his soul, and the souls of his legion still upon the Naglfar, were warded, receiving knowledge of new runes to shield them from the blandishments and lures of Chaos, and the true nature of their homeworld Fenris was made clear to them, a description on which Russ does not expound and the mortal skalds accompanying his legion are unable to provide any further insight.
Whatever the case, Russ's time at the Black Library had to end eventually. Years had passed since they had arrived, during which the Space Wolves remained busy, defending the Library against daemonic incursion, but the time had come to depart. The White Seers had given Russ a task to retrieve a powerful artifact known as the Tuchulcha, which they claimed must be kept out of traitorous hands, and so the Naglfar was readied for departure. Accompanying it on this mission was an entire fleet of Space Wolves vessels, ships plucked from the Warp by Eldar science and scoured clean, and so the fleet set off to realspace, guided through the Webway by the ever-enigmatic Harlequins, whose presence the sons of Russ had only begrudgingly accepted. The unlikely alliance made its way through the ever-shifting tunnels, and soon emerged into realspace in the region known to Imperial cartographers as the Red Scar, a realm of ferocious radiation famous for being the home of the Ninth Legion. The Space Wolves were eager to bring the fight to one of the traitor's own homeworlds, but such a task was not why they had come, and the mood of the fleet remained tense as they began their assault. As expected, the rad-soaked worlds of Baal were heavily defended, and the fleet began to take casualties, both from the defense satellites as well as the home fleet of the Baal System. The Harlequins had not accompanied the fleet beyond the Webway, for they had no wish to draw attention to themselves, and so the Space Wolves were on their own, picking off stragglers in a moving battle throughout the system as they desperately struggled to locate the artifact by its name alone. The death toll began racking up as more enemy ships arrived, and soon only the Naglfar and a few escort vessels remained.
"Lord Primarch, contact incoming. It's the Phalanx." The increasingly panicked voice of the comms officer rang out over the noise of the bridge. Russ weighed his options, quickly coming to the conclusion that the Naglfar didn't stand a chance against Dorn. However, he was not about to fall back in shame.
"All vessels, break off pursuits and make for the Phalanx. By the Fang, we'll not die without a fight." Russ roared out, and his sons hastened to obey. The Space Wolves closed in on the Seventh Legion vessel, striking it from all angles as they attempted to discern a weak spot. However, Dorn's Daughter remained inviolable, its guns picking them off one by one with contemptuous ease.
"Lord Primarch, a new contact has just entered the system. Auspex shows Fourteenth Legion identifiers." The voice of the comms officer rang out again.
"A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. Get me in contact with them." Russ ordered. As he began to rise from his command throne, a new voice spoke, one which the primarch had never heard before.
+Greetings, Leman of the Russ. My name is Tuchulcha, though in your tongue you may know me as the Mimyr. I have been expecting you.+
Without warning, a metallic sphere manifested at the heart of the Naglfar, its sides now firmly embedded into the hull and decks as if it had always been there. Though undoubtedly startled, Russ did not have the luxury of time, and so left off his investigation until they were safely out of the system. The Space Wolves began to break away, relying upon the newly-arrived Death Guard to cover their retreat. As much as he wished to aid them, Russ knew full well to turn and help them would only get them all killed, and render for nought the losses they had already taken. He swore to himself to never forget these warriors, nor the name of the legionary who had led them: Calas Typhon. However, the Tuchulcha was more than a simple artifact, and without warning, the vessels of the Space Wolves were plucked from realspace, instantaneously disappearing and reappearing on the edges of the Red Scar, where the hidden portal of the Webway yawned open to receive them once more.
Revenge Proves Its Own Executioner: The Second Battle of Prospero
With the Tuchulcha safely in the heart of the Naglfar, Russ and his much-diminished fleet returned to the Black Library, suitably chagrined by the losses they had taken. While they had remained vigilant over the years in their battles against the daemonic forces attempting to breach their defenses, it was clear that their enemies in the Materium had changed far more than they had. Now having learned this lesson the hard way, Russ and his men were more prepared for the challenges and horrors that lay ahead, of which the Mimyr took a disturbingly childlike joy in informing him about, for the strange xenos device seemed to regard him as a friend. Doing his best to ignore the device, the Lord of Winter and War attempted to give it over to the White Seers, but to his surprise, they told him to keep it, for the skeins of fate suggested he would have need of it if he wished to continue playing the role ordained for him in the Leonine Heresy. Though the future remained murky to Russ, the White Seers had not steered him wrong yet despite their inherently untrustworthy natures as xenos, and so he agreed to go along with their desires for the time being. In response to his continued compliance, the Aeldari brought Russ to see a most unexpected visitor: Alpharius Omegon, Primarch of the Alpha Legion. The Lord of Fenris had only met this brother a handful of times, though not for many years, but it was almost unsurprising to see him here, for Russ had long since sized him up as one who hoarded secrets like a miser. Though unknown to Russ at the time, Alpharius Omegon had been just as active in defending the Black Library on other fronts, battling the sons of Magnus alongside his legion. However, now he had taken a step back from the frontlines to aid in Russ's training, for it seemed the Head of the Hydra knew more about the Eldar than he let on.
The Russ of old would have scorned this brother as a weakling, or as untrustworthy for the methods he employed. However, the losses he and his legion had suffered during the Leonine Heresy had forced him to adapt. Thus while his legion remained behind to recover, rearming with the aid of the Alpha Legion, Russ followed Alpharius Omegon into the halls of the Black Library itself, traveling more deeply than ever before into its crystalline interior, and together the two brothers readied themselves for the war to come. Alpharius Omegon and his Harlequin allies from the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow taught Russ much in those days, preparing him for the trial which lay ahead, one which Russ knew little of besides it would involve a sacrifice. After many months of mental and spiritual preparation, the time came for Russ to undergo whatever rite the Aeldari had planned, and followed the Solitaire guide sent to lead him into the living heart of the Black Library. Down and down through the crystalline halls they walked, entering a silver-lit vault which contained only a singular plinth, carved from eldritch obstinite, upon which lay the Crystalline Tome of Cegorach. Even the Solitaire left him behind, and with but the slightest hesitation, Russ opened the book.
The Immaterium was calmer than he had ever seen it, Russ thought to himself, completely at ease despite his strange surroundings. The Tome was still there in front of him, floating just out of reach, and with a sigh, the primarch turned around, knowing this was all part of some test to ascertain his worthiness.
"Why should I let you read this tome, Leman of the Russ?" a voice asked, everywhere and nowhere all at once.
"That depends. Who's asking?"
"You have not the frame of reference to understand who or what I am. Even the Children of the Stars, those Sons of Laughter and the Daughters of Life, in all their eons of rule never fully grasped what was. What chance could you have?" As the voice spoke, hints and fragments of emotions filtered through Russ's conscious and subconscious thoughts, images of a reptilian entity transforming into pure starlight. "We are pure actuality now, transcended beyond the limits of matter and energy. Perhaps I am the last of my kind, alone in the universe, or perhaps we are all one, joined together so inseparably as to be solitary."
"I have no time for your riddles, spirit. I must partake in the knowledge contained within your book, whatever the cost."
"Whatever the cost? How impatient the younger races have become. Very well. You may not survive the terrible weight of the knowledge you will receive, but at the very least, you will learn not to make such rash promises." The book floated back into reach, and with burning impatience, Russ opened, and Learned. The World-Spirit of Fenris was infused into him at that moment, warding him from the Deplorable Words contained within the pages of the Tome of Cegorach. In that split-second eternity, Leman Russ understood the Present, something few mortals ever truly grasped.
Consciousness returned to Leman Russ to find him standing exactly where he was, the Crystal Tome seemingly as unopened and undisturbed before he found it. Its mirror-like cover showed the Primarch not all was as unchanged as the Tome, for a vacant socket sat in place of his left eye, though his vision seemed unaffected. The weight of age had set in, for his blond hair had not only grown but had become white, and his skin was as weathered as the mountains of Fenris. The High King of Fenris returned to his sons a changed man, both cursed and blessed with knowledge of the present, and the Rune Priests could tell he had unlocked what the shamans of Fenris referred to as the mægen, his true potential instilled in him by the Allfather. No more did he clamor to battle with the Lion, for now he knew that was the wyrd of another, a lesson in humility he should have understood back at Dulan so many years before. His true path had been finally made clear to him: the downfall of Magnus the Red, for the Crimson King sought to bring the universe one step closer to dissolution in an insane quest to become a god. Such a Thing Must Not Be, but Russ knew that despite all the wisdom he had gained, the time was not yet right to face his wayward brother. Certain things needed to be set into motion, and thus while the Space Wolves readied themselves for war, Russ himself left them behind, traveling on the Naglfar accompanied by the Alpha Legion, a troupe of Harlequins, and the ever-present Tuchulcha, with whom Russ soon established a close bond. Together they journeyed through the halls of the Webway, leaving the Black Library behind as they made for the planet of Percepton.
Their task ahead would be anything but easy, for the world of Percepton was located in the Realm of Ultramar. The Jewel of the East was now anything but, for as the Alpha Legion informed Russ, the entire sector had become utterly tainted by the minions of She-Who-Thirsts. However, the Lord of Winter and War was unconcerned, for the runes were calling him to this particular world for a reason, though even he knew not why. Upon arriving, the Naglfar quickly came under attack by the Ultramarines, who knew that there were Aeldari souls within this strange vessel which had arrived from nowhere, and so battle was given. For hours the Naglfar fended off continuous attacks from defaced and debauched vessels, the explosions in the void feeble in comparison to the eerie glow of the phosphex which completely covered the surface of Percepton below and the endless swirls of the Ruinstorm in the depths of space beyond. Despite the overwhelming odds, Russ remained unworried, as cool as the ice of Fenris and as calm as the void, and his confidence was rewarded by the arrival of aid unlooked for. A flotilla of four vessels in the colors of the Seventeenth Legion arrived from nowhere, each a supercapital ship capable of defeating entire fleets on their own, and so the Ultramarines were swiftly destroyed. In the aftermath of the battle, Russ was contacted by none other than Lorgar Aurelian, who was clearly taken aback to see him in Ultramar where he had apparently been trapped for the past few years.
After meeting together, the two primarchs left Percepton, Lorgar following his brother's lead in determining their destination. The Tuchulcha smoothed their passage, and soon more worlds of Ultramar burned beneath their wrath. Russ made the most of their time together, keeping the source of his knowledge hidden for he knew Lorgar was not yet ready, but otherwise enjoying spending time with the first friendly brother he had seen in almost a decade. Soon the Word Bearers were gathered into a legion once more, well over a hundred thousand loyalists from multiple legions joined together as one, and before departing, Russ gave his brother one final bit of knowledge to aid him on the road ahead. The Naglfar departed once more, entering the Webway unseen to return to gather his sons together for the conflict to come. Barely ten thousand Space Wolves remained for this vital battle, but they would not be fighting alone. Accompanying them was a large force of Aeldari, both Harlequins from multiple troupes as well as a force of Asuryani from Craftworld Iyanden, who sought revenge on the Crimson King for his attempted assault upon their world. The unlikely alliance made swift progress through the Webway, for the strange powers of the Mimyr worked even in the crystalline realm, and soon the fleet emerged within the Prospero System, all without creating a wake in the warp to give away their presence. It was clear they were not expected, for in their arrogance the Thousand Sons had left behind only a small fleet to defend their homeworld, one which was swiftly eradicated by the Rout before they began their landing.
Prospero Burned as the Sixth Legion claimed their revenge. Dozens of cities, each carefully aligned in geomantic patterns, buckled and splintered beneath the guns of the fleet as hundreds of drop pods rained down upon Tizca, the planetary capital. The skies were choked with fields of flak and clouds of smoke through which weaved legionary and Aeldari aircraft, locked in intense dogfights. Below them, two legions clashed to determine the fate of this assault, the glow of plasma and fires of explosions dwarfed by the spectacular displays of magical prowess throughout Tizca, dozens of duels taking place between the Aeldari psykers and the Rune Priests on one side and their sorcerous foes on the other. Unearthly howls were heard throughout the City of Light as the Sons of Russ closed in from all sides, butchering all they met, for this was a war of total extermination. The Arcana Astartes were outnumbered two to one by the men of the Rout, their spells flickering as their concentration was disturbed by howls more unnerving than any gunfire, and they soon took heavy casualties as the shield-walls shifted into axe-wedge formations that left each defensive emplacement covered in corpses. In other parts of Tizca, the Spireguard auxiliaries died in their thousands, no match for the inhumanly swift Eldar that fell upon them as they filled the air with shuriken rounds. The dust of toppled spires and libraries filled the air, choking and blinding and sticking to the blood-soaked armor of the invaders, but such was welcomed by the savage sons of Russ, for with it came the sweet satisfaction of revenge.
However, contrary to what one might expect, Leman Russ was not fighting out in the streets of the City of Light, and the conflict remained in the hands of the Jarls. The Lord of Winter and War had a much more important task, one he could only carry out alone, and so he departed Naglfar before it had even entered realspace, taking a transport into more narrow branches of the Webway until he came out on Prospero apart from any of his sons. Guided by the runes, Russ emerged within the heart of Magnus's sanctum, the vast Pyramid of Photep which lay at the center of Tizca, carrying only Gungnir to this fated encounter that was so long in coming.
I had thought I would feel a sense of triumph, of glory, of revenge. But to tell the truth, I was sad that it had come to this, and I knew our father must be weeping in his golden halls at the sight of two brothers at each other's throats. This, the Ultimate Sanction, could no longer be avoided, no matter how much either of us might have desired otherwise. Magnus was too far gone, the dissolution he would unleash too great a hæski, a threat to leave to chance. Lorgar had clearly left an impression on him, for his foresight was all but gone, and his pride had always blinded him to the present, a shortcoming we had both long shared, at least until I received the Knowledge of the Runes.
He had cheated in the end, made some daemonic pact to escape with what little remained of his sons. However, he didn't get away unscathed, for Gungnir tasted his blood and soon began to enlighten him as to the true nature of the kaupa, the bargains he had made. I shattered his spine that day, a symbol writ large a memento of the bonds he had shattered between us by his actions, but to tell the truth, I don't think he ever considered us to be brothers. And that cut deeper than any blade.
-A Brother's Lament, from the Saga of Leman Russ as sung by the Skald Kasper Hawser
With the defeat of Magnus the Red at the hands of Leman Russ, the battle quickly came to an end. The remnants of the Thousand Sons disappeared from Prospero in the same instant as their father, and without their aid, the mortal populace that remained swiftly perished. It took Russ some time to escape the Pyramid of Photep, for the battle of brothers had shattered the Webway Gate he had entered through, and so he was forced to utilize the bewildering network of teleporters that enabled transit through the Pyramids of Tizca. By the time the Lord of Fenris reunited with his sons, the Eldar of Iyanden had already departed, for they had never been more than allies of convenience to the Space Wolves. Many had perished in the battle, including the few remaining Jarls, but Russ did not name a new second to replace the fallen Gunnar Gunnhilt, for the runes had decreed that the role belonged to another, one not there at Prospero. The Sixth Legion returned to their vessels, and before departing the system, they bombarded Prospero, ensuring no traitors remained, but as they did so, a hideous swarm of insects rose up from the planet, threatening to overtake the vessels in orbit above before finally dying out. The Sons of Russ sailed away, leaving behind the dust of Prospero as they made for the Webway Gate to depart the system, but to their irritation, they discovered it to be destroyed. It was clear the Aeldari had considered their alliance terminated and saw no point in leaving a passage to a dead world open behind them, and had severed the link after passing through. Thus the Naglfar and its attendant fleet entered the Warp, braving the tides as they began to make their way at long last back home to Fenris, the end of their long odyssey finally in sight.
Post Heresy: Fimbulwinter
"Lord-Primarch, our Gellar Field is weakening!" The panicked voice of a bridge officer rang out. Russ grimaced. It appeared their journey home might have a few detours. Strange though, usually the Mimyr smoothed their passage around any storms. Russ rose from his command throne, ready to issue orders, only to find he was alone. More than that, he wasn't even on the bridge anymore, but rather alone upon a seashore, the trackless waves stretching out into eternity in front of him. Turning around, Russ saw a trio of primitive wooden ships, though their shape was not akin to the dragonships of Fenris.
"Can you imagine it?" came an all-too-familiar voice. "Ninety men, on three vessels, each smaller than a Thunderhawk, setting out to discover new lands with no idea whatsoever of what lay between them and their destination."
"Father." Russ remained on his feet, a marked change from how he would have reacted before his time in the Black Library. The owner of the voice came into view over a sand dune, not the golden-armored giant Russ had expected, but a smaller man, in quaint garb fashioned from wool. However, his regal stare remained the same.
"They weren't the first, you know. The lands they had discovered had already been partially mapped over four centuries earlier, but the knowledge had been lost. Wars and disasters, language barriers, the usual issues. How much knowledge will we lose this time, I wonder? How much time, how much progress has the Lion thrown away, stolen from my Imperium?" The Emperor's voice was bitter now. "I go to face him now, in his little hovel where he paws at the dirt, uncovering things that would be best left forgotten. This seemed like my only chance to speak with you." Russ remained silent. "I see you have used the gift I gave you. Would that you, and the truth you bring, were by my side this day."
"You and I both know I would never make it to Terra in time, Father. I wish you the best in facing the Lion though."
"Was your voice always that cold, my son?" The Emperor seemed genuinely saddened by that. "You and I are like the sailors in this tale, we know a new world lies ahead of us, a future we are determined to reach regardless of the dangers that lay in between. As you have used the Spear, I will be blunt with you: I do not know if I will return as I was from this confrontation. I need you to come to Terra, as soon as possible, for you are my final sanction, my executioner."
"That is not my wyrd, Father. However, I will do what I can." As Russ spoke, the vision flickered. A threatening faceless giant, a silver titan, half-real and half-not, loomed behind the Emperor, and in that moment, Russ felt the urge to kneel, to OBEY. But the apparition disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the Emperor's brief flash of anger at being defied quickly transformed into paternalistic gratitude. Sensing his father was about to speak once more, Russ pre-empted him. "Farewell, Father. I'm sure we'll meet again." As Russ finished speaking, the vision vanished, and he was back on the bridge of the Naglfar once more.
The return of the Naglfar and the rest of the fleet to Fenris was swift and uneventful, the Tuchulcha easing their passage as always. Upon arrival, Russ was saddened to see how few of his sons had survived without him, less than a thousand warriors total. Even including the thousands who had fought by his side, the Sixth Legion now totaled less than ten thousand Astartes, but rebuilding would have to wait. Russ descended to the surface, where he met the commander of the garrison, a warrior named Bjorn. Russ thanked this son in front of the assembled legion, and named him the new Jarl of Onn. As mark of this new office, Bjorn was given the Spear of Russ, and he and the rest of the legion were quick to join the primarch as he announced they would be returning to Terra. Once more the Rout was on the hunt, swiftly moving through the rapidly-dissipating Warp storms that had once formed an impenetrable wall between Fenris and Terra, and soon the fleet entered the Solar System itself. There was little left to greet them: debris fields surrounded every planet, composed of both ships and the shattered remnants of moons. The outer system was a silent graveyard, and as the Sixth Legion fleet passed into the inner system, they were finally halted by a patrol of Salamanders and Iron Hands. The old Russ would have raged at this disrespect, and even Russ as he was then struggled to contain his impatience despite knowing the motivation and reasons behind such a checkpoint. However, he would not wait forever, and just as the two fleets were on the verge of firing upon each other, the conflict was resolved by the direct intervention of Lorgar, who ordered the security forces to stand down and asked Russ to come to the Imperial Palace.
Striding through the ruins of the most glorious edifice in the galaxy, Russ struggled to contain his melancholy. At the heart of the Palace, the Lord of Fenris met with his brother whom men now called the Saint, as well as the Regent of Terra, Malcador the Sigillite. The three spoke in private, and after a night of council, Russ emerged ready to march to war once more. However, before he could, there remained the solemn task of burying their brother. The Lord of Fenris served as one of the pallbearers carrying the catafalque of Konrad Curze, standing beside the rest of his brothers as they laid the Lord of the Night to rest in the Tower of Heroes. With this duty done, Russ went before the Golden Throne, no doubt hoping to speak with his father once more, but he was destined for disappointment, for the Emperor remained silent atop his Throne. The Space Wolves began to take part in the Scouring, and their contributions have lived on in legend to this day. Right from the start, Russ wasted no time in attempting to meet the armies of the Traitor Legions in battle or to reclaim lost territory. Nor did he spend time founding any new institutions or attempt to aid in rebuilding the Imperial government as his brothers did, though he did lend his support toward rebuilding the Silent Sisterhood for reasons that would only later become clear. No, Leman Russ's attention was focused elsewhere, for he was the Emperor's Executioner, and he had a sentence to carry out. At his side was the reborn Sixth Legion, their numbers finally able to grow once again. So too did the other legions rebound after Russ intervened to force Mortarion to release his stranglehold on the gene-seed laboratories of Luna which he had sought to keep his rights over to the last. Russ fought alongside each of his brothers during the Scouring, and was unsurprised when they began to disappear, starting with Ferrus, then Mortarion, then Alpharius. However, Russ knew he had a job to complete, and refused to speak of the future until the last traitors had been expunged.
As the years turned into decades, the firestorm of battle which had engulfed the entire galaxy slowly cooled to ashes, and in the cold, the Vlka Fenryka came to destroy what was left, to symbolically eradicate all traces of the traitors by destroying their homeworlds. First to feel their wrath had been Prospero, and now it was time for the others, starting with Baal, where the Space Wolves quickly broke through the few remaining Blood Angels still present, most of whom fought each other as much as they did the Imperium. Caliban, the home of the Dark Angels, was already destroyed when they got there, a rift in space-time all that remained in their home system, which Russ ordered quarantined after the Tuchulcha disappeared without warning. The fleet waited outside the rift for several days, but the Mimyr never appeared again, and so with reluctance, the fleet moved on. After shattering the home of the Ninth, the Sixth Legion moved on, scouts constantly moving in and out of the fleet as they relied on Alpha Legion intelligence to determine their course, and it was with their aid that the Wolves learned Chemos had already been destroyed by the Raven Guard. The sons of Alpharius were one of the few groups to offer them aid, for while the primarchs trusted Russ, their legions did not. Many veterans of Terra harbored doubts about the Space Wolves for not being on Terra, the trust they once shared yet another casualty of the Leonine Heresy.
However, duty had become Russ's life, and so he did not care for the opinions of others. He and his sons remained on campaign, slowly pushing their way through the Inwit Star Empire, the heavily-fortified domain of Rogal Dorn. The Lord of the Fists had transformed dozens of systems into a defensive network designed to guard his western borders, but it seems he did not account for the tactical acumen of a primarch. Leveraging their superior numbers, the Imperium was able to whittle down each world one at a time, and their efforts soon began to pay off as the traitors inevitably turned on themselves. Nearly a century after the Siege of Terra, Russ received word from his scouts that Dorn had moved his forces eastward to contend with Perturabo, an opportunity he had been waiting for. Bypassing the remaining defensive worlds, Russ led a grand armada of the Imperial Navy to destroy Inwit itself. With the loss of their capital, Dorn's stellar empire quickly unraveled, and vast portions of Segmentum Tempestus fell back under Imperial control once more. When word of this reached Warmaster Lupercal, he was quick to follow up, issuing orders to begin the final stages of the Scouring, for now only three traitor legion worlds remained. To the east, the Word Bearers marched to destroy Guilliman and the remnants of Ultramar. To the north, Lupercal took his sons to finish off whichever was left of Perturabo and Dorn's armies. To Russ fell the duty of eliminating a foe most foul: the Emperor's Children.
Located east of the impassable galactic core, the world of Chogoris had become a festering sore upon the galaxy. From their base in the Yasan Sector, the Emperor's Children had spread pestilence and plagues across seven sectors, trapping dozens of systems in their festering grip. Initial assaults from mortal armies had stalled long ago, unable to make meaningful progress against the might of an entire legion and their daemonic allies, and thus the Astartes were called in to handle the situation. The Space Wolves were disgusted with what the Emperor's Children had become, bloated monstrosities who took malicious pleasure in the atrocities they committed. Every world they had taken had become an abattoir, filled with countless hordes of the laughing dead. However, by this time the Space Wolves had recouped their losses, and so just as they had against Dorn's worlds, they were able to isolate and defeat in detail each of Fulgrim's garrisons. Soon enough they closed in on the Yasan Sector, a realm teetering on the edge of unreality. Taking one look at Mundus Planus was enough to convince Russ the Imperial Guard would not be enough for a campaign like this. Thus he made the call to bring in an asset he had long been shepherding for a moment such as this. When the time came for the Space Wolves to descend upon Fulgrim's homeworld, they were accompanied by a force not seen since the Siege of Terra: the Sisters of Silence. Decimated by the Heresy, the Sisters of Silence were a resource that had been carefully shepherded for this exact moment, and now unleashed for the first time, the minions of the Plague God fled from them in abject horror, realizing for the first time the abominations they had become. The Blanks were utterly immune to the daemonic plagues which infested the world, their very presence a breath of sanity in a realm of madness, while their armor shielded them from more conventional disease and hazards.
Suddenly subject to their own mortality, the minions of Fulgrim were no match for the Rout and their allies. Every wretched sore of a city was razed in quick succession, purging each vector of corruption with fire until only one remained. With Jarl Bjorn at his side, Russ and the Space Wolves struck down upon the Phoenician's Forbidden Court with great vengeance and furious anger, utterly determined to destroy this sick mockery of the Imperial Palace. Though the Third Legion was present here in numbers unseen since the Siege of Terra, it meant nothing compared to the might of a primarch even had more than only a scant few thousand remained, a suspiciously low amount. Their disordered bodies were all but useless against the null auras of the Silent Sisterhood, and many sons of Fulgrim begged for death as they realized the truth of their condition, a request the Space Wolves were quick to grant. Russ himself entered the heart of the complex, the incongruously-named Hall of Purity, where his brother awaited.
"You are a barbarian and a fool, Leman of Fenris. I am merely a shard of a greater whole, one which is even now in the Manse of the Plaguefather." The broken and battered form of Fulgrim spoke, deeply wounded by the kiss of Russ's axe. The Phoenician was not the towering monstrosity witnesses had claimed he had appeared as on Terra, but a normal man, clad in the robes of his homeworld and no taller than Russ had remembered him being. "I am but the last remaining tie the Phoenix King has to this wretched realm of existence, and by destroying me, he will be free at last."
"Why are you telling me this, plague-spawn?" Russ demanded, in no mood for games.
"Why, for the same reason as ever, to invoke despair in the hearts of mortal men. See now what your quest for revenge has gained you." To either side of the shattered throne, which had been the first thing Russ had destroyed in their battle, the pools of liquid mercury shimmered, each revealing a different image. "Behold, the death of Horus Lupercal! Behold the death of Lorgar Aurelian!" In the left pool, the battered form of Horus stood above the fallen Perturabo. The Warmaster made the Sign of the Aquila, before flame engulfed him. In the right pool, Lorgar roared in silent agony, his chest pierced by a golden blade wielded by a smirking Guilliman. "Your presence here ensures you are too far away to do anything to avert their fates. Perhaps you could make it to one, but it is unlikely. Look upon your works, oh mighty Russ, and Despair!" The daemon laughed, a horrible joyless gurgle that continued to echo even after Russ beheaded him. Its body turned to putrid sludge as Russ turned, almost running to return to his ship, hoping in his heart the daemon Fulgrim had been lying.
As the Sagas relate, Russ returned to his ship, faced with a difficult choice. Horus had been his brother longer than any other, but his fate seemed far more certain than Lorgar's, who at least had still been alive in his vision. Thus Russ made his fateful decision, one which was ultimately vindicated, and chose to seek out Lorgar, departing Chogoris aboard his vessel after giving orders to annihilate the disease-wracked world. Though unknown to the Space Wolves, the events of Horus's death had already transpired nearly two years before, and in reality was merely the daemon's false hope. Though Russ was unable to arrive in time to take part in the duel against their brother, the reinforcements he provided ensured the final defeat of the Ultramarines, and he was able to inter Lorgar's body within a stasis field before he expired from the grievous wound dealt to him by Guilliman. From High Chaplain Erebus, a man long reputed for honor and integrity, Russ learned how Lupercal had fallen attempting to destroy Perturabo's Iron Cage and the resulting stall in the Olympia Campaign, after which Lorgar had assumed command of the Scouring. With the Aurelian now incapacitated, this duty now fell upon Russ, the title of Warmaster which he had never desired but made all the bitter by his oath to never again wear a crown. Struggling to contain his emotions, the Lord of Fenris bore his brother's body to New Monarchia, and confirmed Erebus as the new head of the Seventeenth Legion before departing for Olympia to finish the task Horus had left undone.
With the destruction of Olympia, the Scouring was now over, for the last of the traitor homeworlds had been eradicated along with what remained of their empires. However, only Russ and Vulkan now remained of the seven loyal brothers to enjoy their success. The two became close over the following years, centuries passing as the Imperium grew up around them, enjoying the peace they had fought so hard to win. Russ spent most of his time upon Fenris, rebuilding the Thirteen Great Companies while knowing he could not remain forever, for as the second-found he had long suspected he would be the second to last to leave. Eventually, Russ decided he could no longer put it off, and so it was on the anniversary of the Feast of the Emperor's Ascension, the Lord of Fenris left his homeworld behind. Gathering all his captains and friends together in the Great Hall of the Aett, he issued his final instructions before departing upon the Naglfar. His destination was unknown to all, but accompanying him on this journey were all the Varagyr, whose ranks were now made up of all the Astartes who had survived the Heresy and Scouring. The only exception was Bjorn, whom Russ named Har-Fylkir in his place, for he was perhaps the only one of the Varagyr who could endure being left behind. When the next Feast came around, Bjorn laid out a place at the table in case their primarch was to return, and every year after that, a tradition which has continued for thousands of years. Though Russ has never been seen since, the Space Wolves have yet to give up hope that he will one day return from his journey across the Sea of Stars. Over the centuries, the Vlka Fenryka have received visions of their primarch, and have embarked on Great Hunts in which they seek him out, each time returning without their primarch but with a notable victory under their belts and more tales to add to the Sagas. The sons of Russ remain faithful to their absent father, defending the Allfather's realm regardless of the distrust its people bear toward them. This they have sworn, and they will honor their oaths until the last saga is sung, until the final battles of Ragnarok, the final battle at the end of time when Russ will return.
Homeworld, Recruitment, and Gene-seed
Located on the coreward fringe of Segmentum Obscurus, there are few planets more inimical to human life than Fenris, homeworld of the Sixth Legion. It is an icy death world, one of the three most deadly according to the Apocrypha of Skaros, which slowly orbits a pale star known as the Wolf's Eye in an irregular orbit. During these so-called Great Years, Fenris passes far from its light, and oceans freeze along with the caps of volcanoes, creating a time of stillness. When Fenris draws near its star, the Season of Fire begins as the world is torn asunder by volcanic forces, the landscape itself reshaping under the cataclysmic force of quakes and eruptions. Only the largest continent of Asaheim is mostly secure from this random destruction, and thus most of the population lives there, though it is anything but peaceful. Vast conflict erupts after every Season of Fire as the survivors seek to claim the best lands for themselves, and it is a mystery to Imperial scholars as to how the population continues to survive under these conditions. Few live longer than thirty, for death can come at any time, but such is welcomed by the nomadic tribes, who seek a glorious death in battle above all else, for that is the only way to ensure their legacy. The volk of Fenris possess an Iron Age-level of technology, divided into various tribes which constantly squabble over territory and resources.
Joining them in this life and death struggle are the fearsome creatures which call Fenris home. From the massive mammoths and towering trolls prowling the plains, to the howling packs of Fenrisian wolves which can grow as large as tanks that stalk the forests, to the fearsome leviathans which inhabit the iceberg-choked Worldsea such as the sea dragons and ice wyrms, Fenris is truly a Death World in every sense of the word. Faced with such inhospitality, it is a wonder mankind still survives, especially bereft of technology. The only true civilization on this inhospitable planet is the Aett, the legion's fortress at the heart of Asaheim, a towering behemoth of a fortress which watches over the rest of Fenris. It is said that the people of Fenris once held more advanced technology, but if this is true, it has been lost to history, for even in the time of the Great Crusade, technology was incredibly scarce. Legends tell of ill-fated attempts by outsiders in millennia past to establish bases belowground, a practice which Russ himself forbade, though time would reveal that not all had heeded the Primarch's words.
Battle of the Fang
In the centuries following the end of the Scouring, the Space Wolves found themselves increasingly isolated from an Imperium which sought to move on from the dark days of the Leonine Heresy. The Sixth Legion was left to its own devices, a status which continued long after the disappearance of Leman Russ, but they did not forget the oaths they and their forefathers had sworn. Thus when the First Black Crusade erupted from the Eye of Terror, the Sixth Legion was ready, venturing forth to defend the neighboring sectors from the ravages of Sigismund the Destroyer. In the aftermath of this conflict, the sons of Russ busied themselves establishing new watchposts, a ring of fortresses manned by the bulk of the legion known as the Aegis Ocularis. This network would go on to occupy the attention of the Space Wolves for many years to come, and would prove vital in many future conflicts, such as the Waaagh! of the Beast. However, what few realized was this arrangement left the Aett dangerously undermanned, for it had been emptied of legionaries save for a single rotating Great Company chosen by lot to remain behind. Thus they did invite disaster, a doom which would come nine hundred and ninety-nine years after the disappearance of Russ when the Aett came under attack by the legion's most hated enemies: the Thousand Sons.
Utilizing their mastery of sorcery to mask the approach of their fleet, the Fifteenth Legion was able to arrive unannounced. However, their initial assault was stymied by the mighty void shields protecting the Fang, which held firm even against the might of an entire fleet. Alas, the sons of Magnus were veteran warriors, and soon moved to overcome this obstacle, landing in force to perform a ground assault. The land itself began to twist, corrupted by the tens of thousands of heretics which crawled and flew over the icy steppes as they approached the Fang. As they did so, the howls of the Shogaal echoed unnaturally, calling forth from the caves the Nightgangers, hideous tribes of mutants who had lived belowground for untold centuries. Forbidden rituals strained and twisted at the fabric of realspace, until at last it sundered to allow Magnus the Red, Daemon Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, to manifest upon Fenris itself. Utter madness and mutation followed in his wake as he roamed the surface of Fenris, killing millions as he marched ever closer to the Aett, where his corruptive influence would ruin the legion's reserves of gene-seed and condemn the Space Wolves to a slow and lingering decline.
Vastly outnumbered, the sons of Russ were pushed back and back, desperately defending chokepoints within the halls of their fortress while they waited for the rest of the legion to return. The doom of the Sixth Legion was all but complete when the first reinforcements arrived. As the fleet battled its way into position, a last ditch assault upon Magnus was unleashed, a talon of eleven dreadnoughts led by Bjorn, the former legion master. Now himself a dreadnought, the Fell-Handed clashed with his evil counterpart Ahriman, their battle unmatched in ferocity. This heroic assault kept the Daemon Primarch in place long enough for a ship to obtain orbit above their location, opening fire with its full payload to banish Magnus back to the warp, after which his sons quickly followed. Ahriman was the last to go, swearing vengeance against Bjorn before vanishing, and the Space Wolves were left on their own to rebuild their ruined world. It took many years to undo the damage wrought by the invasion of the Thousand Sons, for the population of Fenris was decimated, and the legion as a whole was humiliated for their inability to defend their homeworld.
The harsh conditions of Fenris have long produced superlative recruits for the Sixth Legion, though their relatively small population means the legion has never reached the same size as their cousins, and indeed is the smallest of the nine legions with less than seventy thousand Astartes total. The people of Fenris know little of the wider Imperium or even of the Space Wolves themselves, for they are left in their barbarian lifestyles as much as possible. Most recruits are taken in by the Chaplains of the legion, known as Speakers of the Dead, who roam Fenris and observe the tribal battles taking place, retrieving those whose valor and prowess marks them as potential aspirants. These boys are then brought to any one of a number of Sky Warrior training camps, where over the subsequent months, they put aside their old lives to train to become legionaries as parts of small groupings known as claws. Such training is highly deadly, and those few that survive are then taken to the Fang, where they receive the gene-seed of Russ and begin their transformation into Astartes. After receiving the last of their implants, the aspirants are subjected to one final test: the Gate of Morkai. Little is known of what this entails, for it is one of the legion's most closely-guarded secrets, but what is known is that it is a spiritual trial, weeding out those who would fall to corruption or heresy. Aspirants who pass this test, which takes place at the heart of the Aett, are left with a better understanding of themselves, just as their primarch received throughout his journeys during the Leonine Heresy. They become more unorthodox, willing to contemplate tactics and methods that other, more conventional forces would not dream of, and become better men for it. After passing this test, the aspirants are taken to the Tutelary Engines, permitted for the first time to learn information not only on their legion, but on the Imperium as a whole. This is a time of great discovery for the men of Fenris, for almost all have grown up knowing nothing of the universe beyond their primitive villages, and the veritable flood of knowledge they receive inspires them with the same desire for adventure and exploration that was present in Russ so long ago.
However, this knowledge does not extend to their gene-seed, which remains a closely-guarded secret even amongst the legionaries who possess it. The gene-seed of Leman Russ has always been something of a mystery even to the Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and other such experts. As one of the 'Trefoil', the gene-seed has been altered in ways unlike any of the other legions, and in the case of the Sixth in particular, has additions whose true nature and functions have been lost to time. The primary distinguishing feature of the gene-seed of Russ is the Canis Helix, a strange addition of which only secondary effects are known. Legionaries of the Sixth are marked by high levels of sensitivity in smell, even compared to other Astartes, as well as long canine teeth and hirsutism, traits which have only perpetuated the disliked moniker of Space Wolves. The Space Wolves thus often fight without helmets, relying upon their heightened senses to offset the increased danger. Aside from these minor quirks, the Space Wolves are not especially prone to mutation, and in fact, actually seem more resistant to the mutative properties of the Warp. Though they themselves credit it to the protection of their runic wards and the 'World-Spirit of Fenris', it appears that psychic powers are less effective on the sons of Russ than on other Astartes or baseline mortals, a most fortuitous occurrence which has aided them many times in their struggles against the forces of Chaos.
Combat Doctrines and Organization
The Space Wolves have the least Astartes of any loyalist legion, just over seventy thousand. They also have the smallest number of companies of any legion: thirteen. While technically the Death Guard only have seven companies, each of those are further split into chapters, whereas the Space Wolves are not. This division, known as Great Companies, has remained unchanged since the Great Crusade, save for one crucial difference: the Thirteenth Great Company is a company in name only. After the conclusion of the Scouring, Russ returned to Fenris, and reorganized the legion as a whole. To commemorate the tens of thousands lost to the Warp, the few remaining legionaries of Dekk-Tra, the Thirteenth Great Company, were reassigned, and the missing were all symbolically moved there in their place. However, these Great Companies are not standardized in size, and the number of squads varies wildly depending on casualties, from over ten thousand in the case of Fyf located at Chinchare, to only two thousand or so in the case of Onn, located in the Cadian System. However, the squadron sizes themselves are smaller than those found in other legions, often consisting of no more than five to ten Astartes total compared to the fifteen to twenty-man groupings more commonly seen elsewhere.
One exception to this size limit exists in the case of new legionaries. After completing the transition to become fully-fledged Astartes, each new recruit is assigned into squads known as Blood Claws, a unique grouping that takes the role filled in other legions by Scout Squads. These Claws are far and away the most impulsive and impetuous sons of Russ, for they have not yet learned restraint. They are utterly savage, howling like beasts as they enter battle, and as such take the heaviest casualty rates. There is no set amount of time for legionaries to remain as Blood Claws, and for those who never seem to temper their ferocity, the Assault and Biker Squads are more than willing to give them a role where they can put it to good use. For those that do gain self-mastery, they are promoted to the rank of Grey Hunters, also known as Grey Slayers, who make up the bulk of the legion. In the days of the Great Crusade, these squadrons were often primarily melee-oriented, designed to quickly tear through a foe, but tactical necessity has seen them pivot to a more balanced role, for a chainsword is less useful than a rifle when defending a fortified position against an invading horde. Most Grey Slayers carry a bolter as well as a chainsword and combat shield when entering battle, and oftentimes form shield-walls when advancing on the foe. Covering them as they move into position is the covering fire from heavy weapons squads known as Long Fangs. These squadrons are named as such due to a quirk in their gene-seed, for as a Space Wolf ages, his canines continue to grow, and thus the most experienced legionaries are known by outsiders as Long Fangs. These veterans are highly regarded amongst their brothers for their skill in battle, and thus they are entrusted with heavy weaponry, for they can be counted on not to abandon their positions when gripped by bloodlust.
When the moment comes that the shield-walls come into contact with the enemy, the Space Wolves shift their formation into what are known as ax-wedges. This sudden shift from defense to offense is particularly brutal when paired with the exceptional reflexes of Space Wolves, potent even compared to other Astartes. It is for this reason that the Sixth is perhaps the best legion when it comes to boarding actions as their squads, also known as Void Claws, are especially skilled at seizing enemy ships. This is all the more unusual as the Space Wolves utilize comparatively few terminator squadrons, an operational necessity brought about by events of the past. Most suits were lost in the Warp during the First Battle of Prospero, and thus only the most experienced are permitted to wear the suits. It is only in times of dire necessity that full squadrons, known as the Varagyr after those bodyguards which once accompanied the Primarch, take to the field. These warriors are often armed with frost weaponry, a variant of power weapons unique to the Sixth Legion, and they generally act as bodyguards, ensuring no foe interferes with the officers they protect. However, in most battles, these suits are dispersed amongst the various squads, a practice unseen in other legions which allows them to act as a force multiplier while at the same time avoiding too many of these valuable relics to be lost at one time.
This fluidity in assignment can also be seen elsewhere in the Sixth Legion. The Thirteen Great Companies are each led by a single Jarl, the equivalent of Chapter Master in other legions. Unlike in other legions, these Wolf Lords do not serve for life, and at any given time, they may relinquish command, becoming what are known as Lone Wolves or Deathsworn. Such warriors bear a heavy burden, leaving behind the rest of the legion to fulfill a particular oath or die trying. Each Jarl, upon assuming command, is permitted to rename his Great Company, and his own personal iconography and livery is painted over the old. The Jarl is responsible for overseeing all operations of his Great Company, but his authority is less absolute than his equivalents in other legions, for the Space Wolves are incredibly independent, especially in larger Great Companies. As befits a fractious legion such as the Sixth, each Great Company is subdivided into smaller brotherhoods known as Sveit, each led by a Thegn. Each Thegn is assisted by two Huskarls, the equivalents of lieutenants in other legions, but this number may vary just as each Sveit may vary in size and numbers. Though almost every Space Wolf remains in the same Great Company throughout his life, he will often transfer between squadrons on a frequent basis as no legionary is permanently assigned in one place. In between battles, there are no assigned squadrons, and when Thegns receive a new Veida, a hunt/task, they are free to pick not only their Huskarls and Sergeants, but the individual warriors they wish to accompany them from amongst the legionaries of their Great Company. The Space Wolves believe this flexible arrangement allows them to respond to sudden changes in battle than the more rigid company structure found in other legions.
The most successful Thegns are those capable of discovering which of his men work best together or are most fit for a given mission. The Thegns are permitted to choose their own successor, and have in the past selected rather unorthodox choices. One example of this is in the Jarl of Dekk, Ragnar Blackmane, who is perhaps the youngest Wolf Lord in history. Above the Jarls exists only one rank, the Har-Fylkir, the high king or legion master. This role is filled only by the most powerful and wise warriors, and is an elected position, chosen by the Thegns at a gathering known as the Althing. Should two candidates receive the same amount of votes, they will challenge each other for the role, just as Russ and the Emperor did so long ago. The High King directly oversees what is known as the Company of the Great Wolf, which is made up of auxiliaries such as the Speakers of the Dead, Iron Priests, and Rune Priests, rather than conventional legionaries. It is the High King who is responsible for assigning these vital positions to the various companies, exchanging them for warriors of particular renown who may serve as his Kingsguard. As of the 41st Millennium, the current Har-Fylkir is Logan Grimnar, perhaps the most belligerent and headstrong legion master in the current Imperium. Over seven centuries in age, Grimnar has ruled the Sixth for over five hundred years, and is known as the 'Old Wolf' for his appearance and ferocity. Despite this, he is also renowned for his compassion and good judgment, for he has none other than Bjorn the Fell-Handed as an advisor, the last remaining legionary to have ever spoken with Russ. Grimnar has defeated innumerable apocalyptic threats, from the First War for Armageddon, where he faced the Daemon Primarch Sanguinius and claimed the Axe of Morkai, to the Scrapspire Incursion, when he personally recovered a priceless STC fragment from the clutches of the vile greenskins, to the 30th Great Hunt, which saved dozens of worlds from the rampage of the Necron phalanxes of Imotekh the Stormlord.
As the millennia draws to a close, Grimnar is as ever at the heart of the storm, for he has been chosen as Supreme Commander overseeing the Cadian Gate against the incoming rampage of the Thirteenth Black Crusade. This is no surprise, for over the past nine thousand years, the Rout has watched the Eye of Terror, forming the bulk of the Astartes stationed there as an extensive containment network known as the Aegis Ocularis. Their outposts surround the entirety of the Cadian Gate, for the Sixth Legion is permanently stationed around the Eye of Terror, and few threats are dire enough to make them take their eyes off of it for long. The reason for this assignment becomes abundantly clear when viewing a map of the galaxy: the Fenris System is located just east of the Eye of Terror. They are constantly on the move from planet to planet, system to system, as their ships seek to hold back the tides of insanity and the incessant raids which erupt from that realm of madness. Only the sons of Russ are bold enough to perform counter-raids, sailing into the outer fringes of the Eye to wreak havoc on any forces attempting to gather there, and many minor black crusades have thus been scattered before they could begin. In addition to the twelve permanent bases, the Space Wolves maintain permanent blockades around known minor egress points as well as systems deemed too dangerous to leave alone, such as Dread Caliban or the Scelus Sector. The Space Wolves are utterly single-minded when it comes to halting the advances of Chaos, and there are few methods they will not countenance, including repurposing the weapons of their foes, and even alliances with xenos.
Tuska Daemon-Killa
There is nothing so important to orks as a good fight, a trait which allowed the greenskins to thrive in a galaxy which knows only war. They are not picky when it comes to foes, which has had dire consequences for the Imperium, which has consistently been under threat from all sides. However, the Space Wolves are masters of unorthodox tactics, and when the Waagh! of Warboss Tuska began to come a little too close to the Aegis Ocularis, the Sixth took notice. Thegn Lukas, long known to his brothers as the 'Trickster', contacted Warboss Tuska, and to the surprise of all, managed to convince the greenskin that the greatest fight of all lay nearby. Never ones to shy away from a challenge, dozens of Ork Kill Kroozers streamed into the Eye of Terror in search of a scrap, and Lukas was acclaimed by High King Grimnar himself for his achievement in dealing with the threat.
However, whereas that might have been the end for any rational being, the greenskins do not die so easily. The Orkish Waaagh! sailed blindly into the constant storms, crashing into a daemon world ruled by a minion of Khorne known as the Blood Prince. The orks and forces of Chaos fought each other to the bitter end, and Tuska even managed to slay the Blood Prince with his dying breath. Impressed by such mindless slaughter, the Blood God raised both armies, and to this day, the fight has continued in the shadow of the Brass Citadel itself, endless clouds of fungal spores constantly spawning new greenskins to replace the fallen even as more and more daemons are drawn to the battle. Warboss Tuska is now known as the Daemon-Killa, and he and his Nobz have grown in size to rival the legendary Krork of myth. They have moved beyond the primitive anger and rage that marks most greenskins, for they learned long ago that such emotions only power their foe, a most disturbing development from a normally brutish race. It is likely the two sides will battle for eternity, for such pleases both sides, but the galaxy would surely tremble should greenskins of that scale reunite with their smaller brethren outside the Warp.
Lukas's actions are but one of many unorthodox methods utilized by the Sixth, which has unfortunately cast more suspicion upon the legion. Their allies are few indeed, counting only the Sons of Horus and Iron Hands as true brothers. It takes a strong will to resist the temptations of Chaos, and as a result, the Space Wolves are closer than any other legion with the legendary Grey Knights. Likewise, they maintain close ties with certain Radical Inquisitors, those men and women of the Ordos who are no strangers to utilizing questionable means to obtain victory. The Rout has a particular bond with the Navigator House of Belisarius, who alone are sworn to pilot their ships, but otherwise no special connections with the rest of the Navis Nobilite; they maintain neutral relations with the other legions, for they rarely come in contact save times of great peril such as during Black Crusades, and no special ties with the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Sixth has poor relations with the High Lords of Terra, for the Wolves have made no secret of the fact they serve only the Emperor, and rarely fight alongside the Imperial Guard as a result. They have terrible relations with Puritan Inquisitors as well as the Adeptus Ministorum, who suspects them of pagan and heretical practices, with one notable exception: the Choosers of the Slain.
The Valkyria
Most Sisterhoods of the Adepta Sororitas look down upon the Legiones Astartes as barely-sanctioned mutants, no better than the ogryn or ratlings of the Imperial Guard. Even the legendarily-pious Word Bearers of New Monarchia are not fully trusted by the fanatical Sororitas. In the centuries after the Age of Apostasy, Fenris itself came under assault from forces of the Ecclesiarchy, who sought to investigate the legion's practices, including several Commanderies of the Adepta Sororitas. Intrigued by these warrior women, the sons of Russ entered into negotiations with the Inquisition, not only to forestall any future pointless assaults against Fenris, but also to create their own Order that would be more open to working with them. Thus the Order of the Valkyria, which means 'Choosers of the Slain' in Juvyk, was established, whose initial ranks included many troublemakers of the Schola Progenium. The Valkyria are the only recognized Order of the Adepta Sororitas that fight alongside the Space Wolves, and their presence is vital in making up for the low numbers of the Sixth Legion. They are highly active upon Fenris, inducting young girls of particular ferocity to join their order, but they do occasionally recruit from other worlds which border the Eye of Terror, which has resulted in many Sisters bearing the distinct lilac eye color found in such populations.
The Sixth Legion have fought with many foes during their millennia of service. Rarely do they clash with the Aeldari, for they too seek to halt the advance of Chaos, and there are few interactions between the Space Wolves and the mysterious Necrons or the ravenous hordes of the Tyranids, who most often appear far away to the galactic east. They are accomplished ork hunters, specializing in assassination strikes against Warbosses to prevent them from coming too close to the Aegis Ocularis. However, while the Sixth does despise xenos, as all Astartes do, without a doubt their most common foe remains the forces of Chaos. The super-senses of the Space Wolves are particularly adept in locating the taint of Chaos, and they have clashed against all thirteen of Sigismund's Black Crusades, creating an eternal enmity between the Sixth and Seventh Legions. Though all forces of Chaos despise the sons of Russ, few hatreds run deeper than the one between them and the Thousand Sons. The Sixth and the Fifteenth have clashed innumerable times, ever since the Battles of Prospero during the Leonine Heresy, and their feud will not end until one or the other is destroyed. The Thousand Sons have assaulted Fenris multiple times over the millennia, often seeking to destroy repositories of gene-seed, a practice which has ensured the overall numbers of the Sixth continue to decline. Their wicked sorcerers take particular malice in mutating the bodies of the fallen, changing them into hideous half-man and half-wolf monstrosities. This is not only a mockery of the very name of the Space Wolves which destroys their gene-seed, but is also an uncomfortable parallel between the sons of Russ and the monstrous Shogaal, those mutated sons of Magnus who often bear canine features.
Beliefs and Warcry
A microcosm of the wider Imperium, the overriding belief of any given son of Russ is that the ends justify the means. Where they differ from other legions is how often and in what manner these means are employed. Should their blades chip and shatter, should their bolters run dry or jam, a Space Wolf will not think twice about repurposing an enemy's weapon against them. And as Astartes, they have the operational leeway to perform actions that verge on heretical, to utilize technologies that would earn an Imperial Guardsman or even a Sororitas a summary execution. This can be seen even in the highest echelons of legion command, for Har-Fylkir Grimnar himself utilizes a blade known as the Axe of Morkai, a weapon taken from a Chaos Champion of Khorne during the First War for Armageddon. The legion's actions during the Leonine Heresy, while understandable, nonetheless show the Space Wolves as suspect at best and actively dangerous at worst. As such, the Sixth Legion is considered highly untrustworthy by the Inquisition, and the Holy Ordos on numerous occasions has attempted to rein them. The Space Wolves of course do not appreciate these interventions, and many skirmishes have erupted over the years. Such times are known as the Years of Shame, and the list of grievances on both sides is extensive. However, despite this mutual distrust, the Inquisition cannot afford to risk open war with the sons of Russ, for it would endanger the entire Imperium should their watch over the Eye of Terror ever come to an end.
The Space Wolves firmly believe in the inherent cruelty of the galaxy. It is a harsh place, where only the strong survive, and their interactions with the wider Imperium has made them highly wary of outsiders. Translations of Imperial documents from High Gothic into Juvyk often see the Sixth referred to as vargr, an ambiguous term that means both 'wolf', as in the mistranslated legion name, or 'outlaw', an appellation that the sons of Russ derive ironic pleasure from. They are fully aware of how the wider Imperium sees them as barbarians and savages. The sons of Russ are quite cognizant of the distrust existing between them and their cousin legions, of the gap created by their absence from the Siege of Terra. Of course, other legions were absent, or late to the Siege, but for whatever reason, the Sixth is more distrusted, a state which predates the Heresy entirely, such as the Warmaster's willingness to declare them as renegade despite any evidence to the contrary. The Space Wolves are reputed to keep many secrets, a somewhat unjust accusation as the nature of the missions they undertake require secrecy, lest knowledge of Chaos filter out to the wider Imperium. However, this is only a partial truth, and the following information is considered perhaps the greatest secret of the Space Wolves.
Many millennia before, when over half the legion was cast into the Warp by Magnus the Red at the start of the Leonine Heresy, the majority of those unfortunate legionaries and their ships were considered lost with all hands. It was highly unlikely that any could survive the perils of the Warp, and even the ships near the Hrafnkel, flagship of Russ, only survived because of dumb luck and the time they had to raise their Gellar Fields. However, the Space Wolves are nothing if not tenacious, and through the Emperor's intervention, chance, or the blessings of the Ruinous Powers, a great many actually survived. Cast adrift into the Sea of Souls, untold hundreds out of the tens of thousands survived their perilous journey, and ever since that day, so long ago, they have continued to show up, often without warning. From individuals to squads to even entire sveit, the sons of Russ have appeared on planets across the galaxy, distinct from their modern day brethren by their outdated armor and strange speech. For a great many of these Space Wolves, hardly any time at all has passed, while for others it has been eons, during which many sold their souls to the Ruinous Powers. Others have mutated beyond recognition, into horrific man-wolf hybrids which are either the result of rampant contact with the Warp, or, more chillingly, the end result that may happen to any legionary should he live long enough. The modern Space Wolves have no way of tracking these incursions, or knowing whether the ancient legionaries in question are still loyal, and have thus made it their eternal duty to track down each and every one of these Okinnugr, these Unknowns of the Thirteenth Great Company.
Speakers of the Dead
In the latter years of the Great Crusade, the office of Chaplain was established throughout the legions. Designed to ensure loyalty to the Emperor, this role in the Space Wolves was quickly subsumed into the already-existing office of Consul-Opsequiari, those discipline officers who had kept order before the time of Russ. The primarch was quick to imbue the chaplaincy with the mystique of his homeworld, thus they took on Fenrisian appearance and name, becoming the Speakers of the Dead. Over the years, their roles grew to include not only discipline, but the roles of the apothecary and recruiting as well. Thus do the primitive tribes title them as the Choosers of the Valiant, for when they recruit, they roam the wilds of Fenris, healing warriors from the brink of death in order to take them as potential aspirants.
However, they do still act in the same manner as all chaplains do, keeping the lore of the legion and acting as advisors. Their distinctive skull-shaped helmet, which in the case of the Sixth Legion is fashioned in a canine shape, has led many outsiders to call them Wolf Priests, though they themselves do not use this title. It is they who carve the distinctive runes and amulets which protect the legionaries under their charge from the wicked maleficarum which all good Fenrisians despise. The chaplains know all too well how quickly this corruption can set in, and so it is they who are charged with executing those who have become tainted in the process of opposing Chaos. From a common legionary who has been mutated from a eldritch blast, to a Thegn who refuses to give up a trophy taken in battle, to Radical Inquisitors who seek to use daemons to defeat daemons, all who are judged to be corrupted are subject to their wrath. Even their own brothers fear these puritan priests, whose very existence is a grim reminder that none are above suspicion.
The final, most secret duty of the chaplains is to round up the Okinnugr, wherever they may be. At any given time, dozens of them are roaming the galaxy, seeking out rumors of wolfish monsters or legionaries who are not where they should be. Chief among these hunters is Sternhammer, Warden of the Lost, whose warband has brought more than a dozen Okinnugr to justice. It is in these actions that the title of Speaker of the Dead is revealed to have another meaning, for it is men such as Sternhammer, or his master High Priest Ulrik the Slayer, who are the last to ever speak to these Astartes out of time, for regardless of innocence, the Okinnugr are executed one and all so as to hide their existence from the Inquisition.
Faced with a secrecy on a level similar to their own, the Inquisition is naturally suspicious of what it is the Space Wolves seek to hide. While most are willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for the Sixth Legion's loyalty to the Emperor is beyond questioning, there are those whose paranoia outweighs their common sense. Many Inquisitors have made it their life's work to unravel this mystery, but the Space Wolves are more than willing to attack even their nominal allies should they come between them and their prey. Such friendly fire is perhaps best typified by the events of Lemnos, where the Sixth came to blows with Lord Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov. In the course of his investigations, the notoriously-merciless Lord Inquisitor discovered a group of Astartes in antique power armor, whose parts appeared to have been mismatched and scavenged. Suspecting them to be agents of Chaos, Karamazov quickly returned with the full weight of his armies, putting the world to the torch without explaining his actions, and when the corpses were discovered to bear the gene-seed of Russ, he wasted no time in hurling accusations at the sons of Fenris. Since that day, he and many others like him remain unshakably convinced the Space Wolves are a liability that must be eliminated as soon as possible, and should he and his ideological allies gain the ascendancy, the survival of the Sixth may well be at stake.
For their part, the Space Wolves are fully aware of the suspicion placed upon them, but the truth is they do not care. Like their father before them, they know they are the instruments of the Emperor's will, his Executioners, and they have made themselves to be weapons in his omnipotent hands. Over the course of the Leonine Heresy, Leman Russ fundamentally changed as a person, and with him so too did his legion. The Space Wolves once believed they were no more than weapons, designed to slay the foe and protect the Emperor, but they have since learned wisdom, and now know the Emperor desired them to be the defenders of his people, saviors from the horrors of the outer darkness. They recognize their father was never the most charismatic, the best fighter, or even the toughest of his brothers, but that he was the most ruthless, the most willing to serve the Emperor. They alone know full well that their father never wavered in his loyalty even for a moment, and this knowledge sustains them even though all else may suspect them of treachery and deceit. Wisdom is highly prized in the Rout, which would surprise the masses who see them only as savages. It is for this reason that the Rune Priests are highly-regarded by their brothers, for it is they who have maintained the ancient practice of casting the runes. The knowledge of the Gothi, as Fenrisians call their shamans, is primarily focused upon their homeworld, its weather, and its people, and the knowledge Leman Russ gained in the Warp merely expanded their knowledge to what might be considered other Psykana disciplines. Many of these runes also serve religious functions, such as the Rune-sign of Russ, a common greeting employed by the legion. In addition, they often bear double meanings, and are used to scry the future, not only the immediate future when the Rune Priests search the skeins for upcoming battles, but for the end times as well, when the Horn of Doom will resound one last time calling all sons of Russ to take part in Ragnarok.
From the description provided, it is obvious to outsiders such as Inquisitors that these 'rune priests' are nothing more than psykers. This semantic difference can be seen in the Iron Priests, who act as Techmarines, or in the Speakers of the Dead, who serve as both Chaplain and Apothecary under a different name. However, to point this out to a son of Russ is something which has led to the death of more than a few careless outsiders. The Space Wolves consider themselves to be the sole legion, with the possible exception of the Raven Guard, to have held true to the Emperor's decrees at the Council of Nikaea, and as such do not have a librarium. The sons of Russ have always held that the practices of their shamans are not the same as the foul maleficarum practiced by sorcerers such as the Thousand Sons, and believe themselves to be protected in all they do by the Allfather and the 'World-Spirit of Fenris'. It is for this reason they do not hesitate to use the Enemy's weapons against them, for they believe their faith will protect them. Whether this is a result of their gene-seed, their will, or even their faith is a matter of some contention among scholars. Worship of the God-Emperor, or Allfather as he is known, as well as Russ himself, is highly prevalent amongst the Sixth Legion, which is somewhat understandable considering how often they fight the Ruinous Powers and their daemonic minions. The powers of Chaos are the focus of a single-minded hatred from the Space Wolves, a trait which extends to psykers as a whole.
The armor and livery of the Space Wolves has changed multiple times over the millennia, and is perhaps the most diverse of any loyalist legion. In the earliest days of the Great Crusade, their armor could be best described as a stormy gray, a color which lightened after they reunited with their primarch. As time passed, it transitioned into a blue-gray, and they have retained the symbol of the Great Wolf, the personal sigil of Leman Russ. However, where they truly vary is their secondary heraldry. Each and every Jarl has his own personal symbols for his Great Company, as does each Thegn for the sveit under his command. Combine this with a penchant for nonconformity, and you are left with a dizzying array of symbols and colors impossible for outsiders to keep track of. Records of heroic deeds are often inscribed in runes upon the armors of champions, as well as graffitied upon the walls of fortifications which they have seized in battle, and most legionaries bear trophies taken from foes of note. Perhaps the most common is pelts of slain Fenrisian wolves, a worthy trophy considering they are taken when the legionaries are only unarmored aspirants facing beasts the size of tanks.
War-cries are almost as varied. The most common phrase is perhaps 'Fenrys hjolda!', which means 'Fenris endures', which particularly angers the sons of Magnus whose homeworld was razed so long ago by the Space Wolves. During the days of the Great Crusade and beyond, this boast was used by all the Great Companies: 'Into the Storm! We are the Thunder of Fenris! We are the Allfather's Lightning!'. Many Jarls equip their skalds with vox-amplifiers which allow them to sing out boasting tales of their glory, while others use them to announce threats such as this one, which was recorded during the 17th Great Hunt, led by Jarl Har Skrinn the 'Flame Lord': "We are the Death that stalks the stars in the sky and swallows the star-fire. We hide amongst the night when light is gone. The Light is within us. We run the ruin of Fire in the darkness. Foes burn in our passing." Unnerving howling is highly common, as are battle-songs roared lustily from unhelmeted warriors.
The Webway: Date, Unknown
"Are you ready to begin, Lord Russ?" Asked the foppishly-dressed man, his tricorn hat threatening to fall from atop his powdered wig as he spoke. Zephro Carnelian was his name, a man of many rare and unique gifts, including the ability to affect the Emperor's Tarot, which was how Russ found his way back into the Webway to begin with. Carnelian claimed to represent an organization known as the Illuminatus, a group intimately linked with the other organizations present, the Harlequins and the Ordo Hydra. Behind him, a similarly-garish Shadowseer shifted in place, silent as ever, as was the third companion, a giant in scaled blue-green power armor who towered over the other two.
"Aye." replied Russ, well used to such ostentatious theatricality.
"Good. Then let us begin." All four sat down, alone at the heart of an Aeldari Crystal Dome, as they sought to divine the future amidst the tangled skeins of fate. The familiar-feeling of temporal exile crept over Russ, as he detached himself from not only his body but causality itself, an observer in the ocean of space-time whose powers were boosted to new heights by the supportive abilities of his comrades, the lenses and foci to his power source. The future and past mingled as one before the primarch, sights which would ensnare and bewitch an untrained mind with promises of knowledge beyond measure. But that wasn't what Russ was here for, and the gestalt mind sank down and down through the Warp, to the very edge of the Deeps where madness became, if possible, more mad. They floated there, hoping to skim even a hint of the spoor of which they had sought for so long.
"It's not working. Again." Russ grunted, annoyed. "Why doesn't it work? We know it's there, by its absence if not its presence. The Secher Nbiw, the Gullr-Gata, the Golden Path, it has to be there somewhere."
"Lord Russ, come back to us now. We can try again some other time."
"Wait, I'm getting something." A new vision floated in and through the primarch's insubstantial mind. "It's…a tree? The Realm-Tree perhaps? Something is blocking it. A silvered fist? A being of light? It doesn't make sense. I see a constellation, wait, no. Nothing. It's all gone again. Something, or someone, is interfering with our prescience, obstructing our sight of not only the future but the past as well, I'm sure of it. Someone who knows how to hide themselves more thoroughly than even we are capable of."
"What do you suggest we do?" came Carnelian's querulous voice once more. The visions faded, leaving the four of them visibly shaken by the strenuous exertions of their psychic ordeal.
"I don't know. Right now there's nothing we can do. But perhaps we're simply not standing far enough back." Russ mused. "First we need to know what we don't know so that we can circumvent it. Then and only then can we hunt it down and remove it so that we can see what they're attempting to hide from us." Russ stood up, and was soon followed by his companions. "Carnelian, return to the Black Library, see if you or Draco can make sense of the symbology."
"Alright. What will you do?" Carnelian asked. Russ gave him a fearsome grin, an expression which only rarely crossed his scarred face.
"Taking a little trip. I recognized those star patterns as soon as I laid my metaphorical eyes upon them. Alphariusson, gather the men. We're going to the Somnium Stars."
A/N: What better time than the icy depths of winter to release the saga of the Vlka Fenryka? As I said before, there are no wolves on Fenris, or at least very few. I like the 30k Sixth, berserkers and explorers and vikings that they are. I don't like their 40k incarnation, where every other word is wolf. Therefore I have done my best to minimize that trend as best as I could, retaining the Heresy-era names and such. That being said, I did get a wealth of information from the Ragnar Blackmane books, which were very good. Please let me know what you think, as I always enjoy reading comments and suggestions. Next up is the White Scars, who have been on the fringes for quite some time.
Sharrowkyn, out.