Aurumvorax.com

moved to: http://www.aurumvorax.com/forumViewThread.php?threadID=89#post307

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14

moved to: http://www.aurumvorax.com/forumViewThread.php?threadID=90#post309

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14

moved to: http://www.aurumvorax.com/forumViewThread.php?threadID=90#post310

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14

moved to: http://www.aurumvorax.com/forumViewThread.php?threadID=91#post312

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14

The wolf priests canvassed the bloodied battlefield of M41.140913.1 in eerie silence after the Chaos filth had been driven off, searching for whatever recoverable gene-seed remained from their fallen brothers. Priest Haugen winced as he approached the site where Gunnarsen's Hunters had engaged the daemon-captain Parricidius to buy time for the withdrawal of their kinsmen. He didn not think he would find anything here amid the shreds of gore and ceramite that remained of the Pack, but he would salvage what he could.

As he moved over the crest of one of the myriad indigeounous moss-rocks, Haugen's yellow eyes spied a minor miracle: one of the brothers corpses was mostly intact. He approached, readying his extractor. As he moved closer, he realize the extent of the miracle -- the brother was Gunnarsen himself, and he still lived! Haugen voxed in his position, and began treating the pack leader's wounds. He though that Brynjolf Gunnarsen would live, praise the Allfather. Though, he wasn't sure that the man would be pleased about it.

---

Brynjolf Gunnarsen paced in his barracks room, his face dark and distracted. The Emporer had done good work, and Brynjolf's physiology was nearly fully recovered from his wounds. His mind and soul would be slower to heal, if they did so at all.

As he paced, whenever he turned a corner, he slammed his fist into the steel wall of his room. He had been doing this for some time, and the walls held many dents, and blood darkened his fingers. He had lead his men to their deaths. Slam. That they were all willing, eager even, to follow didn't matter. Slam. That the daemon-fiend was closing on the Fangs and needed to be stopped didn't matter. Slam. He was the Jarl's trusted wolf-guard, charged with tempering the pack's tactics with the wisdom of age, and he had failed his men. Slam. That he, himself, lived made it all the worse. Slam. And worst of all, he knew that as long as he lived, he would never be able to take vengeance on Parricidius. Having fought the beast once, he knew that he was fundamentally outclassed. It galled, but he would have to make do.

With a throat-noise of rage, he slammed the wall again. He was mildly surprised to see that a section of the steel bulkhead had broken and fallen into the hallway.

He knew what he would do. He stepped through the missing section of wall and started down the hallway, the wounds on his hand already beginning to heal. Thralls who had come to see the source of the commotion fled before his terrible face, and he snarled in disgust as he smelled their fear.

---

The Jarl had been expecting the visit from Brynjolf, but that did not make it any more pleasant. In the end, unable to talk him out of it, he had accepted the man's resignation from the Wolf Guard. He understood that Brynjolf would never really recover from his encounter with Parricidius, and the path of the Lone Wolf was an honorable one under such circumstances.

He watched Brynjolf's face as the man donned his old tactical dreadnought armor. If the Jarl were a lesser man, he might have felt a glimmering of pity for the traitor marines on the planet below.

---

Edited by: Volkov on 10/9/14

moved to: http://www.aurumvorax.com/forumViewThread.php?threadID=92#post313

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14

This thread was getting out of control, so by way of a bunch of manually editing the database (which I probably did incorrectly), I moved a bunch of stuff to separate posts in a new board at http://www.aurumvorax.com/forum.php?forumID=6 .

Edited by: cook on 11/15/14