++ March of the Legions: VI Legion ++

[Brother-Chaplain Kage]

Month 14: The VI Legion

If you missed last month's competition, and/or would like to learn the rules for this competition, please read the first post here: http://www.bolterand...gion/?p=3850046

If you dare to accept this challenge, please recite the following oath:

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I, Brother Chaplain Kage, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear.

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I've been very busy and missed putting this up a few days ago, so entries will be accepted until the 4th of June.

[Soldier of Dorn]

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Winter is coming.

 

I am the Hunter,

Jarl of the Pack.

Warrior, whose name is whispered in saga.

 

I am Vlka Fenryka, a son of Leman Russ.

 

I, the Psycho, accept my role in this.
I promise to lead the VI Legion into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.
I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.
I pledge my arm to the Rout.
On this matter, and by my saga, I swear.

 

For Fenris, where no wolves are found.

 

Unto the End.

 

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[Aeternus]

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I, Aeternas, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear. 

 

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[StruManChu]

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I, StruManChu, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear. 

 

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It'd be a shame to stop now, wouldn't it?

[Barabbas Sogalon]

I, Barabbas Sogalon, accept my role in this.
I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.
I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.
I pledge my honor to the Rout.
On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear.

 

Fear the Bloodaxe, the Black Wolf of Fenris, the Kinslayer.

[Runefyre]

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I, Runefyre, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear. 

 

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[Hellath]

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I, Hellath, accept my role in this.
I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.
I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.
I pledge my honor to the Rout.
On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear.

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[Big Bad Squig]

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I, Big Bad Squig, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

No ale shall pass my lips,

At no feast will I indulge,

Ever shall I hunt my quarry.

No foe shall stay my wrath.

Whilst I yet breathe, I will not falter,

Until Morkai claims his due.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear. 

 

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[Barabbas Sogalon]

“To speak of the Blood-Axe is to speak of the darkness that dwells in all men. He was the best of us, the best who became the worst. A murderer. Red is his weapon, with the blood of Kings and Kin, and three brothers lie dead because of him. Let his tale be a reminder of how power corrupts Man, how the brightest star becomes the darkest pit. Let it remind us of the fate we all strive to avoid.”
- Harald Grey-Cloak, Pack Leader, Vlka Fenryka

Eirikr Blood-Axe, Slayer of Kings and Kin, Outcast of the VI Legion

The name Blood-Axe leaves a bitter aftertaste in the mouths of the Vlka Fenryka that not even the strongest Fenrisian ale can drown. Ruthless and with a strong thirst for power, it was said that a shadow of death always followed Eirikr Haraldsson. As a young man he avenged the murder of his father and sister, killing the Fenrisian chieftain responsible by burning down the man's longhouse with his entire family inside. As an Astartes he was among the best warriors of his generation and excelled in bloody boarding operations or when storming a breach. Though respected for his skill and many victories, Blood-Axe was shunned outside the battlefield; to him brotherly rivalries were matters of life and death, and he sought victory at any cost. Whispers of madness and increasing paranoia surrounded him. His position in the Great Company is not recorded, but he was clearly a higher ranking member, perhaps even second-in-command to the Jarl. Eventually the warrior called Bjorn challenged Blood-Axe to a duel, deeming him unfit to rule after a terrible massacre; Blood-Axe won and proceeded to kill Bjorn in front of the men. Then it all came crashing down. Two of his best warriors, Olaf and Sigrod, decided to remove him by force and were murdered by the older Wolf, the savagery of how he slew Olaf sending shivers through the Legion. Blood-Axe was brought before Russ in chains, smiling, and the Wolf King stripped him of all rank and titles, then declared him an outcast and sentenced him to die on a far away battlefield. It is said that Blood-Axe laughed at the sentence, calling the VI Legion cowards for not taking his head right there. And so he was sent to the closest gathering of Astartes, a Death Guard force called the Last Judgement, escorted by two warriors who would ensure that Russ' will was carried out. His arrival coincided with the nightmare later known as the Bleeding Twins and he was to be put on the frontlines with the Destroyers, but it did not go as planned. The two guardians ended up dead shortly after setting foot on the First Twin, most likely by their former brother's hand, and Blood-Axe was later found by the Death Guard in a trench filled with Akateri corpses. When brought for questioning, he told them he had been sent to oversee the execution of two traitors and had no desire to return to the VI after such an act. Whether the Death Guard believed him or not is unclear, but the need for warriors during the Twins was great and they made Blood-Axe swear an oath before assigning him to the shock troops. It is to be said that the Last Judgement was always known as a haven for the misfits of their Legion. The Wolf fought alongside the XIV of the 90th Expedition until he disappeared without a trace before Istvaan III. In the years that followed the Dropsite Massacre, there were reports of traitors on several battlefields being hunted and brutally killed by “the Black Wolf with a Red Axe”.

[Ezeriel]

I, Ezeriel, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear.

[Big Bad Squig]

ÖNDURDÍS ORIANNOR

               

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I taste the blood of the traitor,

                Never showing mercy.

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I pass judgement,

                Never showing remorse.

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I ever hunt my quarry,

                Never forgetting,

                Never forgiving,

                Never yielding.

 

                From the ashes of Prospero may I rise again.

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798212_md-.JPG

 

 

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798213_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798214_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798215_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798216_md-.JPG

 

 

 

                The blood on the ground was fresh.  The air around it tasted of it.  The traitor had been near.  He could feel it.  He stepped forwards silently, hand resting on his dagger.  The cracked paving stones beneath him made little sound as he walked.  Only the sound of a light breeze rustling scattered pieces of singed paper disturbed the silence.  The quiet day was an irony to him.  This world was mocking him, even in death.  This is the day that you will die, it said through the whistling of the wind through ruined houses and ribcages picked clean of flesh by flames.  This is the day that you will die.  Listen to the silence and the calm and the peace.  It is the last thing you will hear.

                He shook away these thoughts.  He had stared death in the face, and howled, and death had fled to cower among the ruins.  He had nothing to fear from death.  Footsteps disturbed the quiet.  He looked towards the sound’s source.  A child, picking her way over bones and shattered glass.  He watched her for a moment.  She did not see him, coated as he was in dust and blood.  He blended in.  He weighed up a thought in his mind for a moment.  She was innocent.  Not deserving of death.  And then a face appeared in his field of view.

                So were we, brother, the face said.  We were innocent.  And now we are simply more corpses to blight this ground.  We were simply doing as the Emperor had asked, and they cut us down without question.

                They must be punished.  He stalked closer, no longer caring about the sound he made.  No matter how fast, a child could not outrun him.  He drew his dagger, feeling its weight in his hand.  It seemed heavier than it should have been.  The child turned.  Staggered back, turned to run.  He caught her in one loping stride, moving to strike.

                “Wait,” came a voice.  “Stop.”

                It was the Thousand Son.

                “You,” he said, releasing the child.

                “Am I to know you?”

                “You murdered my brothers.  Every last one of them.”

                “And you mine, it would seem,” the Thousand Son responded, glancing at the bloody knife.  “I suppose we have that in common.”

                “I have come to finish what was started.”

                “What is your name, Wolf?” the Thousand Son asked.

                “Never forgetting.”

                “What is your name?”

                “Never forgiving.”

                “Alright,” said the Thousand Son, sighing.  “It has come to this.  After everything we fought for, it will be ended by one broken warrior with a blade.  You came to my world.                  You burnt my city.  You are not who has been wronged.  You are not betrayed.  That word can only be used those civilians lying dead because of you and your Legion’s justice.”

                “Never yielding.”  They were the only words he had left.

                He took a final step forward.  The Thousand Son drew his dagger in response.

                A moment of emptiness.

                And then he lunged.

 

                ************

 

                He lay curled up next to the body of the Thousand Son, clutching at the knife in his stomach.  His vision was cloudy, red specked.  The wind whistled through ruined houses, and ribcages picked clean.

                “From the ashes of Prospero may I rise again.”

[Soldier of Dorn]

That's majestic, Squig! Beautiful storytelling, mate! :tu:

[Feyralwolf]

I, known as The Gelgja, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Wolf Brothers into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout and the Imperium of Man.

On this matter, and by Russ and by the Allfather, I swear. 

 

Though sundered from the Legion by Russ's own hand,

Though scattered by the forces of the Inquisition's hatred,

Though bearers of the Curse Wulfen Extrema,

We the Wolf Brothers shall stand ready when the Wolftime comes.

 

When Russ and the Allfather call us forth, we shall return.

With us shall come forth the Wulfen and the Jotnar

Beside us shall march the mortal men

The Niefhelm Guard.

 

We who have stayed true to the Imperial Truth,

We who have taken a home in the Ghost Stars,

We shall return

 

Unto the foes of Mankind

We shall fall with fang and sword

With fire and with steel

We are the Wolf Brothers

[Achinadav]

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I, Achinadav, accept my role in this.

I promise to lead the Vlka Fenryka into the zone of war, and conduct them to battle.

I will do so no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe.

I pledge my honor to the Rout.

On this matter, and by the Wolf King, I swear. 

 

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[Hellath]

++ I was born of Terra.

I was stolen from the Iberian clan that birthed me and taken to serve in the VI Legion mere years before our Primarch was found on that damned ball of ice and mud Fenris is.
There are so little of us, Terrans, now. We watched with amusement how the first inductees from the Fenrisian culture started to permeate the Legion, all furs and tokens. We didn’t realize how fast that culture would take hold of us. The Wolf King made sure of that.

Don’t get me wrong, I felt at home with my new little brothers. Theirs is a joy to battle to match our own, and so I draped myself on furs, and laughed as I put the Rout’s enemies to sleep on the red snow.

 

The Rout, the Vlka Fenryka, the Space Wolves. Such names.

 

Call us what you must. We are the Emperor’s executioners. The name you call us by doesn’t change that terrible, terrible fact.

I am old now. One of the precious few remaining from the Legion’s early days. Soon, we will be gone forever. The galaxy is unkind enough to see to that sooner rather than later. It matters not. The Legion is all that matters and we are all the same now, Terran and Fenrisian alike, we are VI Legion now and forever.

 

Our duty to the Wolf King and the Allfather will be enough reward when the next winter arrives.++

 

 

This (hopefully) is the begining of my 30K Vlka Fenryka army. It will be predominantly Terran born, with a heavy Destroyer component to it. As you can see, they don't have squad markings, since I am waiting for the lovely transfer sheet we have seen at Warhammer Fest to come out. 

 

I have also painted a Vexillarius as a bonus: 

 

++ I was born of Fenris.++

 

 

Brothers to the end.

 

 

I hope you like them. Any comments will be most welcome!

[StruManChu]

The rain came down, lashing at his exposed face in waves, wind ripping around him. This world's heart was a bitter one. Not full of rage or hate like Fenris. No, this rock was nothing compared to the terrible might of distant Fenris. Fenris would have swallowed them whole like the predator she was. No, this world, 272-13 as it was officially named by the people who take it upon themselves to give worlds such names, loathed the power armoured boots walking upon her surface with the same loathing she held for her own impotence.

He felt her pettiness behind each gust of wind. She fought them, yes, but each swipe was offered up like she knew she was already beaten and longed simply to leave a mark. The compliance was similarly unpleasant for the forces of the Vlka Fenryka. They detested this kind of fight. If they were fighting xenos then it would have been less disheartening, but to have to kill men and women simply because they wouldn't lay down their arms? There was no honour nor glory here for the sons of Russ.

All of these thoughts occurred to him as he strode into their lines, bolt and las fire crossing to and fro around him. His hammer fell, shattering bone and spilling blood over the frozen tundra. He bore it up again, smashing it down on the hand of a young man reaching for a fallen blade. So utterly crushed was the hand that it simply fell away as the boy pulled his arm back. He caught a glimpse of himself in the boy's visor. Frothing lips, blood-soaked armour, wild hair, totems and sigils hanging from his belt and beard. He was a monster to his fallen foe. A nightmare made real.

He understood that all around him his brothers, his charges, would be having similar moments of doubt as they killed and cleaved through their enemy. He knew that while his wolves would follow their orders through to the bitter end, that they were also stubborn and free in their thinking. Doubt could not be allowed to take a foothold. They must never err away from the rightness, from the righteousness of their cause.

"Brothers! Wolves of Fenris! Hear me! You may find no beauty in what we do here this day... But I tell you to look again! This work we do, we carry it out as an offering of obedience to the Allfather. There can be no greater task! Here today, with each step, we build his kingdom! We carry his vision! For Russ, and for the Allfather!"

With that, a bestial roared escaped his lips and he brought his hammer down again, into the visor of the young solider bleeding out at his feet. It broke into thousands of fragments, scattering about him. Halvdan Kodransson, Chaplain of Fyf, drew himself to his full height, took a step forward and crushed them under his foot, as if to dare the universe to challenge his resolve. There was no room for doubt. Not an inch.

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[Ezeriel]

Forge Lord Steiner Ironeater

Part of the first influx of Fenrisian recruits. His dismantling and tinkering with of legion equipment and vehicles quickly earned him the ire of the legion techmarines. After multiple attempts to punish him failed, they inducted him into their order. Better to train him and reign him in then let him continue.

He spent five years with an Iron Hands expedition fleet and came to embrace their view on technology and the flesh. He returned to his legion colder and more machine then flesh. He also returned with new ideas. Ideas to expand and improve the legions vehicles and push for more archaic weapons such as volkites and plasma. He also had darker ideas that involved failed recruits and the packs of wolves that roamed near the Aett. It wasn't long before he went to war accompanied by packs of half machine half wolf monstrosities that seemingly couldn't die and shot fire from their mouths. Not far behind the wolves would be the thrall servitor bodyguards, their lower bodies replaced with a cybernetic wolf bodies and armed with various power weapons and shields.

All of this pushed him away from the company of his brothers. They whispered that he was going too far. That some things just shouldn't be.

Ultimately Steiner and his creations were lost during the attack on Prospero. Of all the loses the legion suffered that day, his passing either went unnoticed or was cause for relief.

[Feyralwolf]

Cursed time dilation of Warp Travel!  The miniature had been done for more than a week and time has escaped me.  Perhaps tonight I can get the picter working...  (Sorry for the links, I never can get it to upload the pictures right, and the camera is pretty old and crappy).

 

The vox had been crackling all day with the sounds of the traitor guardsmen's praise to their 'gods'.  Already most of the planet had been overwhelmed and taken, with more than 70% of the Guardsmen turning traitor.  That the populace had not all been sacrificed or converted was a testament to the six packs of Blood Claws that had been deployed to stem the tide.  That had been all they could do, for all the superhuman combat prowess of the Rout, a single Astartes could not long hope to hold back thousands of Guardsmen by himself.  Even working together, the Blood Claws had paid for every meter of ground, spilling oceans of traitor blood.  Yet for every thousand Guardsmen that fell, so too did a Wolf.  Now they had arrived at the final defensible site, with the Allfather smiling upon them at last.

 

The only way in was a narrow pass, easily held by the Rout, but they had long since used up all ammunition, even from scavenged weapons ill suited to their armored forms.  Transports from orbit were landing and loading civilians and wounded Guardsmen as fast as the cogitators could handle, stripping away those who had already faced hell and would now be saved by the serfs of the Rout.  No warships had taken up orbit, only supply ships, desperate to load all that they could before any traitor space assets moved in.

 

Thus the pass was mined and a single Blood Claw swore to hold it, he would stand and allow the others to flee, wounded as they were, they would not be able to fight to their true potential, and it would be a poor account indeed if they were seen to fall to rabble such as these traitors.  So it was a single Astartes stood in the pass, one whole arm of his plate shining in the dawn, a replacement that had never been given more than a quick primer coat.  In his hands he bore a runed sword and a horn.  As the traitor's charged, loosing disorganized lasrifle blasts, the Astartes raised the horn and unleashed the final weapon long held in reserve.  Fenrisian wolves poured into the flanks of the advancing troops, slaughtering the mortals and throwing them into disarray.  The armored form of the Astartes did not advance however, staying in the most narrow portion of the pass, between bounders he had rolled into place to create a funnel.  To the traitors he bellowed out a challenge, standing ready to meet them in one final battle.

 

Front 

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9Gp0FRzAEarR3NqVlhmR2dYSkU

 

Side (L)

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9Gp0FRzAEarN1VSUDlfa2J5UFE

 

Side ®

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9Gp0FRzAEarRmYtcVNuX21LUTQ

 

Back

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9Gp0FRzAEarSnctMk1nZVAwY0E

 

Main Shot

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9Gp0FRzAEarcUtqV2YzWm9ocWs

[Achinadav]

Very glad that we got until the 4th. Was nearly finished and then we had visitors. Anyway, here's my entry. I was going to try for the rogue trader style of insignia, yellow with red outline, but it's ended up as plain yellow because my first attempt looked pretty awful.

 

Heinrich Halvdan, called Howl-at-the-moon, is seen here striding through the streets of Tizca during the Burning of Prospero. After making planetfall, Halvdan was embroiled in fierce fighting that saw him leading a bloody assault against elements of the Prosperine Spireguard. As one of the aesir of Tra, a rank akin to that of legion champion, he was responsible for hunting and slaying many of the Spireguard's officers and specialist ranks. This led to savage reprisal from the Thousand Sons and the elimination of Halvdan's forces. Halvdan was slain during the awakening of the Canis Vertex by Captain Khalophis of the Pyrae, rendered down to his constituent atoms by pure warpfire.

 

Note Halvdan's Cthonia pattern power axe. As part of an exchange between the two legions, Halvdan spent nearly a decade on secondment with the Luna Wolves. The power axe was a gift to Halvdan from the captains of Lupercal's Mournival celebrating his role in a successful speartip assault on the planet designated 63-11. It was upon his return to the Rout that Halvdan earnt his moniker of Howl-at-the-moon, the origin of which seems to be abstruse humour of the Adepts Astartes related to his time with Lupercal's legion.

 

Halvdan bears a small scroll case adorned with an oath of moment, presumably related to the Rout's assault on Prospero. Such cases were commonly carried by the Luna Wolves as a record of their deeds. The aesir appears to have adopted this custom during his time with the Wolves. His premature death upon Prospero prevents any record of what other customs he may have acquired during his secondment. This lack of detail acquires a darker resonance after the outbreak of the Hours Heresy.

[Runefyre]

This is my very first public attempt at narrative fluff, c&c welcomed.

 

++The greenskin monstrosity towered over the burning hulk of the Warlord titan it had just rent asunder, pausing a moment to gloat before crushing the hapless machine beneath enormous treads. Imperial Army commanders began issuing desperate orders for immediate relocation of additional anti-tank support elements, but they knew their companies would never be enough. The capital city of the planet Hatnex was doomed.++

 

 

++Hogor and his brothers are gone. 10 hardened veterans, noble warriors, wiped out in an instant by a massive bolt of crackling blue lightning hurled from one of the gargant's many weapons. The VI^th Legion relief force hadn't fared very well in the face of the enormous warmachine. Their legion Falchions hadn't been enough to penetrate it's sizzling energy shields, and most of them perished in the first engagement. In less than a day it would be in range of the capital city, Gloriad. Evacuation protocols were in motion, but it would be too little and too late if they couldn't bring the beast down. All these thoughts crossed Agmundr Bryn's mind in an instant as the great gargant brushed aside the latest ambush attempt, easily tanking every weapon they could throw at it.++

 

 

++It was dangerous, but what else was new? Bryn knew what must be done. Even at the risk of terrible consequences implicated by the enormous psykic feat he was set on completing. Agmundr knelt to the dirt, the ground becoming one with him as he focused his otherworldly powers. Cataphractii terminators shielded him from hails of fire, spending their lives to protect his. Bryn projected his mind down to the very core of Hatnex, wrestling with her soul for dominance. Hoarfrost settled around him, roots began climbing up his body, which was buffeted with invisible blows. Suddenly a crack in the earth reaching to the very core of Hatnex began opening at his Agmundr's knees, spreading outward and splintering ever wider, in a direct course for the gargant. The gorge rent the ground beneath the warmachine then began sundering further apart. The gargant realized too late what was happening, and wallowed in a pathetic attempt to evade the inevitable. The greenskin idol fell to the very core of Hetnax, consumed by her ravenous maw. The rift closed as soon as this was done.++

 

 

++Agmundr Bryn would never rise from his knees again. Turned to a statue of sorcerously infused wood by his titanic battle with a planet's soul, a now indestructible testament to his sacrifice.++