‘I thought you got on with Dorn.’

‘We do get on. I respect him, hel, I like him, but he is a different man to me, and his methodology plucks at my nerves after so long a stay. Only Guilliman and Perturabo are more boring than he is.’

A rare smile crept across Malcador’s thin lips. ‘Do you know, I did tell your father to make you more personally compatible with each other. But He believed you all needed to be different to fit the tasks He had ordained for you, and that rivalry rather than blind affection would drive you to greater heights.’

‘That worked, didn’t it?’ said Russ sourly. ‘Sometimes I think the Emperor isn’t half as clever as He thinks He is.’

‘There are very few people who could say that safely, Leman,’ warned Malcador. ‘You might not be one of them.’

Russ paid no heed to his tone. ‘Perhaps there should be more who are willing to say it. I sometimes think my father should have heeded you better,’ said Russ. He took another piece. ‘But I like the way I am, so perhaps I should be glad that He didn’t. Even if He had, it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference. He could have engineered us all to love each other and skip about holding hands like children, but it wouldn’t have worked. I’ve seen brothers from mortal families stain their swords with each other’s blood often enough over the most stupid of things. Nature and family made them to care, and they didn’t. Not even He can predict everything.’–Wolfsbane

If ten years ago someone had asked me if I wanted more Norse influence in Space Wolves stuff, I would have said that sounds great. I was all for that, I did such things in my own writing. And yet…

I swear I’m not impossible to please, but I feel like the recent stuff has gone about it in the most obnoxious of ways. Let’s rename or rework all the previous terminology we’ve been using for decades and treat the old versions with utter disdain. Let’s remove everything that might be taken as camp or silly, because the Space Wolves are now a Serious faction who must be Serious. No, they’re not drunken, brawling bros, they are self-righteous, hypocritical assholes. Did we mention they’re assholes? Let’s do that again.

I’ve only read bits and pieces of the more recent Space Wolves stuff, because I’ve just been unimpressed by it even flipping through it. I haven’t, and doubt I ever will, read Prospero Burns cover-to-cover, because it’s hard to look at words on a page when constantly rolling your eyes in exasperation at such try-hard writing. On the 40 rather than 30k era front, I finally read Blood of Asaheim and Stormcaller recently and flipped back through some of the old Ragnar books I read way back when I was first getting into 40k and I know which ones I like better. The former aren’t badly written objectively, but they’re not fun to read, not the way the old King and Lightner stuff is, even when they’re not great works of literature by any stretch of the imagination.

So anyway, I hope the Space Wolves eventually end up back in the hands of authors who will shut up about this backlash about using the word ‘wolf’ half a dozen times per sentence and being grimdark and get back to content I enjoy reading for a faction I would like to enjoy. I hear good things about Lukas the Trickster but haven’t picked it up yet.

(What, Lassie? Russ got drunk and fell down a well? Well my Wolf Lord better put on his Wolf Claws and get on his Thunderwolf mount and get together his Wolf Guard and Wolf Priests and follow his Wolf Scouts out to find him.)

“They were bloody footprints, left by whatever killed the soldier at the bunker’s entrance, and they led in the direction that the Wolves needed to go.

Typical, Sven thought grimly. Never see a daemon hiding out in a supply closet or stalking the lavatories. No, they always seem to find the one place where they can cause people the most trouble, like cats, only with thumbs.”

–-Wolf’s Honour by Lee Lightner

The Wolves passed the time in the same way as their ancestors of old, telling tales of the campaigns they had fought and the foes they had bested. Bulveye and his warriors spoke of the Great Crusade and the battles they had fought alongside Leman Russ. Their stories were told in the old tongue of Fenris, shaped in the chanting cadences of the ancient sagas. Ragnar learned of lost civilisations and long-dead races. Bulveye was a gifted storyteller, and painted vivid tales of fiery combat drops and titanic land battles, of desperate struggles and heroic stands fought for the sake of a young and hopeful Imperium.

They spoke of Russ himself, not the blessed Primarch Russ, but the black haired, flame eyed warrior who was more wolf than man. They spoke of his rough manner and intemperate heart, of his wild oaths and petty rivalries, of his melancholy nature and his merciless rage. ‘He drove us all to distraction,’ Bulveye said ruefully. ‘I remember one time when he’d got Horus so worked up I thought they were going to come to blows. The Allfather got between them, and Leman punched him full in the jaw.’

Ragnar’s eyes widened. ‘What happened then?’

Bulveye laughed. ‘The Allfather hit Leman so hard he was unconscious for a month. Spent the rest of the campaign flat on his back aboard the battle-barge.’

One of Bulveye’s pack leaders, a warrior named Dagmar, shook his head and chuckled. ‘That was the quietest month we ever had,’ he said, and his companions laughed along with him.

‘Leman didn’t speak to the Allfather for almost a year, but eventually they came around,’ the Wolf Lord said with a grin. ‘That was how they were, like a jarl and his sons, always squabbling about one thing or another, but they never forgot the ties of blood and kin.’ Bulveye paused, and his smile faded. ‘Well, not until the end.’

–Wolf’s Honour by Lee Lightner, my favourite Russ stories (2 / 2)

‘But what of the Spear of Russ? What does he need with that?’

Volt shook his head. ‘I’ve been wondering about that myself, and I can only speculate at this point,’ he said. ‘I believe that Madox required a relic of great significance to bind the ritual to your Chapter. The spear – tainted with the blood of Berek Thunderfist, a Wolf Lord – is the fulcrum for Madox’s ritual.’

Once again, the cavern erupted in wild shouts as Bulveye’s warriors reacted to the news, and this time it took the Wolf Lord himself to end the tumult and bring the council back to order. ‘It is no surprise that Madox would have chosen the spear for his diabolical spell,’ Bulveye told Volt. ‘For we Wolf Lords swore our allegiance to Leman upon that self-same weapon and formed the great companies of our Legion. The most binding oaths of our brotherhood were wrought with it.’

The news stunned Ragnar. Did Logan Grimnar or the priests at the Fang realise the spear’s importance, or had its true significance been lost over the course of thousands of years?

‘But how did Leman lose his spear?’ one of the pack leaders cried. ‘It’s inconceivable!’

‘Morkai’s black teeth!’ Torvald swore, shaking his head. ‘He was constantly losing the damned thing. You may not remember any more, but I do.’ The Rune Priest pointed to Bulveye. ‘Do you recall the time he drank all that stormwine on Sirenia and tried to throw the bloody spear at the moon? Took us four days to find it afterwards.’ He chuckled ruefully and grinned at Ragnar. ‘Truth be told, he hated that big boar-sticker, but the Allfather gave it to him as a gift, so he was stuck with it. He dragged it out for ceremonies, and then he’d stick it in a corner somewhere and forget about it. Drove his huscarls mad.’

–Wolf’s Honour by Lee Lightner, my favourite Russ stories (1 / 2)

Idle Thought

occultdetectives:

askvicothefallenbloodangel:

occultdetectives:

Belisarius Cawl is Thomas Edison. Fabius Bile is Nikola Tesla. 

Primaris Marines/enhanced humans are the War of Currents. 

Think about it. 

Cawl has an army of Ad Mech lawyers attempting to sue Bile into oblivion and has killed a squiggoth with Space Marines enhanced with Bile’s techniques just to prove how dangerous they are and should not be adopted?

And Bile has an earthquake machine he made himself laying around and actually is in love with a Tzeentchian daemon?

Obviously. 

birdechoes:

An Exchange That is Probably in the Next Horus Heresy Novel:

Leman Russ: “I broke Magnus over my knee, and they said he couldn’t be touched. Do not think I won’t do the same to you, archtraitor whoreson.”

Horus: “……….. hm.”

Leman Russ: “Excuse me? Archtraitor whoreson?”

Horus: “wha? … Oh, sorry Russ, I was thinking about Hellshake Yano.”

Horus: Russ, we have the same parent. Not disagreeing with you, just putting it out there.

warmbun:

me: *wailing dramatically while wandering the halls of my dark mansion in a long black chiffon dressing gown with a black feather trim that trails behind me about a foot over a simple and elegant black silk slip dress, holding a fully lit candelabra and leaving a trail of wax drippings on my hardwood floors*

my spouse: *turns on the hall light* we fucking talked about this