This is my third and final squad of Grey Hunters, completing the core of my Space Wolves army. Model-wise, this is probably my favourite squad of Grey Hunters as a number of these kitbashes just came together so pleasingly.
So without further ado:
Raudsrekkr the Red
|"Fall, beast! End your life in the filth you have spawned."|
-- Raudsrekkr the Red before slaying the archtraitor Viron
Raudsrekkr, the red-haired warrior who walks upon red snow wherever he goes, fights as bluntly and brutally as his power maul, Mjolnr's Kin. With that formidable weapon he has slain mighty champions and cowardly beasts. It was this weapon that finally cracked the armour of the daemon prince Khaldoros the Reaver allowing him to be banished by =][= REDACTED BY THE INQUISITION =][= and it was a thunderous blow from Mjolnr's Kin that threw the archtraitor Viron from the top of his beloved plague tower.
Kosta the Unrelenting
|"Brothers ... I am returned ... "|
-- Kosta the Unrelenting, after his 40-mile death walk
If a warrior should give up, then he is surely doomed to die. Perhaps, then, Kosta is immortal for giving up is not a concept he understands. There is no problem he cannot resolve, or situation he cannot get out of, with the sheer application of effort.
Kosta once broke the blade of his axe clean off fighting a giant ork beast. Without another weapon, a lesser warrior would surely have been doomed by this misfortune. Not Kosta, who instead proceeded to ram the broken shaft of the axe through the beast's eye and into its brain. Greenskin skulls are thick, and this took no small amount of strength, and time.
Othrathr, whose face is hid
|"Some things are so foul, they must remain covered forever."|
-- words uttered by Othrathr
It is said that Othrathr's face is so horrific it would drive men mad to look upon it. That, like a navigator's third eye, it must always be kept covered lest death be unleashed upon those around him. It is true that Othrathr's face is a grotesque thing, twisted and ugly, but it was not always such.
Rarely are sons of Fenris handsome, and rarer still are they pleasing to the eyes of off-worlders. As a young warrior, Othrathr was fair and beautiful but on one fateful day, he was changed forever. The circumstances by which Othrathr found himself confronting a sorcerer-priest of the Word Bearers are lost in the chaos of battle, but confront him he did, and as a good son of Russ should. The battle was well-fought and the young Othrathr found himself about to run the beaten sorcerer through and cut his thread. Exuberant at his first great victory, he declared "I shall remember this moment forever!" Full of spite, the sorcerer proclaimed, "indeed you shall, young warrior, I will make sure of that".
As Othrathr's blade chewed through armour, bone and flesh, the sorcerer's arms shot out and grasped the fair face of Othrathr in an iron-like grip. As he died, he channeled all his dark energy into his hands and Othrathr's screams by far exceeded those of the dying traitor and all on the field of battle heard them. Expecting to find him dead, instead Othrathr's brothers found him alive but saw not the face of the warrior they knew. Instead they saw a twisted and terrible parody of a face, sickening and vile to look upon. But that was not the worst of it; the face was not that of Othrathr, but that of the sorcerer he killed.
Time has not changed his face, and all surgeries to reverse the damage fail for reasons that baffle the Wolf Priests. To spare his brothers, and perhaps to spare his own sanity, Othrathr now covers his face with a thick leather and iron mask. He has no intention of ever removing it; indeed, the mask is screwed into Othrathr's skull. A single plaited beard is all that remains of the fair warrior that once was. That, and his wrath.
|"It takes but one wound to fell even the mightiest of foes."|
-- Ammundr Headtaker on martial technique
A chainsword is an inelegant weapon best used in a rather brutal fashion. However, in the hands of Ammundr, a chainsword is made to look like the finest rapier. A master of parry and riposte, many foes have found the last thing they see to be Ammundr's chainblade heading inexorably towards their exposed neck.
Ammundr's name of "headtaker" would imply that he slays all his enemies in that fashion. This is not true, for Ammundr kills with a sword like a sniper kills with a bullet: quick, precise, and striking at the most vulnerable point. It was after a series of ork threads were cut in such a spectacular fashion by Ammundr during a greenskin invasion that the name arose. But Ammundr was not grandstanding; he was simply slaying in the most efficient manner and continues to do so to this day.
Jotunbjorn, the Great Bear of Asaheim
|"And now this bear will hunt."|
-- words spoken before battle by The Great Bear, Jotunbjorn
A hulking, mountain of a Space Marine, Jotunbjorn is renowned for feats of strength that are beyond anything his genhanced body ought to be capable of. Large even as a young boy, Jotunbjorn towered over his peers and was wrestling grown men to the ground in his tribe's training pits while the other boys were still trying to lift their shields and axes.
The feats of Jotunbjorn and retold around many fires in the Aett. One famous example is when Jotunbjorn held up a collapsing bulkhead on his back, allowing his brothers to flee the disintegrating engine room of the much-missed ship, Call of the Wrathful Wind, as if he were the great Aytlaz of old Earth myth.
Jotunbjorn is also famous for toppling over a crazed dreadnought of the traitorous World Eaters legion after it had eviscerated several noble sons of Fenris. None saw how this feat was achieved, but one moment the crazed and crippled traitor of the old times was butchering Jotunbjorn's kin, the next the machine was on it's back with the Great Bear himself stood over it, bellowing in triumph as the Sons of Russ tore the traitor from his vile tomb, and cut his thread for good.
The bears who roam the wilderness of Asaheim are seen as creatures of formidable strength and power, and Jotunbjorn brings the same qualities to Fyf. This Great Bear is, literally, a pillar of strength for his kinsmen.
|"So be it. I need no weapons to finish you, witch!"|
-- a disarmed Holkenef Flatnose to an Eldar psyker
A brawler through-and-through, Holkenef is always to be found in the thick of the fight – not just on the battlefield, but in the sparring cages of the Aett too. Indeed it was here that Holkenef suffered the injury that gave him the name "Flatnose". A wrestling match with the fearsomely strong Jotunbjorn got out of control as the two warriors were never the best of companions, and Holkenef ended up with the Great Bear's elbow planted squarely in his face.
Holkenef flew across the cage and ended up on his back, blood exploding from his shattered face. Onlookers were shocked (for the Sons of Russ to be shocked by violence is quite a thing indeed) and Jotunbjorn braced himself for the reprisal. Holkenef staggered to his feet and stared at Jotunbjorn through the blood and to everyone's surprise began to howl with laughter. It was not long before Jotunbjorn was bellowing with mirth as well and from that day on there were never two more amicable kinsmen. Sometimes, perhaps, frustrations just need to be vented.
Reifr the Cheerful
|"It is no bother; I still have one good leg!"|
-- attributed to Refir the Cheerful following his dismemberment
The Sons of Russ are seen to be among the more ebullient of the Adeptus Astartes, thanks to their culture, genetic heritage, and sometimes no small amount of ale. But Reifr is something else. It is common for the warriors of the Fang to find some kind of joy in battle, in brotherhood, in victory, and so on, but Reifr seems to find joy in everything. No one has ever seem him morose, or melancholic, not even when he lost most of his lower leg when traversing a minefield.
It is thought that Reifr might have something wrong with him; perhaps some strange interaction with the Canis Helix, or some subtle injury that has caused his unusual personality. Or, maybe, Reifr is just a cheerful soul content in his lot in life. After all, what greater aspiration could a young warrior have that to join the ranks of the Sky Warriors and stride among the stars, fighting in the name of Russ and the Allfather.
Frami the Courageous
|"We fight in Valdyr's gaze! Do him honour with your actions this day!"|
-- a rallying call of Frami the Courageous
To carry a standard or relic into battle is among the greatest honours that can be bestowed upon a warrior. As such, it is an honour awarded only to the most exceptional. Frami is exceptional. There are warriors among his kin who are stronger in body, who have a keener axe-arm, who shoot with a sharper eye, but none can match Frami in terms of heart.
There are no cowards among the Sons of Russ of course, but Frami has honed the wolf's courage and his natural determination into a potent weapon. Many times Frami has fought his way out of situations that would have felled lesser warriors, his indomitable spirit leaving his enemies laying on red snow. This is why Frami is entrusted with the care of the ancient relic, the Head of Valdyr.
Valdyr was a great Fenrisian Wolf, one of the largest ever to walk with the warriors of Fenris. Fierce was he, and valiant. He slew enemy champions, charged without hesitation into the fires of battle, and defended the bodies of fallen warriors. Such was the esteem in which this beast was held was held that Valdyr was treated as a brother warrior, with the same consideration and respect as any gene-son of Russ. But alas, as with all great warriors of the Aett, one day Valdyr was slain in battle, cruelly cut down by enemy fire while trying to drag to safety an injured warrior, whose name is sadly lost to us.
Valdyr's body was retrieved from the battlefield and borne back to the Aett on the shoulders of his fellow warriors, like a great champion of old. The Rune Priests determined that there was great power bound within this venerable wolf and so, following a near-forgotten custom of some of the more esoteric of Fenris's tribes, Valdyr's head was mounted upon a standard and carried to war so that his sprint might protect the warriors who march with him. This relic must never be allowed to be lost, or to fall, and in Frami Valdyr has found a worthy guardian.
Slaegr the Learned
|"Knowledge is power. Wield it well."|
-- a motto of Slaegr the Learned
You will find no books in the Aett. We pass on knowledge through the spoken word, and keep it safe in our memory. After all, Russ himself had no need of books, much to his honoured brother Guilliman's frustration of course. But of course, our training gives us the ability to read all manner of tongues as you never know when you might need such a skill. It is a practical requirement, nothing more. But not for Slaegr.
There has probably never been a warrior of the Aett who has read more than Slaegr. Many have never even picked up a book, but Slaegr has read libraries in his time. During his time spent among the Wolfblades serving House Belisarius he spent days on end roaming the House's libraries and archives studying everything from art to zenobiology.
Service with the Wolfblade changes a warrior, and Slaegr returned to the Aett with a head filled full of eclectic knowledge. His brothers joshed him for it, but soon found themselves seeking Slaegr's council on many matters and situations. The learned warrior's vast knowledge has proved most useful and sometimes a nugget of his wisdom has meant the difference between victory and defeat.
Skapp the Quick-Tempered
|"Burn, vile beasts! Burn! Burn and die! I will end you all painfully! Burn!"|
-- Skapp the Quick-Tempered during the purging of the Gretchin camp on Ilyamiad VII
Every warrior must hold some rage in their heart if they are to triumph on the field of battle. For most this rage is as a smoldering ember, burning low, threatening and with promise, only to build into a conflagration when kindled and fed. For others, rage within is like a volatile explosive: ever ready to escape at the slightest provocation and destroy everything around it. Skapp is the latter kind of warrior for he suffers with a rage as dangerous as a caged ice troll. Woe betide he who angers Skapp, for their lives are measured in seconds.
When first Skapp fell into one of his blood rages, it was feared that he was lost to us, like the brothers of whom we do not speak to upplanders. But he returned when his ire was sated, as he always does. The Wolf Priests and his brothers are wary of this fiery temper, but only in the same way a warrior is wary of a primed grenade. It is a dangerous thing, but handled properly, dangerous only to the enemy.
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