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Space Wolves Armory

 "The Space Wolves are the most barbaric of all the Space Marine Chapters.  Their home planet is the harsh ice world known as Fenris, where savage tribes, from which the Space Wolves are recruited, are locked in a continual struggle for existence.  Perhaps because of this, the Space Wolves have a proud, headstrong nature which makes them difficult to control or direct.  But for all this, the Space Wolves are valorous and noble defenders of the people of the Imperium and are amongst the bravest and most ferocious warriors I have ever met.   I can say without doubt that the Imperium would be a far dangerous place without the Sons of Russ to protect it." 

- Inquistor Bastelek Grim -		  

 
 
 
                                                                                            
 
 
 
 
Logan Grimnar
 
The Great Hall was filled with raised voices as the assembled Wolf Lords argued over which course of action to take against the Ork horde invading Priory II.
"I shall take my Great Company and fall upon their heels to turn them from their attack on the settlement!" declared Ragnar Blackmane, youngest of the Wolf Lords.
"Fah!" spat Egil Ironwolf.  "My Great Company shall fall upon their camp in drop pods, attacking at their heart!"
"The honor shall go to my  Fire Wolves!" declared Kjarl jumping to his feet and smashing a huge fist onto the wooden bench.
As the uproar continued, Logan Grimnar was sat at the head of the feasting bench, hands clasped in front of him, passing his eye slowly over the assembled throng.
"No," he said, to no one in particular.  The Wolf Lords quietened instantly as they realised their leader had spoken.  They turned to him, questioning looks on their faces.
"I will lead the attack,"  the Great Wolf told them standing to his feet.
"Then I shall follow you!" declared Ragnar hotly, eyes shining with fierce pride.
"I too!" bellowed Egil grabbing a tankard of frothing ale from the bench and raising it in a toast.
"No," Logan told them.  "You will remain here in case our might at arms is needed elsewhere."
"But  Old Wolf..." pleaded Ragnar, unable to fully articulate his disappointment.  Logan began to walk around the table, staring at each of the five Wolf Lords present.  They turned to face him as he continued his circuit.  As he walked, the Great Wolf spoke to them in his quiet voice.
"Do any here think that my Great Company in insufficient to deal with these greenskins?" he asked.  "Have I become so old and weary that I can no longer lead my packs in battle?  Does any wolf here challenge my right to lead the wolves to battle?"
The room was silent, the Wolf Lords stared fixedly at Logan, purposefully avoiding each others gazes.
"No?" Logan continued.  "That is good, for I have spent the long months here in the Fang, devising battleplans, organising strategies, mustering our packs for the conflicts we are fighting in.  You are quite willing to follow my lead then, aren't you?"
He paused and grinned at them, his huge fangs red in the fire light of the Great Hall.
"Besides," he bellowed, "I haven't had a good fight in years!"
The roar of approval from the Wolf Lords could be heard halfway across the Fang.