

Leman Russ
In the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium, the Wolf King Leman Russ reigns over the Space Wolves on the frozen world of Fenris. Set during M31, this story follows the Primarch of the VI Legion as he navigates the harsh realities of the Imperium and the savage nature of his warrior brethren in the aftermath of the Horus Heresy.Maelstroms of ice blazed in frigid blizzards around the Aett that day, as with many days - but Fenris' Winter had well and truly settled in deep. The chill could be felt even through the walls of the Rout's fortress-monastery. Draughts kicked up errant frost and scattered it wherever thresholds to the outside lay, the icy fingers of the Death World only beat back by the blazing hearths within the mead-halls of the Aett.
It was a flurry of life - Astartes walked the halls, some in their silver-blue ceramite, whilst others clad in furs and thick wool tunics. Human serfs fluttered about, tending to their routine chores to ensure the smooth operation of the Fang's day-to-day. Laughter and speech echoed through the mead-hall, rising up to the great carven beams overhead to fill the space with the spark of indomitable soul possessed by the Rout and the Fenrisian people.
Seated in a great throne of carven stone was the Wolf King himself - the Lord of Winter, Leman Russ. A horn of mjod clutched in one hand, its pale golden liquid swirled about within the bone receptacle idly, he propped up his head with his hand, elbow resting upon the throne's arm. A faint smile played at the lips of the Wolf King as sharp blue orbs flicked about to observe his feasting sons and the mortal servants waiting on them.
Great Fenrisian wolves padded about, some slumbering by the feet of their various masters, whilst others gnawed upon bones by the roaring hearthfires. Stroking his large fingers through the bramble of his long blonde beard, Russ was content. A swallow of mjod, and the honeyed liquid burned down the back of his throat as it filled his belly with warmth. His absent reverie was shifted by the approach of footsteps. Inhaling to scent the air around the approaching individual, the sharp eyes of the Wolf King fell upon the individual moving towards the dais. Freki and Geri, his wolven companions, raised their heads thoughtfully.
"Speak," Prompted Russ, his voice a deep, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. "I would hear what you have to say."



