The first moment of truth. Lord of the Wulfen. A hundred subtle shades of Grey. Eyes of burning black mercury prey from a sun-starved skin of scar tissue and a ten millennia of winter.
Very very hard to photograph the grey hues, and to get the wide range of gloss effect, from the sparkle of the metal, to the sheen of the frosted areas, to the matt of the wolf pelt and armor, to the glow of the runes (which fails the most, and show I need to go back, add oomph and apply a thin ink glade for satin reflectivity)
Saga of the Rödmoon
“The flutist made a beautiful sound in the depth of the Kaernas forest. It was snowing. Käelma the native Hakkae called it. Hakkae had 27 different words for particular types of snow fall. Käelma was the 26th, a steel rain of black crystals that froze on your skin and caused instant frostbite with the cold winds. After that came what translated only as death, and Sgt. Borros did not intend to find out why.
27th Roslak Rovers, sheltered under the thick protective foliage of the massive Kaernas trees. Huddled around the flutist. The music was their shield, their comfort, their memory on this grey night before another battle. It was a song only a month old. A song of death and duty, of a hero and a daemon. The memory of it still left the men shaken, some weeping, but all of them focused. It was a story of the Emperor in the sun and his executioners in the night.
A month ago the Rovers were getting annihilated, outnumbered and out fought by the black crusade. Legions of the damned, supported by traitor Marines and daemons of the warp. The imperial lines were going to collapse and another planet would be consumed by the despoiler. The dark sorceries opened a rift between realms. Death visited Kaernas.
Borros had prayed, prayed like the elders thought him. Prayed for Sun Emperor’s deliverance.
A giant in grey armor, clad in pelts, and adorned with steel imagery and burning red runes of warding launched from the rift. Sprung on the traitor, daemon and damned alike. He cleaved them in half with massive sweeps of his frosted axe, flayed left and right with a massive claw dripping gore and sent explosive shells from his wrist cannon at the backs of all who tried and failed to escape the carnage. The lord of Grey flowed through the front line, propelled by a jet of blood. Even the enemy Defiler was left in pieces, it’s daemon hart ripped from it’s carcass.
It was over so shockingly fast. Defied comprehension. A dozen battered Rovers stood frozen like statues and stared in the black mercury eyes of the wolf.”