Legend Reborn

"As an Eagle he'll soar and like an Eagle he'll strike, but he will be the son of the Wolf."

--Prophecy by Master Lexicanum Edward McKenzie

All stories have a beginning. This too. When the Space Outlaws of the Omega Squadron came to save the Imperium in the six-day blitz, they had great help from a man named Rolf Yarrick. He was a young man when he met them, but not unknown. He was already then a celebrated hero, but even he had to start somewhere. Rolf Yarrick wasn't born to celebrity. Like most of his family, he was born far away from all warfare and all strife. None-the-less, many of his family had joined the Imperial Commissariat, just because of the loss of their parents. Rolf had a grand-cousin, a commissar, and when Rolf was born, that old man was the only man of the Yarrick family who at the moment held officers rank in the Imperial Guard. So the Yarrick family had lost some of its former glory when Rolf Yarrick came to the world. And he came to the world on a winter's night, when the full moon blazed its cold rays, and the howls of wolves could be heard from far away.

Despite the weather and the wolves, not much happened when the first-born son of a first-born son was born in the Yarrick family this night. No, things started to happen when Rolf Yarrick was six years old...

"Uncle! Uncle!" Rolf called as he ran up to his grand-cousin. He called him uncle, despite that the old commissar was something else. Caspar Yarrick, a seventy year old, limping man, who once had been a commissar, turned and embraced the boy. Rolf almost knocked the old man off his feet.

"Oh, take it easy, Rolf! I'm not as strong as I used to be." Caspar whispered as he held the young boy in his arms. Rolf was tall for his age, and then again, Caspar was shrunken with age, his body being ten years older than his mind. The profession as commissar was a craving job, and it had in the end cost Caspar his physical health.

Rolf released himself from the embrace. "What did the doctor want with you?"

"He wanted to make sure I'm alright, Rolf, nothing else." Caspar said and limped away to a chair on the veranda to their family home. He sat down with a groan, his legs paining him. He couldn't tell Rolf, but the doctor had been there concerning a test they'd taken on Caspar weeks before. The results had been that Caspar was slowly getting lame on both legs, something that came with age in some cases. Apparently it did so in Caspar's case, and he didn't like it. He knew what the lameness meant. He could augment his legs with bionics, he knew it, but he had a principle not to let any bio-technician ever implant anything on him. That explained his lost left ear and the fact that his hands missed three fingers; two on the left and one on the right. No, to Caspar, lameness meant to be bundled up in a wheelchair. He didn't like it.

Rolf sat down beside his "uncle". He liked the old man. He could always tell such interesting and wonderful stories. Stories about monsters and men, heroes and villains. Rolf loved them all.

"Uncle," Rolf asked after a moment of silence. "Can you tell me the Legend of the Eagle, the Wolf and the Hound of Chaos?"

"You've heard it a hundred times I think, Rolf." Caspar said mildly. "Don't you want to hear something else?"

"Like what?"

"How about a story, which is about... " Caspar made a pause to seek for words. "About just one monster, and one man?"

"What sort of monster?" Rolf asked curiously.

"A werewolf!" Caspar said and grinned a gap toothed smile. Rolf laughed.

"Werewolves aren't for real, uncle. Tell me one about real monsters, like deamons and orks."

"Now, who has said werewolves aren't for real?"

"Mother..."

"Then she is wrong!" Caspar looked tricky and smiled a wry smile. He reached down into his coat pocket and pulled out a long canine tooth. "See, this here tooth belonged to a werewolf. I killed it myself."

Rolf took the tooth carefully. It was big, maybe seven centimetres long. And Rolf knew what werewolves were: once human mutants. It had fit into a human sized mouth, which was why it was big to Rolf. "Wow!" he said silently.

"Now, let's hear that story..." Caspar wheezed. He cursed his frail, old body silently, but instead he tried to remember what had happened nearly half a century ago. It was hard now. "See Rolf, it started with..." Caspar fell silent and froze. He saw the tall, powerful figure clearly. Clad in flowing robes, it stood silent by one of the barns. It was the total lack of movement that had made Caspar notice it.

"What is it, uncle?" Rolf asked.

The figure moved and started walking towards the old man and the boy. Caspar knew that gait. Walking with a stride, but with an air of power around it, the figure came closer. As the man came up to Caspar and Rolf, Caspar tried to bite back an urge to yell the man directly into his face. Rolf hadn't seen the sigil that the man was carrying around his neck, and even if he had, he wouldn't know what it stood for. Caspar had seen the ornate "I" and knew that the man was an Inquisitor.

"Rolf," Caspar said silently. "Go inside."

"But..."

"Go to your room!" Caspar suddenly barked angrily at the boy. Rolf shied away at this, but did as he was told. To get reprimanded by his grand-cousin seemed to Rolf like being bitten by a big, nice, furry dog. It was so surprising that the surprise was worse than any pain.

Caspar turned to the Inquisitor after he'd seen the door bang shut behind Rolf. "What do you want from me now?" he asked the tall man.

The Inquisitor pulled back his cowl and revealed the handsome face of a man in his early forties. Age hadn't fouled him. His hair was already greying, but the eyes were both piercing and genial at the same time. Caspar felt the taste of metal in the air and felt his bowels turn at the fact that he was facing a psyker.

"I am Inquisitor Rovannion," the man said. "I take it you're Commissar Yarrick?"

"Not any more..." Caspar muttered. "I'm retired since nearly ten years back."

"I have read your history. You took well care of the... Wolf child all those years back."

"With all due respect, sir, I had to. He owed me blood. My father's and mother's blood."

"And lives, undoubtedly," Rovannion said as he sat down on a chair before Caspar.

"Of course..." Caspar paused as he shifted his weight on the chair. "But that's not your reason for coming here, right?"

"Exactly. I'm here because of the boy. What was his name... Rolf, am I not right?"

Caspar nodded and Rovannion smiled. "A fitting name, for a son of the Yarrick family."

"Don't start. I didn't choose the name for him. His mother and father did. Besides, what's wrong with being known under a name that means 'Famous Wolf'?"

"You tell me, old man..." Rovannion still smiled.

Caspar scowled. This man was annoying him. "Get to business, already!"

"Ah, let's cut the crap? Right. I like your style, Yarrick." Rovannion's smile disappeared. "The boy has brought me here. Now, you know what he is, Yarrick, there's no hiding it. You have known it since he was born. The mandatory DNA check showed it immediately."

"I know. He's already stronger than me, and he'll probably be able to wrestle down his father when he's twelve."

"Good, very good. You are not denying the facts. Then you are prepared that he will become a great Hero."

Caspar frowned. "Why? What if Rolf chooses to stay here, and become a farmer, like his father? He might not want to become a warrior."

"You know the scriptures, Yarrick. He is destined to become a Hero of the Imperium. Hear me, it is destined to be so!"

"A wise man said once that the only constant is the past."

"But on this point he is wrong, as I take it you're referring to the Death Angel Space Marine's Master Lexicanum? No, Rolf is the Slayer, the Wolf reborn! He is a half-breed Space Marine!"

There was a loud crash from one of the many boxes by the corner of the house. Caspar and Rovannion looked up sharp. Rovannion was fast on his feet and ran over to the collection of boxes, Caspar limping after. Rovannion pulled out a coughing and hacking Rolf Yarrick by the collar of his shirt.

"What do you know? He's eager to find out his destiny!" Rovannion said as Caspar joined him.

"Put him down." Caspar said flatly and Rovannion did as he'd been told. Rolf hid behind Caspar at once. He was afraid of the big Inquisitor. There was something with the man that disturbed him. There was the tang of metal in the air too. He'd called him half-breed too.

"I think you should leave, Inquisitor." Caspar said gently, stroking Rolf's hair.

The tall Inquisitor turned round, but spoke his last words over his shoulder. "He will become a Hero of the Imperium, Yarrick, whether you like it or not. You'd best tell him about the sword." With that, the Inquisitor mentally teleported away from the ownings of the Yarrick family.

"Uncle?" Rolf asked slowly. "What did he mean with half-breed?"

Caspar looked sadly down on the boy. "It means many things Rolf. For once, you were born as it. Secondly, you are half-Space Marine. You know how powerful those super humans are, no? Now, you will most certainly become as strong as them, and you'll live just as long as them too. That's what it means to be a half-breed. But according to the Inquisition, you are also destined to be a great warrior... which I both fear and hope is true..." Caspar was silent for a moment. "Let's go inside, it going late."

Rolf went inside and made himself ready for bed. But he couldn't sleep. He just thought about what his grand-cousin and that Inquisitor had said.

"...Half-breed..." Rolf mumbled to himself as he fell asleep at 3 in the morning.

"Your turn, Rolf." Jacob Howard said as he'd moved his chess piece.

Across the table, Rolf Yarrick sat with steepled fingers, thinking. He was a lanky young man, ageing 14, soon 15, with bluish hair and genial green eyes, but there was a hard note to them. His skin was lightly tanned, just as most Callidussians'. Half a minute after Jacob had made his move, Rolf moved one of his pieces.

"Check mate. I win again." Rolf said simply and sat back in his chair. This had been the third time he'd won over Jacob this day, but the other boy was stubborn. It was an insult to Rolf's tactical intellect. There was only one man that constantly bested Rolf in chess, and that was his grand-cousin Caspar, but the old man had a lifetime of chess playing behind him. And a lifetime of warfare. Rolf frowned as he thought that his favourite relative had played chess with living pieces, so to say. Now, Caspar was bundled up in a wheelchair and needed all help he could get. Rolf often played chess with Caspar on the evenings, when Rolf had gotten home from school and done his homework. It had also been Caspar that had told him of the Yarrickian Sword, a sword that was older than the Imperium itself. A sword that was the bane of deamons and mutants. And Rolf was next in the line to weld it.

"I don't believe it!" Jacob gasped. "How the frekk do you do it, Rolf?"

"Tactics and strategy, my friend." Rolf replied. He threw a glance at his wristwatch. "I'd better go home. It's getting late."

As Rolf got up, Jacob started picking the chess pieces up. "I just have to try to develop a new plan till next time, eh Rolf?"

"Whatever..." Rolf replied. "See you in school on Monday, Jac."

"Yeah, see you."

Rolf left the house of his friend and started the 96 kilometres long travel home. He had a motorised bicycle, but it wasn't much. He would have to stay somewhere over the night if he was delayed. If he weren't delayed, he would be home long after dark.

He kicked the ignitor-switch and the motorbike flared into roaring life. As he drove away, Rolf's head was filled with many things. Amongst them what he would do after graduation. He barely noticed the speedometer reaching 60 kph as he sped down a straight. His bike wasn't meant for higher speed than 40 kph, but Rolf had modified it slightly with the help of one of his cousins.

When he'd travelled for an hour or so, and put 60 kilometres behind himself, Rolf saw something in the horizon that made him puzzled. The sun had already set and the night was dark. The moon lit up the night, but it didn't dull the eerie red glow from the horizon. What the frekk was that? As he came closer and closer, the red glow got brighter and brighter. When Rolf was barely a few kilometres away from home, he came to realize what it was. It wasn't that he was slow-to-catch; it was that his worst thoughts had been confirmed. The enormous flames licking the sky had been a give away too.

Putting his bike to the limit, Rolf sped as fast as he could home. His home was on fire, but why? What had happened? An accident with the petrol tank? The dried oats in the barn catching fire? What had caused the fire?

When Rolf slowed down and stopped at the outside of his home, he was shocked to see it all burning. There were no screams, no pleas for help. No family! Rolf ran as fast as he could towards the main house. The heat hit him like a sledgehammer. Nothing could've survived in there! Running back to the bike to get his water flask, which he always carried with him, he splashed water on a napkin from his pocket and placed it over his mouth before he went into the flaming inferno that was his home.

The heat was enormous, Rolf could almost feel his skin blistering. He slowly made his way to the main hall. By the fireplace, he knew the sword would rest in its rack there. He couldn't place his finger on why, but later; Rolf Yarrick would always wonder why he'd been so determined to get the sword of his family. The next thing he did, as he'd slung the sword case over his shoulder, was to go to the kitchen. Maybe someone was alive. Someone had to be alive!

He walked around, calling for his mother, his brother and his infant sister. His father had died a few months before, fulfilling his duty to the Emperor as an Imperial Guard Sergeant. That had been what the black clad commissar had said when he'd come home with Sylvester Yarrick's remains. Rolf heard a yelp from somewhere by the back of the house. He knew where it was. His grand-cousin's room. Caspar lived downstairs since his legs had given up. Splashing water on the napkin again, Rolf made way for his grand-cousin's room.

He found the retired old commissar lying on the floor, panting hard. Rolf found a piece of cloth and placed it over Caspar's mouth, after he'd dampened it with water just as he'd done with his own napkin. He was talking smoothly to his old relative.

"Calm down, uncle." Rolf still called him uncle, despite the passing of years. "It's me, Rolf."

Caspar looked with tired, grey eyes into Rolf's young green. "Praise be to the Emperor..." the old man mumbled. "The others..."

Caspar tried to speak, but Rolf hushed him.

"I know, uncle. Now, let's get you out of here." With that, Rolf heaved the frail body of Caspar Yarrick up in his arms and carried him with ease. Caspar knew full well of Rolf's strength, and it was all due to his half-Space Marine gene strand. Caspar sent a prayer of thanks to the Emperor, and unorthodoxly maybe, Hrodwulf Le'man.

Rolf went out by the backdoor and walked as far as he could from the house to avoid the heat, but still remaining inside the area where all houses were situated. He put Caspar down on the ground and removed the cloth from Caspar's face. The old man seemed to be worse for wear. Rolf's worry reflected in his face, because Caspar spoke. "I'm dying, Rolf..." The old man started coughing, and Rolf did his best to stop him.

"The others... they're dead..." Caspar gasped as he stopped coughing.

"I know," Rolf replied, tears burning his eyes. "Uncle, what happened? What the hell happened?"

Caspar tried to rise on his elbows, but failed. "...Dark Lord..." he whispered.

"Dark Lord? Who's that?"

Caspar's voice was barely a whisper. "...isten to me Rolf... Go to Vindaree...eave this behin...and promise to take revenge for this..."

"You've said yourself revenege only deepens the scars, uncle!"

"...oesn't matter... Take the sword...fill your destiny... Heh... The Inquisitor was right... You're destined to become a Hero..."

"Uncle, what do you mean?" Rolf asked as he cradled Caspar's old body. The old man didn't respond. He was already dead.

Rolf tried to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes. He swallowed to get the clump of sorrow out his mouth, but he failed. Rolf hugged the corpse of Caspar Yarrick tightly to himself and wept. With Caspar gone, Rolf knew he was the last surviving member of his family... And it was not a prospect he liked. That's when he heard the heavy tread of armoured feet behind him.

Rolf turned his head to look over his shoulder. A slight gasp left his lips as he saw what was approaching him.

Clad in gore coloured power armour trimmed with brass and gold, a massive power fist pulsating with force and with an enormous axe in his other hand, the Dark Lord was an awe-inspiring sight. And equally terrible. Rolf turned his head back, to avoid looking at the Berzerker Lord any more. Rolf had seen the man's face; high-cheeked, with a powerful jaw, red-blond hair and despicably evil, black eyes. Rolf felt the dark aura emanating from the warrior as he stopped a metre or so from him. The only sound heard was that of the burning and collapsing buildings and the slight humming from the reactor in the backpack of the Dark Lord's armour, as it supplied his armour with power to the electro-reactive plasteel.

"What do we have here?" the Dark Lord cooed, his voice deep and melodious. "One, lone Wolf's son left, isn't it so?"

Rolf finally let go of Caspar's body and stood up. In one swift move, he pulled his sword (it was indeed his now) and aimed the edge at the throat of the Dark Lord. A sneer spread itself over the renegade's face.

"Do you seriously believe that you can injure me, maggot? The mere thought is laughable." As to prove his point, the Dark Lord gave out a short, hard laugh. "You are nothing! And I only fight the best my opponent can offer... "

Rolf felt a tang of hopelessness, but knocked it away. In his mind, he mumbled a prayer to the Emperor to protect him. Rolf didn't reach to the Dark Lord's shoulder even, despite being 1m90. He felt for the first time in his life... feeble.

"I am prepared to let you go, boy, if you promise me one thing," the Dark Lord spoke.

"What might that be?" Rolf replied, gathering strength to his voice through his pain and sorrow.

"Before I kill you, become a great warrior. I'd take much more pride in such a fight, than to fight you here and now. There's no honour in that!"

"I swear so in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind!" Rolf shouted. As to prove his point, he held forth his right arm, palm open. The Dark Lord took the notion and slashed a scar in the palm with his battle-axe. Then, he smiled.

Rolf turned round and sheathed his sword. Walking away from the flaming inferno that once had been his home. He would have to get to Vindaree. There he could start a new life. A life as a soldier in the Emperor's Imperial Guard. He'd become the greatest amongst them. That, he promised to himself.

Lord Kevlinn watched the young man leave. He was soon joined by seven of his Berzerker retinue and a figure in fluorescent power armour and robes over it. The helmet of the robed renegade was adorned with long antlers and the eye slits seemed to burn with green-blue fire.

"I though we had a deal, Lord." the robed one spoke. "All members of the Yarrick family have to die!"

"I just had a second thought." Kevlinn replied. "There was no sport in killing them, Sorcerer Zaraxx. And I find murder a disgusting way of life. To die honourably in battle is more in my taste."

Behind his facemask, Zaraxx scowled. "We had an agreement, Kevlinn!"

"And I had a change of mind!" Kevlinn snapped. He turned to face the sorcerer. It turned his guts to even try to find a pattern in the fluorescent colours of the man's armour. "I am not stupid, despite the fact that most people see me as a blood crazed Berzerker. I can think. The mind is the most potent weapon of all, wasn't that what you said?"

Zaraxx nodded slowly.

"Good. I've been thinking... Why should I kill all the Yarricks? They have always been great warriors, so why exterminate the family which is the only one capable of giving me a worthy opponent?"

Zaraxx nodded again. It made sense.

Kevlinn continued. "Then it came to me: You want them out of YOUR way, because they hamper YOUR plans, not mine! Am I not right, Zaraxx? You were planning on betraying me, you despicable bastard! I was generous when I let you into my horde, and how do you repay me? With guile and deceit, which only serves to strengthen yourself and to please that milksop you call a god? Tzeentch has always bowed down before the mightiest of the Dark Gods; Khorne. And he shall always do so! And you will regret dearly that you tried to fool Khorne's most chosen warrior!"

Zaraxx stepped back, pulling out his force axe. The mutated weapon screamed an unearthly scream as Zaraxx channelled the raw force of the Warp through it. With a roar of anger, he charged the Berzerker Lord, force axe raised above his head. Kevlinn met the attack head on, his own battle-axe, an ancient Eldar weapon, clanging into the force weapon of the sorcerer. For a few seconds, it seemed like the two were an equal match, but suddenly Kevlinn's power fist came flying through the air. Kevlinn grabbed Zaraxx' head with it. Slowly clenching his fist, he caused unbearable pain to the sorcerer, slowly crushing the man's head. The sorcerer dropped his force axe and Kevlinn raised him high into the air.

"Let this be a message to the foul god you worship; Khorne's warriors follows their own path and they don't enjoy being fooled!" Kevlinn hissed.

With that, he closed his power fist completely. The helmet of Sorcerer Zaraxx was crushed with a wet and snapping sound. The beheaded corpse of the sorcerer fell to the ground with an empty thud.

With his power fist slick with blood, Kevlinn turned to his retinue. "Blood for the Blood God!"

"Skulls for the Skull Throne of Khorne!" the seven warriors echoed.

Kevlinn smiled. "Now, aspiring champions, you know how to deal with deceitful members of the lesser gods." Pause. "And how to get good enemies to fight..."

One of the Berzerkers stepped forward. Kevlinn recognised him as Egrimm Bloodmauler. What his Imperial name had been was forgotten since long, but the Berzerker name fit him well. Egrimm was equipped with a pair of power fists. "Milord, why did we let the boy go? Excuse my blasphemy, but the sorcerer might have had a point... "

Once again, Kevlin smiled. "Egrimm, know this: When a man loses his all; his family and everything he has loved, all emotions fade away into dust, more or less. The only feeling left is hate, and it is hate that our God feeds upon. Hate, blood, battle and the smoking pyres of our enemies bodies."

Kevlinn looked after the boy again. "We have destroyed his life. And he will hate us for it. But the hatred means he won't be in complete control of his feelings, which I believe is a coming asset to us in his future... "