Oosan Ursa

 He floats, suspended in the void. A sole light in darkness, a dormant visage of supreme serenity. His features, while alien to me, seem almost perfect in their design. The smooth lines and curves of his face, always expressionless, as if deep in peaceful slumber.

The space around him is always barren, but somehow, I feel it is full. The air buzzes with electric anticipation, as though a thousand eyes watch him expectantly from the shadow, though I never sleep long enough to witness them or what they wait for.

“How can you sleep right now?!” Kai’s voice pulled Oosan jarringly from his slumber, he opened his eyes to see the young hunter standing by the tent flap. "We need to do something," Kai grumbled, squinting out into the storm.

Oosan stared at the white wall beyond the opening of the tent. The blizzard had been raging for three days, with no sign of letting up. But the true source of Kai’s anger lay elsewhere. The village storehouse had been raided two days ago, two warriors lay dead and all their food was gone: the village grew restless.

"We should be hunting," Kai grumbled, running his hands over his braided black hair.

Nita looked up, distracted from her whittling by Kai’s complaints. "Be my guest," she said, gesturing dismissively to the whiteout screen that hid everything beyond their village.

Kai’s lip curled in an aggravated snarl at the young huntress, receiving only a smirk in response as Nita returned to her craft. 

“This blizzard won’t let up,” Kai said, turning to Oosan, “We need to hunt!”

Oosan took a deep breath through his nose, his eyes closing once more. The screaming winds buffeted the tents walls outside, the chill creeping in through the thick furs of his clothing. He had known many blizzards in his time, but none this fierce, there was nothing they could do but wait. 

Oosan’s eyes slowly opened once more to regard his hunting party with a soft smile. Nita and Kai were the most gifted pair of his newest hunters. Both young and hungry, just as he had been when he was their age, before he found the hunter's need for patience.

Nita had begun to find her patience, leaning against the wall with her legs crossed, her deep brown hair pulled back from her round face and bunching within the fur of her hood. Her dark eyes glinted in mirth at Kai’s frustration as she focused on her whittling.

Kai still burned with a fiery soul, eager to prove himself, no matter the challenge. Pacing at the far end of the tent, his sharp jaw shifting impatiently. His long braided mohawk swayed behind him like a wolf’s tail as he turned to trace his steps back across the tent once more.

“Tell me, Kai,” Oosan said, his deep voice slightly raspy from his time in dormant meditation, “How do we track our quarry?”

Kai’s brow furrowed in confusion. “By following their footprints,” Kai explained uncertainly, “watching for signs of their whereabouts: droppings, markings.”

Oosan nodded, his eyes calmly locked with the young hunter’s, “Indeed, you learnt your lessons well. So surely, you can tell me where Nita came here from?”

Kai took a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes widening in shock at Oosan’s request. Begrudgingly, his head turned to scan the wind-tossed, pure-white blanket that covered the ground outside the tent. Nita had joined them less than an hour ago, and still, this blizzard had long since covered any trace of her passage, and anyone else's. 

Oosan rose slowly to his feet, striding over to stand next to his young pupil, “Patience, child,” he said, gently placing his hand on Kai’s shoulder, “the spirits will not abandon us now, we will have our hunt soon, calm your mind.”

Kai’s jaw shifted angrily, wrinkling his nose before releasing a sigh, his head dropping as he nodded with a sad acceptance. Oosan couldn’t blame him for his restlessness, blizzards like this tested the most patient of minds: even he was feeling its effects.

Oosan returned to his seat, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his mind, reaching once more for the dream Kai had interrupted. Gentle lethargy took his limbs, his shoulders softening as the familiar gentle glow reached across his vision. Soft purple and teal strands against the dark of his eyelids, just as in the night sky.

The aurora snaked and weaved, cutting through the darkness like a knife, leading off into the distance. Tracing the swirling light with his hand, Oosan followed the familiar path, he had walked it a thousand times, and he knew what he would find at the end.

The great bear rose heavily from her restful state, her pale brown fur bristling as she shook herself before turning her great head to regard Oosan with huge brown eyes. She was at least three times Oosan's height on all fours, a spark of fear played along Oosan's neck as he considered how tall she would be standing. Oosan bowed his head to the great mother bear, protector spirit of his people, it was an honour to be visited by her, and Oosan was humbled every time. 

Slowly, the great bear turned away to begin her trek, following the path of the aurora. Oosan fell in step beside her, tentatively placing his hand against her side, his fingers combing through her dense, soft fur. He knew where they were going, and he hoped, this time, he would leave with more answers than questions.

The spectre hung, as it always did, suspended in mid-air before him. Though there was no form to this place, Oosan couldn't help but feel that this was the centre. Even the space around him, though seemingly empty, seemed to circle him evenly on all sides. The lights that led him here danced and flashed around the spectre, creating strange patterns, like sigils in the dark.

The great bear stopped, a groan rumbling from her chest as she sat down, her eyes looking to Oosan with a calm, expectant gaze. Oosan respectfully bowed his head once more, then cautiously approached the shade.

The man looked as he always did, the bold, symmetrical curves of his face perfectly complemented by his unblemished snow-white skin. His smooth black hair cascaded from a crown of gold leaves, framing his high cheekbones and strong jawline. His eyes were closed, as they always were, his face a serene mask, as though he were trapped in eternal sleep. Oosan longed to see those eyes. He was certain, if anything, they would hold the answers he sought. Who was this man? Why would the Great Mother Bear lead him here?

The shade loomed over him now as he stood before it. His heart pounded in his chest, his trembling hand reaching to brush the folds of the shade’s robes, his lungs preparing to call and rouse the spectre from his slumber.

With bewildering speed, Oosan was pulled back from the shadow, a firm grip on his shoulder wrenching him back to the waking world.

“Oosan!” Kai’s voice called. The young hunter was standing over him, his eyes searching Oosan’s for recognition, a relieved smile softening his features as Oosan’s eyes locked with his. “The blizzard’s calmed, we should go.”

Fighting back the urge to scold the boy for waking him, Oosan rose to his feet and walked to the door of the tent. The Blizzard had indeed calmed considerably, though the wind still blew, the white-out was gone, only a gentle snowfall still in effect.

“Very well then,” Oosan said gently, coughing to clear the rasp from his voice, “it is time.”

Though the blizzard’s fury had passed, the aftermath was hardly ideal. A knee-deep blanket of snow covered the landscape, slowing their trek to an unbearable trudge. Nita took the lead, testing the ground ahead with the butt of her spear, pushing through the snow to find solid ground. Kai watched the horizon with a piercing gaze, watching for any sign of beast or bird, listening for any call that would lead them to their quarry. 

Oosan sniffed the air thoughtfully, the icy chill running through his sinuses like cold fire: There was a scent on the wind, but it was no beast he had ever smelt before. 

“Nita!” Oosan called above the rising wind, “What do you smell?”

The huntress drove her spear into the snow, steadying herself before turning her nose to the wind as she sniffed the air. Her calm nature quickly turned to curiosity as she caught the scent. 

“Something earthy, but foul,” she said, confirming Oosan’s thoughts, “like rotting mushrooms, and something sour, like rancid fat.”

Oosan nodded. It was what he had smelt too, though he couldn’t imagine what would create such a smell, still, it was the only lead they had. Pushing through the snow, they followed the scent. The wind was starting to pick up again, Oosan prayed the spirits would watch over them until they returned to their village.

The stench was almost overpowering now, Oosan wrinkled his nose as he scanned his surroundings, looking for any signs of life in the bleak, frozen landscape. A blip of colour caught his eye, a spot of red lying amongst the snow. Oosan gave a quick whistle to get his troupe's attention, then pointed to the spot. Moving in unison, the troupe fanned out to circle it, Kai taking the centre to close in and inspect it, his spear levelled, ready to strike. 

As he drew closer, he saw it appeared to be a crude piece of some kind of stone or shell. The edge was rough, as if broken or hacked off a larger piece and the red paint that covered it seemed wethered and scratched, showing the glossy, grey stone beneath. As Kai reached a tentative hand to lift the stone from the snow, a burst of white blinded him. 

Oosan recoiled as the snow below Kai erupted like a geyser, a flash of grey and green followed by a spray of crimson as a monstrous green arm burst from beneath the snow, impaling a giant blade through Kai’s torso, blood spraying from his back to stain the snow.

Oosan’s eyes widened in horror as the monstrous figure lifted itself from the snow and shook itself like some kind of great dog. Huge, swollen muscles rippled and flexed against its sickly green skin. Its gleaming eyes, the colour of blood, set within square, piggish features. Its broad jaw riddled with long, tusklike teeth. It was clad in strange clothing made of leather and haphazard plates of roughly hewn painted stone.

 The creature bellowed in triumph, holding Kai up, still skewered on its blade, like a sick trophy. Its roar choked off to a painful squeal as an arrow struck the creature in the eye, a pinpoint shot from Nita, who drew another arrow from her quiver.

The green beast snarled at the huntress, muscles coiling into a charge. But with a mighty roar, Kai grasped his spear with both hands and drove it into the creature's other eye. The beast howled in pain, hands groping blindly for its face as it stumbled back, Kai falling to the ground. 

Nita fired arrow after arrow in quick succession. Each shot struck its mark, but they seemed to have little effect on the beast's thick hide. The monster turned, bounding blindly towards the huntress, who narrowly dodged out of the way.

Oosan glanced at Kai, still impaled on the monster's blade as he lay in a crimson pile of snow, his body eerily still. There would be time to mourn the hunter later, right now he had more pressing matters. 

The green monster turned to swing a hamfisted punch in Nita’s general direction. Nita ducked the first, but was caught as the creature brought the strike back across the same path, sending her flying back as Oosan charged forward.

Oosan pulled Nita’s spear from the snow as he closed in on the creature. Ducking under the beast's blind swing, he paused, awaiting the right moment to strike. He knew the beast's weakness now, despite its nigh impenetrable skin, it still had points of vulnerability.

The beast pushed out its chest and then roared, giving Oosan the opening he needed. With a swift upward thrust, Oosan buried the spear in the roof of the monster's mouth, the stone tip cracking through bone to penetrate the creature's skull. With a whimper, the monster’s great arms fell limp to its sides, its body falling forward with a thud, face down in the snow. 

Oosan released a long breath, his shoulders slumping as he turned to Nita. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she grimaced, one hand nursing her ribs, “just my pride.”

“You fought well,” Oosan said with a nod, “Your pride is intact.”

A battle cry echoed on the wind, akin to the roar of the beast they had just slain. Oosan’s head whipped around to face the direction of the noise, it was echoed by another, then another, all accompanied by a strange popping noise.

“What are they?” Nita asked, her eyes wide, darting wildly to scan her surroundings.

Oosan shook his head, “I don’t know. But if there are more of them, we should run.”

The pair moved as fast as they could through the snow. Oosan knew they were going the wrong way, but they had no choice. They could not risk leading those creatures to their village. They would lure their foes away, then find somewhere to hide until the danger had passed, before returning home.

Pausing to take his bearings, Oosan scented the air once more, that odious stench permeated the area, as if those monsters swarmed around them like flies. But another scent had caught his attention, among the offensive stench, the salty tang of blood.

A compulsion overtook Oosan, pulling him towards the scent, his legs moving as if not under his own will. He didn’t understand why, blood meant battle, after all, it meant death, why was he following it? Nita followed closely after, shouting confused protests as she struggled to keep up.

As he came to a ridge, Oosan paused, his eyes widening at the spectacle before him. A gargantuan bear, twice as tall as any human he had seen, stood surrounded by monstrous green brutes. The monsters waved crude weapons at the beast, which snapped and swiped at them fiercely, despite already bleeding from multiple wounds.

“We can’t help it,” Nita said sadly, “We need to keep moving.”

Oosan knew she was right, but something pulled him to that fight, urging him to join the fray and protect the great bear. It had been her blood he smelled, her blood driving him here, he had to protect her.

“We must protect her.” Oosan breathed, his eyes still locked on the melee below. 

Nita’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

Oosan wasn’t about to repeat himself, he had wasted enough time. With a leap, he slid down the edge of the ridge, his warclub in hand, charging into the fray. Approaching one of the beasts from behind, he gripped his club with both hands and drove it with all his strength into the back of the monster's neck. 

The satisfying crack of bone resonated through the heavy wooden club, the monster falling flat on its face in the snow. Oosan turned towards the sound of a guttural roar as one of the creatures closed in, brandishing a colossal axe. Oosan rolled to the side, feeling the wind from the blade as it skimmed him, burying itself in the snow; the blow would have easily split him in half had it connected. Oosan rose and lashed out with his club, the fire-hardened edge crashing into the monster's jaw with a loud crack. 

The beast recoiled, seemingly unphased by the strike, and wound up to lash Oosan with a fierce backhanded punch. Oosan was sent stumbling through the snow, pain shooting through his ribs, the taste of blood crept across his tongue. He staggered to his feet, looking up as the creature turned to face him, pulling its axe from the ground. 

As it raised its axe with a bellowed roar, an arrow soared through the air, striking the beast in the ear. The beast squealed and turned as Nita entered the fray with a screaming battlecry, brandishing her warclub to strike the creature on the other side of the jaw, splintering one of its massive tusks.

The creature flinched from the impact, shaking its head before turning back to the huntress with an answering roar. Nita shirked back for a brief moment, before replying with a two-handed overhead swing, driving the head of her warclub into the creature's lower jaw.

With a sickening crack, the creature’s jaw snapped downwards, its mouth stretching unnaturally wide. The creature stumbled backwards, its hands grasping at its limp, dangling jawbone. In its panic, the great bear saw her opening, lashing out to bite down on the monster, her great fangs sending trails of yellow-green blood streaking across the snow. 

Nita stepped back, her eyes widening in terror, stunned by the sudden immensity of the beast up close. Too late, Oosan saw the shape behind her, too late, he opened his mouth to shout a warning. Vast pincer-like claws opened to enclose her, snapping shut with a sickening squelch, Nita’s body fell to rest in the snow, cloven in two.

Vengeful fury rose in Oosan’s chest. Swinging his club around his head, a screaming promise of reckoning rose from his lungs as he launched himself forward. The beast seemed to grin as he stepped over Nita’s body, inviting Oosan’s attack with open arms. 

Oosan leapt into the air, bringing his trusted weapon down with all his strength, straight into the monster's piggish snout. Such was the fury imbued into this strike, that the hardened wood of his club splintered and snapped at the haft, the head remaining embedded in the creature's face.

Hot pain coursed through Oosan’s ribs, his breath catching with fresh agony. As the monster’s red eyes rolled back in its skull, its hulking form slumping and rolling backwards, Oosan’s gaze fell to his ribs to see the beast's great pincers embedded in his flesh.

With gritted teeth, he tugged the blades from his ribs, a snarl of pain escaping from him as they came free, blood seeping from the open wound. Oosan looked up at the sky, flashes of coloured light danced across the deep blue, beyond the wisps of grey: The spirits were with him. His eyes turned slowly to the great bear, still fighting ceaselessly beside him. As it moved, Oosan caught a glimpse of something beneath its great bulk, something small and furry: A cub.

This was why he was here, this was why he had felt the compulsion to join this fight. This was a test, the Mother Bear Spirit was testing him, and he would not fail. Taking the knife from the monstrous foe he had just slain, needing two hands for him to wield, Oosan threw himself on the next beast with a pained battle cry. 

Oosan fought tirelessly, matching the great bear’s ferocious spirit with his own as the pair began to fight in tandem. Ducking under the bear's great step, its mit crushed a pursuer with a gurgled yelp as Oosan struck down another monster on the bear’s flank.

Oosan knew where to strike now. The monster's hide was tough, but the neck and armpits were vulnerable. He turned towards the sound of another brutish battle cry, three of the beasts charged forward, hurling spears towards them. Oosan prepared to dodge, when a shadow loomed over him.

The great bear stepped over Oosan, its underbelly like a shaggy ceiling above Oosan's head. Two sickening thuds preceded the beast's pained groan, the great bear taking the brunt of the attack to protect Oosan and its cub, but it could not block them all. The third spear flew low, aimed for the cub that huddled helplessly behind Oosan. With a sudden burst of urgency, Oosan leapt to shield the cub with his body. The spearhead drilled into his shoulder, knocking the wind from him with its heavy impact.

Shuddering, Oosan lifted a shaking hand to tear the spear from his flesh, his eyes narrowing on the approaching monsters with seething malice. His vision was beginning to blur and sway, hot sweat beading on his forehead. He could feel his strength draining from his grievous wounds, but he would not give up yet, not until the last drop of blood fell. 

Turning the spear over, he reared back and hurled it with all the furious strength he could muster. The beast toppled backwards as the blade of the spear buried in its neck, sickly green blood spraying across the snow. The other two paused in surprise, giving the great bear its chance to take both with a single swipe of its gigantic claws. 

 Oosan’s chest heaved with deep violent breaths, the world all too suddenly falling still and silent. His legs trembled as he rose to his feet, his body heavy with fatigue. He let his head fall back, turning his face to the sky and closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his frantic mind. He was bone weary. The gash in his ribs, along with other wounds, were taking their toll. His vision swayed and blurred as he wiped the gore from his face, his body covered in viscera, both his and his enemies. 

Oosan winced as he pressed a hand against his ribs, a futile attempt to stem the bleeding, a survival instinct that would do him little good now. He was alone out here, far from his people or any other village he knew of. It was more likely that another of those beasts would find him and finish the job than any rescue.

A gentle whimper brought Oosan’s attention to his new comrade and her ward. The great bear lay slumped in the snow, her shoulders rising and falling with her desperate laboured breathing. The cub stood by its mother’s face, mewling as it pawed and nuzzled its mother's fur, desperately trying to urge the great bear into movement.

Oosan stumbled forward, his feet heavily trudging through the blood-stained snow, falling to his knees by the great bear's cheek. The cub growled and huffed at him as he approached, but fell silent as the great bear's head rose, the cub watching with interest as the mother sniffed the warrior who had fought to save her.

With a trembling, blood-soaked hand, Oosan reached for the mother bear's cheek. His fingers combed through the thick, mottled brown fur to rest against the bear's burning skin. He could feel her heartbeat, like the pounding of a great drum, fighting desperately for life, yet slowing with each beat as death neared.

As he stared into the bear's great eye, almost as large as he was tall, a warmth flowed through Oosan. A connection, as though the great bear's spirit was flowing through him and his was flowing through her. Through this connection, a single word, a name, came to Oosan’s mind.

“Arctos,” 

The name boomed silently within him, like a shockwave of will emanating from the great bear. Oosan gasped as his heart skipped with the sudden force, his eyes turning to the juvenile bear with sorrow. Arctos, it was the cub’s name, and with it, a mothers final desperate plea. But a plea Oosan knew he could not carry out: He looked up to the bear with exhausted eyes.

“There is no more I can do,” He sighed, tears welling in his eyes, “I go with you.”

Slowly, the bear’s eye closed, its head slumping onto its paws as if falling into a deep sleep. Through the bear's skin, Oosan felt the heartbeat falter, the pounding rhythm weakening until he could barely feel it, then it was gone.

Oosan bowed his head, closing his eyes in respect and mourning for the great beast. The cub whimpered. Rising once more to bawl and paw at its mother's body, growing increasingly desperate as she failed to respond.

Oosan swallowed hard. Lifting his head, a grim determination took hold of him as he looked to the cub. The name still burned in his mind, the only thought he could hold in his current state.

“Arctos?” Oosan said, his voice slurring as he spoke. The cub’s ears pricked as it turned to him, its eyes wide in recognition. Oosan smiled as he held out his hand. “Arctos.”

The cub crept forward tentatively, craning its neck to sniff Oosan’s hand. But it recoiled quickly when Oosan suddenly stumbled, the strength in his legs failing him.

“Damn it!” Oosan snarled, wincing as he fell, his back pressing against the fur of the great bear. The icy chill was starting to set in, the wind picking up to howl once more. So this was how he would die, bleeding out alongside the ward he had saved from monsters only to watch freeze.

The bear cub approached him cautiously, sniffing the air as it crept forward. Then it grunted, seemingly satisfied with its investigation, and pushed its great bulk into Oosan’s side, sharing its body warmth with him.

Oosan winced from the sudden pressure, the cub was nearly as large as he was, and possibly heavier, but he was glad for the warmth. 

“Arctos.” Oosan cooed, his voice failing as he gently ran his fingers through its fur, the bear resting its head on his legs as they rested. He looked up to the sky and saw the prismatic trails that danced there. They seemed brighter now, blues and purples twisting and arching across the night sky. 

Oosan could feel the darkness beginning to take his vision, when an odd light caught his eye, dragging him back to consciousness. He had watched the lights countless times, since he was a child. He knew their patterns, their colours, the way they moved, it was always the same. But now, a solid streak of yellow arced across the night sky, like a burning torch being dragged through the darkness, and it was getting bigger.

Oosan shakily rose to his feet. Arctos was already looking, as if sensing Oosan’s concerns, at the trail of fire coursing towards them. Oosan stumbled as he found his footing, but was stabilised as Arctos pressed into his lower back, propping him up.

The blazing trail grew close now. Through his hazy vision, Oosan could see a shape at its head, like a comet, or a great bird. His legs shook with the effort of standing, his hands at his side, no weapon within reach. But he stood and waited for whatever beast was to come.

They looked like him, though their weathered, rugged features stood in stark contrast to his smooth skin and curved cheekbones. And their hair, violent manes in hues of wildfire, were hardly a match to his smooth, raven hair. But their spirit, something in their spirit bore his mark, his pride. I saw it as one would see the eyes of a parent in their children.

Bloodied, exhausted, standing in the battle-churned snow, I watch as they emerge from their great ship, a vessel of pale blue ice that descended from the sky like an eagle, carrying these spirits to me. As darkness consumes the world around me, I fall with a smile, for I know his spirits have come to claim me. 

Ulrik stared blankly at the scene before him, scanning every gorey detail as he tried to piece together some semblance of what occurred here. Ork bodies lay strewn across the field, at least a dozen of them, the chaotically driven snow streaked with green and red blood. The gargantuan form of a giant bear lay dormant in the centre of the clearing, his retinal scanner informed him it was recently deceased. But it was the duo in front of the bear that gave Ulrik pause.

The first of the two was a bear cub, though it stood at half the height of a man on all fours, Ulrik guessed it was most likely the offspring of the enormous deceased bear. The other was a man, dressed in furs, his long black hair braided in a mohawk that hung in a long plait down his back. His dark eyes glared at the Wolf Priest in dazed fury, framed by a strong brow and high, sharp cheekbones. A layer of blood covered the man's tanned skin, as well as his hair and clothing, which was tattered from battle. 

The man could barely stand, held upright by the bulk of the bear cub leaning against his back. His breathing was laboured and his eyes seemed to slip in and out of focus: he was dying. Ulrik made his way down to the human, his squad of grey hunters fanning out in front of him, checking bodies and maintaining a perimeter in case of attack.

"Wolf priest!" His Voxlink crackled with the incoming message, "We have cleared the western sector. The Ork invasion has been routed, only a few straggler war parties remain, awaiting orders."

"Run them down," Ulrik growled in response, "The fleet will take care of their orbital forces, but I will not have the xenos gaining a foothold within our Subsector.'

"Aye, Wolf Priest." The voice responded after a brief burst of static. Ulrik returned his attention to the scene before him.

The man balled his fists and snarled weakly as Ulrik approached. A grin crossed Wolf Priest's face, amused at the man’s futile challenge, he removed his wolf-helm and tucked it under his arm.

“Where did they come from, human?” Ulrik growled, his voice gravelly even without the helms inbuilt voxcaster.

The man coughed, dark crimson trickling from the corner of his mouth, his stained teeth showing through a snarl. The threat quickly faded as he slumped backwards, his legs no longer able to support his weight. The bear growled at Ulrik, the sudden sound of chambers locking told the Wolf Priest that there were now four bolters trained on the animal. 

“Arctos…” Oosan gasped, his shaking hand weakly pressing against the bear's shoulder. The bear turned to huddle behind him, grumbling softly, though its eyes remained locked on Ulrik.

Ulrik scanned his surroundings. He had a mission to complete, there was no time for distractions. This man was already dead, no point wasting any more time here. “Squad!” He barked, turning to one of his hunters, “Secure the area! I need a scan to ensure these were the last greenskins in this area!” 

“You are,,,like him…” Oosan whispered, his eyelids closing lazily, “The sleeping one.”

Ulrik’s eye widened in surprise as he watched the man slip into unconsciousness. It was not his words that stopped the Wolf Priest, it was his hands. His hands lay folded across his chest in an oddly familiar gesture, palms overlapping, fingers pointed to his shoulders: The sign of the Aquila.

“Vidar!” Ulrik barked, the young marine rushing to the Wolf Priest as he knelt next to Oosan. “Set up a perimeter and hold this area.”

“Sir?” Vidar’s eyes darted from Ulrik to Oosan and back again, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Ulrik’s single eye flashed in outrage. “Did you not hear me, boy?!”

Vidar shook his head, his eyes widening in fear at the Wolf Priest’s challenge. The young Space Wolves were hot-headed and hungry for battle, but even they understood the power and distinction that came with the Wolf Priest’s position. Vidar turned and activated his vox, sending commands to the other wolves to fan out and hold the perimeter until Ulrik was finished.

Satisfied with his squad, Ulrik activated his own vox link, connecting directly to the pilot of the Thunderhawk.

“Kern,” he called, beginning his work to stabilise the human’s fragile life signs. “I have one for immediate extraction.”

“Already?” the pilot’s voice crackled over static, “Are we under attack?”

“It’s not one of ours,” Ulrik grumbled, his eye glancing warily to the bear cub that stood vigil over them. “At least, not yet.”

Dipping in and out like morning fog across a lake, Oosan's world flashed and ebbed as he strained to gain clarity; blurred images and echoed voices reached him intermittently.

Hot pain seared through his ribs, like a burning speartip jabbing him over and over again. Something strangely cold flowed in his veins, pulsing as his heart maintained its slow dirge beat.

Suddenly, he was moving, the sky shifting above him as he was lifted and carried on some kind of cold stone. One of the great spirits, dressed in black armour and wearing a skull headdress, hovered over Oosan, a single red eye glinting from within its socket.

"You're a tough son of a bitch, I'll give ya that." A voice spoke from within the helm, sounding like a grindstone at work.

Oosan lapsed back into darkness as grey stone blocked out the sky, decorated with uniform lines carved into the ceiling's surface. Then there was a hiss, like the sound of a geyser, and a booming rumble as Oosan felt his whole world shake and move.

Consciousness returned with arduous lethargy. Oosan winced as he moved, lifting his hand to nurse his pounding head. Jolts of pain shot through his body as he rolled onto his side, lifting himself with shaking arms to look around. 

He was in a stone chamber, though it was not the same unnatural blue grey stone of the sky-ship. The walls were built from row upon row of dark, roughly hewn stone slabs. The furniture in the room was sparse, a simple straw bed below him, a bench and a table at the far side next to the door.

His clothes had been changed while he was sleeping. His gore-stained tattered furs removed, and his body now clad in a thin, grey tunic and pants, the head of a wolf emblazoned over his heart. Grimacing as he lifted the tunic, his eyes widened as he saw the crosshatch of faded pink scars that covered his torso. The long, thick mark left by the monster's claws still slightly raised and tender to the touch. How long had he been asleep? Or had he been healed by some mystical means?

Gingerly, Oosan rose to his feet, his knees trembling as they struggled to bear his weight. He stumbled on his first step, panicking as he fell, he reached and was surprised as his fingers pressed against dense muscle and thick fur. The giant bear cub looked up at him with broad, round eyes, giving a gentle groan as Oosan joined his gaze.

“Arctos…” Oosan breathed the name, a fond smile crossing his face. “You’re still here?”

“Couldn’t get him to leave.” A gruff voice emanated from the door as it opened with a creak. 

A giant of a man stepped into the room, a head taller than Oosan, who had always prided himself on his towering height amongst his people. The man was clad in the smooth blueish-grey armour Oosan had seen in his feverish stupor, covering his entire body, save for his head. The man’s skin was rough and pale, like the wood of a birch tree. A wild mane of fiery orange hair framed his jagged features, coming to rest in two large plaits over his chest. Something about his face seemed strangely bestial to Oosan, the angular shape of his cheekbones, the long, broad ridge of his nose and the yellow glint in his eyes unnerved the hunter.

“Who are you?” Oosan asked, his voice croaking as he spoke. “Where am I?” 

The warrior smiled, elongated canines showing through his beard. “My name is Vidar,” he explained, “And you are in Grimnir on Fenris, home of the Vylka Fenryka.”

Oosan’s brow furrowed in confusion, not recognizing any of the words this man had just said to him, what was he talking about?

Vidar stared blankly for a moment, obviously recognizing Oosan’s confusion, but seemingly unsure on how to explain further.

“You are in Grimnir," he tried again, "a village on the planet Fenris. You were brought here, by Thunderhawk, from your planet."

Oosan's confusion only grew, in all of his many travels and hunts, he had never heard of a place called Grimnir or Fenris, or anything called a 'planet'. A sudden, terrible thought came to his mind.

"Am I dead?" He asked, his eyes widening in terror.

“That’s funny!” Vidar chortled, an amused grin lighting his eyes, “That's what I thought when I was chosen too!" 

"Chosen?" Oosan asked, the man's words not reassuring him.

"Yes!" Vidar exclaimed, "It is a great honour, nigh unheard of for one outside of Fenris to be chosen, and by Ulrik the Slayer no less."

Oosan's ears pricked. He knew that name, Ulrik, he had heard it in his semi-conscious state. So he was the reason Oosan had been brought here, but why?

“What do you mean chosen?” Oosan asked, “Chosen for what?”

Vidar opened his mouth to answer, then paused, seemingly thinking better of it. He composed himself, straightening his shoulders and tucking his hands behind his back.

“You will find out soon enough,” he said, his voice taking on a reverent, rehearsed tone, “If that is your destiny.” 

Oosan stared at Vidar for a moment, testing to see if he would break this strange act. 

“Very well,” Oosan said finally with a dismissive shrug, turning back to his bed. “What happens now?” 

Vidar was about to answer, but was cut off as the door opened once more and another hulking figure entered. 

His armour differed from Vidar’s, though it bore similar fetishes and the same wolf head motif. Where Vidar’s armour was a winter sky grey with slate grey accents, this man's armour was obsidian and trimmed with burnished gold. His right eye pinned Oosan with a testing glare, his left eye veiled by a solid grey patch that seemed to be fastened directly to his face. His head was shaved clean, a sharply trimmed white beard stemming from his strong, weathered cheekbones.

"Thank you, Vidar," The man spoke gruffly, his gaze not leaving Oosan, "Dismissed."

Vidar bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Oosan stared up at the huge man, looming over him in pensive silence, perfectly still, like a statue of flesh and armour. 

"You are Ulrik," Oosan hesitantly uttered, mostly just to break the oppressive silence that had gripped this room. A low rumble emanated from the man's chest, it took Oosan a moment to realise it was a pensive hum.

"Yes." He grunted bluntly. “What is your name?

“Oosan,” he replied tentatively, "Why did you bring me here?"

Ulrik raised his chin. "That remains to be seen." He growled almost suspiciously.

Oosan's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you brought me here, you chose me."

In a blur of movement, Ulrik raised his hand, his index finger held up for silence.

"Let me make one thing clear," his voice, while hushed, cracked like a whip. "You have not been chosen - yet. You are here to answer my questions."

A tense chuckle escaped Oosan's chest, equal parts mirth and nerves. This giant, a demigod clad in glory, wanted answers from him? 

"What answers could I provide you?" He asked.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Ulrik asked, folding his hands over his chest, his fingers pointed towards his shoulders, mimicking the wings of a bird. The gesture seemed strangely familiar to Oosan, like he had seen it in passing, or a dream, but he could not place it.

"No." He replied, though it was obvious Ulrik did not believe him.

The giant’s eye flashed in outrage, his body bending slowly at the waist, lowering his head and bringing his face within inches of Oosan’s.

 “Your life rests on the edge of a knife, boy,” he hissed, his lowered voice no less chilling, “You have now lied to me once, I would warn you not to do it again.”

Oosan’s spine stiffened, a jolt of fear rolling up his neck as he nodded. Ulrik straightened up again, his hardened expression softening, if only a little. 

“Tell me who ‘the sleeping one’ is.” 

Oosan felt his heart skip, he knew he had seen the sleeping spectre in these men, but he did not realise he had voiced this. He wanted to stay quiet, to not respond, but a steely glare from Ulrik reminded him of his situation.

“I don’t know what, or who, he is,” Oosan began, unsure of how he would explain his dreams, “But…I see him in visions, dreams. His eyes are always closed, like he is asleep.”

Ulrik pulled a small slate from a pouch on his belt, holding it out to Oosan. “Does he look like this?”

Oosan’s eyes widened in shock at the image on the slate. An immense man depicted in shining gold armour, reminiscent in style to the plates Ulrik wore, but much more grand and exquisite. He stood in a heroic pose on a short set of stairs, one foot higher than the other. A large flaming sword blazed brightly in his right hand, his left bore a gauntlet of long hooked claws. Yet despite his magnificent appearance, his face was the same, the same bold symmetrical features, the same flowing black hair, it was undoubtedly him.

“Yes,” Oosan stuttered, “Who is he?”

Ulrik sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as he tucked the slate back into his pouch, Oosan could not tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

“He is the Allfather,” Ulrik explained, a reverent tone taking his voice, “God-Emperor of the Imperium of man and progenitor to the Adeptus Astartes.”

Oosan’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of excitement jolting through his body. Finally, he was making progress, if only a little: he was on the right track. 

“Where is he now?” Oosan asked.

Ulrik cocked an eyebrow, seemingly unsure if the question was serious. “The Emperor sits interred upon the Golden Throne of Terra, far from here. From there he watches over the galaxies, guiding and protecting the Imperium of Man.”

Oosan looked to the wall, his mind racing. “So he sleeps.” He said softly, Arctos rested his head against Oosan’s leg, huffing tiredly. 

Ulrik shrugged. “That is one way to explain it,” he clasped his hands behind his back, “Please, tell me of these visions.”

Oosan explained everything, recounting his dreams in detail: his meetings with the great bear spirit, how she led him to the Emperor's spectre hanging in the barren abyss, and the strange celestial markings that hung in the air around him. Ulrik listened in silence, his eye locked intensely on Oosan, only interjecting to clarify details. As Oosan came to the end of his story, Ulrik nodded, though he seemed disappointed.

“I see,” he said softly, “Interesting.”

“So what do you make of it?” Oosan asked finally, desperate for any information Ulrik could share on the subject.

“I don’t know,” Ulrik said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “I will need to consult the Wolf Lord Council.” Ulrik gave a curt nod, his hands returning to his sides, “Get some rest.”

With that, he turned and left, ducking once more to exit through the narrow doorway.

Alone once more, Oosan lowered himself to sit cross-legged on his bed. Arctos lay down, resting his head in Oosan’s lap as he let out a long and disdainful groan. Oosan stroked the great bear's fur, happy to have some company in this cold and foreign place. 

Hours passed, feeling like days as Oosan lay in his bed, trying to calm his mind as concerns and doubts plagued him, growing stronger with each passing moment. What could possibly be taking this long? Surely the decision wasn’t that complex, what was there even to decide? They wouldn’t actually kill him, would they? 

Arctos scratched at the door, a low whine resonating from the great bear as he looked back at Oosan with wide, pleading eyes. Rising to his feet, Oosan hobbled over to the door, testing the handle to find, to his surprise, it wasn’t locked. 

Vidar was still standing in the corridor outside. “Ulrik ordered me to keep you under watch,” the warrior explained bluntly, “I’m afraid you can’t leave until he returns.”

Oosan nodded. “I see, that’s fine, but I think Arctos needs to…go.”

Vidar’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Arctos?”

“The Bear.” Oosan clarified. 

Vidar’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh! I…Ulrik said you couldn’t leave.” He repeated, seemingly more for himself than Oosan.

“I thought you said you just needed to keep me under watch?” Oosan asked, seeing his opportunity. “If you come with us, Arctos can answer his call, I can stretch my legs, and you can keep watch.”

Vidar seemed reluctant to accept the deal, but another laboured groan from Arctos quickly made the decision for him.

A frigid wind blew through the valley as Oosan emerged into the snow. Dark, snow-capped mountain ridges crowded around them, reaching to the angry grey sky above. Oosan’s eyes widened at the sight before him, a huge village, buildings of stone and wood, all built in the shadow of a gargantuan mountain peak. Shaped like the jagged tooth of some great predator, the mountain loomed ominously on the horizon, speckled intermittently with glowing red lights. 

Vidar smiled fondly at the sight. “That is the Aett, the mountain fortress of the Vylka Fenryka, our home.”

Oosan looked up at the sky, this place seemed both familiar and alien at the same time. What he could see of the sky seemed strange, though he could not place why, it was as if it were upside down. In this brief moment, a sudden dread came to Oosan's mind.

"My people," Oosan breathed, turning to face Vidar with panic in his eyes, "My village."

Vidar held out his hands in a calming gesture. "They're safe, for now." He replied, looking up at the sky. "We cleared out the Orks from the planet's surface and their ships from orbit."

Vidar paused as he saw the blank, confused look on Oosan's face, an amused smirk crossing his lips. "Your village is safe."

Oosan nodded in mournful acceptance. Though Vidar's words had reassured him, he couldn't help but feel he had failed his people. They had always looked to him for guidance, and now he was beyond their reach, with little hope of returning home.

“So strange…” Oosan whispered, returning his gaze to the sky.

“It always is for the new Claws,” Vidar chortled, “Don’t worry, it will make sense eventually.”

Oosan chuckled in turn, hardly able to believe that any of this would ever make sense. Arctos nuzzled his hand playfully, returning from a nearby patch of trees. Oosan ruffled his fur with a fond smile, finding comfort in the one piece of his home he had with him. 

Oosan turned gingerly to head back inside, immediately feeling his heart lurch as he saw Ulrik standing in the doorway, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind. Ulrik turned slowly to regard Vidar with a menacing glare.

“He’s been under my watch this entire time,” Vidar explained, gesturing to Oosan.

Ulrik’s eye returned to Oosan, a chill running up the hunter’s spine as he spoke. “The Great Wolf wishes to see you.”

The Great Wolf, the title fell just short of describing the colossal figure that was Logan Grimnar. He dwarfed Ulrik in both height and width, the immense shoulder plates of his icy blue armour were cloaked in a giant wolf pelt: The beast's head, cast in gold, sitting proudly over the crown of his head. A wild mane of wiry white hair surrounded his weathered face, his beard hanging in two thick braids that dangled over his broad chest plate. His piercing blue eyes snapped to Ulrik and Oosan as they entered the hall. 

The hall was by far the largest building that Oosan had ever seen. Built from stone with a thatched roof, torches burned on the walls, illuminating the room with a soft glow, though they provided little heat.

Ulrik bowed his head to the Great Wolf as he approached, greeting Logan with the utmost respect. Oosan's head dipped even lower, feeling it only appropriate.

“So,” Logan’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, “This is this Oosan, then?”

“Yes, Great Wolf,” Ulrik said, a calm reverence taking his tone, “We found him on our recent mission, I believe he is worthy to be chosen.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, looking over Oosan with a reluctant glare. “He is not Fenris born?” The Great Wolf snarled.

“No,” Ulrik replied, “But he is from a neighbouring planet in the Fenris subsector, and if what he has told us is true, I believe he will survive.”

Oosan’s eyes shot to Ulrik, staring in shock. Survive? What was he talking about? 

Logan’s beard curled with his unnerving grin, a great gauntleted hand reaching forward to grasp Oosan’s jaw, turning his face from side to side with an iron grip. Oosan found himself unable to resist the Great Wolf’s exacting inspection.

“And you witnessed his combat abilities?”

Ulrik shook his head. “Just the aftermath, he killed a dozen Orks and a giant bear with an Ork’s combat knife.”

Oosan’s shoulders tensed at the accusation of killing the bear. 

“I didn’t kill the bear,” he explained sternly, pulling away from the Great Wolf’s grip. “The Monsters were attacking it, I fought to save it,” he paused before adding, “And I killed two with my war club, one with a spear, the rest I killed with the knife.”

Ulrik’s eye widened, returning slowly to Logan as he shrugged his monstrous shoulders. The Great Wolf stroked the braids of his beard in thought, a low rumble echoing from his chest as he groaned in thought.

“He is not of Fenris,” Logan said finally, waving his hand, “No outsider has ever survived drinking from the Cup.”

Ulrik released a long, agitated yet resigned breath, his one eye glaring at the Great Wolf in irked protest as he folded his arms across his chest. 

At that moment, something became clear to Oosan: he was not leaving this place, not alive anyway. Though this was as bleak a fate he had ever faced, a thought sparked in his mind, fanning a rebellious ember to flame in his chest: by all rights, he should already be dead. 

“Great Wolf,” Oosan said, straightening his shoulders, “I understand I will die here, one way or another. I suspect I have seen something I was never meant to.”

  Logan’s eyes shot to lock with his, glinting with intrigue. “Correct, your point?”

Oosan swallowed and pushed his chest out, allowing the fire within to power his words. 

“Then I request that I die as a warrior, so that I may honour the spirits of my people.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, Logan’s gaze remained locked on Oosan. The Great Wolf stood like a statue as he glared testingly at the young warrior. Oosan feared, at any moment, he would lunge forward and crush his skull, killing him in an instant.

Then, the Great Wolf’s armour began to move. Gently at first, the great breastplate shook with a chuckle that quickly grew into raucous laughter. Logan threw his great head back, revealing all his glinting fangs as his laughter thundered through the hall, creating an echoing symphony of cacophonous mirth.

Oosan watched on in confusion, not understanding what he had said that would cause such amusement in the Great Wolf. Ulrik also seemed to be grinning, though something in his smile told Oosan he was impressed more than amused.

“You have spirit, boy!” The Great Wolf roared, wiping a tear from his eye as he turned back to Oosan. “I like that, but do you know what you ask?” Logan’s expression dropped as he asked the question, his steely gaze once more locked on Oosan in a chilling stare. “Do you think death is the worst fate you will find here?”

A chill gripped Oosan’s spine, fear freezing him in place. As he looked into the Great Wolf’s eyes, he felt he could see for years, centuries. A millennium of war, of blood and horrors that he could barely fathom: they told as clearly as the lines on Logan’s face.

“The spirits guide me,” Oosan said calmly, “And as I said before, I am already dead.”

A wicked grin split the Great Wolf’s face, once again revealing his unnerving fangs.

“Very well then,” he said, turning to Ulrik again, “Get him a bed and begin his tests, if he wishes to face the Trials of Morkai, he will still have to earn it like everyone else.”

Ulrik bowed his head again. “Thank you, Great Wolf.”

Oosan mirrored the bow. “Thank you, Great Wolf.”

“Oh don’t thank me yet,” Logan hissed, his eyes glinting, reflecting the torchlight like a predator as he leaned in close. “You will soon learn what it means to be Vlka Fenryka, and what it will mean if you fail.”

Fear gripped Oosan’s stomach as he stood face to face with the Great Wolf, his heart lurching in his chest before beginning to race. Oosan pushed a long calming breath through his nose.

“I will do my best…” Oosan said, not moving his eyes from the Great Wolf, “To not fail then.” 

With another bow, Ulrik turned and marched from the hall, Oosan following his lead. As he left, Oosan swore he heard another amused chuckle rumble from the Great Wolf. 

Ulrik took a deep breath through his nose as they stepped out into the freezing air. “Well, that could have gone worse.” He said, starting off towards another great hall.

Oosan hurried after him. “What did he mean by ‘drinking from the cup’, what is the cup?”

Ulrik grinned. “You will find out soon enough,” he replied firmly, “Though I would wager when you do, you will wish you hadn’t.”

“Why?” 

“You will find out soon enough,” Ulrik repeated, an irritated edge creeping into his tone.

“What does that mean?” Oosan persisted, still trying to understand what was going on.

“It means,” Ulrik snapped, turning to block Oosan’s path, his shoulders squared. “That you are now enlisted in something that none from outside of this planet has survived in the history of the Imperium. Their dying throes driven by agony and despair that I would not wish on any creature in this universe.”

 Oosan felt himself shrink beneath the Wolf Priest’s glare, his curiosity feeling foolish now. He had forgotten himself, in the chaos that surrounded him, he had forgotten his patience. Taking a deep breath, Oosan closed his eyes, feeling the cold biting into his face and neck, the wild hum of the wind as it whipped his hair about him, though foreign, it reminded him of home.

“I trust the spirits to guide me,” Oosan said calmly, opening his eyes once more, “And I trust their judgement.”

Ulrik’s single eye searched Oosan’s with scrutiny, seemingly testing the young warrior's resolve: Satisfied, he nodded.

“Very well then,” he said, raising his arms and gazing at the landscape around him, “Welcome to Asaheim, Oosan.”

I am far from home, far from my people, I hear their call, feel the tug of longing to return, but they are beyond my reach now. I must trust in the spirits to watch over them, to guide them as they have guided me, as he has guided me. 

Emperor, Allfather, in my sleep I see him. His form seems clearer now, fuller, as a spectre taking physical form. In this, I know I am on the right path, though I know that path is far from certain. 

As I wake, I feel the warmth of Arctos next to me, the gentle rumble of his slumbering breath. Pressing my hand through his fur, I feel the slow rhythm of his heart, a warm smile crossing my lips: The Bear Spirit is with me, and with her guidance, I will not fail.

Thank you for reading Oosan Ursa, my little fanfic passion project for Tabletop Time’s Astra Primursa! I loved working on this project and was hugely honoured to have Jazza’s permission and cooperation on this.

Working with Tabletop Time has been fantastic, If you would like to see the four part 40k Roleplay series I ran for Tabletop Time Roleplay, you can find the link to the playlist below!

Additionally, if you enjoyed this, or any of my short stories, consider purchasing my book or subscribing to my Ko-fi, it is your support that helps me continue creating quality writing and content for you to enjoy! Links below!