On the fringes of Octarius, at the Space Wolves' encampment...
With Primarch Lion El'Jonson's orders issued, the various Space Marine Chapters and Astra Militarum Forces began mobilizing urgently to reinforce Armageddon.
Thanks to Guilliman's revisions to the Codex Astartes, the wolf pups from different Chapters could now legally gather on a temporary basis, forming a multicolored Sixth Legion.
Unlike the disciplined Ultramarines, however, the Space Wolves were one enormous, slapdash outfit.
Aboard the Space Wolves' flagship, warriors from the Great Companies and their successor Chapters drank themselves into a stupor. Towering Fenrisian Wolf warriors and Chapter serfs plied one another with drink, while all manner of weapons and Astartes helmets lay scattered across the floor.
Up on the tables, drunken wolf pups stood shoulder to shoulder, singing at the top of their lungs.
"Frostmane skims the wave crests, the Dragon-Headed Ship cleaves the polar night."
"The sons of Fenris march to the rhythm of the snowfields."
"Bolters hide behind the shield wall, wineskins swing at our waists."
"Fiery Mead scalds our throats as we roar the opening of our battle song."
"For Russ! For the Wolf God! Heretic blood stains the snowfields red!"
"Cheers!"
The wolf pups roared at one another, raised their cups, and gulped down their drinks.
For other Astartes, this reunion meant a dangerous mission. The Blood Angels, for instance, carved their names into their armor and Chainswords before every charge alongside their Gene-Father, resulting in the remarkable sight of a single Chainsword bearing more than a dozen names.
For these unrestrained Fenrisian Wild Wolves, however, rather than bother with complicated, tedious commemorative rituals, they preferred to drink themselves senseless with those who were still alive.
To gather enough drink for this grand assembly, the pups of Fenris had not only borrowed vast quantities of alcohol from