Many of the Primarchs pack died as a result of this action, piecred by the spears and arrows of the hunters. Even the venerable she-wolf that defended the litter was impaled through the throat, ending the lives of five hunters before she finally succumbed to thier poisoned arrows. But the wolf-child was spared as he crouched growling over the she-wolf's corpse, the poison slowly affecting his iron constition, barbed arrows sticking like quills from his face and back. The wolfchild was bound and gagged tightly with strips of gut and sinew cut from the corpses of his pack, and thrown before King Thengir himself.

The saga continues in detail, telling of the Primarch's first contact with the royalty of Fenris:

"In the evening the wolf-man was ungagged, and the King demanded that the feral creature grovel for his life like a dog. The strange beast drew itself up to its full height and roared so loud and so long that some of the younger men had to leave the hall. The wild-eyed creature spat a great gobbet of blood poison at King Thengir, his golden eyes shining with regal pride."

Over the next fews years, the wolf-child was taken into the care of the King himself. He was taught how to use a battle-axe, how to fish and, soon after that, how to speak. The Primarch matured quickly, absorbing knowledge at an incredible rate. He also showed a natural aptitude for weaponry, in additioned to being unmatched in unarmed combat. Quick to roar with laughter or bellow a tunelessly in song, the Primarch slowly realized that he was more human than wolf, and that he was far greater than either. When Russ handed the Champion of the King's Guard his battle-axes during their third sparring session, Thengir admitted to himself that the young man was destined for greatness. The Primarch soon spoke with powerfull eloquence, and one evening, King Thengir deemed him worthy to recieve a true name.

Thus it was that Leman of the Russ was truely born.

Much of what is knwon of Leman Russ' early years is borne of hearsay and legend as his fame quickly spread throughout the land. The legends of Fenris cite him as being able to pluck an oak from the earth and snap it in twain over his back, facing armies of the King's enemies and sending them running without sustaining a scratch, wrestling a Fenrisian Mammoth to the ground and roasting it whole for his meal that evening. When Thengir died, there was no question as to the succession. King Leman Russ took his place on the throne.

Each Allwinter's Eve, in the halls of the Fang, the Space Wolves' Fortress Monastery, the Runepriests recount in great detail the saga of Leman Russ. Every one of the Space Wolves knows the tale by memory, and the legends are passed down from solem Priest to naive cub with the greatest of reverence. In this way the saga of Leman Russ is kept alive to this day.

Due to thier oral traditio, the following legend has not been written down in any form by the Space Wolves. However, the clandestine introduction of a vox-recorder to the Feast of the Wander by Inquistor Chalfont, a quest at the table of Cormack Wolftongue, has provided Imperial scholars with the following transcription:"Thus it came to pass that Russ was hailed as King of all Fenris, his judgement as strong as his sword-arm and his authority indisputable.

No man mor beast could best the Wolf-King,

no tribe could stand against his armies. Within Russ' kindom a truce exisited between man and wolf,

his court was attended by the fiercest of warlords and the most beautiful of maidens. Tales of his mighty conquests spread like forest fires,

and it was not long before the eyes of

Terra turned upon his deeds

Such was Russ' fame and so great were his accomplishments,

the Holy Emperor of Terra did take it upon himself to meet with the WOlf-King.He believed, in the core of his soul, that this mighty warrior was one of his true sons.

He knew well that Russ would not bow to his rule without being beaten in a contest. The Emperor was convinced of his own power, and knew that such a challenge would be as nothing to him. Who would best a living god? Who could stand firm in the presence of Humaniy's King?

And so it was the great, sky-spanning ships of the Emperor travelled to the center of the sea of stars settling on the hard, cold skin of Fenris scant years after Russ' ascension to the throne.

The Emperor, clad in a long, plain robe, entered King Leman Russ' court. Through a yawning cave mouth in the south of Fenris he came. His divine aura was hidden from the curious eyes of the King's court and his towering physique was cloaked with runes of disquise and confusion. Half his face was within the shadow of his hood,

in his hands he carried the oaken staff of the wander. But, to the sharp-eyed and sober, his nature was clear; the great wolves of Fenris slunk away at the stranger's passing.

Slouched on his oaken throne sat Leman Russ, a flagon of fine mead in one hand and the leg of a roast bear in the other. Freki and Greki, the Kin-Wolves, lay curled about his bare feet, and a great pool of blood glittered in the torchlight around the base of his throne. The court had been hunting and did not take kindly to the interruption of their feast.

The wanderer approached the gnarled wood of the throne and its gargantuan occupant and stood firm, staring hard at where Russ was presiding over the feast. The court grew silent as the Wolf-King's growl reverberated around the walls. Freki stood at the sound, baring his fangs, Geri, old beyound his years, proved wiser than his brother. The stranger was meeting their master's gaze unflinchingly.

It was then that the stranger offered his Challenge. The nature of the contest was for the King to decide. If he won, the stranger asked for nothing but to be allowed to drink at the right hand of Russ during the feast. The shouts of the household rang against the shields strung around the roof, the laughter at this preposterous suggestion shared by all present. Russ demanded that should the wanderer fail, he would serve at the King's behest for a year. Grimly, the stranger accepted.

The Wolf-King did not wish to spoil a good feast; his first challenge was to an eating competition. The food was brought forth on vast brass shields, and the stranger ate well indeed, consuming many times more than the stoutest warriors present without pause.

But by the time he looked up from his platter, Russ was finishing his third Auroch.

The vast, red bones lay around him, not a morsel of meat to be seen. Giving voice to a thunderous belch, Russ grinned at the wanderer, fangs glittering red in the torchlight. The stranger bowed his head.

But the King was enjoying his sport. He realized that the brown-cloaked traveller had the spirit of a Fenrisian, and so challenged the newcomer to a drinking bout.

The secound contest began, sounded by a clarion horn, but by the time the wanderer had reached his sixth barrel of strong Fenrisian mead, there was no more to drink.

The Wolf-King had drained the entire feast dry, consuming enough to fell a whole Great Company. The light of anger appeared in the wanderer's eye.

If he was not be given the chance, how could he prove his mettle? If all that would greet him was derision and scournful laughter,

How could he welcome this warrior, so fond of his mead, as his lost child. Driven by disappointment, the wanderer called Leman Russ a drunkard and a glutton, able to achieve nothing more than filling his face and bellowing hollow boasts.

At this, the court fell silent. None even dared to breathe as the Wolf King drew himself up to his full height, the bloodied carcass of his meal crunching beneath his feet.

Russ drew his greatsword and stepped onto the banqueting table, a growl rising in his throat.

The Wolf-King calmly laid down the consequences of his last challenge, and his court backed away as one.

Time seemed to stop as the Emperor of Mankind threw away his cloak, the hood falling from his face, his true form revealed.

Standing far taller than any man present, swathed in light and clad in baroque golden armor,

the God-Emperor stepped onto the banqueting table.

His sword shimmered as it was drawn from its gem-encrusted scabar.

With a roar that shook the walls of the court, the Wolf-King leapt. Battle was joined between the two titanic figures.

The Emperor fought gracefully and with precision,

his every act like liquid fire, his swordmanship faster than the eye could follow. The Wolf-King attacked with the force of oure fury,

tempered by years of living by his skill and wits alone.

The lustrous gold of the Emperor's burnished armor reflected glimmers of torchlight and the eyes of a thousand onlookers.

The Wolf-King's skin glistened with sweat and blood, his matted hair flying around him as he roared and howled.

The speed and passion of Russ'attack a perfect fusion of martial prowess and focus that was nothing less than total, convinced the Emperor without doubt that this was one of his lost sons.

Swinging his powerfist around in a blurring golden arc the Emperor struck Leman Russ full in the face.

(It has been noted in the transcrition that at this point in the recording a great cheer erupts from all present. This part of the legend seems to be the cause of much mirth amongst the audience, all of whom have evidently heard the tale before)

It is a testimony tothe fortitude of our Lord that within the hour he was able to think clearly once more,

recovering quickly form a blow that wold have destroyed any mortal man. Russ made a little show of his headache, it was the resulting of ingesting mighty quantities of Fenrisian mead rather than the result of the duel. But nevertheless. with bloodied smile and broken fang, he swore fealty to the Emperor of manind.

It is well known among the Imperial scholars that, when given proof as to his origins, Leman Russ did indeed pledge his sword to the Emperor. His teaching and training went swiftly; it was a matter of weeks before the Emperor judged Russ worthy of leading his armies in the holy war across the galaxy. Leman Russ was introduced to the warriors who bore his mark within their very genes. And so is came to be that Leman Russ became father, progenitor and Lord of the Space Wolves of the Adeptus Astartes.

Leman Russ settled into his role as the Primach of the Space Wolves. He was gifted with a great suit of armor blessed thricefold by the Emperor himself. His greatsword was replaced with the legendary Frostblade Mjalnar, whose teeth were fashioned from the maw of the Great Kraken Goremenjarl and whose blade, it was claimed, could cleave the very ice mountains of Fenris in twain. It was without question that the Space Wolves Legion accepted the towering Wolf-King as their Primarch and leader and, over the next few years, they became as sons to Leman Russ.

In time, all of the Primarchs were united with their respective LEgions; the records of that time speak of a golden age of conquest and success. The forces of the Imperium were unstoppable in their quest to unite the galaxy in the worship of the God-Emperor. Russ plunged headlong into the fighting at the forefront of every battle, vanquishing all before him. Throughout the long and various battles of the Grat Crusade, the Space Wolves and their lupine allies were at the frontline. Russ strode at the head of his legions, slaughtering all who dared stand before him, his coming anncounced by the howling of the pack.
End of Origins, Continues to the Horus Heresy.