Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am in any way affiliated with Nintendo, LucasArts, Games Workshop, Games Workshop Interactive, THQ, and/or Relic Entertainment. I do not own Star Wars, Star Wars: Republic Commando, the Warhammer 40,000 franchise, nor do I own Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War and the related expansion titles (although I do own copies of the games which I have purchased legally). I do not own the Metroid series, but we do have copies of the games.
Please don't sue me, as I am a poor college student, at the time I am writing this (circa 2007). This silly fic is for entertainment purposes only, and I am not making any profit from this, whatsoever. Also, if you are easily offended by anything (violence, nudity, harsh language, et cetera), then I highly suggest you GTFO. Nao. 83
Author's Notes: this is just a quick little one-shot. I'm in a creative writing mood, but I only seem to be capable of doing short(er) scenes - and not full-blown plots and/or storylines. So...rather than let it all rot and fester in my mind, I guess I'll get my ideas out in writing so I can (hopefully) make room for actually putting together a decent storyline and/or plot.
I acknowledge that Dawn of War is a watered-down version of Warhammer 40,000. I'm only a casual fan of the Warhammer 40K fluff, so please don't bite my freakin' head off over some little minor detail. I've tried to do as much research as possible, short of buying all the codices from Games Workshop. I have better things to spend my money on, thank you very much.
For those who don't know: in the Warhammer 40K universe, the year is written xxx.Mxx. The "M" and the last two digits represent the millenium, and the first three digits represent the century, decade, and year. In that order.
For the sake of an example, this story takes place circa: 740.M41. So it would be 40,740 Anno Domini (A.D.; or Common Era - C.E. - if you prefer) according to the Gregorian calendar. Another example (and working backwards): 2007 A.D. (CE) would be written: 007.M03. I guess. Why is the year 1900 the twentieth century in the Gregorian calendar? Because the people who came up with it had no concept of "zero." I shit you not. Go study some history or something.
At any rate, enjoy the fic. Or go read some history. Whatever floats your boat.
Shoddy Dark Crusade Crossover One-Shot of Doom
"The planet Kronus - beset on all sides by the tides of war, this once-quiet colony became a savage battlefield. Seven armies clashed on this one world: each refusing to back down, each convinced it was in the right.
"From beneath the sands of Kronus's central desert came the Necrons: ancient machines bent on eradicating all life. But another evil already had its eyes on the planet: from the depths of the Warp, the daemonic forces of Chaos arrived to enforce their claim.
"To oppose these fearsome powers, the planet's rulers in the T'au Empire sent their elite soldiers and sophisticated battle suits into the fray. From the mighty Imperium of Man came the Imperial Guard, there to secure Kronus for the glory of the God Emperor.
"Like a green tide, the Ork horde descended on Kronus: caring little for others' claims and sowing destruction in its wake. The Eldar, ancient enemies of the Necrons, emerged from their webway to pursue their own agenda on Kronus.
"And last came the Space Marines: finest and most uncompromising of the Imperium's soldiers. Seeing a world beset by aliens and heretics, they undertook a great purge.
"The Dark Crusade had begun. It could only end with the total victory of one of these factions, and the total defeat of all others." - Campaign Introduction from Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Dark Crusade.
The Rhean Jungle. Kronus. c.740.M41
A human clad in bulky, iridescent, platinum armor wordlessly trudged through the dark, swampy marshlands of southern Kronus. A transparent, silver, triangular visor was set into the figure's helm, and a massive, cylindrical armcannon covered half of the armor-clad human's right forearm. The armor showed signs of having been in a recent battle: there were scorch marks on the armor that contrasted sharply with the light armor, as well as sizable dents - there were even the telltale furrows of savage claw marks gouged into the scintillating alloy surface.
Equally silent, and trailing just behind this human, were a pair of taller soldiers clad in near-identical, bulky, white armor of a different design. Their armor sported similar signs of damage, though it appeared to be much less extensive. One of them bore green stripes on his armor, and carried a variety of compact tools and communications gear. The other possessed orange geometric markings, and carried a small arsenal of spare munitions and some explosives. Their helmets encompassed their heads, completely obscuring their features behind glowing, blue, T-shaped visors. Both of these white-armored soldiers carried compact energy weapons in their gauntleted hands.
Dusk was already setting in, noticeable even with the fairly dense jungle canopy overhead. It had been a day since they had entered this lush jungle, as they fled from the hellish landscape they had initially found themselves in. Currently, they were traversing through a drier part of the jungle, with only a few insects buzzing around. The melodic, alien calls of birds trilled as other unusual lifeforms made themselves heard.
"Three-Eight," the green-striped soldier spoke over a short-wave radio communications frequency, finally breaking the oppressive silence that hung over the trio. His compatriot was silently glad for it. "Recommend we find someplace to sack it out."
"Good idea, Forty. Let's tell our friend, here." The orange-marked soldier, Three-Eight, switched over to a vocoder in his helmet, without any visible adjustment. "Hey, you. Let's find someplace to sleep, tonight." The silvery, almost ethereal figure halted and silently turned around to face them. The shorter human tilted his helmed head slightly, almost quizzically. Three-Eight was relieved that they apparently shared a common language.
Taking the stranger's actions to be an unvoiced question, the soldier elaborated, "aren't you tired at all? We should stop and make camp." The shorter armored human looked around for a moment, as if looking for something. For a second, Three-Eight wondered whether or not their friend had optical enhancements in that helmet. Finally, their companion returned his attention to the orange-marked trooper, Three-Eight, and gave a slight shrug.
Finding some dry ground, the troopers plopped down and removed their field packs, heaving relieved sighs. As they did so, they set their blasters off to the side - but well within reach, just in case they were needed. The silver-armored human remained standing on the side, ostensibly observing them, like some sort of silent, celestial sentinel.
The white-armored soldiers removed their helmets, allowing the smell of decay and the humid air to assail their senses, while the silver-armored human gave a start. Both men were completely identical, with skin the color of coffee and a head of short, curly, black hair. However, in spite of their similarities, there were also subtle, nearly undetectable differences between them - and if it weren't for the differently-colored armor they wore, it was unlikely that one could readily tell them apart.
Three-Eight noticed that their new friend looked as though he wanted to ask a question: being surrounded by numerous faces nearly identical to one's own, made one rather sensitive to subtleties. Forty seemed to notice it, as well. Unbeknownst to their silver-armored companion, both men were, in fact, clones: bred for war and with a life expectancy that was roughly a third of the average human male's lifespan. They and their brethren - their vode, in the parlance of their "template's" culture (as taught to them by their training sergeant) - were birthed in glass tanks, trained rigorously, and were shipped off to fight and die for a cause in which they had no stake.
Forty carefully watched as the silver-armored human knelt next to Three-Eight and proffered a tiny device. The green-striped clone shifted, preparing to draw his holstered blaster pistol. Somewhat warily, Three-Eight picked up the palm-sized, roughly disc-shaped device and found himself amazed - the device felt as though it weighed nothing, at all.
What surprised both of the clone soldiers was that the device began speaking as their companion began flashing a rapid-fire series of handsigns with his left gauntleted hand. "I beg your pardon," the device queried in a monotonous voice, "but just who are you, Three-Eight?" Bewildered, Three-Eight directed a glance toward his squadmate and subordinate. Forty looked on with a fascinated expression on his face. "It must be some sort of translation device, sir," the green-striped soldier postulated. "I think it somehow picks up his hand-signals and--"
"Correct, Forty," the device spoke again. "I apologize: it was not my intention to be rude. I am Samus Aran." Finally, they had a name; Three-Eight took that to be a good sign. The clone soldier raised his gloved hand in acknowledgement and replied, "no harm done. I'm R-C-one-one-three-eight. My subordinate, here--" he tilted his head to indicate the green-striped commando, "--is R-C-one-one-four-zero. We're commandos."
Aran, if that really was his name, seemed to be taken aback. "You have numbers - but no names?"
Three-Eight hesitated. On Kamino, the planet on which they were "born," clones were regarded as units - as if they were mere machines or battle droids. Individuality was almost always discouraged, but many of the Mandalorian training sergeants - most notably Walon Vau and Kal Skirata - defied the Kaminoans, and taught the clone commandos under their tutelage about the Mando'a culture and language. A Mando'a was nothing without his heritage and his culture, their training sergeants had explained, and would essentially be soulless without any of it.
So, in spite of the Kaminoans' efforts to stamp out these "deviations," the clones in general proved to be quite inventive, and even developed their own slang and nicknames; the elite, highly-trained commandos were even more prone to this practice. To Three-Eight's squadmates, his vode, he was known as "Boss." But nobody else outside of the squad, save for a few special exceptions, knew about the colloquialism.
But now we're a two-man squad, Three-Eight thought morosely. Their squadmate, RC-1207 - nicknamed "Sev" - was missing in action and presumed dead. His pod-brother, the squad's demolitions expert--
Boss couldn't even finish the painful thought; the memory of RC-1262's loss was fresh in his weary mind, and it was not something he wanted to dwell upon or even remember.
If this keeps up, nobody will know we even existed, Boss thought morbidly. We could all bloody die out here.
How is this different from any other mission?
This isn't a mission, Three-Eight thought despondently, we don't even have a clear objective.
Yes, you do, the other part of him shot back, and it's quite simple: survive.
Boss let out a low sigh and came to a decision.
"My squadmates call me 'Boss,'" he told Aran. He bit his lip before elaborating, "I'm the squad-leader." The platinum-armored human nodded silently and visibly shifted his gaze toward Forty. The green-striped commando, understandably, looked somewhat confused - his superior had just divulged knowledge only a select few outside of their squad knew about.
"Are you brothers?" the silver-armored human queried.
"In a manner of speaking." Boss elaborated, "we're actually clones - but we are all brothers." Samus seemed to absorb this for a moment, before turning to address Forty. "What is your name, Forty?" Aran's device queried - it seemed that the translator was able to keep pace with Aran's handsigns. Forty, being the squad's technological expert, found himself fascinated with the gadget. Reluctantly, the commando replied, "my squadmates call me 'Fixer.'" Samus quizzically cocked his head, again. "Most curious. Why are you known as 'Fixer?'"
"I'm an electronics and technological specialist," Forty stated matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. Beneath his veneer of calm, however, Fixer felt rather nervous and defensive. Rather curious, isn't he? Boss seemed to be thinking along the same lines: the orange-marked commando cut in, "and he's got a knack for fixing things. No offense, Samus, but what's with all the questions?"
"I apologize," Aran seemed to slump, slightly, in his armor. "It has been much too long since I have been able to sit down and converse with someone." The silver-armored human straightened, almost perking up, "do you have questions for me?"
"Yes. Do you know how we came about here?"
"I do not know," Samus replied. "I was fleeing a world of darkness. When I passed through the portal--"
"You came through a portal?" Fixer interrupted. Boss was rather keen on this detail, as well - he, Fixer, and their demolitions expert had all been chased through a bizarre and mysterious, ruined portal when their latest operation had gone awry.
"Yes. Perhaps I can show you, instead of retelling the story. My hands need a rest." It was impossible to tell with the translation device's monotonous voice, but that last statement sounded as if it were an attempt at humor. Fixer briefly wondered if Samus's sign language could convey emotion, but discarded the thought. Aran produced a small, extendable cable from his armcannon and offered it to Boss. Three-Eight took out the squad's holo-projector and communications booster and set the device up. Once that was accomplished, the commando stuck the cable into a slot on the projector - and it miraculously worked.
The trio was treated to what appeared to be blue-tinted gun-camera footage - apparently it was from Samus's perspective, as they could see his arm-cannon in the field of vision. They witnessed Aran fight with, and defeat, what appeared to be a doppelganger clad in dark armor. They then witnessed Aran run a gauntlet for a shimmering, iridescent portal before the camera footage stopped.
"It was not my intent to come to this wretched world," Aran "spoke" through the translation device, "yet here I stand. How did you come to be on this wayward planet, friends?"
"We came through a portal, too," Boss answered, and Fixer nodded in agreement. "We were on the run from those droids you saved us from. Before those...those things attacked us." Three-Eight scowled; he briefly remembered of the assortment of horrors that had mysteriously appeared and ambushed them all in that nightmarish landscape. Unfortunately for the two commandos, he and Fixer had perfect recall - another "adjustment" that the Kaminoan cloners had made to them prior to, and during, the period they were being grown in their tanks. The orange-marked command shook his head.
"I see," Samus replied and suddenly paused; their silver-armored compatriot let out a low, inhuman growl that emanated from his chest. Both Three-Eight and Forty picked up their blaster rifles and trained them on Aran; the still-helmed human looked confused and seemed to eye them as he started signing. "I apologize," the translation device piped up, "but do either of you have anything to eat?"
It took the commandos a moment to process the request. "Was that your stomach growling?" Fixer queried incredulously. Aran hesitated for a moment before nodding in visible embarrassment. Exchanging glances, Boss and Fixer both chuckled in relief, shaking off the building tension and the stress of the past few days.
"I'm afraid we don't really have anything that tastes very good," Boss commented as he took out a clear ration cube and held it up for Aran to see. "Just these ration cubes."
"I see," Aran replied. "I shall return." With that, the silver-armored human leapt up and pushed off against the side of a tree, then another, repeating this incredible feat until he disappeared into the darkness of the canopy. The commandos watched in awe - while they were highly-trained soldiers, they couldn't help but be impressed by sheer ability. Or excellent weapons.
"Now that's impressive," Three-Eight opined. Fixer nodded in agreement, "his technology is advanced beyond anything I've ever seen or heard of, Boss. I'm definitely impressed."
"Then we'll all get along famously, won't we?" The orange-marked commando replaced his helmet, hoping to use his night-vision to catch a glimpse of Aran as he leaped through the treetops like some sort of ghostly specter. "Think he's a Jedi?"
"With the exception of General Kenobi and Commander Jusik, I don't think I've ever seen a Jedi wearing armor, sir," Forty pointed out. Boss nodded, remembering the Jedi Knight in charge of the Special Forces division. Roughly a year ago, back in their universe, Delta Squad had worked alongside Jusik, Sergeant Skirata, the commandos of Omega Squad, and a few other individuals to deal with a Separatist terror cell that had been bombing facilities belonging to the Grand Army of the Republic. When they'd finally moved against the terrorist cell, Jusik had worn Mandalorian armor during the sortie and wielded his lightsaber - a very interesting paradox, given that Jedi and Mandalorians were, historically, rather bitter enemies.
The two commandos donned their helmets and kept an eye out for their new comrade, as well as any marauding threats that most likely roamed the jungle. As they waited, the two commandos covered themselves with dead foliage and slopped silty soil upon their armor to better blend in with their surroundings.
Darkness had shrouded the two commandos by the time Aran had returned. The silver-armored human landed nearby, sweeping his gaze around the dense jungle.
"Why are you hiding?" Aran's translator queried.
"How did you know we were still here?" Three-Eight shot back. He and Fixer did not move from their hiding places, just yet. There was still the possibility that Aran was bluffing.
"I oriented myself using the translation device you hold in your hand - it has a locator beacon, just in case," they saw Aran shrug, "in addition, your camouflage was not without flaw." The two commandos were speechless as they absorbed the silver-armored human's explanation - Boss was, again, quite impressed. It was quite apparent that Aran was a very experienced and resourceful tracker and hunter - at least, according to the standards Sergeant Vau had taught the clone commandos under his tutelage. And Sergeant Walon Vau - a seasoned, experienced, and skilled fighter - certainly knew how to hunt.
"Very impressive," Three-Eight replied in earnest, finally revealing himself, and Forty followed suit. Their visors lit up, giving them the appearance of ghostly shadows with blue, T-shaped eyes. Shrugging off some of the vegetation on their armor in the darkness, both commandos saw that Aran had gathered a modest number of, naturally, unrecognizable fruits.
"They're not poisonous, are they?" Fixer voiced the question in Boss's mind.
"If I die, then you will know," the silver-armored human replied. Despite the monotony of the translation device's voice, Three-Eight thought he detected humor in Aran's words.
"That's not very assuring," Three-Eight groused as he eyed the pieces of fruit. He suddenly caught movement out the corner of his eye and his gaze - as well as his weapon - automatically shifted to focus on the source: Aran was removing his helmet.
No...that's not right. The armor itself seemed to be coming off. Why is he removing his armor? How is he doing it without using his hands? Not believing what he was seeing, Boss watched in fascination as Aran's armor began to disappear, seemingly folding up unto itself. The pearlescent plates disappeared completely, revealing a bright, blue, form-fitting bodysuit. Stunned, the commandos both lowered their weapons.
What was even more surprising about Samus was the fact that he was, in fact, a she; where the silver-armored human once stood, there was now an angelic, blonde-haired beauty that only stood as tall as Three-Eight's broad, armored shoulder. Aran's sapphire eyes rested on Boss as she gave a small, yet somewhat endearing smile. Staring at her from behind his helmet's visor, Three-Eight inexplicably found himself smiling back, unsure of how to react. Unlike Sergeant Skirata's "Null-class" Advanced Reconnaissance Commandos, many clones were never really taught how to handle social interactions - nothing beyond strict military protocols, at least. True, they had all learned to regard their fellow clones as brothers - but nobody had really bothered to explain how to deal with females that weren't commanders or officers.
Samus picked up a piece of fruit and promptly bit into it. Relieved, Three-Eight reached to unseal his helmet as Aran chewed with a pleased expression gracing her elegant countenance. Suddenly, the woman made a choking sound and stiffened, her eyes rolling back into her head. Alarmed, Three-Eight and Forty halted and stared as the blonde continued to claw at the air.
Before either of the commandos could step in, Aran suddenly burst into a silent fit of giggles - it had evidently been an act. Neither Fixer nor Boss appreciated the joke - both commandos stared silently at Aran, utterly bewildered. Smiling coquettishly, the blonde began signing with her free hand and the translation device spoke, "apologies, friends. My intent was to lift your spirits."
The commandos continued to stare in disbelief. Taking a seat on a rotting log, Aran continued to eat in embarrassed silence, shrinking and wilting under their gaze. Finally, Boss shrugged and removed his helmet, once again. The orange-marked commando picked up one of the fruits and tossed it to Fixer, who deftly caught it in his free gauntleted hand. As the green-striped commando set aside his blaster and removed his helmet, Three-Eight picked up another fruit and bit into it.
Boss's dark eyes widened in delight as he relished the sweet flavor of the fruit - it certainly beat eating the standard-issue ration cubes. The trio ate in relative silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Once they'd finished, Fixer dug a hole in the ground to dispose of the remnants of their meal. They leaned back against nearby tree trunks as they rested and digested their food. The commandos had donned their helmets, but Aran remained in her unarmored state.
"What do we do now, Three-Eight?" Fixer asked as he buried the cores of the fruits they'd all consumed. When the orange-marked commando did not reply, Forty turned to look at his superior. "Boss?"
"We need intel, so we'll have to look for locals," Three-Eight finally said, "if there are any to be found on this blasted planet."
"I thought I saw a settlement to the northwest," Samus piped up. "As I foraged amongst the trees, I could see palls of smoke."
"How far?" Boss queried.
"A day's journey," the huntress replied, pausing to swat irritably at a rather large insect. "It would be advisable for us to sleep, tonight."
"Agreed," the orange-marked commando nodded. He and Fixer got to their feet and began to splash more mud upon their armor in an attempt to better camouflage themselves. As they continued to prepare themselves for sleep, Aran silently yawned and favored the two commandos with a weary smile.
"I wish you a good night's rest, friends." With that, the blonde woman deftly leapt up into the treetops and disappeared, once again. Three-Eight couldn't help himself as he paused in his work, watching Aran's curvaceous form disappear into the darkness. "Very impressive," he mused quietly.
End.
Author's Notes: Yeah. Just tinkering around with stuff. I'm thinking I'm going to make a small collection of short stories that may or may not be related to each other. More likely the former than the latter. Gawd, my writing stinks.
OMAKE! My take on how the campaign story could have progressed in Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Dark Crusade. Point and laugh at my ignorance and shoddy writing!
The History of the Dark Crusade?
By the time the Blood Ravens had arrived to begin their purge of Kronus (c.739.M41), Farseer Taldeer's strike force had completely bypassed the T'au forces stationed in and around Asharis (Ores Tash'n) and were literally at the doorstep of the Necron stronghold in the Thur'abis plateau. The wily Eldar had taken a long, winding route to reach their position, and were amassing for an enormous operation. The Necrons, surprisingly (having awakened around the same time the Imperial Guard had arrived on the planet to retake it in the name of the God Emperor), had not expanded beyond the territories around the Thur'abis plateau - seemingly biding their time and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. In fact, the Necrons lost several of their territories to the Imperial Guard.
The First Kronus "Liberators" of the Imperial Guard, under the command of Governor-Militant Lukas Alexander, had already established themselves (having arrived several years earlier, c.734.M41) and were still busy staving off advances made by the forces of Chaos Undivided and Warlord Gorgutz Headhunter's Waaagh. In spite of Brother-Captain Davian Thule's order for the Imperial Guard to withdraw from the planet, Alexander stoutly refused to retreat.
It was in North Vandea where the Space Marines constructed the Castellum Incorruptus, near a large number of relics deemed sacred by the Blood Ravens' Chapter Master and their Master Librarian. However, the fortress could not receive reinforcements directly from orbit - so a forward outpost was constructed to receive drop pods and landing craft on the planet surface.
Weeks later, upon the rapid completion of the Blood Ravens' massive castellum, Thule launched a two-pronged assault, seizing the Panrea Lowlands and the Orestan Plains - from the T'au and the recently established Imperial planetary defense forces, respectively. The Blood Ravens' willingness to fight against the Imperial Guard did not go unnoticed: whispers began that the relics the Ravens sought were more damning than holy. The Blood Ravens soon claimed the Vandean coast, seizing the ancient manufacturing facilities that lay there and granting them access to more resources. At the same time, Blood Raven scouts began infiltrating and observing the T'au-held spaceport of Pavonis, to the south.
Once the Blood Ravens finished fortifying their newly-acquired territories, they stormed Pavonis and wrested control of the massive facility from the T'au garrison. The T'au raised a rigorous defense against the mighty Space Marines - upon news of the impending assault, however, humans still loyal to the Imperium rose up against the T'au forces stationed in the region and allowed the Blood Ravens to take Pavonis. The humans who had taken up arms against the Space Marines were summarily executed, and their corpses hung from lampposts in the city streets, as a warning to other potential T'au sympathizers and traitors.
From there, the Blood Ravens launched a vicious assault on the T'au capitol of Ores Tash'n - Asharis, to use its true Imperial name. The mighty Space Marines stormed the city, shrugging off sniper fire and ambushes, and ultimately assassinated the T'au Ethereal leader, Aun'el Shi O'Res. With the Ethereal dead, the T'au military leader - Shas'O Kais - recovered the Ethereal's corpse and promptly withdrew all T'au forces from Asharis. T'au morale crumbled, and their remaining territories were quickly captured by the Blood Ravens and the Orks. At this point, the Blood Ravens became busy fending off both the deathless Necron aliens and the vile greenskins.
Taking advantage of this opening, Eldar Farseer Taldeer launched a desperate strike into the caverns beneath the Thur'abis plateau. A strike force infiltrated the Necron catacombs and set a powerful wave-distort charge within the main cavern. The Eldar forces then made a hasty retreat for the surface, with Necron forces killing many as they fled. Many more Eldar were killed as the bomb detonated, causing the caverns to collapse and crush the aliens before they could escape. The Farseer's gambit paid off, however, and the Necrons were crushed and sealed beneath tons of rock and sand, effectively taking them out of the fight for Kronus. It was alleged that the Farseer had ostensibly recruited a trio of powerful Space Marines of unknown affiliation to aid her - but these rumors were immediately dismissed and branded as heresy.
With the Necrons dealt with, Taldeer's sights shifted toward a more recent, but still ancient, foe: the daemonic forces of Chaos. However, she did not go for a direct approach: instead, she advanced southwest, following the Blood Ravens as they marched from Asharis for the Green Coast, with the Space Marines seizing territories and slaughtering the foul green-skins as they went.
The Kronus Liberators continued to hold against the Orks, of Gorgutz's Waaagh, and the forces of Chaos Undivided; the latter of which repeatedly attempted to break out of the Deimos peninsula in order to spread their heretical beliefs and blasphemy across the face of Kronus. However, more and more of the stalwart soldiers began to fall to the ruinous powers, and turned against the God Emperor. The territories surrounding Victory Bay slowly began to fall under the control of the blasphemous, heretical cults and the abominable daemons of Chaos.
At the same time, however, the Orks were beating back the ruinous powers, even to the point of seizing the Rhean Jungle that lay just west of the Deimos peninsula.
The Space Marines and the Eldar arrived at the Green Coast at the same time - however, Taldeer chose to resort to her habitual manipulations and kept her forces hidden as the Space Marines advanced deep into the dark, swampy jungles of the Green Coast.
As the Blood Ravens began to purge the Ork-infested swamps, Taldeer's forces performed surgical hit-and-run strikes to destroy the massive banners belonging to the various clans comprising Gorgutz's warband - or 'Waaagh', in the parlance of the greenskins. The destruction of these banners ultimately shattered the confidence the fractious clans and tribes held in the warboss, and the massive horde picked itself apart with vicious in-fighting and rebellion.
The Space Marines swiftly crushed the disorganized mobs of Orks and went after Gorgutz, himself. However, the surprisingly cunning Ork warlord disappeared after leveling his own stronghold with explosives planted in the area - despite the lack of a corpse, it was largely assumed that the Ork warlord had died in the massive explosions that had consumed his base. With Gorgutz Headhunter's great horde broken up into factions, the threat posed by the influential Orkish warlord was effectively eliminated. As the Blood Ravens continued their purge of Kronus's southern swamplands, the Eldar of Craftworld Ulthwe disappeared from the region and escaped the mailed fist of the God Emperor.
Once having fled from the Space Marines in the Green Coast, the Eldar pushed toward the Deimos peninsula and set up a base of operations in the Rhean jungles.
Months later, the forces of Chaos finally overwhelmed the Imperial Guard's bastion in Victory Bay, killing Governor-Militant Lukas Alexander and scattering the loyalist Guardsmen across the region. Many of these groups were quickly put down, but squads of Kasrkins - and even a Vindicare assassin - continued to carry out guerilla actions against the forces of Chaos...
Possible Endings:
A) The Blood Ravens purge and retake Kronus, claiming it for the glory and in the name of the God Emperor. Taldeer's forces (along with Boss, Samus, and possibly Fixer) escape from Kronus. Along with Taldeer's pet Vindicare assassin (ZOMG "LOVE CAN BLOOM" REFERENCE!). 83
B) The Blood Ravens take Kronus and defeat the Eldar, leaving Taldeer and many Eldar (along with Boss, Samus, and possibly Fixer) stranded in the wilderness of the planet (BAD END).
C) Have Boss and Samus BECOEM HEROES as they delay the Blood Ravens long enough for Taldeer and her Vindicare assassin to escape.
Yeah. It's a work in progress. Man, I suck. XP