Halo 40K

A Halo/Warhammer 40K Crossover

By Freeformer

All copyrights revised to Bungie Studios & Games Workshop

The Pelican cut through the thick clouds, its engines blazing as the distant roar of laser cannons drowned them out. Navigating through the planet's hell storms took more time then excepted. Making the entry seem silent and swift, was almost impossible had it not been for the battle raging above in the stars. The rust colored sky came into view as the crew finally saw what they were about to encounter. The city below them shook and burned from a war unknown. Had the Covenant developed some kind of mind control that they used on Humanity so they can kill one another? The pilot reported his findings to Captain Cutter, flipping a series of switches to stabilize the Pelican's speed and angle of entry. Standing behind him in cold silence was the phantom like gaze of the UNSC's super soldiers. He never got use to being around them, even when he knew they were the good guys. Before he could say anything, his co-pilot pointed to the Pelican's radar.

"It looks like the rest of Sparrow 1 has penetrated the atmosphere without any problems." She said in a relieved voice. His co-pilot was referring to the scout team sent by the Captain to investigate the situation. Sparrow 1 composed of four pelican drops ships carrying half of Team Omega along with a squad of Marines. The rest of the Spirit of Fire's security force would remain stationed in high orbit, fingers and toes crossed hoping we did not drag ourselves into this strange series of events.

"Everything is looking green according to my sensors." he replied.

"We still haven't been detected."

The designated LZ was chosen from a series of orbital pictures taken for space. Initially the Spirit of Fire's sensors were damaged from the "Battle of the Apex". The supernova explosion had taken out some of the ship's delicate observation instruments. On board engineers had tried to do their best within the 16 hour timeframe given to them for repairs. The pictures, although not the best, revealing something frighten. Beneath the thick cloud cover of the planet, laid a series of networks arranged in grid like patterns. This only meant one thing.

Cities.

A large concentration of radiation was detected on particular section of the planet, even through the planet itself had above normal levels of it. Still Cutter gave the orders. The Captain need to know what the hell was going on and fast. The Spirit of Fire remained lucky, as she was still undetected from the raging battle in space. Quietly she maneuvered herself to the darkside of one of the planet's moons, and hid there. The crew scrambled to bring the ship back to operational capacity, desperately trying to bring back the weapon system online, as well as conserve power, as fuel was beginning to run dangerously thin.

So this is where Sparrow 1 comes into play. Their mission was straight forward. Probe the planet for any allies or Covenant, along with any supply of fuel they can muster. Quickly ferry as much as they can under the noses of the planetary inhabitants as possible. Repeat until full. A quick strike in and out. If in dire situations, Cutter would order the Spirit to enter the planet's atmosphere and take the fuel by force. After that the third phase would follow, which is to enter slipspace on course to Reach. This part of space was uncharted by UNSC's scientists, and it was no telling what dangers lurked.

The pilot eased on his controls, leveling the Pelican. In the distance, the faint shape of a mining complex was coming into view. Surrounded by geographical features like rocks and cliffs, the complex was largely isolated for the city chose by it, but chose enough for Team Omega to move during one day. Their mission was espionage. Gather as much information on both combatants and return. Spartan's were made for stealth.

The pilot felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"That cliff over there." pointed one of the Spartans.

"Drop off over there."

His voice sent chills running down the pilot's spine. Even through he knew they were the good guys, he couldn't help but think of them as freaks. His cold, metallic voice didn't say anything else as he retreated back to check on his team.

"You okay there?" she whispered.

He looked at her tender smile, as she flipped up her visor. Her blues eyes and loose strains of blonde hair smiled at him too.

"Yeah. It's just that they give me the cheeps." he whispered back.

Her smile turned into a sly smirk.

"Don't piss on your pants. This bird doesn't have a bathroom."

His ear's heard the cocking of a M90 MK I shotgun. Curiously eyes peered at the corner of his eyes and he saw a Spartan loading his shells into his gun. The Spartans had brought along an impressive array of weaponry, typical of urban insertion missions like this. One of them had a SRS99C-S2 AM high caliber sniper rifle, the gun that would punch holes through tank armor, strapped over his shoulders. Another carried a duel SMG's holstered on both arms, as well as a SPNKr Rocket Launcher he held in his hands, as if it was a tiny infant.

"Don't you think that's a bit heavy for espionage?" he said off hand by mistake.

Team Omega didn't response, as they stuff dozens of frag grenades into compartments in their suits.

"Just saying, because I'm worried about all that heavy gear you guys are carrying. It will slow you down."

They didn't response.

The Mining Complex was just below them as a voice broke through the radio.

"Pelican 1 this is Pelican 2, we are going to circle around the rocky cliffs to drop off spotters, as well as reconnaissance. Pelican 3 and 4 are preceding as normal."

"Sounds good 2." his co-pilot said, her fingers pressing a series of buttons. The roaring of the engines soon turned into a hissing as the pelican descended. He relaxed as he steady the ship, hovering just slightly over ground as the loading hatch opening.

He spun around, hoping to here the words "Go! Go! Go!" as Marines would yelled every time he took them anywhere. By the time his head turned completely, Team Omega was already gone.

Chapter 4: The Might Of His Imperium

Present

The Eastern Fringe

Onboard the Strike Cruiser, Proxima Justus

It was an old ritual of war a ritual revered by every Space Marine chapter ever created by the Emperor of Mankind. Captain Armaros in his long life had only seen it observed three times. By his side the Techmarine Tybolt, along with First Company Chaplain Baraqel stood motionless as the massive solid ceramite doors before them opened. A mist of freezing gas spread out into the corridor as Armaros stepped through the twenty story ceramite doors. The large hanger-like room was dark save for the few sensors and instruments that lid up the room in an array of colors. Its was frigid death to a normal human, but to the Imperium's Space Marines they never felt a thing. At the center of the room was a dome-like structures tinted in black. No dust cling to the surface of the tombs as the Chapter Master saw to it that servitors would see to the maintence of such things.

"When was the last time the two had awaken?" Armaros asked his eyes pleased at what he saw.

"Nearly half a century ago, when the Chapter was deployed in the Antillis IV campaign." The Techmarine Tybolt bowed in reverence to the gigantic tombs in front of them.

Baraqel's eyes darken at the mention of Antillis IV. The campaign was a great dishonor.

"Their fury is still contained within them." the Chaplain said, swinging his heavy Crozius Arcanum upon his shoulders. Unlike most Chaplain's weapon, Baraqel's Crozius Arcanum took on the shape of the Chapter symbol a mighty Cross. He wield it with great effectiveness, crushing the heads of Heretics and Xenos alike, striking rock and machine alike apart. The Emperor's faith is spread through a Crozius Arcanum first before all else. It was a symbol of Mankind's faith in their Eternal Emperor as faith which kept them alive for centuries from daemons and xenos and traitors alike. Weapons were kept in the armory but the Crozius Arcanum was not just a mere weapon it was the Emperor's faith in swift holy vengeance against his enemies.

"Lets hope of that Brother." Captain Armaros said as he shot a look towards Tybolt. Techmarine Tybolt was reverend in his respect to all things machine, bolder-lining at times to fanaticism. He saw life in a Machine has much has a mother see life in her new born child. Four hands protruded out of his back along with the normal ones, none of which was his anymore. Armaros had a queer disgust towards his machine Brother. Tybolt had serve the Chapter faithful but it seemed more to admire the metal of machines the blood and flesh of man. Such thoughts bordered on heretical. Armaros stared at his brother and in a sterned voice commanded,

"Have our Techmarines prepare these two for the coming battle. You have two days. It will be good for the two of them to hear the prayers of war again."

Tybolt nodded his bionic eye rotating with a sharp mechanical tink. He bowed.

"Yes Brother Captain." The Techmarine answered manipulating his hands in various instruments and tools. A strange hum filled the room flickers of lights flashed. Soon that would be awaken and with them the fury of the Avenging Sons.

"Brother Baraqel see with me to the forge. We have much to inspect. And little time" The two of them left the room heavy foot steps rattling against the metal floor; leaving Tybolt alone to attend the sleeping giants. Tybolt wouldn't have it in anyway.

The Avenging Sons' Second Company was allowed to field a small attachment of the Chapter's greatest warriors ever to prove themselves in the field of battle. Armaros walked through their ranks as each of them stood like statues, small giants in their own right. These Space Marines were to be promoted to Commander if ever called upon by the Chapter Master. Their rank was clear from the armor they wore, ancient paraphony studded with gold and silver rewarded for valor in battle with crests taken from fallen xenos foes, breastplates recrafted by Techpriests and blessed by the High Chaplain from the remains of ancient armors of Chaos Legions, shoulder pads fashioned into the shape of slain Tyranid warriors, and countless honors rewarded to them through the countless battles they fought in the Galaxy. Every brother earned their armors. They were the Imperium's instruments used to wage war on the for. These were what the Avenging Sons were proud to call their greatest.

The First Company's Terminator Veterans were ready to rip the cancer out of Taros with their bare hands. Terminator armor was the one of finest technologies ever invented by Mankind. As such, ever since the Horus Heresy and the creation of the Imperium such a craft was lost. Only the most gifted and ancient Techpriests of the Imperium can even attempt to construct such wonders. Because of this upon death a Terminator Veteran's armor would be stripped of his corpse and bestowed upon another. The greatest strike to every be dealt to a Chapter was losing suit of Terminator armor. It meant losing a part of the Chapter's heritage and worst, the favor of the Emperor.

"First Company!" thundered Armaros as he stood in front of them. Has tall has Armaros was, every Terminator was at least two heads taller as they came to life eyes glowing fiery red.

"Hear me Champions!" His voice boomed like thunder crashing.

"In two days! You will be with me during the assault. We will be the first to enter the Palace and administered our Chapter's vengeance on any Traitor that stand before us. Redemption is between them and the Emperor! We are the messengers of that! And their will be no redemption for traiots. With Bolter fire and hatred we will scourge this filth from our galaxy forever!"

The First Company rattled their war cry. The sound was like of countless oceans roaring amongst a storm.

Armaros turned away his eyes already filled with triumph. With such a force behind him, how can victory not be achieved? He turned back to look at Chaplain Baraqel.

Along time ago he was quite handsome. He had hair that shined like the Emperor's Golden Throne and face that was tranquil has the blue ocean world he hailed from has a boy. Since Baraqel took on the black mantle of the Emperor's faith nearly five centuries ago, his face no longer resembled the timid and humorous boy Armaros knew at the Scout Corps. A Chaos champion had driven a power fist into Baraqel's head, driving it through his helm and into his face. Thinking of that incident Armaros forgot when it happened, it was a long time ago but he suspected Baraqel would not forget. When the Chaos Champion ripped his fist away from Baraqel's face he had hoped to tear off the Chaplain's skull and smear his brains on his bloody armor as a tribute his Gods. He was gravely mistaken. Has the Champion gloated and bolstered, Baraqel's silent rage was unleashed. He swung his mighty Crozius Arcanum and driving it into the Chaos Champion's armor and splintering it like wood. Has the Champion felt Baraqel's metal boot was there to meet him, has he crushed the Champion's face. Has his enemy marked his fist permanently onto his face, Baraqel did the same with his boot. In total silence the Chaplain wretched free his mace and drove into the Champion's laughing face until it was mush. When Armaros and an attachment of his men finally caught up with Baraqel, all they saw was a big, black hole at the center of where Baraqel face was supposed to be has blood ushered out of it like a bloody womb. Baraqel was silent and standing on both feet, his black armor and righteous mace slick with dark blood. Has the battle was over and the Chapter returned to their Battle Barge victorious only then did Baraqel remove his helmet for the Apothecaries to survey his wounds. His nose and upper lip was caved into his face, leaving the bare white of his skull and teeth in their place. It was then the Chapter knew they weren't staring at the maimed face of a man, so much has they were at that of a devoted guard to the God Emperor's wrath.

Baraqel stared back at his Brother.

"Have something to say ugly?" he smiled a crooked smile.

Solitude was one of the things a Space Marine didn't know what to do. Marines did not require beds nor any meaningless attachments to the past like pictures or books. All that could be found in Captain Armaros' quarters was his personal wargear and the Chapter's Standard. His Artificer armor stood encased as he drew towards it. The golden armor bore deep incursions and dents, all received in combat by foes. Alone, Armaros finally had a chance to drift back to the day he won that armor.

It was on moon, on some backwater planet in Ultima Segmentum. It was so unimportant to the Imperium they didn't bother naming it. It was named just a series of numbers and letters. The Proxima Justus was just finished escorting a new planetary governor to his new seat of rule when they picked up a distress beacon. It had been a trap has they descended on the moon. There he met a Champion of the Emperor's Children or has far has his fellow Space Marines were concerned, the whores of Slaanesh. Armaros' eyes drew over to the sword that was hug on the far wall just over his desk. It was the scattered remnants of his old weapon a power sword that bore the name White Bane. The weapon was broken against the relentless assault of sound by the Chaos Champion. Armaros remember his foe in his mind has he mediated like he always had before a Campaign.

...Long Time Ago...

The Eastern Fringe

Unknown Moon

The moon was barrened with life. Whatever had lived there had been utter eradicated. Quietly Armaros stepped off the Thunderbird and with a few of his battle brothers surveyed the area. The starry sky above them was avid violent splatter of color like bloodshed. A Warpstorm had visited this place though long ago the damage had been done. Whatever fauna was on the planet had died or worst, turned into foul creatures of Nurgle but they were quickly dealt with by the Avenging Sons. Armaros had taken a small company with him twenty battle-brothers to investigate a signal beacon the Promixa had picked up. Could it be the remeants of an Imperial ship? The beacon was old, transmitting for centuries and whatever life couldn't find the strength to escape this moon their was little chance it had survive this long.

Approaching a ridge one of his Scouts returned to him.

"A Drop Pod from the Sons of Ultramar." He said to Armaros.

Armaros' team moved ahead. The Drop Pod was rusted and it seemed to be damaged from some emergency escape. The faint light of his helmet peered into the pod. The ravaged remains of an Astarte laid mangled and long dead in it's chambers. A dead Son of Ultramar. At the center of his breastplate was a graping hole likely the cause of a point blast meltagun a coup de grace. His head was taken from him along with his weapons. The enemy had disgrace him and Armaros felt the rage building inside of him.

How the ambush came he didn't know.

A sharp noise pierced into his head and struggled to regain composure. The Scout who led him was unlucky. Without the protection of his helmet the sound was savage to him. His head herrmoage before exploding and he collapsed dead before Armaros feet.

Then the Emperor's Children descended upon them. The Avenging Sons were there to meet them.

Whether the battle went on for hours or minutes Armaros couldn't remember. The fighting brought him far away from his brothers as he finished the Traitor Marine with a crushing blow from White Bane to his skull, cleaving his enemy in half down to his neck. His war cry was victorious but Armaros would not had seen his foe had it not been for the shadow of his deformity. Armaros glanced aside as the Champion swiped at his head falling from above. When he turned to meet him the sight replusied him.

"Here to play with me?" The Champion mocked him.

The Whore's armor was a vivid black and pink. He, no, it was so deformed and twisted by the Prince of Pressure that the monstrosity bore the breasts of women and the members men into battle. It displayed them proudly as they perked out of his armor, breasts hanging from his torso like clusters of grapes, manhood hanging from his groin like batches of bananas.

"He's been so good to me. Let me show you brother what pleasures he can give you! What gifts your dead Emperor can't give you!" it hissed.

Armaros held White Bane in front of him, the force weapon cracking with lightning. The lust it had looked at him. It wanted him all for himself.

"I want to give you life! Life inside of you!" It laughed.

The Whore' eyes were filled with lust after him. It's face was a mask of paint, cosmetics worn by women in the worst whore houses in the Hive cities. It wanted him and his brothers to experience the same pleasure Slaneesh gave him. The Champion wield a sound blaster, a meltagun combined with a force axe imbued with the Ruinous Powers of Slaneesh.

Roaring Armaros charged White Bane singing in the air. High slash, low parry, lightning and sound clashing. It was the laughter, the laughter of pleasure that Armaros remembered the most from his enemy. There dance was furious as it was foul. Armaros battered his enemy but the Whore was relentless blasting away with hellish noise. It threw Armaros back and back with each charge.

It wasn't until Armaros gave ground that a chance was opened to him. A cleaving blow from the Whore's axe had opened Armaros' helmet, and blood flowing down his face like rain. The Whore laughed as the Avenging Son danced away and threw his battered helm off. Hatred burned hot in his eyes as Armaros tore his own ears off and bull rushed the Whore. The sound assault hit him full blast. White Bane obsolved the sound as the ancient blade rattered. Armaros pressed forward step by step White Bane as his shield until the Whore's long note shattered the Force Sword into shards. By then Armaros had closed in the gap and drove the bladed helt of his weapon into his enemies face. The Whore staggered and in one crushing blow Armaros slammed his power fists together in a fatal clap demolishing the Whore's head into bloody crimson pieces.

When the rest of his company had won and found him they were proud to find Armaros without ears. His blue armor smeared in blood till it was completely red. After killing the Whore he ripped out by hand every foul desecration on his fallen foe like he was like a gardener ripping out weeds. Afterwards order was given for the moon to be bombarded from orbit until nothing was left.

Such was Armaros' fury towards Traitor Marines. The Captain stood, his towering frame a giant amongst regular humans. Armaros had long forgotten his life prior to his transformation to an Astartes but he couldn't fathom life has a normal man. Ripping muscles corded every inch of his body and feral humans once worshipped him as a God. Armaros was no God, and he knew that. Many times his life hung close to death had it not been for his brothers and at one time a mere Guardsman who had intervened to save his life. The latter was ripped apart alive in the hands of a Ork. Armaros will never forget that man and paid that Ork savage vengeance.

It was unheard of that an Astartes had ever died of old age. But still Armaros wondered if he could go on fighting until he died. What was to be of his death? Was it of honor? Would he die fighting in a glorious last stand? Or be fell by the blade or bullet of an assassin? An Astarte never wonders of his death but rather of his service but yet Armaros couldn't help but wonder. A strange feeling crept upon him for a split moment. It ran down his spine for a flutter of a moment. And then it was gone. There weren't many moment he had felt this feeling. But he knew what it was. He felt it staring at the figure of the Whore. And that feeling covered him now however faint and fleeting it was was it.

This Taros Campaign troubled him.

Present

Eastern Fringe

Somewhere on Taros

Karna loved him. She loved him so much as Yarn held her in his strong arms. Arms built from hacking away at solid rocks for many years since they were children. Sweat and dirt cling to his flesh and filled her nose. He smelled so sweet to her holding her next to him as the sharp desert wind brushed against her hair, the wiping of hot dust lashing at her face. He held her close and she felt the rapid beating of his heart. Something was wrong, she knew that but she held her tongue. She tried not to alert her husband that she knew. Knew that his arm had been broken, by accident or in battle he had no idea. Bronnx was silence as well or perhaps asleep.

They rose up early, her, Yarn, Bronnx and the man and woman called John and Cortana. Even without her sight she could sense the tension in the air. Silence dominated the air as their ship cut through the desert. The landscape bobbed up and down as they swam through the sand, the metallic floor moving evenly at her feet. Once a long time ago an off-world trader explained that skirting on sand was a lot like sailing a boat on an ocean, Karna remember asking him what's an ocean? All she could remember was the man saying something too her and then laughing gregariously, whether at her she didn't know but she still remember her husband's rage. Yarn said he didn't hit him when she asked, but the trader never returned to Taros again and Yarn had them stay away from all the traders at the market place since then. That night Yarn held her in bed and in a way they made her melt in his arms and burn with excitement; they were young then barely adults and full of passion and love for one another. Yarn whispered into her ears what an ocean was, and how he was going to brought her there. Even though she would never see it Yarn's words brought an ocean of tears running down her eyes. She remember him stroking her neck and refused to answer her when she asked him whether he had punched that man.

"He won't mock you again." Was all he said.

Her husband went on his words filling their small housing unit in the pitch darkness of the arid hot night with his voice. They would build a house next to an ocean he said and raise a family, three boys and three girls. He would catch fish for a living and never have to worry about rationing food every again. The ocean would feed them forever. He would give her a necklace ringed with the shells of mythical animals of the sea. Such jewelry she only snuck a touch at the marketplaces when off-world traders sold them for a fortune. Yarn told her he would catch them every day and gift them to her. She deserved it for she was royalty he told her. Karna giggled and snuggled against him. She asked for a pearl. Karna had only heard of such a thing, that it was priceless and even all the gold on the Emperor's Golden Throne could not paid to get one; that Eldar witches sing of such beautiful treasures, that they had the power of kill Traitor Marines at the very sight of it and held the power to make Orks cry and wimper. Yarn kissed her and told her she was his pearl. They held each other for hours and she missed that. Young and in love as newly husband and wife they talked well into the night and laugh. She remembered that night, treasured it in her heart every word that came out of her man's mouth. How she was so beautiful to her. Her he always wanted her. How she wasn't broken or ugly but so dear to his heart. And how he would never let someone harm something so precious to him, so dear to his heart. That the fate of them would not be the fate of their parents or their parents parents or the parents before that; who lived and died in the cruel mines of Taros never seeing the ocean. He would never leave her and would stay with her when she died. They would be buried next to each other by an endless ocean and their children far far away from harm.

"Yarn" she whispered as she buried her face against his broad chest. She took in his scent, the scent of dirt, sand, rock and sweat. What did she do to deserve such a man? Her fingers traced the outline of his face. He was so handsome, so very handsome even though her eyes would never see it. Her fingertips traced the outline of his eyes, his nose the shape of his cheeks, the curve of his lips. He would have been a prince somewhere else, perhaps in another galaxy far far away, but on Taros he was just another "desert roach" as they called the miners. Just another roach born to die because some fool of an ancestor sold his life away tricked into finding a fortune on this miserable planet. But Karna knew he was her Prince; a dashing Prince who protected her and loved her for her.

Karna never wanted a man more than Yarn and never wanted Yarn more then she wanted him that night. It was Karna who wanted it. It was she who started their passion. It was her who climbed on to him and slipped off her dress. They celebrated each other that night; body, soul, spirit everything of themselves they gave to each other singing each other's names. When they finished their love-making she fell asleep in his arms dreaming of oceans.

It unnerved her that Yarn's voice was still it bothered her but she held enough trust in her husband not to ask questions. Karna knew something had been wrong when her husband woke her and told her to get abroad the sand-skipper. She obeyed and the couple named Cortana and John bored too without a wrong. Bronnx stepped aboard too after much confusion. Karna never heard Yarn ever spoke to the Ogryn with such politeness before. She knew for some reason Yarn needed Bronnx to be on this trip with them.

Cortana spoke sweetly to her giving her advice on how to handle her pregnancy. Karna never had a midwife before and she took in the wisdom eagerly. She had so many questions and there were few women in her life. Few miners marry much less had enough money to support a woman. They looked for comfort in the pleasure houses arranged by the mining guilds. Miners didn't want to subject their children or "spawn" as they termed in the guilds to work the mines for life. Karna would have only asked more but Yarn's stony silence stopped her. They had been silent for an hour and it was getting on her nerves.

"Yarn what is going on?"

He was silent.

"Yarn!" she snapped.

"What is going on!" she demanded. Karna had such boldness because her husband had never once struck her. Although it was against the Emperor's edicts to strike a woman the punishment of which was the severing of a hand, Taros was so far off at the fringes they were rarely obeyed. The men beat women like cattle. However Yarn wasn't like most men.

Her words stuck in the air until Cortana answered her.

"We are going to Tarokeen." she said.

"Why Cortana?" The capital was rarely visited outside of traders and government leaders. Guild leaders frequent the city for trade but most miners lived close to the mines scattered about in the desert plains. She felt Yarn squeeze her tight against his chest.

"We are hostages Karna." he said outloud.

"What?" Karna whispered. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her swollen belly.

"Forced guests." Cortana corrected.

"Bronnx doesn't think so." Karna said hearing the sleeping Ogryn snoring loudly at a corner.

"Bronnx doesn't think." Yarn snarled.

"We don't have any hostile intentions. We only want to go to Tarokeen." Cortana said her voice so calm and cool Karna couldn't help but relax. She felt Yarn stiffen and she turn to face him. Karna had never felt him so tense before. Something was very wrong, Yarn just wouldn't tell her. She placed a hand against his arm and instantly he recalled.

"You're hurt." she said to him.

He leaned in to kiss her in the forehead deep and long, then he was silent.

Yarn couldn't fight them. The pain in his arm was coming in at pulsing waves yet from sheer will he kept his mouth shut. This soldier this man will killed them. Yarn's eyes went to his wife. Karna wasn't stupid. Blind but not stupid. She didn't ask questions because she knew it was her to know what Yarn was planning. They were in danger whether immediate he didn't know. "John" if that was his name had the power of snap his arm off if he wanted too. Who was this man? The disembodied woman was inside of him. Pure daemons, Yarn realized. "John" must have been a Heretic Astarte and this "Cortana" a Eldar Witch!

Yarn had to get his wife out of there. Even if it meant his life.

The desert sand parted as the skipper cut into a passage way carved into a mountain formation. They were beginning to see other ships after hours of traveling in the morning. Yarn wondered whether it would be a good idea to signal for help. This Heretic Astarte would kill him and Karna if they tried. Yarn saw him kill several men with ease and lethal efficency. He couldn't be a mere man. Either way he had to get Karna off the ship. He would rather face the desert sands then travel to Tarokeen.

Yarn could not return to Tarokeen. That was not an opinion he and Karna could afford.

Yarn stared at his wife who rode quietly in silence in the embrace of his arms. His skin was a leathery dark brown from the ravaging sun beating down on him from his life in the desert. Karna by Tarosian standards was quiet pale in comparison. How was he so blessed to be given a wife such as her? Karna never complained to him never once shame him or disrespected him in anyway. She was always faithful to him, doing what she can with what she had and can do. Off-world traders loved her spirit she was loyal and funny and devoted even if she couldn't see. She had beauty of soul in addition to form. She was a slender woman even through she carried his child now in her womb, with velvetly skin and flowing sandy blonde hair and blue eyes that were kind and rich in soul even through she couldn't see. Her lips were soft and smooth but what drove Yarn wild with desire was the sheer silkiness of her fingertips. She had the softest hands in the universe, hands that would carness him and slap him and pleasure him his wife loved him with her hands.

It was the difference between their hands that amazed him. His palms were covered in new and old blusters from years of wielding a mining tool his skin was like sand paper and always dry. It had been hard to love Karna with them during their passionate nights but she never complained. What had he ever done to get a woman like her? Yarn had to protect her. He repeated the words in his mind over and over again as the pulsing pain of his broken forearm stabbed at him. It wasn't splintered but something was definitely broken.