Gulag

Oho, back again? After so long, we can enjoy each other's company again, how wonderful! More of the Wretched again? Yes... Mmmm, for such a small band they do occupy many of my stories. The Wretched are never more than an under-strength company, 85 at the most. Their old bonds and order of their chapter dissolving in the harsh realities of their new existence. Old ranks have lost their meaning and authority except where the strength, cunning or charisma of its owner have kept the claws of the ambitious at bay. Squads have clustered around individual champions, drawing like minded individuals together from across the warband. Each of these champions is but a petty warlord in the service of the warband's overlord, Barsad, who keeps would be rivals in check through his control of the cadre of mad chirurgeons, butchers and deranged medicae who render down the living and the dead for the transplants, infusions and alchemy that keep the whole of the warband alive. Barsad isn't the name he was born with mind you, nor the name gifted to him by his fallen chapter. So it is for all of his brethren among the Wretched, and who could blame them? Why be reminded of just how far you have fallen each and every time someone speaks to you? Better to forget. To become something else, anything else, than to be tormented by the memory of lost glories, forgotten honor and the soul deep wounds of shame. A broken tool might be repaired or discarded but what of broken astartes? What becomes of warriors shorn of their history and purpose?

Hey, thanks for the feedback! I looked around and decided to go for something different in the write up. I also wanted the horror of what happened to them to come out and the usual IA doesn't usually do that.

Sit now and listen, I will tell you a story of failure and shame, or bitterness and slow, sinister corruption. The story of the Wretched. The birth of Wretched begins properly with a ruined fleet, destroyed in a cataclysmic confrontation in a system far from the light of the Astronomicon, far from the eyes of the Imperium, forgotten and unknown, the heraldry of each vessel obscured by black mag-plates. The might of an entire chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, mustered at once and in full strength for battle, their honors and history concealed by the colors of shame and penitence. Battle barges, strike cruisers, and escorts all rendered into shattered hulks, locked in an eternal silent embrace with the remains of the enemies they slew. Degradation of the chapter's gene-seed brought about their end. A flaw in their blood had become such that it could not be tolerated by the Imperium, and so the chapter was forced to choose a death - the slow death by organ failure and implant rejection, the shameful death of the Inquisition's fires, or the swift death of self-destruction against a foe they could not hope to defeat. The name of the Chapter that died there is as irrelevant as the enemy that killed them. I will not repeat it for you. What is relevant, are those survivors of the doomed chapter, those warriors too stubborn or unlucky to die with their brothers, when redemption in death was their last hope. These survivors, lingered in the grave of all that they had known, left to suffer the indignity of living, and in their bitter existence, gathered together slowly from the wrecks and hulks of their vessels. Lead by a last surviving chaplain, Tiberius. They might have stayed there forever in the dark were it not for the eventual arrival of a scavenger vessel. Unable or unwilling to accept a slow demise in the empty void, the survivors seized the vessel and Tiberius set them on course for the Eye of Terror, that they might again seek battle with the Emperor's enemies and die with some measure of dignity. It was in this long voyage that the cause of the Chapter's destruction festered and ripened into corruption as the surviving brothers falling into madness, despair and illness. One by one, these once-proud warriors felt the fatal flaw in their genetic grow worse, and a soul-deep bitterness grow stronger. Discontent grew, and Tiberius was murdered by his brothers who wanted to live more than they wanted to keep their honor. It is at this point in our story that along came a Spider. I don't know if he sought them out or the reverse is true. Perhaps they found one another by coincidence...but you don't really believe in such things, do you? I cannot say what bargain was struck between the survivors and the Manflayer, but a bargain was struck, and the survivors felt the touch of the Clonelord's knives as so many of us have over the millennia. Dark work was done upon those desperate few, and from their ranks were born the Wretched. Failing organs were given transplants, new and twisted glands bound into their flesh, and alchemical infusions pumped into blood vessels. Blessed with continued survival, and cursed to steal the flesh, blood and tissues from their enemies to carry on. The survivors truly became the Wretched. You might think that this success, bought at however high a price, would be some succor to the Wretched, but you would be wrong. The Wretched savor none of it, there is no relish or satisfaction in their actions, just desperate survival, a refusal to die and a bitter resentment that they lacked the strength to die when they might have still had some honor. Battle though...that is the balm on their pain, the soothing rhythms of combat drive away the self-loathing, the bitterness and regrets. The perfect way for them to channel their hatred and resentment and they find themselves getting progressively more lost in it. Do not pity the Wretched though, for they chose their path. They dealt with Fabius Bile knowing full well the damnation they embraced. Save your pity for the enemies and captives that the Wretched fall upon. Those who die against the Wretched will be carved apart and salvaged like broken machines, stripped for useful parts, and become part of the Wretched. Captives face an even worse fate - stripped naked, suspended in cages only big enough to contain their restrained forms. Tubes and catheters run from these captives, slowly draining them of blood, plasma, bone marrow, cell cultures and useful hormones. Xenos, Imperial loyalists, and heretics alike find themselves neighbors in the cages facing a slow, painful death to sustain the lives of their captors. =-=-=-=-= Another random idea I've hammered into a bit of shape. C&C welcome.

Data Slate Damaged Memory Damaged Data Fragment Retrieved Message (Unsent) My Lord Inquisitor, in the name of Him on Earth, I welcome you to the Keller-Reach Cluster. My master has bid me prepare a brief summary of the threats facing the God-Emperor’s servants in this region of His realm. I shall thus start with the largest and most persistent menace: The Shtrafbat. The Shtrafbat are the force responsible for the ongoing conflict referred to as the Blood Wars in the Colonies region of the Cluster with periodic incursions deeper into the more settled Middlelands territory. As you are no doubt aware, the Shtrafbat are a war-cult dedicated to the worship of the Blood God, operating from a network of planets and habitats beyond the edge of charted space. The Imperial Navy and several contracted Rogue Traders have been assigned to cutting off the Shtrafbat from logistical support but have as yet failed to achieve sufficient impact to affect the enemy on the ground - void assets of the Shtrafbat are few in number and loathe to engage our own ships in combat, instead performing hit- and-fade attacks or covert supply drops. On the ground the Shtrafbat are a hybrid force of the archetypical crazed assault forces in the service of the Dark Powers mixed with more esoteric and disciplined formations believed to originate in conventional backgrounds such as traitor elements of the Astra Militarum. The typical first wave of any attack by the Shtrafbat is composed mostly of what are commonly referred to as “Chargers”, a type of zombie fueled by pure rage and warp-magic. Broadly similar to the shambling poxwalkers of the Plague God, these are reanimated corpses of the dead from both sides, but while the poxwalkers are slow and dull-witted, the variant used by the Shtrafbat is disconcertingly quick and aggressive. These abominations approach at a dead run, moving as fast as their ravaged bodies will allow and attacking with a mindless fury that is shocking even for hardened guardsmen. As with poxwalkers and plague zombie types, the only truly effective ways to put down a Charger is destruction of the head or total dismemberment of the body. Unsurprisingly, those killed or wounded by the Chargers will themselves become Chargers and turn on their former comrades without hesitation. This effect is both corrosive to morale and accelerates attrition in frontline units. This problem is exacerbated by the tendency of the Shtrafbat to “go recruiting” by targeting civilian population centers for attack, turning our own population against us. Behind the Chargers comes the second wave, which is where the mixed nature of the Shtrafbat becomes more apparent and more repellent. Not everyone captured by the Shtrafbat will be killed immediately and converted into a Charger. Instead, captive civilians and any prisoners of war are subjected to cruel and foul rituals whereupon they are befouled by warpcraft, doomed to slip into ever deeper corruption and to rise up after death as a Charger. These Cursed are herded into mass formations and given basic weapons lashed to their hands and herded towards Imperial positions as cannon fodder. Most will die and rise up again, but they will wear down our positions and consume valuable resources before they finally die. Intermixed with these Cursed groups are often collections of feral beastmen, abhuman assault squads, war-beasts of every stripe and mutants with heavy weapons that will try to exploit the shielding effect of the Cursed to close in and engage our forces from advantageous positions. Inaccurate and simple massed artillery is often deployed in support of the Cursed with little regard for friendly fire as those casualties of errant shells and rockets will simply get back up and hurl themselves forward anyway. Between the Chargers and the Cursed, this represents the bulk of the Shtrafbat strength and were there nothing more to that Emperor-damned army, they would be little better than skirmishing suicide squads on the frontier. Unfortunately, that is not the case. There exists a hardcore central faction to the Shtrafbat that maintains discipline in the ranks, directs the Chargers and Cursed to maximum effect and displays focused tactical, operational and strategic planning. These elements are typically referred to as the Blacklegs due to the color of their armor and fatigues on their lower extremities. The Blacklegs are composed of hardened survivors who’ve climbed the ranks of the Cursed, been recruited from other cult forces or Traitor Guard factions. Armed with lasguns, autoguns and special weapons as well as flak armor and rebreathers, the Blacklegs are the only members of the Shtrafbat to enjoy the use of widespread if small-scale mechanized transport, armor, or air support. As such, the Blacklegs enjoy a status approaching elite and are deployed sparingly and to maximum effect as infiltrators, kill-teams and saboteurs to facilitate the breakthrough and advance of the hordes of Chargers and Cursed. When faced with overwhelming strength, or with a losing battle, the Blacklegs have shown a regular propensity for retreats to preserve important materiel, veteran elements, and supplies that is at odds with the frenzied methods so often seen in other war cults. So, this is an old idea of mine that I pick away at, return to, forget about, remember, return to, and pick away at again since at least 2007. I need to develop their leadership and culture and find a better name for the Rage Zombies besides Charger or Rage Zombie, and refine what I've got already. Any CC or feedback is always welcome.