Editing Nobledark Imperium Imperial Forces (section)

=== Ratlings ===

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%"> '''''Of the Ratlings:'''''

The Ratling strain of humanity — or Ornsworlder as many of them prefer to be called — is a variety of abhuman. Unlike many other abhuman strains, however, Ratlings are native to only one world: Ornsworld. The planet Ornsworld was founded sometime between the later years of M6 and the early days of M7, according to the radioactive decay of a can of irradiated waste on the largest moon and by the local legends of the mighty hero "Orn of Many Tales". Orn was a mighty warrior and fearless explorer of the First Stellar Exodus, so the tales tell, who headed a colony fleet and braved the uncharted deeps of space in early ships of imperfect design. Many places on the surface of the planet hold the name of Orn; the great mesa of Orn's Table, the immense cavern system of Orn's Burrow, the ancient water filled impact crater of Orn's Bath, and the escarpment of Orn's Headstone, the foot of which is reputedly the site of Orn's Grave. Due to the rarity of surviving records of this era independent proof of Orn existing remain undiscovered. All Ratlings claim descent from Orn, though if he ever did exist then it is inevitable that they are correct due to the passage of time and isolation during the Age of Strife. From this stage of development up until the Age of Strife it is believed that the Ornsworlders did not deviate noticeably from the baseline human form. The role of Ornsworld in the days of, and days prior to, the Great and Bountiful Human Dominion is unknown, as records of that era of Ornsworld have not survived.
 
At the onset of the Age of Strife, in the first days of the Iron War of which dark legends tell the fell deeds of, Ornsworld fared better than most. Some have suggested that the locals had slightly Luddite tendencies and thus did not trust thinking machines that thought as men thought. Others have pointed out rusted remains in the mountains of the south above where glaciers once roamed, where Iron Folk sat in the caves, their alloy shells still sitting where they died though their hearts have long since decayed beyond possibility of reanimation. Others again point out that human bones were found alongside them, and that there is no evidence that they died in violence. Whatever the cause or evidence thereof, it seems that the most sophisticated Men of Iron never made it to Ornsworld and as such Ornsworld had neither an Iron Mind nor a Man of Gold. There is also no isotopic residue in the soil layers from this time to indicate that the sudden Ice Age was anything but either a natural occurrence or a long delayed hiccup of the original terraforming efforts.
 
The Ice Age would have been correctable with the subtle application of solar reflectors and atmospheric tweaking that was common enough practice for Dominion era habitation, but although Ornsworld had been spared the worst of the Iron War it did not come out unmarred; the planet's industry was in ruins and beyond a few weather monitoring and communication satellites the planet had no space presence. The world slipped into the cold and its inhabitants could do nothing to stop it.

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There is debate in the leafy halls of the AdBio if the physiological changes that started in this dwindling age of isolation were the result of intentional engineering, to better survive the new and sorrowful age, or were a result of natural adaptation to the conditions of that age. Some point out that the alterations couldn't have occurred that fast across the entire global population, especially when considering the alterations to the digestive system and the bones in the hands and feet. Others point out that by the time that the Iron War started genetic tempering was already present in the population of the entire planet, bar a few puritan holdouts, and that with a broader pallet available the beneficial structures could have stabilized in a mere handful of generations (i.e. natural processes built from semi-artificial components). Whatever the cause, the result was a deviation that was sufficient to have them declared beyond the normal levels of variation found in the baseline population. Such changes include a hand with three fingers and two thumbs, a similarly structured foot, unusual neural architecture in the parietal lobe resulting in a high tolerance for physical pain, the stomach being divided into two separate organs, and a proportionally larger and more functional appendix. The shorter and on average slightly broader stature would not be enough on its own to have them classed as abhuman, as many pygmy populations are not classed as such. It is said that Ratlings have a better sense of smell, but this has been proven incorrect beyond normal human variation. Ratlings do, however, posses better hand to eye coordination, which slightly but measurably surpasses the human norm when the whole population is taken into account.
 
The deviations were ideal for them to have at least a little bit of an edge in the food scarce and cold environment that their world had become. As a society they could have gone two ways: increased competition or greater cooperation. In the case of the Children of Orn they would not forsake their bonds of common humanity and kinship, and did not turn on each other, preferring instead to ration carefully what they had and huddle together in the dark for warmth; they would die as people rather than live as beasts. In time what few technological artifacts they had preserved failed and they had not the skills or tools to repair or replace them. Thus the Ornsworlders became a rustic and simpler people.
 
No cold spell can endure forever, even one as soul crushing and lingering as the great winter, and spring came at last in the late part of the twenty-ninth millennium. By the time that the fledgling Imperium found them, the glaciers were retreating miles at a time each summer and regaining no ground in milder winters. The people of Ornsworld, long since accustomed to making do with little, were in an age of plenty and underwent a golden age of rapid expansion in those fresh green years, as miles of new farmland opened before them year after year and great joy was had that their old fairy stories had come true; the people Orn was born to had come at last again to their world, the Tall Folk of Earth. No age of expansion can continue indefinitely, and the Ratlings found an equilibrium in time with their new and verdant world, tending to its great green glacial valleys lovingly. They knew the value of what they, by the grace of their gods, had. By the time such stability was reached, they had already managed to acquire a little bit of a reputation with the Imperium at large; by their first impressions, of being fond of food and drink and prone to large families.
 
In the years after the Ornsworlders served the Imperium dutifully and provided many fine marksmen and regimental cooks, as well as food stuffs. They were a well-loved people, gentle and kind and full of good sense and down-to-earth wisdom. Their friends were many as they tended to be generous and always possessed a delightfully infectious laughter. The Imperium was their golden age.
 
The golden age did not last. Dominion records were found in the 12th Black Crusade by a Chaos Lordling — Eidolon Ever-Burning — of an artifact of on Ornsworld known as the Eye of Night. It was not an artifact of Dominion made but something far more ancient that they had unearthed, that was said to be able to destroy complex mortal technology great and small, fragile or robust. He descended upon peaceful Ornsworld like a great dragon made of fire, and like an inferno reduced all he touched to cinders and ash as he took the Eye from its hiding place in a deep and flooded cave. Hideous as his presence was, he vanished soon enough with his prize. But the resistance had been stiffer than expected, and the Children of Orn were weakened now. Like sharks to spilled blood, other creatures came to the weakened world as the Imperium was hamstrung and distracted by the rest of a greater war.
 
When the Imperium managed to scrape the resources to send a force to Ornsworld, it was far too late. Gone were the songs in the halls of the thanes, the laughter was silent, and all that was to be found were the bodies; arranged in great patterns of Chaotic offering, lying where they had fallen in the hunts, or mutilated and thrown on sacrificial heaps. Those joyful smiles were twisted into expressions of fear and pain. Only Chaos Spawn moved on the blighted and tainted land. The Ratlings had been exterminated to the last child.
 
There were Ornsworlders in the forces that landed in the fresh ashes. Their tears were bitter and sorrowful beyond words, and that sorrow was turned to a cold and terrible wrath. It might seem amusing that a branch humanity that seemed built for peace could be so angry, and maintain that anger — colder than the deeps of space — for so long. But they can, and it seems like it should be an impotent rage, but it is not. A call was put out by the head chef of one of the regiments that landed, a dreadful and terrible message whispered from astropath to scribe and passed on across the Imperium. All the sons and daughters of Orn were to come home.
 
The fields were made green again, trees grew again from the ashes on the mass graves, and from a distance perhaps Ornsworld would look like all was how it was. But those happy songs are now songs of war and retribution. The sons and daughters of that world look to the stars no longer in hope but in hate. The law of conscription has been restricted, as were it not too many would heed the war drums that beat in their hearts. People look at Ratlings and are unimpressed, and remain unimpressed until they start racking up a body count. A length of spider-silk, once sold to off-world merchants in bolts and dresses for princesses, is now carried by every Ratling soldier, and can cut a neck all the way to the bone. Those clever hands and keen eyes, once used to carve and paint things of beauty, now put those skills to a greater, bloody work in their service to the Guard and Ornsworld; Ratling marksmen are famed and feared across half the galaxy, as they move swiftly and quietly, and kill without hesitation or remorse. They are owed a blood-price. A price that could only be measured in the depths of their oceans of shed tears.
 
The world of Orn and its inhabitants are a very unexpected terror that stalks the stars in the dying of the forty-first millennium. Their roused anger is all the more terrible for how unexpected it was. Although the Eye of Night was undoubtedly a great boon to the forces of Chaos, it might not be worth what has risen against them.

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