I like to think there is also an ecological element to why people are constantly on the move instead of forming scavenger towns (or maybe there are scavenger towns?). Like maybe the planet rotates really slowly and one side is buffeted by gamma radiation, so semi-permanent habitation is easily manageable but building permanent settlements is pointless as you have to keep migrating east to avoid radiation season. Maybe the rust ghouls mutated to survive the radiation, and the reason why no one can eradicate them is because they dwell in the radiation zone. Or perhaps deep underground scavenger towns, "scavs" dwell.
My thought is that the populace used to be more settled, but most such settlements have been lost and the bulk of the natives have become nomads or rust ghouls as a response to the climate becoming more arid, ancient technology breaking, the spread of diseases, increasing concentrations of metal oxides rendering the soil largely infertile and the arrival of the Imperium who have somewhat replaced the already struggling agricultural workers with scavengers by trading long lasting nutritionally balanced foodstuffs and water in exchange for technological remnants.
To non-natives without biologically or cybernetically augmented lungs the air is abrasive and will kill within weeks without proper protection, as tiny shards of rust and other oxides enter the lungs. Natives and rust ghouls can survive for years breathing this air, but doing so without protection will eventually lead to cancerous tumours and/or heavy metal poisoning which shorten their lifespan to roughly thirty years on average.
The Mechanicus is in de facto control of the planet, being more or less entirely responsible for keeping the space ports functioning, and having a near total monopoly on the import of food, water and medicine. The Magos in charge has calculated that there is almost certainly one or more items of immeasurable value on the planet, moreso even than the already known and malfunctioning dark age machines that act as sources of food and water, or the automated cloning bays deep in some of the ruins, and has determined the she alone will be the one to find them and take them off world. As she is paranoid that her superiors would confiscate the planet from her if they knew what she suspects lies there she keeps the Mechanicus presence as minimal as she can without losing control to the Administratum.
Occasionally a nomad clan will be attacked in the night by 'blue-eyed ghosts,' the Skitarii agents of the Magos seeking to acquire finds of particular significance before they can be sold to the scrap traders of the city-ports and potentially become common knowledge among rumour mongers.
For the rust ghouls specifically, they're a mixture of humans who turned to cannibalism out of desperation and degenerated, the result of centuries or millennia of inbreeding, faulty cloning systems, and the possibly mythical influence of the Dark Man, a spirit that wanders the world disguised as a man dressed all in black. A reference to Western ideas of the devil as a well spoken man who wanders the world in a black suit. The Dark Man is worshipped by rust ghouls regardless of their origin, as well as by some nomad communities, especially the rogue psykers that crop up among them. His actual involvement in the planet, if he even exists, is minimal, he has little to no tangible power, but among the throngs of mystics who are simply lying, hallucinating, suffering from diseases of the mind or delusions of grandeur there are a small handful who are guided by whispers and prophecies from the Dark Man.
Some legends attribute the Dark Man as being able to deactivate or reactivate ancient machinery, causing food fabricators to stop all production and settlements to starve, until they sacrifice and consume their own in offering to the spirit, at which point the device turns back on, providing sustainable nourishment to what is now a fledgling ghoul clan. Certainly some cloning devices that have been recovered and deactivated by the Mechanicus have turned back on without warning, pouring out a horde of cannibalistic naked degenerates that have overrun more than a few salvage outposts in the wastes, which leads the Mechanicus to suspect something is amiss, and the Skitarii and lesser machine-priests whisper of scrapcode and techno-viruses lingering in the ruins.
Another idea I have is for an ocean planet. A former Ice-World that was terraformed into a vast ocean tens of millennia ago, before the oceans of Terra dried up. The planet was used as a wildlife preserve for remaning ocean fauna by a long forgotten group or individual. When the terraforming process got out of control and they found themselves unable to prevent the total thaw of the planet's ice and the subsequent drowning of the landmasses, the human population began to splice their genetic code with that of various terran derived sea creatures. As the continents were submerged the surface of the ocean became prone to extremely unstable weather, shattering the shallow-water laboratories and surface level spaceports that remained, with no more reason to stay near the surface the post-humans retreated into the deeper waters to hide from the crashing waves and violent winds. There the populace lost access to much of it's technology, only able to fashion and use the most primitive of tools when their travels brought them near the sea floor or coral reefs, their new anatomy ill suited to holding onto their dwindling technology.
After being rediscovered by a Rogue Trader from House Milatch, a trade house specialising in consumable goods such as food, intoxicants and textiles, a tentative contact was established with the now abhuman populace. The extreme weather conditions make permanent settlement by normal humans difficult, so other than a few underwater refineries and research posts there is little Imperial presence on the planet, though a space station sits in orbit to store materials transported from the planet to await collection by ships of House Milatch. The primary export of the planet is various rare delicacies and narcotics, derived from local fauna and flora. Between genetic tampering and the rapid pace of evolution in Warhammer few of the animals and plants are recognisable as their extinct terran progenitors, but they remain compatible with the human palate, a source of pride for those able to serve them at feasts, parties and drug fueled orgies. Few humans in the 41st millennium can say they they ate a tuna, even if that tuna barely resembles what we would call a tuna today.
The deepest waters of the planet also contain veins of adamantium ore. Due to the depths it isn't financially viable for conventional mining, but the abhumans have proven able to learn the basics of machine operation and maintenance, utilising adapted mining equipment to gather ore to be delivered to space. It is not a major export, but it is present and makes a respectable sum for House Milatch.
The deepest abyssal depths of the planet are home to the rulers of the native abhumans. These abyssals are vast, biologically lethargic beings, their genetics spliced with creatures like whales, deep sea crustaceans and giant cephalopods. They live for hundreds of years and can only survive in the shallows for brief periods. While the majority of the abhumans still resemble humans, albeit altered and disfigured by pelagic genetics, the abyssals were so massively altered as to lose almost all human qualities other than their minds, intended to be a last resort way to store the memories and culture of the planet before it drowned, in hopes of passing it on to spaceborne rescuers. These abyssals are friendly towards, if rather envious of, normal humans. Due to their low metabolic activity and the cold crushing depths in which they live they cannot communicate quickly, a brief conversation can take hours, and must be performed via abhuman intermediaries or with specialised equipment. House Milatch's assigned governor is convinced that the abyssals possess knowledge of partially intact ancient technology that was sunk beneath the waves but not destroyed by storms of geological activity, and is doggedly attempting to pry the information out of the leviathans.
These efforts may be in vain, for the planet is facing a threat it is ill suited to defend itself against. Among the off-world workers brought in by House Milatch were members of a cult of Khorne, whose foul practices have spread to the local abhumans. They seek to connect the world to the cursed ocean planet of Furia, a daemon world of the Screaming Vortex where half-daemon monsters roam the seas. Should they succeed, the planet and any wonders of the ancient colonists forgotten beneath it's waves will be lost, dragged into the swirling chaos storm, where they will only serve the Imperium's most dreadful enemy.
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Topic: WH40K discussion thread: from Tyran's heart I stab at thee. (Read 965503 times)