Atella was not always how she would later become, in fact she was very far from it!

Ernst Rutledge had originally been a Sergeant within a Praetorian regiment, part of a much larger crusade to reclaim a lost system near the fringes of Imperial space that had recently broken away from the Emperor's light. The man himself was tall and sturdy, his jawline squared and usually with a peppering of stubble, his sandy blonde hair kept neat and short beneath his standard-issue pith helmet, and his broad-shouldered body kept in peak physical condition through constant training; needless to say he was a hit with the ladies, commonly found to be having relationships with women of other regiments but rarely penalised for it, on the contrary he found himself offered more shots of amasec than he knew what to do with.

Glory in the front line of the reclamation crusade was not to be his however, for he was wounded in combat and sent to recuperate with a number of other Guardsmen, their transport heading for one of the worlds farthest away from the fighting; the 'Garden World' of [i]Salmacis[/i] was said to be one of peace, relaxation, and and known haven for wounded warriors seeking recuperation before heading back 'up the line' and into the meat grinder once more.

The stalwart Praetorian had not taken serious injuries, being back on his feet and without any major scarring within a couple of weeks, soon back up and practising his drills outside the largest hospital of the planets capital city. Such activities were not uncommon and, as far as he was concerned, he would be back in the fight within the next week or so...but this would never happen.

“Sergeant Ernst Rutledge of the Praetorian LXXXII went AWOL on the Garden World of [i]Salmacis[/i] during a period of convalescence after suffering of injuries in combat. This is a disgrace to the regiment, and a permanent stain on the record of an otherwise exemplary NCO.”

So read the official statement issued by the Munitorum – the [i]true[/i] story is more complex, and much weirder.

Garden Worlds are also called 'Pleasure Worlds' for a reason, and indeed it would not be a surprise to scholars of arcane lore to find that a Pleasure World is usually a good haven for a pleasure cult; in the case of [i]Salmacis[/i] there was already a cult dedicated to [i]Naedea[/i] – a local deity with a light side and a dark side, the dark side being a simple covering for the [b]true[/b] divinity behind the name, Slaanesh – the servants of the God and cult members of all classes constantly on the lookout for fresh flesh.

It was during one of his practises, a wooden lasgun clutched in his hands, the waning light of dusk setting in, that Ernst was assailed by cudgel-bearing figures swathed in silken robes. Although a proficient fighter, and able to fend them off for no small amount of time, his bruised skin, split lips and bloodied skull were the aftermath of what was a most determined struggle.

Bound and gagged, swaddled tightly in silk lashes at his wrists and ankles, he awoke to a circle of chanting acolytes gathered about an ancient natural spring. Looking this way and that, but staring mostly at the dripping ceiling, it appeared that he was in the cities sewage system; it was at this point that he dropped his head in acceptance, for he would never be found if these murmuring citizens did not wish him to be.

A sudden pause in the vocalisations allowed for the approach of eight or so hooded people, strong arms lifting him onto their shoulders, his acceptance turning to another struggle as he realised he was being taken toward the luminous water source. Hovering just above it, his captors turning him to face feet-first, he prayed silently to the God-Emperor and fell.

Water tinged with a lucent brightness surrounded him and consumed him, the Praetorian unable to do anything to stop himself getting closer to the bottom of the surprisingly deep spring, and just as he thought he was about to die was when Slaanesh decided that such a specimen was of more value to Her alive than as just another corpse.



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What awoke from within those waters was not the same as that which had entered them, slipping their narrowed from easily from the bonds – bonds tight enough to hold a man, but loosened by the transformation that had overtaken their captive – the sylphlike sacrifice powered through the depth and surfaced in a splash of water; what emerged was a figure of over average female height, slender with wiry and visible muscles, the lean musculature of an athlete or a martial artist...or a stripper, and a face that was both male and female at the same time and yet neither at all - full lips and high cheekbones that were distinctly feminine, but with a more squared jawline and a dimpled chin applicable to a male - glacial blue eyes looking out from beneath arched eyebrows and set on either side of a pointed nose, and a small pair of horns peeking from long hair or darkest black.

This was the beginning of a new life, a rebirth in the vision of her patron deity, the old ways and the God-Emperor cast aside and forgotten.

Atella was born, and Ernst was dead.