Misandrista: The World of Amazons

For longer than the Imperium of Man has existed on the face of the Galaxy: Misandrista has stood, and Women, ONLY EVER WOMEN, have ruled it. Founded in the ancient and lost days that pre-date even the Dark Age of Technology by a sect of radical lesbian separatists, Misandrista has a single, and simple, motto: "WOMEN: First, Last, Always, ONLY." No man is permitted to step foot on Misandrista, even the Primarchs and Emperor of Mankind were not permitted to land here, for in those ancient days Misandrista had a mighty stelar-defense flotilla that would have cost so much of the Imperial Army to overcome that it was deemed that it would be "A Net Loss" by the Emperor himself to attempt to take the system by ****. Instead, he dispatched lesbian scientist-missionaries of The Imperial Truth to the world, claiming that they wished to join their all-female society. They did, in fact, and were chosen in-part for that specific reason, but once the 'infection' with The Imperial Truth was begun it spread slowly and unseen, much like a cancer, beneath the fabric of Misandrista Society until, three centuries later, with The Great Crusade still in full-swing, but having long-since-moved-on from the sector, Misandrista willingly approached the Emperor's agents with an offer to join the Imperium, provided certain small concessions were made, such as remaining a planet where no man was ever allowed to go for ANY reason, not even the Emperor and his sons; and being allowed to recruit any lesbian willing and fit to join their ranks wherever their units marched with the Imperial Army. The Emperor himself never even heard the petition: or knew it had been approved by his government at-all. The Agreement was made not by the Emperor of Mankind, to whom it would later be attributed due to bearing his seal, but rather by the only other person authorized to touch that seal: Malcheodor the Sigillate, later known as Malcheodor the Hero.

Despite its not-entirely-correctly attributed authorship, the treaty has been honored ever-since: except during the Horus Heresy when Warmaster Horus, remembering that planet for a moment or two at one point, had a small-strike **** of Alpha Legion marines dispatched to cripple its orbital dock-yards and sever the space elevators directly connecting to them with the surface in order to prevent the Imperial Army using them to re-arm and resupply behind his lines as he advanced on Terra. The attack was entirely successful, and the attacking chaos-space-marines withdrew from the system without a single casualty: an event that has become a pivotal part of the myths and legends of the planet in the 41st millennium: painting all men as hulking-brutes incapable of either loyalty, honor, or trustworthiness.

To be a Guardwoman from this world, is to be among the finest solders that the Imperium has to offer, to be trained-and-equipped to a standard that exceeds even that of standard guardsmen, who are among the most-elite unenhanced human warriors that will or ever have graced the galaxy. Each guardsman is easily a match for members of the USMC, and their specialists on-par with elite units such as the Airborne-Rangers or Navy SEALS: while the best-of-the-best among the Imperial Guard put even those hyper-adepts of modern warfare to shame. It is only the fact that the Imperium is beset on all sides and within by enemies that would crush a united defense of earth by the entire planet's current armed forces in a mater of a few weeks that makes the Guard seem weak: for when one compares the Tyrranids or Orks to all the threats we've faced in our history during the 2nd Millennium, (as opposed to the 41st), its like comparing a grapefruit to a wild blueberry, so vast is the difference in shier power between mere human-beings, no matter how elite and well-trained, and the horrors of the 41st Millennium CE. Yet, even so, the Women-Warriors of Misandrista are a-cut-above regular guardsmen, trained and equipped to a standard notably similar to that of the Cadian "Karskin" regiments or the "Storm Troopers" of the Schola Progenum. These Regiments and more-typically entire Legions of Guardwomen are rarely kept together at a level more than a few squads when on the actual battlefield, but always insist on being billeted and barracked with exclusively their own kind, and this-too is attested as necessary by the treaty which brought them into the Imperium, a long-and-complex treaty, carefully crafted by the finest minds of their world at the time to withstand any/all changes and alterations to the Imperial Government that might occur over the ensuing centuries and millennia. It is one that has, thus-far at least, succeeded in doing so.

This has resulted in such peculiarities as their world being among a very select few left in the galaxy that still openly defies the Ecclesiarch by steadfastly and staunchly practicing The Imperial Truth as their primary religion, though its tenets and creeds have subtly and gradually been brought more-and-more in-line with that of The Imperial Creed over the endless years since the God-Emperor was interred into The Golden Throne. After all, those who act as Ecclesiarch do, and always have, (Save the mad-high-lord Godge Vandire), cared far more about adherence to the core-tenets of Imperial Orthodoxy, than the precise manifestations of those core tenets expressed on specific worlds. As one example, while the people of Misandrista reject the idea that the Emperor was a god when he walked among men, they accept the Imperial Creeds position that he IS a god NOW, reconciling these points by asserting that his fight with the Arch-Traitor Horus and subsequent interment into The Golden Throne burned away all that was mortal about him, leaving behind only that which could survive transfiguration into the God-Emperor of today. They go-on to assert that this is why he is the only man that is worthy, since he is-not mortal, and all the mortal weaknesses of men were among those things about him destroyed during his divine ascension. In this among other areas the Eclisiarchy treads lightly around the planet, sending no priests to minister to its people, only priestesses; never allowing the post of Cardinal of it's sector to be held by a man lest he be required to visit the planet for any reason, and-so-on. The world is a major location of pilgrimage as well, but, obviously, only for women: since both several female saints have been born on the many thousands of extremely small continents that make up its livable surface, and it holds in its high-temple's inner sanctum one of the few surviving original copies of the treaty that brought it into the Imperium, each page marked by the imprint of the God-Emperor's own seal in the area set-aside for it to be so-stamped when it was first printed. The book hasn't been actually seen in centuries, but the heavily gilded and silk wrapped stasis-chest/reliquary in which it is housed is under 24/7 surveillance and protection by both the Adepta Sororitas (who have found in this world a ready source of aspirant members since the earliest days of their organization) and thousands of different cameras, both fixed and mounted into Servo Skulls. In fact, technically, it's tithe-grade has been made "Adeptus-Non" as its importance as a Shrine-World and recruiting ground for the Adepta Sororitas has placed it outside the direct control of the Adeptus Administratum and instead under the Elesiarchy's Agis, but more-specifically that of the Adepta Sororitas directly. Even so, the Legions of Guardwomen march forth to their troopships each year unchanged. The hereditary governorship of the world was-not replaced by liturgical rule, as the treaty under which the planet joined the Imperium specifically forbids it: and since no member of the Adepta Sororitas would ever so much as CONSIDER defying words stamped directly, (So they think), by the God-Emperor himself, (even if it was while he yet remained mortal), well...

You number among this years "Taxed" troops, as they call it here, (Tithes, tribute, taxes: the differences have become almost entirely semantic in the modern imperium), you have your kit: Carapace Armor, Star-Gun, (most of the Imperium calls these "Hell-Guns", but the pious women of your world reject that irreverent nomenclature, calling them by the less liturgically unpalatable "Star-Gun" instead), Ghillie-Suit that you can customize with local vegetation once you arrive at the war-zone to help you conceal yourself in the wilds, Backpack with 2 weeks worth of high-quality ration-packs and other standard kit such as a filter-canteen and a copy of "The Imperial Infantrywoman's Uplifting Hymnal" (The "Imperial Truth" sect of the Ecclesiarchy treats lies and deceptions between human-beings, regardless of justifications, as a serious form of blasphemy, ergo your basic manual issued to every trooper is a lot more honest than the one most of the guard gets: and somewhat longer as well, including quite a bit more useful advice on several different topics that "The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer" does not even touch on.), and of-course, your photo of your family, to remind you what it is you're actually fighting for: your homeworld, your family and friends, and the survival of the human race for whom they are your representatives. The Imperial Truth understands that "Humanity" is an abstract concept that's kind-of hard for human-beings to unequivocally get behind: after all, a lot of humans are assholes. But "These are your friends, your loved ones, your family: and every single world in the Imperium has people just like them that are worth protecting, even if you have to die in order to do it." is a concept that nearly any human-being is capable of wrapping their head around and internalizing.

Just in case you might be wondering "Wait, ONLY women? How do they reproduce?", that's relevant too. A few days ago, after completing the refresher basic training for a member of the Guard, (As opposed to the PDF, and Guardswoman "Basic" for your planet puts the induction tests into any IRL military's ultra-elite-formations to shame), you were quasi-sterilized by having ALL of your potential egg-cell follicles harvested. They are now housed in the "Hall of the Heroines", from which every mother on Misandrista must draw the eggs that will be technomanticaly fused with her own ova to create her first three daughters. Only after you have born three little girls that are the daughters of Guardwomen long-departed, (or sometimes recently, such as if the mother had a crush on a woman who just-left and therefore can look up her specific name in the cogitator records), are you allowed to even consider marriage: every family in the world a blended one between the early children of the two mothers involved. Woe-betide the woman who mistreats her or her spouse's children, for in a society of ONLY and always women, motherhood has been elevated to the highest of arts; one that failing to learn it's intricacies is utterly unacceptable to society. You will never know the overwhelming majority of your children, BUT, 100 of the most potentially viable eggs from each ovary have been sent onto the troop-ship with you in both cryogenic and temporal stasis, of which it is expected that 10 from each ovary could be successfully matured and fused to create your daughters. 20 Daughters at-most born of your own body, more typically ten, since guardswomen who survive to muster-out are almost always married and swap eggs with their partner, requiring two eggs each per matching pair of pregnancies minimum. However, even-so, that's about the upper limit* of the number of children, or at least pregnancies, that a woman would bear on the home-world as well.

The trumpets are sounding from every window and turret, the drums boom from every doorway, each balcony resounds with the refrain of the strings, and the Fifes of each regimental band adds its own strain to the hymn of the Misandrista Legions: "Faith of our Foremothers, Known of Old", while those of you with skill enough to sing, (or merely who THINK they are good enough and NOT actively bad enough their fellow-soldiers elbow them in the ribs to shut them up), provide the words...

"Faith of our Foremothers, known of old;
Lady, of far-flung battle lines;
Beneath who's awesome hands we hold;
Dominion over palm-and-pine;
Lady of Hosts, be with us yet;
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Queens depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lady of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Murica and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Eldar use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lady of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts his trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And, guarding, calls not Thee to guard;
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy Mercy on Thy People, God!"

Each company takes up the refrain at a specific point in the march, and ends it as the last of them crosses the edge of the ramp into troop ship by which they will embark for a war-zone from which chances are they never return; but as the ancient hymn, (older, so it is said, even than Misandrista, which in-its-turn predates the Imperium), fades from the lips of one company, the next takes-it-up in a 'round' which shall last the entire day. You enter the cavernous bulk of the ship which will carry you directly to the war-zone in which you will fight, and move to the bunk that the naval-watch-officer assigns you: You're on the second-lowest bunk of a stack of five, which you will strap yourself into every night for the next several months, or even years, while you move to the war-zone the your legion has probably already been assigned to fight in, its going to be a long-and-bumpy ride, and then even worse when you actually arrive.

*Except for the members of the "Michellite" sect, who view creating future soldiers for the Immortal Emperor's armies as the most holy act any woman can perform, and keep themselves pregnant with multiple implantations near-constantly from the time they are sexually mature to the point menopause robs them of the capacity to continue. Their families sometimes number multiple dozens of daughters, the entire family living in barracks conditions under military discipline from infancy, with the mother acting as the 'Sargant' for her family. They rarely marry, as-well, only having "Heroine's Daughters" long after the required three has passed, typically during a Michellite's very first pregnancy. The few who DO marry it is exclusively a group of at-least three young women to a post-menopausal officer of the planetary defense **** who will act as the "Lieutenant" for her "Sargant" wives and their "platoons" of daughters. Very rarely one of these groups will grow large enough to organize into an even bigger unit, with specific wives being promoted to Lieutenant while the chief wife 'rises in rank' to Captain, Major, Etc. Only four or five times in the entire eight-thousand-year history of the sect has there been someone who successfully rose to the rank of "Wife-General" among their numbers, and these women are all seen as world-saints by the sect. The general population considers them all to be mildly insane: though in a harmless or even useful way. All that being said, there is a near-certainty that a significant number of the women with whom you serve will be Michellites. To join the ranks of the Imperial Guard is the not-even-vaguely-secret dream and life-goal of every devout Michellite from the time they are small; with the obviously corelated result of there becoming a disproportionate number of them who have succeeded in that goal as members of every Legion mustered from Misandrista, even considering that they have to endure the entire training-and-service process in order to merely be considered for induction while pregnant. The children they leave behind will be inducted into the Schola Progenum branch for the planet, and typically end-up as members of the planetary Commissariat, meaning that it's more likely your Commissar will be a Michellite than that she won't.