Geography: Snope’s World was once a beautiful garden world but centuries of mining stripped its resources, replacing its jungles with chemical bogs and squalid swamps. The surface is covered in polluted wastes and solemn clouds, with only a dozen powerful production hives remaining functional, such as Hive Saturna.
Population: Estimated 100 Billion (A highly populated world comparable to other Hive Worlds).
Tithe Grade: Exactus Prima (The planetary governor rules from the prestigious Platinal Palace).
Government Type: Saturnal Conclave (Ruled by the noble families in the Hive Saturna spire).
Planetary Governor: Lord Drazitine’s successor (Ruled by the leader of the Saturnal Conclave).
Adept Presence: High (The Inquisition and other Imperial organizations regularly intervene against cult activity).
Military: Hive Saturna Internal Security Forces and loyal Planetary Defence Forces.
Trade: Luxury spaceship components (fractal viewing blisters, ornate observation bays) and raw materials.
“Then I beheld the verdant land towards which the Blessed Saint had guided me these many years I wandered. I fell to my knees and wept tears of joy, for the Emperor’s Hand was upon me, and by His Will would we forever reign among the stars.”
–from The Chronicle of Lord Drazitine and the Path of the Iridescent Saint
Snope’s World was once one of the most prominent worlds within Askellon, and it is said that, at the height of its power, its influence stretched well past the distant spires of the Pellucid Tower. Now, however, it is little more than a poisonous swamp, its towering spires gradually falling into ruin as its rulers squabble over the last scraps of wealth like starving canids. Even more distressing is the evidence that the planet’s once lucrative trade routes are becoming weaker every year, and many now fear Snope’s World faces imminent isolation, its seething masses falling on each other as their last vital links are severed.
According to legend, Snope’s World was originally a beautiful world of pristine forests and glittering emerald seas teeming with life. The man credited with its discovery is Lord Drazitine, scion of the failing Hadaeko Trader Dynasty. Following the loss of a frigate in the Warp-where the insane and anguished wails of the doomed vessel’s occupants echoed from every vox on his flagship-Drazitine sank into despair. It was then, while staring out an observation blister into the riotous confusion of the Sea of Souls, that a figure swathed in pious robes of shimmering starlight appeared before him. Believed to be Saint Coronia the Iridescent, she revealed a virgin world that would forever secure his family’s legacy.
Upon re-emergence into realspace, the great storm Pandaemonium inexplicably parted before the weary vessels, granting passage to the emerald globe. Following this discovery, the great technological leviathans of the Imperium arrived to strip the world of its mineral resources. Centuries of mining replaced verdant jungles with chemical bogs and squalid swamps, while massive trawlers dredged the ocean depths for raw promethium. Most indigenous species perished, replaced by unnatural mutations and hardy predators able to endure the resulting pollution and deadly acid rain.
Currently, only a dozen of the hundreds of production hives that once covered Snope’s World retain any vestiges of power. The oldest is Hive Saturna, situated where Drazitine first set foot. This towering hive is home to the ruling Saturnal Conclave and the illustrious Platinal Palace, commissioned by Drazitine himself. It is believed that each of the millions of glittering angles set upon the spire represents a soul lost during the treacherous voyage, though Imperial scholars have long debated the significance of the bizarre gestures of supplication displayed among the immense angelic host.
The Saturnal Court dwells within this masterpiece of architecture, a corrupt remnant of the world’s gentry. During the height of its power, the Court encompassed the wealthiest inhabitants of Askellon, leading to violent struggles for dominance as the planet's wealth began to wane. Each family maintains a sizeable cadre of bodyguards, combat and snifter servitors, and assassins to protect their interests in these deadly, shadowed feuds.
The denizens of Snope’s World are notorious for their intensely superstitious customs, a practice exacerbated by the propaganda wars of the noble houses. While many revere the Cult of the Iridescent Saint, darker traditions involve macabre offerings to protect against the dangers of the polluted depths. The variety of occult activity is staggering, ranging from eccentric social gatherings to dangerous heretical cabals such as the Society of the Celestial Façade or the Enclave of Obscure Erudition. Even more alarming is the rise of innumerable cults dedicated to the power of the Pandaemonium, such as the Disciples of Disorder and the Pathos de Tenumbrae, who seek to entice the storm to engulf their world in unrestrained madness.
Saturnal politics changed forever following the notorious "Dinner of the Poisoned Blades," where one in five members of the noble households were messily murdered during a three-day banquet. Viceroy Nadrathor subsequently decreed that dishonourable tactics would result in the severest punishments. The result was two-fold: an escalation of deception and a deluge of litigation. The High Juridicial Courts are now gridlocked, with cases delayed until evidence is lost or participants die of old age. This atmosphere of collusion has bred countless secret societies that thrive in the shadows, some existing solely to supplant or exterminate rivals.
Situated off the coast of the second largest landmass, this thriving port city is constructed atop the remains of a gigantic mobile refinery. Hundreds of these behemoths once roamed the planet, but this particular machine’s servos seized centuries ago, settling the walker into the thick muck. It is now a bustling city ruled by Fuel Barons who control the trade of promethium collected from surviving offshore rigs.
Space is at a premium, with the affluent residing in the original berths and the majority living on massive floating pontoons attached to the corroded superstructure. Life is bleak, wet, and dangerous, punctuated by acid storms, rogue waves, and oil fires. The rickety, oil-slick undertown that sways unsteadily beneath the city’s bulk is a haven for unscrupulous traders and the trafficking of profane items, far from the prying eyes of the nobility above.
Hive Meldor was once a prosperous trade empire, until its lords delved too greedily into the mountain foundation. The spire toppled and collapsed, devastating the surrounding ecology. Instead of dying out, the city changed direction; survivors rebuilt a hodgepodge sprawl amidst the skeletal ruins and the now-toxic Thidillic River. The banks are choked with slag weed and barbed keratin creepers, while the buildings are bolted directly to the trench walls. Many cranes and maglev systems once used to carry ore now serve as lifts for workers to and from the rank muck below.
The toxic pools below the city cause horrific maladies, rotting victims from the inside out. Radical religious zealots view these afflictions as divine judgement, frequently purging the lower levels with chemical fire. Their fears are often justified, as the afflicted frequently turn on the healthy with unnatural strength, dragging victims down into the stagnant swamps.
Though mineral resources were exhausted long ago, the planet’s downtrodden multitudes continue to toil. Most hives specialise in luxury spaceship components, such as magnificent fractal viewing blisters and ornate void-shielded observation bays. However, desperate noble houses now claw at the remains of their holdings, collecting industrial runoff for reprocessing or employing conscripts to search beneath the scarred surface. Huge worker caravans migrate across the poisoned landscape in search of employment within isolated labour hives, where conditions are so hazardous that constant replacement is required.
Life within the Saturnal Court is a fragile pageantry. To survive, one must appear powerful and perfectly composed, for even the slightest hint of uncertainty can betray weakness. The nobility go to great lengths to hide their emotions, often utilising neural implants and servo-muscular modulators to maintain veneers of tranquillity. Others conceal their faces entirely behind rictus masks of lawless vat-grown flesh or intricate carvings of porcelain and pearlescent silicate.
In this atmosphere of rampant duplicity, information is the only true currency. Obtaining it is a lucrative profession, though witnesses to wrongdoing are often subject to torture and assassination. Personal servants are highly suspect, and it is now customary for noble houses to entomb senior servants alive with their deceased lords to ensure their secrets die with them. Amidst this masquerade, the promises of Chaos-power, wealth, and freedom from mortality-are tempting offers for aristocrats desperate to regain their former glory.