"That’s the old road to Thirdstone. We don’t go there anymore. Folks go there, they don’t come back."
-Agricultor Primus Orna Everild
Sustaining the Askellon Sector’s spiralling population requires unending amounts of food and other resources, yet even agri-worlds have their limits. Frontier worlds such as Temperance offer new opportunities to those hardy enough to brave the dangers, and given enough time, these faithful citizens might one day raise their world to match planets like Cel or even Kalto. However, Temperance is more than just a potential resource, with cults and recidivists lurking beneath its surface, archaeotech bandits out in the wastes, and a dark history that stretches back long before its founding.
Temperance’s inclusion in the sector’s fragmented planetary records dates back slightly more than a century. The world’s initial survey records remain scattered, and the only concrete information lists the reason for settlement as the hope that it might one day become a bountiful agri-world. Temperance’s first settlers originated from Kalto, consisting of strongly-knit family groups whose farming expertise made them ideal for the untouched landscape. Their strong ties to the Ecclesiarchy also made them model colonists. Unfortunately, the planetary surveys failed to acknowledge the world’s extremely rocky surface. The land was fertile, but the ground beneath the thin soil was harsh and impeded any rapid transformation to heavy agriculture. Reports from the first months speak of rock formations that appeared scorched or melted from some unknown cataclysmic event, with molten scarring dating back thousands of years. The cause is as yet unexplained, and speculation has suggested everything from massive seismic shifts to terrible orbital bombardments. Some whisper legends of past heretical acts and the death cries of billions, creating a myth that now fuels the doctrine of Temperance’s dominant cult—the Sons of Temperance.
Hardship and death marked the first few decades. Mind-mould ate away at their farming land, and crops ended up burnt. On several occasions, the mould nearly claimed the entire population, leading to the development of a jury-rigged "mouldsuit" that kept the deadly spores at bay. The situation only worsened during periods of heavy rain, as Temperance suffered from long storms that started without warning and occurred in no discernible pattern, creating muddy quagmires where mind-mould thrived.
To make matters worse, the Pandaemonium cut Temperance off from the wider sector almost as soon as the settlers arrived. The settlers splintered under the weight of their total isolation, with administrator Drest Ovidius powerless to stop each new doomsayer. As the years dragged on, Ovidius saw his population dwindle and desperately clawed at any idea to stave off total societal collapse, even dedicating his few Astropaths to a programme of constant broadcasts. The exertion killed almost all of them. Eventually, the small choir fell silent as a particularly heavy storm brought about a massive mind-mould infestation, killing all remaining Astropaths within days. As Ovidius’ most loyal retainers burnt the bodies to prevent further infection, the people of Temperance turned on one another, openly renouncing the Emperor for abandoning them.
It was at this moment that the Legion of Twelve arrived. For some reason, perhaps even divine intervention, the Pandaemonium lifted, and a small fleet of transports entered orbit containing a craft staffed by an abnormally large compliment of twelve Adeptus Arbites. They pacified the population quickly, and within weeks Temperance’s near-collapse was a memory, with crops replanted and recidivist leaders burnt. Ovidius himself disappeared during the uprising, and with no orders to leave, the Adeptus Arbites took an unusual step and formed a provisional authority that rules over Temperance’s main settlements to this very day.
The centre of life for Temperance’s earliest families, Bastion is the frontier world’s capital city. The town’s current name derives from the prefabricated precinct-fortress the Arbitrators brought with them. The massive precinct is the largest single structure on the planet outside of Thirdstone, visible for kilometres in every direction. Bastion’s other buildings rarely go above three stories, containing a mishmash of different materials. Torrential rain and the need to burn away mould infections limited the populace's ability to build larger structures; light metal and wooden levels sit atop haphazard stone foundations, and each house is a ramshackle development built out of need.
Most on Temperance consider Bastion’s society ideal, with limited criminal activity and most citizens too concerned with crop yields and potential mould growth to really care that the Arbitrators rule their world. In the nearly seventy years since their arrival, the famed Legion of Twelve now numbers only seven, and their leader—Proctor Aureliana Vigdis—is well into her second century. A large corps of deputies now keeps order, though the task grows more difficult with each passing season as the rival city of Beacon grows larger and more influential.
With the upheaval thwarted and relative peace restored, Temperance’s second-wave colonists made planetfall. The Legion of Twelve established a new city to house them: Beacon. Located several thousand kilometres from Bastion, Beacon is a more ordered town. Lacking a history of devastation, its buildings are simpler and clean, built quickly and efficiently to house its three-million-strong population.
Large portions of Beacon’s population see themselves as the real planetary leaders. They resent the continued presence of the Arbitrators, and with their more successful crop yields and growing herds of grox, they cannot see why they must answer to a smaller, less successful city. They view the Bastion Deputies as little more than hired thugs, and numerous gangs offer bounties for their heads.
More dangerous than the gangs is the emergent cult activity. The largest of these cults call themselves the Sons of Temperance. Originally a charity dedicated to helping outlier farms recover after heavy rains, the Sons admonished Temperance’s sinful history and spoke of an inevitable reckoning. They preached how years of rebellion against the Imperium created the mind-mould. Soon after that, the bombings began. Specially-designed explosives and spore bombs detonated across Bastion and Beacon in a campaign of terror that lasted weeks. The subsequent mould infestations cost the lives of thousands, but wherever the infections flared, the Sons of Temperance emerged to ease the suffering, solidifying their grip on the populace.
Lacking large bodies of water, Temperance is essentially a single world-spanning continent. Across this vast landscape, farmers grow crops in isolated settlements where populations barely reach into the thousands. Life in an outlier farm is more dangerous than within the population centres. Out in the wastes, mind-mould infestations might claim an entire community, and years may pass before a roving group of Bastion Deputies discover the deserted remnants. Wild grox herds might eat a community’s crops (and inhabitants) overnight, while bandit sects raid small towns, pressing the strongest into service. Some settlements simply evaporate, leaving nothing but bloodstains and unfamiliar, vicious striations across the empty pre-fab structures.
The brainchild of Proctor Vigdis and the Ecclesiarchy, Thirdstone was to be the new jewel of the planet. Rumours hinted that upon completion, the Legion of Twelve might cede full planetary authority to Deacon Christof Mannicus. Yet trouble hampered construction from the start. The Sons of Temperance declared the plan an abomination, claiming the chosen site lay upon the "Danestone," or Sinful Foundation. Congregations of cultists held up material convoys, and false reports of mind-mould outbreaks slowed construction to a crawl.
Eventually, Deacon Mannicus officially opened Thirdstone with a week-long series of blessings and sermons. Weeks later, however, every soul in Thirdstone vanished, seemingly overnight.
How it happened remains the frontier world’s most enduring mystery. Proctor Vigdis ordered every member of the Legion of Twelve plus a large contingent of Bastion Deputies to ascertain the truth. The Arbitrators found a pristine city with everything in order, but devoid of any living creature. Uneaten meals and lit candles sat inside silent houses. Prayer books and still-smoking censer burners lay within the empty cathedral. Thirdstone was a ghost town.
On that fateful day, Temperance shifted from a frontier world grasping at the hem of greatness to an Askellian curiosity. Several Inquisitors caught wind of the events, but the unpredictability of the Pandaemonium made significant investigations difficult. The Sons of Temperance claimed the event as vindication of their beliefs. Beacon elevated many of the cult’s leaders to positions of prominence, and now the Sons’ ranks outnumber those of the Bastion Deputies. Reluctant to turn the unrest into a full-scale civil war, Proctor Vigdis maintains a level of patience with the Sons. Thirdstone remains a quarantined zone, as untouched as it was the day everyone disappeared.