++ HADES: A TOUR OF MANKIND'S GRAVEYARD - PART ONE ++

The Deathworld of Hades, home to the Marines Revenant Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes

A million worlds make up the Imperium of Man, with a million stories to tell. Holy Terra might be where our great species first began its path to glory, but as the human tale has unfolded and our influence on the cosmos has waxed and waned, humanity has found new homes, far away beneath foreign stars, with new histories, many of which now in the fullness of time grow as long and storied as that of Old Earth itself. Today, we turn our attention to one such place, a singular, rugged island of man, floating in the deep reaches of the empyric ocean.

When the first human explorers set foot upon the world of 542-11, we know not the name with which they christened it. We do not know when they arrived in the first place, whom they served, or indeed why they came at all. Such mysteries have fallen well beyond the veil of even myth and legend, into the cosmic blackness of total obscurity. All we know for certain, is that they stayed, and the life of mankind spread across the world quickly. This happened some time around the 16th millennium.

Today, 542-11, so-called for it was the 11th world liberated by the 542nd Expeditionary Fleet of the Emperor's Great Crusade, bears little resemblance to the world it once was in those ancient and forgotten times. Today it is known to the Administratum by its ordained number. It is known to the Rogue Traders and other space-farers of the Koldis sub-sector simply as The Boneyard. To the Aeldari, it is rumoured to be known as Morr Esgyn (The Garden of the Dead). Most importantly, however, to the inhabitants of this world and its stoic ceramite-clad guardians, it goes by the name of Hades*. These people, and this benighted realm among whose ruins they eke out a stubborn existence, serve as the subject of this archive.

This humble scribe could, in exhaustive and dry detail, describe this strange world and its history from the earliest sources all the way to the present day, leaving no stone unturned and no record unscoured. But permit a modicum of artistic license, dear reader, for I would instead choose, at first, to take you on a journey. I would convey this land to you through the eyes of a traveler with dust on his robes, a long trail of footsteps behind him, and an enduring wonder in his heart. Behold the marvels and pitfalls of mankind, observe its history, and mayhaps yet catch a glimpse of its future upon the dessicated sands of the Sea of Jeheb, in the freezing mountains of the Vikmolg range, or in the halls of the great Under Kingdom of Ki'Og.

Walk with me, child of the God Emperor, where the stars grow thin, and angels sing in tongues lost to time.

*Alternately written as Adeis, I'des, or Haddis, depending on local dialect. In this document we will adopt the more widely accepted gothic form of Hades.

Arrival:

All who visit Hades begin their journey to the surface from the same origin; the system's Mandeville point. Most come aboard cargo haulers, ferrying goods and supplies at the behest of the Departmento Munitorum, and on behalf of Hades' mighty and aloof rulers. A pilgrim or explorer might find passage upon such a vessel for a reasonable fee, and as they stare from the viewing gallery (should they be so lucky) they will see the great orange flare of Hades' sun beaming at them across the void like a beacon. At this point, or shortly afterwards, one's craft might be subjected to random inspection by the Imperial Navy, or by an interceptor in the battleship-grey and void-black colours of the Marines Revenant. These cold and calculating sons of the Primarch Rogal Dorn rule this place in the God Emperor's stead by ancient decree, and like their genefather they are vigilant praetorians. None pass through the gates of their realm without their watchful eyes making note of it.

Beyond the other ships and the orange glow of the sun, the firmament is sparsely populated. Out at the edge of this galactic arm, the concentration of systems is more scattered. Truly we get the sense that this is the frontier. It is not the core worlds of the Segmentum Solar, nor the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. No cradle of civilisation is this that the Revenants watch over, but the wild frontier. They are the Limitanei, those who stare into the black, manning the walls at the furthest reaches of the God Emperor's realm, waiting for for whom or what may emerge from the shadows beyond His light.

The devils of the furthest reaches of our universe do not cloak themselves as once they did when mankind first arrived here, however. The void in this place is pierced by the cancerous presence of the Warp. To our galactic west (though it is advised not to stare too long or too closely), a great glowing tumour wells in the sky. The Maw, it is called by most. It knows many names in many tongues, but it is the largest warp storm in the sector, ancient and malevolent. Dwarfed perhaps by the infernal majesty of the Maelstrom or accursed Eye of Terror, it nevertheless harbours antediluvian fiends uncounted. Bloated and swollen to great size since the birth of the Cicatrix Maledictum, it hangs there, waiting, watching, a living monument to our sins and failures.

With the ever-watchful sentinels satisfied, our journey continues. Depending on the time of year and the direction of our arrival, we might catch a glimpse of two of the other planets in this system; a pair of great gas giants and their associated satellites, called Jofed and Q'rur by the desert dwelling folk of the Sea of Jeheb. Twin brides of the Emperor, or so they tell it. Whether we see them or not our journey continues and soon, below us, Hades itself hoves into view.

It is an angry world. An orb of blasted wasteland reaching all but the more temperate polar regions. Visible from orbit are huge twisting radiation storms, hurricanes, and cyclones, carrying with them winds that rush at hundreds of kilometers an hour, laced with radioactive particles dragged up from the landscape in their wake. Legend has it however, that there is more than meets the eye to these storms, as is true of the entire planet itself. The few documented stories shared by survivors of these apocalyptic weather patterns speak of men driven to madness. Inexplicable psychoactive effects are seemingly carried on the wind and afflict all who are exposed. They see and hear unnatural things, raving incessantly about ghosts, disaster, and an eternal wailing coming from over the horizon. Precious few fools choose to live above ground in the storm-wracked equatorial regions, and so the truth of these stories is not easily discerned - ultimately it is just one mystery among many on this strange planet.

In orbit around Hades lies the final obstacle of the spacefarer, a vast artificial ring-like construct; the largest of this world's crumbling relics. It is simply known as the Crown, and constitutes the remains of what techno-archaeologists have determined to be an ancient spacedock. Today, it serves that purpose still, in the few sections restored to a semblance of functionality and safety. In appearance it is a large metal ring around the planet, with small spokes jutting a few kilometers inwards towards the planet and outwards to the stars, not unlike the great Iron Ring of Mars. In places it is entirely shattered as a result of an unknowable past cataclysm, with chunks having drifted away, their orbit long since decayed enough to send them plunging into the atmosphere below.

Arrayed upon the remaining undamaged sections is a veritable forest of point defence batteries, torpedo launchers and macro-cannons, their sensors perpetually scanning the void above for hostiles. In addition, while most of the Revenants' fleet is away on crusade, a sizeable compliment of strike cruisers and the odd battle barge remain orbiting nearby, or docked with the ring itself. Rumour persists that the Crown boasts other more sinister and advanced weaponry, waiting to be activated in its defence, though naturally only the Space Marines know the truth of the matter and they are uninterested in sharing it.

Once docked at the station, passengers undergo the usual security checks. Few travel in this direction, however. The skeleton crews of the regular supply haulers frequently choose to remain aboard their own vessels rather than set foot aboard the ancient derelict, let alone visit the surface. The corridors are mostly deserted, bare metal deck plates resounding only to the sounds of the Crown's vigilant space marine garrison prowling up and down the halls. Their luminescent helmet lenses glower down at visitors passing by, and vox clicks are audible from their helmets as they engage in private discussion, away from the ears of the mere mortals shepherded among them. These battle brothers are of the Hearth Guard - the chapter's reserve company formed almost entirely of new recruits and surviving veterans afflicted either with advanced age or old battlefield wounds. Together, they form the world's garrison, tasked with manning the defences of both the orbiting ring-station, as well as the Polar Fortress of Journey's End on the surface. They also engage in police actions on the surface, responding to threats buried beneath the ancient sands that occasionally have a mind to awaken and cause considerable destruction to the local population if left unchecked. Revenants, it must be remarked, of an entirely more literal nature.

Meanwhile, on the station, we make our way along to the shuttle hangars. The interior is subject to a seemingly perpetual twilight; poorly lit cobalt blue hallways extend for miles, and green console lights twinkle like stars in the gloom. Missing is the usual Imperial statuary and beautification common to most bastions of this kind - the astartes have no need of it, instead choosing to leave the Crown's interior unsullied by gaudy baubles. Bare. Functional. True to its original form as the ancient designers intended.

We will explore barely a fraction of the its true extent on our way through, as we are herded directly to one of the available shuttles to the surface which are reserved for civilian (read: non-astartes) transportation. Alongside us we might find members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, techno-archaeologists specifically. Hades holds much untapped wealth in the form of ancient technology, and the Martians have long been permitted, according to a signed agreement, to wander all corners of the world below in their search for artefacts. Additionally, and perhaps more rarely, we see more amateurish treasure hunters like Rogue Trader captains and their crews, mercenary companies, or lone adventurers with more bravery than sense. Intermingled, of course, is the rare, wandering pilgrim like you or I, dear reader. We board the shuttle with our motley fellow passengers, and soon begin the journey to the surface...

++ Archive continues in part two ++