Morts Rêveurs
The belief of millions carried across centuries ripples the
Calixian warp. Fears take form in the foaming madness
that lies within the Immaterium. The hidden truth of Hive
Gloriana is that the warp has long stalked the Crushtop alley
depths in the form of murder-spirits that possess ruined
servitors, summoned and sustained by the retelling of lowhive
myths.
The Crushtop district of Hive Gloriana upon Solomon
is crisscrossed by narrow chasm-alleys, each a full league
deep but of barely a stone’s throw between facing hab
structures. Denizens descend by the Choking Stair or the
steam-hydraulic tithe platforms, and sunlight is soon lost to a
canopy of cable bridges, overhangs, and boardwalks. An everpresent
haze sinks from uphive promethium refineries and
fyceline alchemical plants to cloud these narrow, crowded
thoroughfares.
The alley depths clear by night, even though night is
barely distinguishable from day. Hereditary lumenbearers
retreat to caves carved from the crush and communal rooms
that were once generatoria. Doors and shutters close, bolts
are thrown, and Aquila charms hung and blessed. The
blackness is absolute. Nightwalkers and thieves upon lumenlit
boardways and cable-bridges half a league above look
down and make the sign of the Aquila as a ward against
the depths.
In the blackest depths lies the crush fundament, an alley
floor made of ruins of the ancient hive pressed flat by the
weight of years. There on the boundary, outcasts, Sanctioned
Thieves, and hopeless, excess workers of the Waiting Guilds
tell their tales. These least-citizens believe in ghosts of the old
hive, long-dead servants of daemons defeated by the God-
Emperor and driven below. Dreams are a gate: dreamers must
be protected by prayers and Aquila charms, lest murderous
ghosts rise from the crush and wear their bodies. The lowhivers
believe that servitors and the recently dead are those
who dream most deeply. Crushtop mortuaries are shrines to
the God-Emperor, and any appearance of labour-servitors in
the alleys is cause for disturbance and rumour.
The eyes of a possessed servitor are glowing pools
steaming with warp-light, its churning dreams filled with
murderous desire. Makeshift knife gripped in metal fingers,
facial actuators clicking and twisting in ways beyond their
design, the servitor hunts its lone victims through the night
alley depths, feeding upon the terror of their final moments.
In the alley depths, many mornings see ritually
dismembered bodies discovered at the crush boundary. The
low-hivers make the sign of the Aquila and hurry to raise the
remains to their shrine-mortuaries. Thus, the warp continues
to corrupt labour-servitors one by one whilst the Inquisition
searches Hive Gloriana for witch-cults and heretics that
don’t exist.
Genetic Ancestor(s)
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