Editing Nobledark Imperium Notable Planets (section)

=== Old Earth ===

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">''''' The Heart of the Imperium '''''

Cradle of humanity, keystone of the Imperium, armoured heart of civilization and bustling hub of commerce and industry. Home to trillions of loyal human citizens and every inch considered holy ground, it is from this cursed and blessed soil that the Imperium sprang in ancient day when primarchs marched alongside such mythical figures as [[Nobledark_Imperium_Notable_People#Jenetia Krole|Jenetia Krole]], [[Nobledark_Imperium_Notable_People#Arik_Taranis|Arik Taranis]], Malcador and [[Nobledark_Imperium_Notes#Honen_Mu|Uxor Honen Mu]].

Once a dying world of techno-barbarians and later brought to near total ruin by the depravities of the Orks and the fallen Eldar, it stands now as the ultimate testament that mankind with enough time and effort can recover from anything.

The surface from space is as verdant and pleasant to behold as any world this side of Heaven, with pristine snow caps, azure seas teeming with fish, ancient forests, and rolling fields punctuated by towering spire cities seemingly made of silver and diamond that catch the setting and rising of the sun to become polished copper and ruby. The likeness of Old Earth seen in dreams of some idyllic future of a time some say can only exist in innocent dreams of childhood.

For all its beauty, Old Earth is not soft. The Beast taught Earth that weakness is not excusable.

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Those pretty fairy tale spires and the living green paradises are built and grown over fortifications designed by the primarch [[Nobledark_Imperium_Primarchs#Perturabo|Perturabo]], genius prince of Macedonia and mad architect of the Imperium. For all that the world is beautiful, she is deadly.

The towering Hive Cities of Perturabo's design have expanded somewhat, and now extend miles deep into the stygian deeps, but nevertheless remain based upon the same design principles. The hives as seen from the surface are great majestic soaring edifices, graceful and splendid, and hide well that they were designed to be enormous death traps and meat grinders to anyone stupid enough to try and attack them. The streets can form choke points, there are many avenues that would make great killing grounds, all the spires are designed to have an artillery piece placed atop them at a moment's notice, and there are void shield generators embedded throughout. Those brilliant marble walls that line each building are made of layers of adamantium, ceremite, and shock-absorbent plasteel.

What of the hives that can be seen from the surface, great as they be, are likewise only the tip of the iceberg. Their roots go deep, deep into the bedrock. Their greatest depths stretch to the places where the Earth is hot, and from that heat abundant and perpetual power is drawn. As deep as they are, the hives are also, in those Stygian depths, broad; the roots of the chrome and glass mountains stretch far enough to entangle with their neighbours, like hands held out to a friend in the darkness. It is known that one can circumnavigate that most august of globes without breaking the surface, from pole to pole, back around the other side, across the equator, any direction that takes your fancy. Indeed, there are whole nations down there that live and die in those depths, and never see the surface for generations at a time.

But for all that one might imagine a cramped and claustrophobic labyrinthine darkness, the ways and paths are airy and full of light. Perturabo did not design prisons with which to undo the victory of The Beast. Indeed he did not, and Old Earth is the jewel in the crown and the throne of the Imperium, birth world of mankind.

Dotted around the surface with great regularity are strange and deep pits, with seemingly no bottom for one stood upon the edge. These are great ventilation and light wells, but also emergency entrances and exits in times of need. They plunge into the depths where the underground kingdoms dwell, the places where the earth meets the sky. And if one were to descend those great depths, they would find no lair of twisted things but forests and fields and pleasant seas, the likes of which could grace the very surface of Earth and look entirely natural.

Layer upon layer of civilization built upon itself, like pages of some great living tome down into the deeps. And still further the pits go, until they pass from the minds of common men to the darker realms of stranger things. The sunless seas where swim pale fish and tunnels dug by unknown hands — though not the hands of ancient man. Those wise men of the Dark Age never dug this deep. Sometimes an explorer or surveyor will come to these places to mark, to map, and simply to see one of Earth's ancient mysteries. Though no harm will come to these curious adventurers, there is harm they bring with them, and they will know that they are watched.

From the great height of orbit, Old Earth is a green and verdant paradise as once it may have looked in the Golden Age. When men, it is said, were as the gods are. But no work of god alone is this Eden. Through sweat and toil and the plans of The Mad Architect was this walled garden made, and by the might and will of man is it defended. A microcosm of the Imperium itself.

Upon the surface of this ancient planet is found the Imperial Palace, a surprisingly modestly adorned but massive spire in the centre of the ancient city of Moskgród. Here is the official residence of the Golden Emperor and the All-Mother, eternal be their reign. From here the direction of a million worlds is set and all great mortal endeavour guided. From here civilization springs forth. Here, however, the Royal Couple are seldom found, for they are often abroad and ever diligently about their realm, to ensure that their appointed governments are just and diligent in their turn.

Further east is found the great Fortress of Justice, where law is decided and righteousness judged. It is here, in the rambling hive of Tordashimya, that the Judges of the Adeptus Arbites are told by what standards they must judge.

Far away, amongst the tallest mountains of Himalayzia, lies the Hall of the Astronomican, the great lighthouse that allows our Imperium to function and permits the fey breed of Navigators to traverse the seas of the warp. The Astronomican itself is a great crystalline and wraithbone edifice in a shape like a great bowl, with rowed stands — like some strange amphitheatre — where trained psychics scream into the void to impose upon it some measure of order. It is by their efforts that the warp travel is a practical option at all.

Above Old Earth's equator are, at regular intervals, sixty four orbital tethers — far more than any other world in the Imperium. At the top of those impossible towers of Savlar Neutronium sit the vast tether-top trade stations. Each one based upon an asteroid brought into geosynchronous orbit, now each a great city-state in their own right, with laws and customs growing in distinction and age. In shape, the stations typically have a central hub with multiple wings extending from it, like the petals of an impossible metal flower. Connecting each of these orbital nations together is a high speed transport tube that joins the flowers like a chain, turning the orbitals into a floral circlet with which to crown Old Earth. This beautiful arrangement of human engineering has earned this great structure the name of The Daisy Chain among the common man.

The old nations that once raised the founders of our Imperium still exist, after a fashion — from the territories of Clan Terrawatt, to the Kingdoms of Antarctica, to even the lands of Hy Brasil — but now as administrative districts that make up the patchwork of the world's surface. The ground upon which the Primarchs once walked is held in all due reverence, and the tombs of those godlike men are still standing for all to see, even after all this time. All these lands, these ancient names, remain alive and well upon the surface of Old Earth, if not unchanged. 

All bar Himalayzia, which none may walk upon without permission from his Majesty's appointed representatives.

Of the teeming billions that call that beautiful world home, an uncommon number are blessed yet heavily burdened. Blessed because they are like the Golden Emperor, but burdened also for carrying the sight of the witch. The greatest scholars and teachers of the psychic arts have often been found upon the Old Earth and, with the loss of Prospero, now exist without true peer or equal. It is the natural place for young psychics to be brought, both for their own safety and so that their gifts can be used for the good of the many, rather than the damnation of the self. Trained and disciplined sanctioned psykers are the most well-known export of Earth.

Not to be ignored or overlooked are the soldiers of Old Earth. Though exempt from the draft, many request — even demand — the right to fight for hearth and home against a hateful galaxy. Although not as well known as the likes of the Cadians, the Terran Guard — the Old Hundred Regiments especially — are known to be fearless to a fault and full of fire. Varied greatly in their doctrines of war, and often holding true to the old ways of their ancient nations, they make war as they have since time immemorial.

Despite the passing of the ages since civilisation took hold, it is said that there are still mysteries on that world. That not everything is known. That relics from yet older ages remain hidden, shrouded in shadows and forgetfulness; the great archives of ancient lore of old Persepotropolis were well accounted for in ancient days, for example, but rumours abound that maybe more survived. Rumours abound of these and other things of that nature besides, carefully hidden amongst the splendour and shine. Almost certainly the fabrications of the tourist companies.

Many faiths hold this ground as holy, and if any ground is holy to man this is it. This was where civilization died and was reborn. The Eldar might venerate the Phoenix, but here are the ashes from which it arose. And never again will that fire grow cold, or the light of civilization grow dim.

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