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These are relics from a long lost age, when the hive had not yet grown to the sky. They possess strange capabilities, wondrous power and danger in equal measure.

Shrines of bones and noose-ropes are common in the underhive, and even the most cold-blooded ganger will rarely pass one without throwing in a cred as a plea for a blessing.

Many of the ancient domes that honeycomb the underhive eventually collapse under the weight of time, leaving treasures trapped beneath the wreckage and the structure above liable to fall apart at the smallest misstep.

Everyone must eat, and the corpse farms take the flesh of the dead and make it into the corpse-starch that feeds the hive. Underhive corpse farms do a brisk, if shunned trade in the bodies of the dead.

Reeking of liquor, sweat and blood, a drinking den is where many hivers go to numb their sorrows, or to find their courage at the bottom of a bottle of Wildsnake or Second Best.

Violence is life, death, and entertainment in the underhive, and some of the most feared fighters are made on the cinder floors of fighting pits under the eyes of baying crowds.

Gambling is rife in the underhive, with fortunes won on the turn of a card and lost on the spin of a bolt shell, and debts are easily piled up by those who don’t know when to quit.

Much of the light and power in the underhive relies on taps into energy conduits or barely functioning generators. Those that control the source of such power can let it flow… or cut it off at a whim.

An open cast mine bored into a mineral mass can yield a fortune in carbonite gems, cognate ore, argent and emeralds, all waiting to be ripped from the ground.

Narco dens are filled with the scent of exotic smoke, and the bubble and hiss of fume-bottles and chem-injectors. Rich and poor alike come to such places to chase dreams and forget nightmares.

The Needle Ways are the vents, crawl tunnels and pipes that thread through the mass of the hive. Those that can navigate them can pass unseen between almost anywhere

A complex of old ruins stands tall on the tangled landscape of the underhive or out in the wastes. Beneath the ashes and rubble, the tattered treasures of past ages wait.

Stacks of fuel drums and tanks fill this half-forgotten stash, enough to keep a factory running, or burn half of the Sump down if a stray spark catches it.

Vast agglomerations of refuse gather in areas of the underhive in drifts that shift like dunes in a desert.

A sawbones, blood cleanser or chirurgeon has set up shop. Any gang willing to provide this rogue healer with protection can count on their loyal service.

Settlements dot the underhive. Most are scrap-shanties, peopled by the brave, the foolish and the desperate. Some are even willing to risk the danger of the wastes to build a life for themselves

Glowing with heat and spattered with molten metal, a slag furnace smelts slag and ore so that the metals they contain can be poured off.

Effluent and polluted water drains down through the hive to catch in brown pools, forming lakes of fuming, iridescent sludge.

Crags and seams of valuable slag can be found across the underhive, mute markers to the ancient industries that grew the Spire.

Stinger mould is a rare fungus that grows where rad-waste has saturated a fungus sprawl. The fungus can be deadly, but also offers near-miraculous healing properties.

Constructed from tangles of reclaimed pipes, vats and cylinders, a synth still in skilled hands can produce the finest poisons, medicines and narcotics.

An underhive tech bazaar buzzes with the calls of bullet merchants echoing above haggling tech- prospectors, while agents of the Gun-guild watch and take their due.

The fastest ways through the underhive often cross chasms, sludge rivers or pass through bottlenecks. Gangs often set up tolls at such points, extracting credits from those who wish to pass swiftly and safely on their way.

The tunnels that run through the hive are the primary ways that people move between locations. Those that control them can move freely and attack where they wish.

Tracts of ash, shapeless rubble, and twisted metal structures run through the underhive, their size waxing and waning with the ages. Most gangs have to pass through a portion of these wastes as they travel between places of more value.

Workshops in both the underhive and out in the wastes tend to be a combination of different scrap yards, festooned with belts of ammo and strewn with the carcasses of machines. The denizens of such places are often strange recluses, who mutter to their machines and create disturbing totems out of their rusting treasure.