[Information] The Imperium Throneworld

[kingmonkey]

An excerpt from the approved archives of our history From The Imperium, Eternal and Proud by Scholar Fentus Cappetil The Imperium gained the moniker 'The 1,000 Year Empire' 1,800 years ago. At the time, it referred to the dawn of the Nastet Dynasty, when Imperator Nastet the First ascended to the high throne. His proclamation was "Now begins a thousand years of peace in our empire." Historians note that the begin of his reign marked the turning point in a violent civilization, turning it from self-destructive, aging nation, to a cohesive empire whose violence then focused outward, rather than inward. It is true that the Imperium's most violent atrocities came after this point. The Nastet Dynasty lasted for almost 700 years, during which time, expansion raced outward, growing to cover half of the planet. Despite the Nastet's rule leading to many advances in science and warfare, technology did not proceed according to the most efficient routes. Modern Progressive Mathematicians have declared that the beginning of the current '1,000 Year Empire', that of the Hurin Dynasty which reigns now, and by the grace of the Imperator, may rule for another 1,000 years, began the true golden age, which was always beyond the Nastet's capability. Modern sciences, under the direction of Progressive Mathematics, exceed the sciences of the Nastet, which brought a darker age to the Imperium when it collapsed under the weight of its labyrinthine hierarchy. Our modern technologies propel us into a bright future; we now have the stars within our reach! Soon, under the grace of the Hurin Dynasty, and Imperator Selil II, the Imperium will expand beyond this globe, this cradle of civilized life in the universe, and expand our borders to include all of the solar system, and in time, the whole galaxy. The peace, through stoic rule, that the Imperium has known for the past 1,100 years, will soon be visited upon any inhabited worlds which our Progressive Mathematicians predict we may find. Our endeavor to grant Imperium rule to the worlds beyond this one, however, are jeopardized by a poison very close to home. The Anjusti: the carrion-eaters who dwell in the southern lands seek to cripple our great mission. They withhold the knowledge of the rare elements that our world is blessed with which may help us propel our craft into the void. They secrete away their skills of mindcraft, and strike like cowardly vermin from the darkness of their craggy, and broken land. Jealous of all the Imperium has bestowed upon its citizenry, and all the advancements which their limited minds cannot comprehend, let alone ever hope to achieve in their own right, they seek to goad us into battle, to waste valuable resources on defending our innocent peoples from their barbaric villainy. They attack in packs, like dogs, and maim, destroy, rape, and kill without compunction. They behave in ways no sentient, human creature ever could. The truth, unbelievable and horrifying as it seems to contemplate, is that they are beasts without souls. Monsters without conscience, incapable of love or kindness, they fight a war of attrition, hoping to sap our will, and blunt our desire to make use of the bounty our world has seen fit to grant us. In their small-minded aggression, they jeopardize the Imperium's great mission to bring peaceful civilization to the worlds beyond ours. We pay taxes, we send our beloved sons to fight, we suffer the Anjusti's cowardly attacks, and feel the weight of these burdens upon us. The Imperator feels this weight, he feels all of it, therefore suffering more burden than any one family, or any one worker. His weight is the greatest to bear. How can we, then, do any less? How can we not pick up an extra load to lift up the Imperator, who guides our way to a greater future than we can imagine? We must carry our load, and our load again! We must, for it is not our own future that is in peril alone, but rather the next 1,000 years of this 1,000 Year Empire. The Imperator calls upon you, able-bodied men and women of the Imperium, to volunteer for additional labour, or to enlist in military duty, that we may secure a peace which will span the galaxy, and last for time immemorial!

This, of course, we all know to be true. Ours is an enlightened society; our leaders could not lie to us for we are too civilized, unlike the Anjusti. As we prepare to move off our crowded homeworld, and into the reaches of the cosmos, many of our children enlist to fight our holy war against the Anjusti, to ensure a plentiful supply of fuel.

As the daughter of a noble house, however, you are spared the call to lay down your life on the field of battle, that vast and breathtaking desert so far to the south. You are free to pursue what even those in the lower castes cannot seek (and in our enlightened society, there is little withheld from any caste): your own path. While enlightenment is granted even the lowest class menial, their paths are set. They must be. Fortunately, they understand that the Imperator chooses careers that befit them and benefit our 1,000 Year Imperium, and they accept their burden with glad hearts.

But your path is yours to choose. Will you study at the Mystic Academy? Will you apply to the Ambassadorial Cadre? Will you travel east to the Academy of the Sciences, or the Institute of Spatial Engineering?

Secondary notes Humans refer to soul, but it doesn't hold the religious connotations which we have on Earth. A soul, by Imperium standards, is that spark of sentience, of awareness that distinguishes them from lower animals. It is seen as a unique force in each person, but follows a more scientific characterization than metaphysical. A person possessed of a great soul, like the Imperator, long may he reign, has a soul of great mental and physical strength, while a lowborn miner probably has a lesser soul, and therefore a lesser destiny. So, let's say soul represents the abstract concepts of sentience, charisma, 'destiny'. It has nothing to do with religion, which has largely been banned since the fall of the last dynasty. It was seen as a movement that perverted the greater possibilities presented by science. Religion (like the Church of Carats, or the Ethereal Cult) placed limits on what was possible, simply because it did not agree with their dogma. The newer dynasty came of the rebellion (which was born of political conspiracy) and cast aside such small-minded institutions in favour of the more practically-oriented Progressive Mathematics movement. Some churches still exist, but have no official power, and little recognition from the Imperium's government. They refer to soul in the quaint, old-fashioned way, but are seen for the ridiculous, backward clerics they are.

marie So, the world is one of glorious steel and stone architecture-- think pyramids with gold gilded inlays in art deco patterns, tall towers with improbable flying buttresses atop that hold observation platforms of polished marble, wide streets lined with hovering globe-lights, paved with liquid crystal upon which ride hovering chariots (the current fashion is sleeker and more angular, longer chariots-- last season featured shorter, rounder models). Men and women walk the streets in the finest robes-- except for the lower castes who wear more practical clothes. Makeup is common for both men and women of the upper castes, like yourself, and our Earthly view of masculinity does not apply (think the aristocracy of yore in Europe with fops and effeminate men). You are the daughter of Duke Hrasheth and Duchess Annamien of Orrum. You have lead a carefree life, for the most part, though an education was part of that upbringing. I'll let you post next to put in some of your details. We'll shape your character together, as it were.

[Aethera]

I, Annamichelle (for such is the naming convention along the maternal line of my family), have needed to make very few choices until now. My nurse was chosen before I was born, so my companions are all screened by someone approved by my parents. Even my clothes are chosen for me, all I must do is wake up whenever I please, let Gerit bathe me, and then she will dress me and style my hair. It is my place to reprimand her if she makes me look anything less than my station, but indeed, she has never done so.

Until I have chosen a path, no formal suitors can make themselves known, but I have gotten the impression from Gerit that a few casual callers have been turned away. Yet another decision lying ahead of me, as the only heir to Orrum.

Each time I am asked what path I am considering, I have given a different answer. I cannot decide how best to serve the Imperium, as my skills are not limited to one area. I would like to see us reach the stars, to step onto a world not my own. Gerit says I am too curious, and that acting as a child will not get me the path I seek. What I have not mentioned is my interest in the Anjusti. Why do they fight us? It is said they are animals, but no other animal attacks our civilization or earns such deep set hatred. This thought I cannot speak aloud. I sometimes wish I had never had it, but once it occurred to me, it has eaten away a corner of my mind. We do not hate animals for doing what they are designed to do. No snake is hated for biting. A phobia may arise perhaps, but not hated.

[kingmonkey]

Purely as a matter of flavour, here is something I once wrote in the same feel of game world. It isn't necessarily to do with this game, but may give you some of the feel for the military, anyway.

 

"Engineer Phusil is here, your honour."

"Very well, give me a moment to fix my eyes," Castir said without looking at the messenger.

The governor stared at his reflection in the golden mirror. As he stood applying the charcoal-black dust to his eye sockets, as was the fashion of his northern people, he let out a groan. Admiring his precise masque of black, and the red of his lips, Castir stood, puffed out his chest and smiled at his own presence, his own splendor.

His uniform was deep red, and corded with golden braids. His boots were tall, black, and polished to a high shine. Drawn back against his head and shining with oil, his hair was meticulously styled in the latest trend of the metropolitan nobles of the Central Province. Castir was a perfect paragon of style.

"All of this wasted, page," he muttered to the messenger, who stood mute, awaiting further direction from his patron. "You're lucky to be a half-caste, Sewil; you can witness elegance, but not be condemned to pursuing it... especially when you're practically in exile in the dreariest wastes the Imperium has to offer. Well, let's go see what Phusil has to tell us-- what excuses he has today."

The harsh light of the midday sky burned his sensitive skin. The page, Sewil, walked before his master, carrying a two-handled screen, to shade Governor Castir from the sun. They left the impressive land carrier, which was the temporary home to Castir and his retinue, and began the short march to the temporary command post. Soldiers snapped to attention as he passed, though Castir did not return their salutes. The hot breeze, buffered mercifully by the looming mountains, still threatened to misplace his hair, and amber scarf.

The command post was little more than a tent with armour-plates lining the walls, and a plasteel dome. Inside, the shade provided little relief from the heat, and the scathing dryness of the desert was replaced with the sweaty dampness that Castir had come to loathe. He covered his nose with a perfumed kerchief. Engineer Phusil saluted the governor, but did not wait for a return salute; he had grown accustomed to the governor's lack of respect for lower-ranked staff. Castir nonetheless chafed at Phusil's lack of protocol.

"Your honor."

"Yes, yes, what is the delay today, Phusil?"

"Ahem. Well, sir, I'm pleased to report that we have had something of a breakthrough. With Commander Eston's troops approaching to reinforce us, they have sent ahead a relay. We replied and requested some-"

"It is hot here, isn't it, Sewil? I do hope the engineer doesn't plan to keep us hear all day with his useless preface."

The page stood silent, knowing the mention of his name was incidental, and that he had no place in the conversation. It was one of his traits that the governor admired: his knowledge of his own place. Still, Sewil nodded as was expected of him. Phusil glared at the page, but showed none of his ire for the true source of his irritation.

"Your honor, Progressive Mathematics have calculated that with the supplies that Commander Eston has sent us, we can increase our practical work time by thirty-"

"Do you have any children, Phusil," the governor asked.

"What... no, sir. Why?" Phusil's voice lost a bit of strength.

"If you take this long to get to the point, it's no wonder."

"Right," Phusil said as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Fourteen days, sir. We'll have blasted through the mountains in 14 days."

"It seems that your Progressive Mathematics division is anything but. I suggest you requisition more supplies and labour from Eston. If we take longer than seven days, you will be demoted to front-line labourer." Castir smiled a most patronizing grin before turning to sign the daily troop movement reports without reading them. The officer with the reports quickly disappeared back into the corner of the command post. "Sewil, open the door; we're leaving."

Once again, the pair walked through the blasted heat, this time toward the planning zone, where many tonnes of demolitions were being installed in order to create the Imperium's First Road into the Ctara Desert. Once open, the path would allow the Imperium's Legion, under Governor Castir, to sweep across the infernal land beyond, annihilate the Doroth elves, and strip the land of their psionic crystals. Undoubtedly, the Academy of Science would want a number of live specimens for study and dissection. The hope was the acquisition of psionic skills by the ruling class would cement their rule for a thousand years, and the psionic crystals would aid the fledgling spatial expansion.

And for his role, Castir would be forgiven his past... indiscretions. He would be granted rule over this unfashionable, but strategically valuable province. His name would be remembered long after his death. At last, his family would have the royal status they had so richly deserved.

Still, it wouldn't be easy. The grey-skinned savages would resist. In truth, he almost respected their resilience, in the way one would respect any stupid animal's territorial aggression. But as with any beast, in the face of a civilized master, they would be tamed, and if need be, eliminated.

**Part two**

The tremendous thumping of subterranean explosives continued night and day. As Eston's men arrived in a rapid convoy, the effort was redoubled. A constant stream of men, like ants, rode to and from the ever-deepening expansion of the First Road into Ctara. The heat and baking winds grew hotter and more constant. Day by day, more men were beginning to drop from exposure to the elements. Those whose weakness was physical, were transferred to duties off the front line. Those whose weakness was mental were punished most severely.

Castir stayed in the massive land carrier. It was a great fortress of a vehicle with wheels twice as tall as a man, and it bristled with electrical weapons. It was squat and mute in colour, with a high spire near the back, and a castle-like turret near the front. Inside the carrier the air was cooled by machines that vented the hot air back into the throngs of working soldiers and labourers outside. While they subsisted on powdered rations, and flavourless nutrient sticks, the governor dines on succulent roast fairhawk, and jellied eel, drank naught but the finest wines imported from the seventeen provinces. He entertained courtesans from his estate, who had been forced to travel with him (to ensure they did not try to take over his holdings in his absence, as was standard practice for political officers).

Commander Eston had proven to be a bit of a refreshing change from Engineer Phusil's lacklustre performance. Eston, a more practical man, had seen the matter with a less compassionate mind, and arranged the work orders with a more rigid, mathematical precision. Things had begun to flow more smoothly. Castir had not demoted Phusil to labourer, simply because it would have been more effort for him to do so than simply to ignore him.

The thumping tedium, constantly banging, and sometimes disruptive work finally stopped one day. The looming crags shaded the road with an ominous darkness. Even the sky had become darker by day, the closer the road came to completion.

Today, Castir stood on a specially placed dais, and made a broadcast across the Imperium. In moments, the final detonation would fire, and the last remaining mountain would crumble to so much rubble. The natural order would be reversed, man asserting his dominance, and another barbaric and savage land would be brought to order, and join the Imperium to know it's bounty and governance.

A dozen pretty nobles sat upon the dais, with chairs designed to seat them lower than Castir. Each of them was gaudily robed in the styles of their homes, Castir the most resplendant of all. Behind the dais, Commander Eston, Engineer Phusil and the page, Sewil, stood in their modest uniforms (although Eston had brought out a number of mdeals to decorate his chest).

Sewil shifted nervously. His stomach had been knotted all morning. He sensed an unnameable dread, some lingering ghost of apprehension. He watched the geo-mages cast the final preparations to seal off the debris, and focus the resonations of the explosion. Sewil's teeth began to chatter.

[Aethera]

It's perfect. I love the caste and concubine issues you've gone and made bigger issues out of. How do you wish do do this? Shall I keep throwing things at you for world building purposes, or shall we start somewhere?

[kingmonkey]

I've already put up a game thread. I will create much as we go along, taking notes along the way. Given the nature of this game, I will give you much leeway in a lot of things, though I ask that you not try to give too much detail to the sciences or politics. Those will be my babies.

My imagination works best in the playing, not in the planning.

[Aethera]

What's the Mystics Academy?

[kingmonkey]

Let's say, in gamer terms, that it's a place you go to study psionics. Think Jedi or those girls from Dune. It is an exceedingly difficult study and the majority fail.

You have never shown any kind of mystic aptitude, but that doesn't stop a lot of sons and daughters of the upper caste from attending anyway, as it still gives them a good education and lets them act all snobby in their cool white and red robes.

[Aethera]

Alright, then can you give me a quick run-down on the other places you mentioned? Garb (since it would be important), where it might lead on-planet and hopefully off... etc.

[kingmonkey]

The Mystics Academy is located in a remote province, kind of isolated from most of civilization. Successful graduates are largely guaranteed any job they want in most fields. Some go into intelligence services, some go into private industry. Some go into military service, too, and there's a big push for mystics in the military right now, what with brewing war with the Anjusti.

The Ambassadorial Cadre (of which the Diplomatic Corps is a part) is essentially a political body that represents the will of the Imperator in various places and positions. They are there to see to it that all provinces follow the will of the Imperator (which is Imperial law). They function as ambassadors to various provinces, representing the will of the Imperator. Some are involved in various aspects of war planning, though no official channels have been opened to the Anjusti.

The Institute of Spatial Engineering is basically a budding space corps. Interplanetary travel is a reality, though it is tremendously time-consuming. Much of current space travel is still exploratory, or commuter traffic between space stations and moons. The solar system is still largely unexplored, let alone anything beyond. There are 3 moons to the throneworld, each of which have thriving colonies, and there are dozens of space stations within the orbit of this one planet, and a couple farther ranging stations, as well.

Beyond these, feel free to create any standard university-type facilities Annamichelle may be considering.

[Aethera]

Next (last?) question... is the Duke/Duchess of Orum a title of nobility only, or is it a position that one day she will inherit? Is she planning a life that will head towards being Duchess?

[kingmonkey]

As you have no siblings, you will likely inherit the title of Duchess. Your life so far has groomed you toward life in court, but no one has ever specifically taken you aside and shown you how your father rules. Some parents do, some don't fearing their children could have them assassinated. Your father seems like a nice enough guy, though you've barely ever seen him.

[Aethera]

So there is a job associated with the title, not just a title following her to whatever job she chooses. She'd either be Duchess OR be a cosmonaut.

[kingmonkey]

Bene Gesserit!

I just remembered the name of the order of witches from Dune.

[Aethera]

You could have just asked. I didn't realize you wanted me to fill it in for you.

I'm assuming this is over? No more Imperium Throneworld?

[kingmonkey]

No, I wasn't waiting, it was just on my mind today and it came back to me in a flash.

I shall aim to update Imperium weekly, at least. It, too, represents a flavour of sci-fi that I've long wanted to play around with.