Edit History

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Litigator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Litigator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Litigators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Litigator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many age-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Located punishingly near to the site of the White Pawns' apocalyptic resistance to the Empire, much of what once stood atop the Hexacrypt Wilds has been irrevocably lost. The corpses of vast cities and staggering infrastructure projects endured no better than bone or sinew against the radiant fires of the War of Eternal Bombardments, and were abandoned as cursed earth by those who survived. While none were so foolish as to abandon technology as a whole in the wake of the war, none who scrabbled to survive the aftermath wished to return to the days of madness. A sleepy, forgotten culture grew up in the cracks of the apocalypse, and might have remained so were it not for the enterprising work of one young woman. Her name is lost, scrubbed from living memory and digital record, but she was an engineer in a land of farmers. Somehow, she rediscovered a means of interfacing with the infrastructure that had survived the war, burrowed under her peoples' feet like the work of a trillion ants. At first, she used her "powers" subtly, re-engaging water filtration systems or the uplinks to the few surviving weather satellites, but as the prosperity of her town and those near it grew so did suspicion. Too knowledgeable of her peoples' prejudices to risk the truth, the woman vanished into the wilderness, and the brewing scandal died. Until she began to appear in their dreams.

Taking refuge in a central hub of the old world, the first Baba was not content to leave her work half-done. She envisioned a brighter symbiosis between her people and the quiescent technology beneath their feet, and was dedicated, perhaps obsessed, with realizing that dream. Tapping into the water filtration system, she unleashed a flood of tailored nanobots into the region's water supply, and within a month enough of the microrobots had embedded in the brains of her people to establish contact. Drawing the from their dreams into the first datastream, she plucked recruits from among the exceptional and the disaffected of a hundred communities, training the first generation of data witches even as the wider populace slowly awakened to the shared reality of their new lucid dreams. Some, fearing some outside force, tried to resist, but they quietly disappeared into the mists of history. Whether the first Baba eventually died or became something more than human is not known, but from their first generation the data witches have watched over the people of the Wilds as unpredictable, sometimes capricious guardians.

The arrival of the outside world threw this balance of power into chaos. While some witches and their allies among the local councils welcomed the might and majesty of the Empire, others resisted it with bitter will. The ancient technologies that had connected the people to their digital reality were repurposed to create legions of cyborg warriors, and though their homunculi were defeated the witches remain. Now they wait and watch, hiding in plain sight, as a new domed palace rises from what was once old growth forest and sorcerers with fiery eyes turn their attentions to the datastream.

Stretching along the eastern coastline of Zabava, Bīt Ereshkigal descends from a sinuous line of western mountains through towering deciduous forests into coastal lowlands that frequently give way to swamps. Once jagged and wild, the terrain has worn down under the weight of millennia, becoming a rolling tapestry of green, grey, and black. Not so the forests it embraces, however - the wilderness of what was once known as the Hexacrypt Wilds is the equal of any on Sansar, save perhaps the untamed nightmare of the Reserve to its south. The bright lights of sparsely-scattered civilization are almost swallowed by the arboreal gloom, and a complete catalogue of the mutated flora and fauna has not been attempted in the post-war period.

For all that hostility, civilization does thrive in Bīt Ereshkigal. Small towns and villages thrive in forest clearings and along lazy rivers, while rugged mountain camps draw wealth from the black earth. This wealth flows down to the coast, where a handful of small cities thrive on trade and the quiet indifference of more bellicose neighbors. To the naked eye, it might seem quaint, but the naked eye can only perceive half the truth of Bīt Ereshkigal. Hovering above the towns and cities in an invisible haze is the datumplume of its inhabitants, an augmented reality tended to and ruled by the unseen data witches that command fear and respect in every household. In this second sight, towns become glistening towers of light and shadow, and the humble cities are transformed into soaring digital metropolises. This digital reality stretches along the subterranean ley-lines of fiberoptic cable and circuit left behind after the War of Eternal Bombardments, the arcanodigital circuitry alive with digital ghosts.

The people of Bīt Ereshkigal exist, much like their civilization, in two worlds. In the real world, the largely human inhabitants nurture an insular culture of extended family ties and old grudges, though these rarely give rise to violence. Rather, the small communities dotting the Hexacrypt Wilds give little thought to the people living outside their immediate sphere, tending their own fences rather than peering through them. However, this provincial attitude is turned on its head in dataspace. Divorced of the reality of the physical world, the inhabitants of Bīt Ereshkigal manifest avatars reflecting their inmost selves (and those who seek to deceive or dissemble with their True Face are invariably punished by the Data Witches). Through a wireless connection that manifests as REM sleep in the outside world, the inhabitants of Bīt Ereshkigal skim the length and breadth of their digital paradise, indulging in revelry and debauch that does the High Lords of Ophon proud.

The communities of Bīt Ereshkigal are organized around democratically organized municipal councils, a collection of reeves and mayors that only rarely come together to form anything resembling a centralized government. While this fractured jumble of authority would normally leave the region vulnerable to exploitation or attack, there is another power at play that acts to unite the scattered communities. The digital realm is also divided along more esoteric lines, each datastream overseen by the dictatorial will of one of the Data Babas. These elder data witches wield staggering power over the constructed reality overlaying Bīt Ereshkigal, to the extent of manifesting phenomena in the physical world if they are sufficiently angered. While they are insular and inscrutable, the Babas are aligned in a singular coven that protects their ambitions and their interests. Though their power waned in the days of occupation after the Eucrus Alliance defeated their warrior Mechadea, the House of Fire has made tentative overtures to bring the Babas more securely into the fold. Certainly, the ancient circuitry that fuels their powers is a miracle of the old world, and greatly of interest to the Imperial Cult. Meanwhile, the regional councils have bent the knee to a Ducal Governor installed in the quickly-growing new city of Irkalla.

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

While the reality of the datastream is ever-shifting, there exist rites and rituals to capture a facsimile of it in a set form. This form of protean code carries with it the echoed thoughts and desires of every inhabitant of Bīt Ereshkigal, and is capable of reacting to fulfill the fantasies of those who interface with it through the potency of those echoes.

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

While the people of Bīt Ereshkigal enjoy limitless mobility in the datastream, that freedom is far harder to find on the material plane. The dangers of the Hexacrypt Wilds are manifold, and if the region is to prosper beyond the digital phantoms of its inhabitants dreams then a reliable means of transport between mountain, forest, and coast will need to be established.

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Litigator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Litigator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Litigators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Litigator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many age-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Located punishingly near to the site of the White Pawns' apocalyptic resistance to the Empire, much of what once stood atop the Hexacrypt Wilds has been irrevocably lost. The corpses of vast cities and staggering infrastructure projects endured no better than bone or sinew against the radiant fires of the War of Eternal Bombardments, and were abandoned as cursed earth by those who survived. While none were so foolish as to abandon technology as a whole in the wake of the war, none who scrabbled to survive the aftermath wished to return to the days of madness. A sleepy, forgotten culture grew up in the cracks of the apocalypse, and might have remained so were it not for the enterprising work of one young woman. Her name is lost, scrubbed from living memory and digital record, but she was an engineer in a land of farmers. Somehow, she rediscovered a means of interfacing with the infrastructure that had survived the war, burrowed under her peoples' feet like the work of a trillion ants. At first, she used her "powers" subtly, re-engaging water filtration systems or the uplinks to the few surviving weather satellites, but as the prosperity of her town and those near it grew so did suspicion. Too knowledgeable of her peoples' prejudices to risk the truth, the woman vanished into the wilderness, and the brewing scandal died. Until she began to appear in their dreams.

Taking refuge in a central hub of the old world, the first Baba was not content to leave her work half-done. She envisioned a brighter symbiosis between her people and the quiescent technology beneath their feet, and was dedicated, perhaps obsessed, with realizing that dream. Tapping into the water filtration system, she unleashed a flood of tailored nanobots into the region's water supply, and within a month enough of the microrobots had embedded in the brains of her people to establish contact. Drawing the from their dreams into the first datastream, she plucked recruits from among the exceptional and the disaffected of a hundred communities, training the first generation of data witches even as the wider populace slowly awakened to the shared reality of their new lucid dreams. Some, fearing some outside force, tried to resist, but they quietly disappeared into the mists of history. Whether the first Baba eventually died or became something more than human is not known, but from their first generation the data witches have watched over the people of the Wilds as unpredictable, sometimes capricious guardians.

Stretching along the eastern coastline of Zabava, Bīt Ereshkigal descends from a sinuous line of western mountains through towering deciduous forests into coastal lowlands that frequently give way to swamps. Once jagged and wild, the terrain has worn down under the weight of millennia, becoming a rolling tapestry of green, grey, and black. Not so the forests it embraces, however - the wilderness of what was once known as the Hexacrypt Wilds is the equal of any on Sansar, save perhaps the untamed nightmare of the Reserve to its south. The bright lights of sparsely-scattered civilization are almost swallowed by the arboreal gloom, and a complete catalogue of the mutated flora and fauna has not been attempted in the post-war period.

For all that hostility, civilization does thrive in Bīt Ereshkigal. Small towns and villages thrive in forest clearings and along lazy rivers, while rugged mountain camps draw wealth from the black earth. This wealth flows down to the coast, where a handful of small cities thrive on trade and the quiet indifference of more bellicose neighbors. To the naked eye, it might seem quaint, but the naked eye can only perceive half the truth of Bīt Ereshkigal. Hovering above the towns and cities in an invisible haze is the datumplume of its inhabitants, an augmented reality tended to and ruled by the unseen data witches that command fear and respect in every household. In this second sight, towns become glistening towers of light and shadow, and the humble cities are transformed into soaring digital metropolises. This digital reality stretches along the subterranean ley-lines of fiberoptic cable and circuit left behind after the War of Eternal Bombardments, the arcanodigital circuitry alive with digital ghosts.

The people of Bīt Ereshkigal exist, much like their civilization, in two worlds. In the real world, the largely human inhabitants nurture an insular culture of extended family ties and old grudges, though these rarely give rise to violence. Rather, the small communities dotting the Hexacrypt Wilds give little thought to the people living outside their immediate sphere, tending their own fences rather than peering through them. However, this provincial attitude is turned on its head in dataspace. Divorced of the reality of the physical world, the inhabitants of Bīt Ereshkigal manifest avatars reflecting their inmost selves (and those who seek to deceive or dissemble with their True Face are invariably punished by the Data Witches). Through a wireless connection that manifests as REM sleep in the outside world, the inhabitants of Bīt Ereshkigal skim the length and breadth of their digital paradise, indulging in revelry and debauch that does the High Lords of Ophon proud.

The communities of Bīt Ereshkigal are organized around democratically organized municipal councils, a collection of reeves and mayors that only rarely come together to form anything resembling a centralized government. While this fractured jumble of authority would normally leave the region vulnerable to exploitation or attack, there is another power at play that acts to unite the scattered communities. The digital realm is also divided along more esoteric lines, each datastream overseen by the dictatorial will of one of the Data Babas. These elder data witches wield staggering power over the constructed reality overlaying Bīt Ereshkigal, to the extent of manifesting phenomena in the physical world if they are sufficiently angered. While they are insular and inscrutable, the Babas are aligned in a singular coven that protects their ambitions and their interests. Though their power waned in the days of occupation after the Eucrus Alliance defeated their warrior Mechadea, the House of Fire has made tentative overtures to bring the Babas more securely into the fold. Certainly, the ancient circuitry that fuels their powers is a miracle of the old world, and greatly of interest to the Imperial Cult. Meanwhile, the regional councils have bent the knee to a Ducal Governor installed in the quickly-growing new city of Irkalla.

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

While the reality of the datastream is ever-shifting, there exist rites and rituals to capture a facsimile of it in a set form. This form of protean code carries with it the echoed thoughts and desires of every inhabitant of Bīt Ereshkigal, and is capable of reacting to fulfill the fantasies of those who interface with it through the potency of those echoes.

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

While the people of Bīt Ereshkigal enjoy limitless mobility in the datastream, that freedom is far harder to find on the material plane. The dangers of the Hexacrypt Wilds are manifold, and if the region is to prosper beyond the digital phantoms of its inhabitants dreams then a reliable means of transport between mountain, forest, and coast will need to be established.

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Litigator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Litigator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Litigators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Litigator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many age-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Hide this

Stretching along the eastern coastline of Zabava, Bīt Ereshkigal descends from a sinuous line of western mountains through towering deciduous forests into coastal lowlands that frequently give way to swamps. Once jagged and wild, the terrain has worn down under the weight of millennia, becoming a rolling tapestry of green, grey, and black. Not so the forests it embraces, however - the wilderness of what was once known as the Hexacrypt Wilds is the equal of any on Sansar, save perhaps the untamed nightmare of the Reserve to its south. The bright lights of sparsely-scattered civilization are almost swallowed by the arboreal gloom, and a complete catalogue of the mutated flora and fauna has not been attempted in the post-war period.

For all that hostility, civilization does thrive in Bīt Ereshkigal. Small towns and villages thrive in forest clearings and along lazy rivers, while rugged mountain camps draw wealth from the black earth. This wealth flows down to the coast, where a handful of small cities thrive on trade and the quiet indifference of more bellicose neighbors. To the naked eye, it might seem quaint, but the naked eye can only perceive half the truth of Bīt Ereshkigal. Hovering above the towns and cities in an invisible haze is the datumplume of its inhabitants, an augmented reality tended to and ruled by the unseen data witches that command fear and respect in every household. In this second sight, towns become glistening towers of light and shadow, and the humble cities are transformed into soaring digital metropolises. This digital reality stretches along the subterranean ley-lines of fiberoptic cable and circuit left behind after the War of Eternal Bombardments, the arcanodigital circuitry alive with digital ghosts.

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Litigator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Litigator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Litigators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Litigator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many age-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Hide this

Stretching along the eastern coastline of Zabava, Bīt Ereshkigal descends from a sinuous line of western mountains through towering deciduous forests into coastal lowlands that frequently give way to swamps. Once jagged and wild, the terrain has worn down under the weight of millennia, becoming a rolling tapestry of green, grey, and black. Not so the forests it embraces, however - the wilderness of what was once known as the Hexacrypt Wilds is the equal of any on Sansar, save perhaps the untamed nightmare of the Reserve to its south. The bright lights of sparsely-scattered civilization are almost swallowed by the arboreal gloom, and a complete catalogue of the mutated flora and fauna has not been attempted in the post-war period.

For all that hostility, civilization does thrive in Bīt Ereshkigal, though it does so in a siege mentality.

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Legislator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Legislator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Legislators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Legislator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many ago-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Legislator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Legislator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Legislators after a decade-long campaign.

Following the conquest of the region by the House of Fire, the military might of the Legislator Clans was officially disbanded. While the domestic functions of the station were not meddled with by the Ducal Armada, the presence of qualified technicians as well as an influx of foreign materials and spare parts only further diluted the authority of the reigning warlords. This may have precipitated further bloodshed and uprising, had Litigator Prime Apil-Sin not emerged from Ducal custody as a voice to bridge the gap between the two cultures. Made fully aware of the terrible wrath the House of Fire was capable of as well as the deep charity they were prepared to offer Zimbir, Apil-Sin convinced many of the other Litigator Clans that prosperous submission was preferable to the brave futility of rebellion. For his efforts, he was named the first Governor, ruling in the name Esarhaddon III.

Meanwhile, the powers of the Imperial Magistrates has been reinvigorated. While Litigator Prime Apil-Sin attends to the domestic reorganization of the region and the Ducal Corps of Engineers carries out desperately-required maintenance, the Imperial Magistrates have new case loads to consider. Integration of Zimbir with Dur-Shalkhir's legal apparatus has resulted in the resolution of many ago-old deadlocks in the archive systems and among the Magistrates themselves, and new precedent has begun to emerge at last from this surviving bastion of Imperial order.

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Trained from birth, the chosen members of the Litigator Clans possess an encyclopedic knowledge (in many cases aided by their cybernetic implants) of Imperial Common Law and are trained in rhetorical techniques ranging from the high civility of Ophon's court to the lethal simplicity of trial by combat. Freed from the demands of internecine strife, these legal experts are now available to any Elect with the fortitude to embrace their legal code.

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

As systemic shortfalls are reversed and the tensions of inter-clan rivalry dissipate, many inhabitants of Zimbir are free to pursue the higher callings of art and beauty for the first time. However, for all its apparent majesty the habitat is a poor place for free expression. Too much of Zimbir is dedicated to the dry work of case law and contract, and so the people look to the Empire at large to satisfy their souls.

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

While genetically human, the people of Zimbir bear the mark of their ancestors' cybernetic integration into Ophon's pre-war bureaucracy. With so many of the systems in the High Court reliant on these integrated machine interfaces, time and necessity only expanded the ubiquity of these implants, while isolation demanded the slow regression of their beauty and grace. Where once the magistrates of Zimbir enjoyed the regal simplicity of skin-sheer golden implants, the current generation makes do with utilitarian metal protrusions passed down from grandparent to grandchild, each one slowly accumulating a collection of minor flaws that is woven into a family history. While the average inhabitant of the habitat may only boast a few obvious prostheses, such as a mechanical limb or the ubiquitous bulge of a spinal neural port, the great Litigators and Magistrates are a biomechanical symphony, a strange beauty emerging from the grotesque asymmetry of their forms. The imposition of the House of Fire's authority over the region promises an influx of technology and resources beyond anything the region has previously enjoyed, and already some children have reached the age of majority with sleek black implants derived in the depths of Gunzir Massif, but it will take some time before the archaic living sculptures of Zimbir disappear completely.

Born into a society founded on the precepts of Ophons laws, the people of Zimbir gradually became a microcosm of those laws as decades turned to centuries. Titles that were once simple professions have evolved into ceremonial positions of growing power, the law offices that once balanced the work of representation factionalizing into Legislator Clans claiming rulership over different areas of the habitat. While the Imperial Magistrates (and their descendants) are the figureheads vested in traditional authority, in practice their judgements are tempered by the very real power of the Legislator Clans who rule in their name. Or at least, so it was before the House of Fire finally broke the power of the Legislators after a decade-long campaign.

Hide this

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Details

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

Details

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details

Before the War of Eternal Bombardments, the enormity of the Empire strained even the capabilities of InterPlaNet and the more esoteric technologies of Ophon. Centralization of power within the Emperor's court led to sometimes-costly delays in response to crisis, and fomented discontent among those vassal states who felt they lacked a voice in the golden halls of power. In response, and to free the High Lords of the tedious mundanity of day-to-day administration, the Emperor decreed the creation of a number of local divisions of the Imperial Bureaucracy to better administer their far-flung demesne. Among these were branches of the Imperial legal system, district courts that could litigate matters unworthy of the Supreme Imperial Court. Though their authority was limited, each served as a repository for the vast body of common law, noble lineages, and Imperial Decrees that combined to form the bedrock of law in Tekhum. Zimbir was one such repository, the least influential and least prestigious, presiding as it did over the sparsely-populated hinterlands of Mekhala.

The War changed everything. Most outposts of the bureaucracy that survived the initial wave of catastrophe found themselves cut off from the aegis of Imperial power, their highest officials evacuated to Ophon while armies of subordinates and functionaries were left to fend for themselves. The mechanisms of governance were repurposed into mechanisms of survival, the great machine of Imperial oversight smashed apart to build crude states and fleeting dictatorships that were everywhere undone by the convulsive aftershocks of universal war. Everywhere, that is, save for humble Zimbir. Isolated from the intrigues of great states and the heaving aftershocks of thaumonuclear detonations, Zimbir and its priceless archive of knowledge endured.

Cut off from Ophon's guidance, the legal apparatus of Zimbir attempted to function for a time. Tentative relations were established among the surviving powers spread across Mekhala, the Imperial Magistrates passing down decisions they believed would lead to compromise and recovery. Decisions that were too-frequently ignored in favor of mercurial ambition. Without the backing of Imperial power, it eventually became clear that Zimbir was little more than a relic of a more civilized age, and as their neighbors turned towards conflict and avarice the people of Zimbir turned in on themselves. The cybernetic implants designed to interface with the systems of Ophon became the mechanism by which they survived the growing privation of Mekhala, while the automated court systems at the heart of the habitat grew old and unreliable, legal algorithms and analytic subroutines catching in recursive loops and logic spirals in the absence of any true legal matters to occupy their energies.

While a number of substantial orbiting bodies occupy Zimbir's territory, life in the region is centered on a massive, pre-war habitat constructed by the Imperial Court. Its opulent exterior a monument to the prosperity of the pre-war period, High Court Zimbir contains living quarters for its magistrates, litigators, and support staff, their judicial chambers and legal offices, court rooms of enough size and spectacle to be worthy of the Emperor himself, and the labyrinthine warren of databanks, autoscribes, and evidence vaults that jurisdiction over an entire orbit demands. Over the centuries of abandonment and independence from Ophon many of the nearer asteroids were also colonized, serving as additional housing at first but eventually evolving into the feudal territory of the most renowned Litigator Clans. Now returned to the fold of something approaching Imperial authority, many of these far-flung fortresses and boltholes have been repurposed as additional storage for the business of the Court, and as holding cells in the event of a criminal trial.

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Lawyers (Specialists, Information and Data)

Details

Desired Import: Arts and Cultural Products

Details

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Hide this

Resource: Roleplaying Games (Art and Cultural Products, Magical Items)

Details

Desired Import: Planetary Vehicles

Details