Badass Creed: Not the Imperial motto (that’s “Order, Progress, Liberty”), but more of a simple statement the eldrae, at least, have been using in tight situations – those who are not of one of the various institutions that have one of their own – for a very, very long time: “The
an-lorzhár íren-eloé aldamanyr – lit. “trapped between the gods”; this expression indicates that one is caught in a particular type of dilemma. Recall, if you will, that in mainstream eldraeic belief the deities are iconic, partially-personified representations of fundamental principles: creation, knowledge, trade, love, invention, war, and so forth. Thus, one
The Conclave Drift. The jewel at the heart of the Associated Worlds, it is the heart of the Accord community; the seat of the Conclave of Galactic Polities, the most comprehensive center of interpolity diplomacy in the Worlds; an unofficial cultural, commercial and financial capital for hundreds of species and
Badass Bookworm: There are a lot of these about; after all, Imperial society as a whole tends towards the relatively geeky and nonphysical, for reasons which have a lot to do with historical culture as an outgrowth of demographics and the hideous waste that is using a sapient brain to
First commercial – not counting private sales, of which there have been several – sale of an Eldraeverse work! Woo! It’s for web publication, so I’ll post a pointer when you can see it live.
…while a threat to life in severe cases, most cases of blue-blotch fever are temporary, and can be cured with prolonged off-site bed rest. Another danger of the lower tunnels is the silver plague. Before entering the lower tunnels of the first, third or seventh excavations, stop at the checkpoint
Badass Army: The Imperial Legions try very hard to play this one straight when they have to. Because of the low-growth, low-manpower demographics of a long-lived species, they generally prefer to eschew most army-type fights in favor of the Sneaky Bastard special-ops method of warfare, or better yet, the the-leaders-of-our-enemies-all-dropped-dead-in-totally-unrelated-accidents-that-cannot-be-connected-to-us-three-years-before-the-war-would-have-happened
Warrior Poet: Where, in the Imperial opinion, Cultured Warrior and The Spartan Way meet; or the intended product of the latter. What a sentinel is supposed to be; not merely someone who can fight, but someone who understands the philosophy of fighting, and the art of fighting, and the principles
“I hate dip refueling.” The grizzled spacer took a long pull on his beer, then looked around at his audience. “I came in on Levikí, out of Meryn. That’s her there – the fast courier you’ve been eyeing up in between your drinks. All set up for these long
Fellow Congregants, Cousins in the Army of Kalasané, Sword of Heaven: By the word of the exarch of Kalasané the Ever-Victorious, We of the Prelacy are commanded to speak His displeasure. Kindred, our eikone is the Laughing Warrior, a Lord of War. Remember that it is unfitting to stand in
The Spartan Way: Except for the lack of Drill Sergeant Nasty (which see), the Imperial Legions really do train like this – for the principal reason that, well, they are heavily dependent, given the Empire’s population demographics, on quality over quantity, so they want the most absurdly close to impossible
Drill Sergeant Nasty: Mostly averted, for reasons which should be fairly obvious from Blue and Orange Morality and/or Mildly Military – the kind of boot-camp disindividuation/personality reformation that Drill Sergeant Nasty is useful for is less than useful given both their material and what they’re trying to make