Sagittarius Arm Star Systems

The Sagittarius Arm, sometimes called the Sagittarius-Carina Arm, is one of the major spiral arms of the Milky Way, though it is smaller than the Perseus and Scutum-Centaurus Arms. Sagittarius, as one of the Milky Way’s primary inner spiral arms, extends radially across ~2,000–4,000 light-years and follows a sweeping arc of ~25,000–30,000 light-years from its origin near the galactic bar outward toward the Carina branch. It lies between the Scutum–Centaurus Arm further toward the galactic core and the Perseus Arm further toward the outer rim. The Orion Arm, or Orion Spur, branches off from the Sagittarius Arm. Little is known about Sagittarius from humanity's point-of-view. However, the galactic arm is a major source for all Hivivian activity as well as the location of the Shalgan, Gnimgian, Shilizal, Becceorian, and Nin'aes home systems. Sagittarius also contains the home systems of numerous other races, including: the Krovenn, Varrhajin, and the Virelians.

The Shalgan, known to humanity as "Hierarchs," are an ancient, near-extinct species from the planet Gagnoania, serving as the political and technological leaders of the Hivivian Empire. Originally contemporaries and rivals of the Yictan, the Shalgan fought a devastating war that nearly destroyed them, leaving only scattered remnants to rebuild. Conservative Shalgan abandoned their homeworld to create a space-based technocracy, while Stoic Shalgan remained planetside, preserving a tribal, spiritual culture. Conservative Shalgan society is highly stratified, meritocratic, and centered on scientific mastery, administrative efficiency, and genetic stewardship, while Stoic society is rooted in traditional kinship, physical endurance, and animistic spirituality. Technologically, the Shalgan adapted and expanded upon salvaged Yictan relics, propelling the Hivivian Empire to Tier 2 status while strictly controlling innovation and militarization through centralized, philosophically guided governance. Culturally, the Shalgan are divided but unified by a shared legacy of survival, reverence for structured knowledge, and a deep-seated distrust of emotionalism in political life. Their language, Shaluun, is a precise, multi-modal system integral to their layered communication, and their economy operates on a post-monetary meritocratic system. Despite their technological prowess, their society moves cautiously, emphasizing stability over rapid change, and their influence within the Hivivian Empire stems from control of infrastructure and knowledge rather than direct military power. Through a rigid hierarchy, philosophical conservatism, and strategic mastery of advanced science and diplomacy, the Shalgan have ensured their continued dominance—albeit precariously—over a multi-species empire that still wrestles with the ideological tensions seeded by their violent past.

The Shilizal are a proud saurian race from Shalita, renowned across the Galaxy for their unmatched martial prowess, strategic brilliance, and unwavering honor. Rooted in a warrior culture comparable to ancient Sparta, the Shilizal prize discipline, loyalty, and tactical excellence above all. Their society is governed by a strict hierarchy under five hereditary kings, supported by a Council of Elders, and structured around values of strength, duty, and communal honor. Shilizal warriors are forged through rigorous lifelong training, wielding plasma weaponry with lethal precision, and many also pursue craftsmanship, science, and philosophy as extensions of their disciplined worldview. Despite gender stratification and harsh societal expectations, rare female warriors known as Kizali achieve respect through extraordinary feats. Fiercely independent yet loyal, the Shilizal have become the backbone of the Hivivian military, feared for their devastating efficiency and honored for their rigid code of battle ethics. Their culture reveres names, traditions, and ancestor worship, blending practical governance with deep spiritual conviction centered around gods of war, victory, and strength. Language is seen as an art form, rich in metaphor and guarded carefully against external influence. Conflict, whether ritualized or total, has long shaped their society, and their relationships with other Hivivian species range from begrudging respect to bitter rivalry, particularly with the Becceorian. Although cautious toward foreign ideas, the Shilizal contribute to the Hivivian Empire’s scientific, military, and technological achievements while fiercely preserving their traditions. Bound by duty, honor, and a deep sense of cultural destiny, the Shilizal endure as one of the galaxy’s most formidable and respected civilizations.

The Gnimgian, often derogatorily referred to as "Crawlers" by humans, are a sentient, carnivorous insectoid species from the desert world of Gozolara. Assimilated into the Hivivian Empire in 10,986 BCE, they have remained the lowest-ranking and most mistreated members of the hegemony. Primarily employed as laborers and expendable infantry, the Gnimgian are valued for their sheer numbers, coordinated eusocial behavior, and tenacity in combat. Their society is rigidly hierarchical, built around a single reproductive Queen who commands absolute authority over her colony, with castes divided into workers, protectors, and domestics. Despite the oppressive conditions under Hivivian rule, the Gnimgian have preserved their survival through resilience, adaptation, and a communal loyalty to the Queen, who embodies both their political and spiritual ideals. Culturally, the Gnimgian are a eusocial species whose way of life emphasizes duty, communal labor, and absolute obedience, suppressing individuality in favor of collective survival. Their native language, a combination of body motion, chemical signals, and hissing sounds, is largely unintelligible to other species without translation software. Technologically, they blend primitive, biology-driven tools with surprisingly advanced medical science, while their subterranean colonies are marvels of organic architecture. Although advances after the Gnimgian Rebellion secured limited rights such as weapon-bearing and military inclusion, their political representation within the Hivivian remains largely symbolic. The Queen, revered as the living heart of their civilization, is the lynchpin of their society, inspiring loyalty through a blend of biological command and deep-seated cultural veneration.

The Becceorian, often called "Berserkers" by humans, are a towering, warlike species native to the ravaged planet of Pheonope. Defined by a brutal culture that reveres strength, dominance, and combat prowess, they operate under a strict pack hierarchy led by the strongest males. Violence permeates every aspect of their society—from leadership succession through patricide, to childrearing and reproduction rooted in physical dominance. Despite their savage reputation, Becceorian exhibit tactical intelligence, capable of piloting ships, commanding forces, and quickly adapting new technologies for warfare. Their highly aggressive, clan-based structure places little value on trade, governance, or philosophical pursuits, favoring a survival-of-the-fittest mentality that has made them both feared and indispensable within the Hivivian Empire. After their defeat and assimilation into the Hivivian ranks, the Becceorian rapidly proved their worth as elite shocktroopers, territorial enforcers, and brutal squad leaders. Though respected for their immense power and battlefield effectiveness, their inclusion has strained relations with other Hivivian species—especially the orderly Shilizal, who view the Becceorian’s unchecked aggression with disdain. Culturally, the Becceorian blend primitive traditions—such as raw meat consumption and ritual combat—with the selective adoption of advanced plasma and heavy vehicle technologies. They maintain a distinct identity rooted in primal instincts, loyalty to kinship packs, and a fierce, almost nihilistic belief in personal might over all else, ensuring that their brutal influence within the Hivivian continues to grow.

The Nin'aes are a highly advanced amphibious-hummingbird-like race from the lush oceanic world of Theotis, known for their mastery of piloting, stealth, and technology. As members of the Hivivian Empire, they have been both vital and undervalued: prized for their engineering prowess and camouflaging abilities yet often relegated to support roles despite their formidable martial traditions. Their matriarchal society, governed by the all-powerful Tur’hann and the Grand Council, is steeped in philosophy, artistry, and militaristic efficiency, while maintaining a deeply isolationist economic stance that eschews currency in favor of communal sharing. Culturally, the Nin'aes place great emphasis on harmony with nature, emotional intelligence, and artistic expression, yet paradoxically resolve external conflicts through overwhelming total war tactics when necessary, believing swift dominance restores balance. Although relations with other Hivivian species are strained due to their refusal to engage in traditional commerce and diplomacy, the Nin'aes have slowly maneuvered themselves into critical political positions, secretly collaborating with groups like the Staalzi to subvert imperial hierarchies. Their society is marked by a rigid gender division—women dominate governance, science, and warfare, while men are relegated to labor and reproductive roles. Linguistically, they communicate through the highly complex, tonal Laeth Siv'an language, integrating speech, gesture, and color modulation for nuanced interaction. Despite facing systemic limitations within the Hivivian Empire, a growing movement among younger Nin'aes seeks to reclaim recognition for their full range of abilities, aiming to reshape their future role within the Hivivian while preserving their enduring values of wisdom, unity, and resilience.

The Krovenn are a war-forged, storm-hardened near-human species from the tumultuous world of Draxion-8, living under the unrelenting fury of the planet-wide Howlveil superstorm. Their culture is brutally pragmatic, centered on martial strength, endurance, and the sacred struggle for survival. Society is rigidly hierarchical under an absolute monarchy, with Emperor Karax Volthur IV ruling by divine mandate, advised by Stratalords and Storm Priests. Krovenn culture intertwines warfare with spirituality, venerating the Eternal Storm as a living god and regarding death in battle as the highest honor. Their society revolves around warbands—semi-autonomous warrior clans bound by shared loyalty, martial achievement, and the relentless pursuit of honor. Through relentless combat training, sacred rites such as the Rite of the Eternal Storm, and a strict warrior code, the Krovenn instill discipline, resilience, and a near-religious commitment to conquest and survival. Their language, Krovennese, is a direct, battle-honed tongue, and their technology—while brutal and unsophisticated compared to more refined species—is devastatingly effective, emphasizing heavy artillery, resilient armor, and practical battlefield augmentation. Economically and militarily, the Krovenn operate through a war-driven economy focused on weapons production, resource extraction, and mercenary contracts, particularly with the Hivivian Empire. Their internal economy uses Storm Dollars, backed by military and industrial output, while honor-based Battle Coins mark individual valor. Their fleet of massive, storm-hardened warships, their specialized heavy infantry, and the elite Storm Commanders form the spearhead of their expansion across the galaxy. Conflict is not a tragedy but a sacred necessity to the Krovenn; both internal warband rivalries and external conquests are seen as vital tests of strength and loyalty. In every aspect of their existence—from their heavily fortified architecture and functional, scar-inscribed armor to their storm-chanted battle oaths and fierce kinship structures—the Krovenn embody a civilization where survival, strength, and honor are not ideals but the only path to enduring the eternal storm that shapes them.

The Varrhajin are a humanoid hyena-like race from the once lush world of Brakkor, defined by extreme violence, clan-based anarchy, and an absence of any centralized governance. Their society is built purely on dominance, territorial survival, and brutal pragmatism, with clans forming and dissolving without warning based solely on shifting power dynamics. Technologically, they are scavengers rather than innovators, wielding photon-enhanced weaponry and crude exo-armor largely stolen or repurposed from their brief and disastrous alliance with the Hivivian Empire. Without a true economy, religion, or philosophy, Varrhajin culture centers solely on immediate utility: armor, tools, and language exist only to enhance combat efficiency and survival. Leadership is earned by bloodshed, kinship is defined by usefulness, and trade is little more than a temporary ceasefire before the inevitable return to conflict. Expelled from the Hivivian Empire for their uncontrollable violence, the Varrhajin now persist as raiders, pirates, and warbands scattered across Brakkor and the surrounding star systems. Their political structure is a hollow monarchy—nominally ruled by King Krulgar IX—but in reality, clans operate with near-total autonomy, obeying royal decrees only when forced. Military forces are decentralized, relying on savage ambush tactics, overwhelming aggression, and adaptive brutality rather than strategy or discipline. All aspects of Varrhajin life—from art and architecture to fashion and social hierarchy—are dictated by the constant need to fight, dominate, and survive. They do not remember, they do not hope; they exist entirely in the moment, shaped by violence into a society that values only power, immediate action, and the scars left by both.

The Virelians are a nomadic near-human, memory-obsessed species who originated on the mountain-world of Nyx'thara before an ecological collapse forced their diaspora. For over five centuries they wandered the galaxy, preserving their fractured civilization through strict oral tradition, salvaged relics, and adaptive survival. They eventually colonized New Nyx'thara in 4761 BCE, establishing a fragile peace that was shattered two centuries later by the conquering Hivivian Empire. Refusing assimilation, the Virelians fought a brutal ten-year war, losing over 78% of their population, culture, and recorded history. In the aftermath, they adopted Null-State Condition Directive-0 (NSCD-0), a total severance from all external civilizations, codifying isolation into every aspect of law, technology, and society. Their survival and cultural memory are now maintained through ritualized storytelling, caste-bound memory orders, and meticulous technological resilience. Virelian society is built around clans, collective responsibility, and historical preservation, governed by the Council of the Continuum under a parliamentary structure rigorously aligned with ancestral values. Memory dominates every sphere: from their ceremonial architecture and encoded textiles to their strictly internal trade system based on lineage-worth, not currency. Warfare and military organization center not on conquest but on safeguarding artifacts, genealogies, and sacred spaces. Religion, philosophy, and science are deeply interwoven into a worldview where existence itself is a duty to the past. Virelians view conflict, governance, survival, and even daily dress as acts of cultural resistance against oblivion. Refusing innovation detached from tradition, they have rebuilt a closed, resilient civilization that thrives not through expansion but through an uncompromising devotion to remembrance.

The Brullari are a towering, reptilian-amphibian species from the hostile world of Brul. Once tribal warriors, the Brullari evolved into a galactic underworld syndicate—smugglers, spies, and shadow-brokers whose cultural currency is secrecy itself. Every deal, gesture, or word among them is a maneuver in an unending contest of influence. Strength is respected, but only as a tool. The real game is played through guile, manipulation, and strategic mistrust. Brullari society thrives in ambiguity, with contracts written in coded language and alliances forged with escape clauses already written in. Their governance, the Brul Kingdom, is a hereditary monarchy leashed to a brutalist Parliament of merchant-lords and syndicate powerbrokers, where debate mirrors the battlefield—alliances shift by the hour, and betrayal is not failure but proof of cunning. Internally, loyalty is conditional and honor is defined not by morality but by the ability to stay dominant in a web of calculated treachery.   Beneath their leathery pragmatism lies a culture of intellectual and psychological warfare. Religion is a labyrinth of paradoxes meant to train the mind, not worship. Language itself—Seclhar’vren—is a weapon of misdirection, with meanings stacked like traps. Kinship is irrelevant; Brullari raise their young communally for strategic conditioning, not affection. Gender, likewise, is functional, not ideological. Their economy blends a rigid coin-based system with vast black-market networks, where trade is a chess match and every coin carries weight beyond its metal. Warfare, too, is never about spectacle—it is sabotage, infiltration, and preemptive disinformation. Their tools and technologies mirror their nature: modular, quiet, camouflaged, and tailored for stealth and survival. Even fashion is coded with utility and status. Every Brullari lives a life defined by calculated silence and mistrust, not because they fear betrayal—but because they expect it, plan for it, and often orchestrate it themselves. In a galaxy of loud empires and flashy idealisms, the Brullari are the shadow you didn’t notice until it had already taken what it needed and vanished.

The Rynok are a rhinoceros-like humanoid species native to the volcanic, high-gravity world of Xorr’Thal, where their massive, stone-armored forms were forged by tectonic brutality and spiritual doctrine alike. Their bodies are built for survival in a landscape of fire and pressure—dense bones, armored hides, reinforced organs, and tectonically adapted musculature—all interwoven with ritual significance. Every inch of Rynok flesh is a canvas for sacred etchings, while every action, from breathing to battle, is performed as an extension of divine order. Governed by the Varn’Zorith lineage from their citadel capital Vorn-Kathuun, the Rynok live under a theocratic monarchy where society, religion, and industry form an inseparable triad. Each Rynok is born into a caste—warrior, engineer, cleric, or noble—coded into their very DNA through what they believe are spiritually resonant gene sequences. Even their reproduction, diet, and tool use are ritual-bound: they are obligate hypercarnivores forbidden from consuming plants, and their weapons are forged in sacred flame, blessed in cathedral-foundries, and inscribed with ancestral runes before ever seeing war.   To outsiders, the Rynok appear as a monolithic warrior-theocracy hellbent on conquest, but within their own frame, they are upholding the Will of the World-Spirit—an all-encompassing cosmic order that demands purity, discipline, and obedience. Their religion, Vaar’Mundal, permeates every breath of their existence, casting every war not as a political choice but as a metaphysical correction, sanctioned through blood-seals, omens, and resonance rituals. Language, law, and even thought are stratified by caste, with forbidden words and unauthorized metaphors considered existential threats. They are brilliant engineers and brutal warriors but intentionally stagnant in innovation—preferring ritual perfection over speculative thought. Cultural contact is sterilized, creativity is heretical, and death is merely the final duty before one’s soul merges back with the eternal flame of Xorr’Thal. In this unyielding civilization of resonance-chants, calcified justice, and flame-hallowed armor, there is no place for compromise—only discipline, faith, and the crushing weight of sacred purpose.

The Zhivorak are a tri-eyed, reptilo-insectoid species from the mineral-rich world of Zhavak-Orn, shaped by ecological scarcity and transactional necessity. Barely a meter tall, their wiry, moisture-absorbing bodies and keen peripheral vision belie an extraordinary cognitive arsenal built for negotiation, contract enforcement, and rapid data recall. Every facet of Zhivorak biology, from their amphibious skin to their synapse-dense brains, is geared toward precision and survivability in volatile markets. Their society is structured around Concordiums—semi-autonomous trade guilds whose power stems from control over rare goods, legal arbitrage, or intelligence networks. Though emotionally detached and occasionally unnerving to outsiders, the Zhivorak operate on a strict moral axis: break a contract, and you’re exiled; fulfill one, and your reputation becomes currency. Their language, Zhavrekh’tal, is an efficient, tri-syllabic construct designed for airtight commitments, devoid of ambiguity, and enforceable across speech, data, or glyph.   Eschewing military might, the Zhivorak wield commerce as their weapon, outsourcing defense to legally bound mercenaries like the Krovenn while building a decentralized empire of arbitration, memory-bonded transactions, and adaptive encryption tech. Knowledge itself is transacted—scientific innovation, kinship, even religion are treated as legal obligations in a cosmos ruled not by gods, but by ledgers. Culturally, their spirituality centers on the Ledger Eternal, a metaphysical accounting of all promises made and kept, while their governance functions more like a stock market than a state. Gender roles persist through professional specialization, but all relationships—familial, romantic, or economic—are defined through contracts. To the Zhivorak, trust is earned, traded, and quantified. In an age of empires and ideological crusades, they remain fiercely neutral brokers of utility, their influence not carved by armies, but etched into the fine print of galactic survival.

The Rhaevanir are a pre-industrial, lion-like humanoid race from the untamed world of Eryndhal—a society carved not through innovation, but through ritual, conquest, and ancestral duty. Proud, savage, and honor-bound, their entire civilization is built atop bloodline hierarchy, tribal war law, and a culture that treats legacy as law. Though they possess no formal science or mechanical industry, their mastery of metallurgy, oral tradition, and survivalist combat forms a complete cultural ecosystem. They do not revere technology—they break it. Salvaged alien debris is neither studied nor feared, only melted and reforged into sacred weapons or tribal heirlooms. Knowledge is memory. Religion is action. Government is blood. No concept of progress or outside civilization touches them—they are fully insular, shaped entirely by mythic cycles of war, judgment, and pridehood. They believe every storm, scar, and predator is part of a divine balance, and they move through the world not to change it, but to fulfill the echoes left by their ancestors.   Their society is stratified by role, ritual, and gender, with rigid customs dictating every facet of life—from naming and dress to dueling codes and reproductive expectation. The High-King of Eryndhal rules through hereditary right and ancestral myth, supported by a Council of Claws and a caste system that venerates warriors, shamans, and blacksmiths in equal measure. Honor is enforced through immediate justice: exile, death, or ritual scarification. Every pride functions as a miniature kingdom, bound to the others through seasonal rites, inter-clan feuds, and sacred oaths. Conflict is perpetual—but never chaotic. Even blood-feuds and battlefield kills follow structured, religiously sanctioned codes. The Rhaevanir neither seek allies nor fear enemies. They are planet-bound, unwelcome of change, and wholly unaware of the galaxy around them. And yet, in their refusal to evolve or adapt beyond their ways, they have become something ancient, untouchable, and quietly terrifying—a civilization of iron wills, flame-tended forges, and unbroken stories carved into bone and blood.

The Seravex are a serpentine-humanoid species native to Val’Karim, a world of temperate climates and mineral abundance, where society is forged through military order, civic discipline, and doctrinal control. Their civilization resembles a militarized, planet-bound version of ancient Rome, where every citizen is born into a caste and serves the state through strict, purpose-driven roles—either in combat, industry, or law. Oversight is maintained by an elite military police force known as the Veskari, and social life is shaped by ritual, surveillance, and engineered efficiency. Religious orthodoxy dominates thought and law alike; Seravex faith—centered on the harsh triad of judgment, sacrifice, and obedience—permits no deviation. Their cities reflect this ethos: severe, fortress-like, and adorned with statues of war-legislators, their architecture is built not to inspire but to control. There is no tolerance for disorder, no room for ambiguity—every wall, meal, and public gesture is a calculated expression of rank and obligation.   Though biologically adapted for durability and endurance, Seravex society prizes ideological conformity and civic function above all else. Children are raised communally under state supervision, stripped of sentiment, and subjected to years of ritualized training before earning a name or reproductive license. Language is rigid and militarized, with silence and posture carrying legal weight, while emotion is treated as a disturbance to be suppressed. Their economy is command-based, trade is contract-bound, and even art and philosophy serve no purpose but to reinforce structure and obedience. Conflict, both internal and external, is normalized—ritualized through law, waged with mechanical precision, and remembered not for glory, but for its role in shaping and preserving the civic machine. The Seravex do not seek expansion—they seek mastery of themselves, building a world where even birth, identity, and death are chapters in a doctrine of absolute control.