The histories of the Empire talk of their growth from humble beginnings, to spread across the continents of their world, and the conquering of the challenges that world offered. In the interim, they sought greater and greater knowledge of the world, and their culture flourished. This then was the golden age of the Empire, and the most peaceful period of their history.

It was not to last.

It should be noted that the world of the Empire, nameless though it still is to Outsiders, has never known the concept of "magic". Over the generations since their earliest histories, the Children have grown wise in the ways of agriculture, of metallurgy, of crystal science, and more. But 'magic' simply does not exist in that world. It is no surprise then, that when they discovered the first Gateway, that A'Taran society was rocked to its very core.

Despite their sheltered existence, the A'Tarans adapted to the concept of a rift in reality fairly quickly. Some theorize that this is because they accepted it as an act of the Gods, others that they simply accepted it as something "that is", and proceeded to worry more about 'what to do with it.' Their first act was to secure the Gateway, surrounding it with the most effective fortifications possible, and a strong contingent of warriors, before beginning to study it.

There was some disagreement on this point, however. The prevailing view in the early period following the Gateway's discovery was that it was an act of the Gods - and the Children of the Gods should not dare to challenge them, to presume they had a right to mess around with it. Others said that if the Gods placed it down in the world, then they meant for the Children to find it - and surely it would be a disgrace for the Gods if their own Children were to shy away in fear from such a gift!

The debate was fierce but not overly prolonged. No matter what they decided, they could not simply leave it unattended. It must either be explored, or properly venerated and enshrined. Total disregard would be the greatest insult of all.

In the end, of course, it was decided that the Gods would hold no respect for their brave Children if they failed to investigate such a phenomenon. If it were indeed a portal to the heavens, then it must be a test of their Children's courage - to see if they were worthy to join them. And so, with great pomp and ceremony, the preparations were made for the first explorations of the Gateway.

The effects upon the A'Taran race of the discovery of a world beyond the veil of the Gateway cannot be understated. For as long as they had written records, they had been the only lifeform of consequence in their world - there were lesser creatures, and these were of course placed there by the Gods for the use of the Children. They were to be treated fairly, but with the understanding that they were merely 'things', not important in their own right.

This, then, was the mindset that the A'Tarans brought with them into the new reality they'd discovered. They expected surely to find other creatures there as well - analogs to the bovines and the meat animals, and the lesser predators who roamed the vast forests and plains. Perhaps even greater predators, such as the rare beasts that were hunted as a test of adulthood by juvenile A'Tarans.

It was this possibility that led to the creation of the first outpost, around the 'far' end of the Gateway. After all, it was argued, the Gods might have placed great predators in this new world, waiting for the day when their Children would be ready to discover them and face the new challenge. It would not do to be foolish and underestimate the possible dangers.

So it was that on the far side of the Gateway, a defensive structure was hastily assembled. Little more in those early hours than a bunker complex and barricades made of felled trees, it would serve until a more permanent outpost could be constructed. To this end, an entire regiment of Blacks (the most decorated hunters available) were stationed there, along with a small collection of Greys to command the exploration teams. It was no small honor to be assigned to the Far Outpost, in those days.

The first few weeks were eventful, and fruitful. With the tenacious and thorough nature that was their hallmark, the A'Tarans methodically mapped and explored several square miles around the Gateway's far end. Conveniently, the far end Arch was set against the base of a sheer cliff, part of a small mountain range, allowing for the defensive outpost to be easily built around it. Having their backs to something was inherently comforting, after all.

With a fortnight gone, the report of the New World then looked like this:

The sky of this new place was startlingly different - a soft pale blue, instead of the smoky orchid color of their own home sky. But the air was sweet here, the water cold and pure, and the forest they were exploring was green and fertile. Few creatures had been found, inconsequential herbivores and very small predators (the largest was a common fox). But they were not disappointed - no conclusions could be drawn from such a small sample!

Even as construction was underway on a more permanent settlement around the Far Arch, scouts continued to nose onward. The discovery (reported back from a high hill) of a great body of water was cause for great excitement, for this promised all new wonders if they found a way to cross it.

The next discover was far, far more shocking than almost even the Gateway had been. In the distance, one scout's keen nose and eyes reported, was a small cloud of smoke.

In retrospect, this small cloud of smoke was the herald of the inferno that was about to ignite.

History records that the first four and a half years of the five-year Great War were fought almost exclusively within the Empire itself. The Orcs, like ants, flooded through the Gateway in ever-increasing numbers, and the A'Tarans simply did not have the raw numbers to face them in pitched battle.

By the end of the second year of the war, the entire northeastern landmass where the Gateway had been discovered had been overrun and largely razed by the Orc horde. The A'Tarans had killed innumerable Orcs in the process, but could scarcely afford to absorb the same kind of losses themselves - while the Orcs simply bred more and kept fighting. It seemed that the end would come, slowly but surely, with the Children of the Gods finding themselves buried under the rising avalanche of Orcish corpses.

One thing that had worked in their favor was that the Gateway had been discovered many generations along in their development. As a result, not only had the A'Tarans had time to hone their crafts in metallurgy and crystalmaking, but they had spread rather widely across their world in that time as well. So it was that the Gateway was found in a very distant part of the world, and the bulk of the Empire was nowhere near that point. Had they discovered the Gateway near to their cluster of cities, the end would have come far more surely and swiftly. As it was, they did have sufficient empty lands to trade for time.

Midway through the third year of the war, the Orcs had conquered not only the complete northeastern landmass, but had built primitive landing craft and crossed the sea to begin invading the major landmass where the bulk of the Empire was concentrated. Given enough time, and the notorious Orcish breeding speed, that might've marked the end of the Children of the Gods.

But the Children, too, learned from their mistakes.

In the last weeks of the fourth year, the Orcish invaders had pressed their advantages in numbers and momentum to the absolute limit. With the birth of the new year in sight, the Capitol itself could now see the smokes of war drawing closer across the high steppes to the south. Never before had the great city of the Children been threatened, but now its familiar sprawling spires were surrounded by walls and defensive structures. They were gathering themselves for a last desperate defense, while the green tide rolled inexorably on.

The Orcs, while still possessing a great numerical advantage, had been spreading themselves thin as they rolled onwards. There was a lot of land to be 'held', even though they had passed through much of it unhindered in the previous few weeks. It seemed like the once unbreakable spirit of the Children had been lost, and they were in full retreat; positions that might've once held out for days or weeks were yielded up with barely a struggle. And so the Orcs came on, fully confident that they had broken their foe and had only to fight this last great battle at their very steps to conquer the Children of the Gods.

When they came upon the first sight of the Capitol, they jeered and laughed at the crude defensive walls. They were done more in haste than in the spirit of proud construction, and there was little doubt the horde would sweep over them - even if they had to build ramps from their own corpses. They had plenty to spare, after all.

There was no declaration of siege, no parley. The Orcs merely began their first thrusts at the gates and walls - more tactical attacks, seeking to learn the strengths and weaknesses of the walls, than anything serious. These went on for perhaps a week, week and a half. Then there was a brooding silence as the Orc tacticians conferred, plotting their final great offensive.

Behind the walls, was nothing but silence. The only reaction to the feinting thrusts was the occasional shower of arrows or other catapult weapons, but nothing noteworthy. This, too, the Orcs saw as a sign of the Children's weakened state, that they were afraid to engage now with the bulk of the invading army waiting to pounce.

And so the silence built, waiting for the trumpets and howls that would herald the very end.

The sun was starting to rise in earnest, and with it the battle raged furiously on the plains below. The Orcs had stretched their supply lines to the limit in their zealous charge in pursuit of the retreating Children, never imagining that that headlong retreat had been part of the plan all along.

Now their army's advance had crashed to a halt at the very walls of the Capitol, unable to breach the walls or overcome the defensive engines that had been built in secret, waiting for the enemy to come into range. Every assault upon the walls ended in ruin, and the flames from the oil and fireboulders were almost too fierce to push through. The Orc army was being held by the head even as the the Grand Army of the A'Tarans poured out of the defense tunnels to engage them from the flanks. As each tunnel emptied, it was collapsed behind them - no escape would be left for the Children, nor opening for the Orcs to infiltrate the Capitol. The war would turn here, once and for all.

The thin supply trains were not well defended, they couldn't be with the bulk of the Orcish horde battle against the enemy at the walls or on the fields. And now, from the woodlands emerged heavily armed raiding parties, swift and vicious, slashing into the Orc's trains and camps, and vanishing only to re-emerge further away to strike again. The Children were using their familiarity with the land to the limit now, coming seemingly from everywhere. And no quarter was to be found - the law of fang and claw was in full effect. No Orcish prisoners were going to be taken, anywhere.

So now, with their support cut off and their enemies seemingly everywhere, the Orcs found themselves facing a very real possibility that they might lose within sight of their very goal. This only drove their battle fury to new heights, and they renewed their clash against the Children with ever more desperate fervor. After all, they DID still have the numerical advantage - if they could crush this rally, then there would be nothing to stop them from resuming their siege.

The War had been costly beyond measure to the Children, and most of all to the great Black clan. The hulking warrior packs had borne the brunt of the Orcish invasion, and had lost uncounted numbers of their own in the many battles of the past four years. And now with every battle-worthy A'Taran armed and out in the field, precious few of the experienced Blacks were left to fight. The A'Tarans, like the Orcs, led from the front... and so all of the most experienced, most skilled war leaders of the clan were either out there fighting now... or dead.

They had not, however, been foolish enough to leave the Capitol's interior entirely unprotected. While even the elders were still able to defend themselves, there had been need for some kind of last-ditch defense for the leaders and the helpless. And so after much fierce debate, it was decided to unleash the last of the great experiments. Huge even for A'Tarans, their bloodlines specially shepherded to battle and madness and death, there were eight of them, known only as Berserkers (to use the closest human term). So bloodthirsty were they, that even their own masters feared them. But, it was argued, if the Orcs somehow got inside... then there was no more hope. They must be set loose.

In charge of the Capitol's last internal defenses was a young Black warrior, perhaps the human equivalent of twenty years old. He did not have any great rank or experience, but he was a gifted fighter and moreover he possessed that one quality that could turn any situation from defeat to victory.

He was lucky.

Kor'chak was his given name, last son of his pack. He had risen quickly in rank these past few weeks, as his superiors fell in battle, and they had promoted those who showed any ability to lead. He was far too young for such responsibilities as this, but such is the case in times of uttermost need. And Kor'chak was ready.

The Berserkers were the pinnacle of the A'Taran attempts at primitive eugenics. Over the years, there had been attempts at promoting the most aggressive, the most violent bloodlines, and combining them with intensive training and disciplines. All of which were designed to promote the utter lack of fear, the strongest physical form and the greatest ability to kill.

Many debates had raged, prior to the discovery of the Gate and the start of the war, about the ethics of this endeavour. It seemed, argued many, to be an abomination, a perversion of the Gods' design. And why did they need such a killing machine, when there was nothing more threatening to them than large simple-minded predatory animals to be found?

Even after the start of the War, the few remaining Berserkers from the original class were not set loose in battle. There were too many fears, about what would happen if they WERE set free - would they turn on their own, once no enemies were left to fight? And what about the end of the war - how could these monstrous killers be hoped to understand the concept of 'peacetime'?

Now, though, it didn't matter. If this battle was lost, everyone was dead anyway. This was the last hope, and so they were taken from their isolated rooms and brought before the Elders. It was not clear if the Berserkers *truly* understood everything said to them, but they were shown the face of the enemy, and told to kill any they saw.

Kor'chak showed no emotion when he was told to lead the Berserkers into the fray. What he thought in those moments, he never admitted to another living soul. But there must have been something in his eyes, young as he was, because the Berserkers turned and stared at him, each one of them pausing for a long moment. Their unceasing snarling briefly abated.. and they each gave a sharp howl of salute to the young warrior. In turn, Kor'chak drew his blade and raised it, howling in turn... and led them out toward the plaza.

~~

The bodyguards of the Orc Elites were some of the best, hugest and most brutal warriors they had. They did not flinch away from the onrushing behemoths, whatever else they might have thought upon seeing them. Their blades upraised, the bodyguard Orcs shrieked their own war cries and met the eight Berserkers in a frenzy of claw, fang, steel and blood.

From high above, many witnessed the Battle of the Plaza, as it was later called. The Berserkers had the initial advantage in pure battle rage, and slashed into the oncoming wall of armored Orcs. The advantages of size and blood rage, however, could only go so far - the bodyguard fell one by one against the monstrous Berserkers, but they had almost a three-to-one numbers advantage, and the Berserkers' lack of armor proved a fatal flaw. Sure, they ignored pain and were very difficult to kill... but enough blows from jagged steel would eventually destroy limbs, spill more blood than could be weathered.

Kor'chak, while smaller (relatively) than his charges, was quick and brutal, and his double-ended blade whirled and slashed with incredible speed. He fought with his race's inherent ferocity, but he added a lightning-quick tactical mind to it. When a Berserker would grappled madly with one of the huge Orcs, Kor'chak would angle in to slash at the Orc's unguarded legs. If an Orc was fighting for balance, he would dive to low-bridge them and then let the Berserker tear into the fallen foe. When three of the bodyguard combined to behead one of the Berserkers, Kor'chak saw his chance and cut loose one of the catapult boulders waiting on the rampway, and watched it roll down to crush them as one.

In this way, the battle which had started as nine against twenty-five, now had come down to only a handful left. The entirety of the Bodyguard were dead, but only Kor'chak and one of the Berserkers (heavily wounded) stood against the Orc Elites, three of them. Their War Leader, and his two most vicious lieutenants, all fresh.. all enraged at the carnage before them.

Before he could even react, Kor'chak was stunned to see his last Berserker unleash a howling scream and rush at the hulking Orcs standing near the catapult scaffolding. The two lieutenants, blades drawn, came right in at him.. their instinct to protect their leader ingrained since their first blooding. They slashed as one, the jagged blades digging heavily into the behemoth's midsection, and sent him staggering into the scaffolding brace. The Berserker hung heavily on the thick wooden beams, blood pouring from his chest and side and muzzle. Kor'chak's eyes met his, and for a moment he wondered if (despite all he'd been told), the big monster really did feel pain... or fear.

The behemoth's muscles tensed, and he seemed to clutch wildly at the heavy supporting beam. It didn't make sense, Kor'chak thought... he didn't look like he was unable to stand. It almost looked like...

And before the thought really became coherent in his mind, Kor'chak was running for his life.

With a roar of pain and displeasure, the Orc War Leader shoved a broken chunk of wooden beam off of himself, heaving it several feet across the ruined plaza. Two huge counterweights had fallen on either side of him, which had kept the majority of the heavy debris from crushing him outright. His two lieutenants had not been so fortunate - he could see a thin smear of black oozing out from under a massive column of wood and stone. Surely the abomination that had caused all this was dead with them, he thought. It had been so like them, to kill themselves in the vain hope of getting rid of him.

But their stupid sacrifice had been in vain. He lived, and now there were no more defenders in his way. Oh, the beastmen would suffer for their treachery, so suffer! He grabbed his heavy curved blade and batted at the dust cloud finally settling around him. It obscured everything; wreckage, bodies, fallen archways. But now it was dispersing, allowing him a clearer view of where he would go next. The nurseries, he thought, it would be a delicious pleasure to massacre the beastmen's little whelps. The cries of their mothers would be a delight.

The dust and smoke blew away with a breath of wind, revealing the archway to the inner citadel. The War Leader started forward, and then came immediately to a halt.

He was not alone.

~~~

Kor'chak had realized in a flash what the last Berserker was doing. Instinct had taken over, and he'd raced at a run for the inner archway. He'd made it just in time too, as the catapult tower collapsed in ruin behind him, crushing the Orcs beneath tons of wood and stone.

Or at least, he'd hoped so. But the roar of the Orcish War Leader had told him that the battle was not yet over. For just a moment, Kor'chak felt immensely old, as if he'd fought a hundred years of war in just a few hours. And then that feeling melted away, burned clean from him with determination and adrenaline. He knelt and picked up his fallen bladestaff, and stalked through the smoke and dust towards the enemy he knew was waiting.

~~~

The two warriors stood motionless now, sizing each other up. Kor'chak was huge in his own right, nearly seven feet tall and powerfully built. But the War Leader had not gotten his position in the Orcish hierarchy for his charisma. He was a massive thing, about the same height and thickly muscled. His armor was strong and gnarled, his weapon of choice a massive double-headed axe. And he was long experienced in war, having led many campaigns before the ill-fated meeting with the Children. A harsh, gutteral laugh issued from his throat as he pointed his axe at the younger Black, waving it slowly. Kor'chak did not know the Orcish language, but it wasn't hard to guess what the Orc was promising.

All right, he thought. If the brute wanted posturing, by the Gods he would get it. Kor'chak raised his double-ended bladestaff over his head, staring right into the War Leader's eyes. A grin appeared on the Black's muzzle, showing every single one of those jagged teeth. With a sudden jerk, Kor'chak threw his head back and cut loose with a wild howl that seemed to shake the very walls of the plaza. The grin slid slowly off the Orc's face, replaced by a grim hate.

The moment passed, and the two charged at one another, steel flashing in the noonday sun.

The Orc War Leader was beside himself with rage. This wasn't possible, that he was being balked time and again by this beast - and a mere whelp at that! He might be brawny and large, but the War Leader shrewdly recognized his youth and inexperience. That made it all the more infuriating that he hadn't killed the beastman yet!

But whatever else he might be, the black-furred beast was gifted. His arms maneuvered that two-ended bladestaff like an extension of himself, sending the huge axe's blows astray with just enough power to stymie them, but never enough to allow the Orc to use his axe's heavy weight to break the bladestaff. And the beast had even dared to draw blood! A mere scratch but STILL!

Now they fought up and down the high rampart of the Capitol's defensive wall, through the debris of the fallen catapult's upper structure. There was not nearly as much room to move here, and both combatants had to watch their footing very carefully. The War Leader finally slowed his brutal pace, recognizing that he was not going to overwhelm the black beastman after all. He was still driving him backwards though.. eventually the whelp would run out of room to move. And then?

Then he was going to crush that muzzle between his hands and throw him to the field far below. Maybe he'd keep some of those vicious looking teeth for a necklace, he thought with a savage pleasure. He'd keep the whelp alive for that...

He could dimly hear the roar of battle to his left, down on the field. But it was unimportant, it could wait. All his savage skill was turned on this persistant, troublesome enemy; every moment the kill was delayed was piling onto his fury. There would be a moment.. there had to be that one moment..

THERE.

A swing of the axe had dislodged a rain of debris from the parapet wall, and a chunk of it had rolled behind the beastman, causing him to stumble. The Orc lunged at that moment, and his axe made full contact with the center of the bladestaff, biting deeply into the handle. Shockingly, it STILL would not break... testament to the skill of the beastmen's artisans perhaps... but it would do. With a mighty heave, the War Leader hurled his axe aloft, and sent the bladestaff falling over the edge of the parapet. The beastman stared after it, as the Orc raised his axe, gloating at his disarmed enemy.

"And now," he jeered in his own tongue, even if the beastman could not comprehend it, "You lose."

The two warriors were so high upon the wall that the finer details of their duel could not be discerned. Not from the armies still battling it out on the fields below, nor from the upper walkways and windows of the inner citadel where many eyes watched. All they knew was that the duel had paused, and the flash of steel could no longer be seen. But neither of them fell.

And then all eyes saw Kor'chak launch himself at the Orcish War Leader, saw him engage the huge brute in close-quarters combat. It was improbable, he could not win such a contest. The Orc armor could withstand even the claws of the Children, and the Orc had fewer vulnerable spots with their ultra-thick armor. Even with the sudden burst of adrenaline, it could not last.

However, no one had bothered to tell Kor'chak that.

He fought now like a madman, as one possessed. Again and again he hammered the Orc's head with sledgehammer blows, batting aside the gauntleted hands and smashing his helmeted head against the wall and the support beams of the overhead cover. The War Leader could not even muster a single blow in return, as the younger A'Taran beat him down relentlessly. He spun aside, to gain some distance... and Kor'chak kicked him in the hip, sending him crashing into the debris from earlier.

The Orc reared up in a haze of pain and humiliation and lashed out in return, catching Kor'chack a stinging blow across his muzzle. But in the next moment, the Black grabbed that arm on the follow throw and heaved him sideways, hurling him into the wall yet again. He snarled as he stalked the bewildered War Leader, kicking rubble out of his way.

"I am going to tear your THROAT out, you piece of filth. I am going to tear out your throat, and then your heart and I am going to BURN it in front of you before you die!"

His words were as snarls and howls to the Orc, who understood not a word of it. But as Kor'chak had recognized the axe gesture earlier.. the War Leader understood the intent. His eyes narrowed, and he made a vulgar gesture in response. Then he stood and roared his defiance at Kor'chak, and charged at him. Rage or not, he was still the War Leader! He would crush this beast with his own hands, and to the depths with him!

Kor'chak met the Orc's charge, two behemoths colliding upon the upper walls. As their shoulders slammed into one another, Kor'chak acted upon instinct once more. His hands slid up and locked onto the Orc's helm, onto the faceguards that had protected him from nearly all of Kor'chak's slashes. He held it now like a lever, and tensed his powerful legs.. springing, vaulting over the Orc's shoulder with the helmet still locked in his grasp. He could hear the surprised sound grinding in the Orc's throat, could almost see his eyes bulging.

"For the Gods."

With a mighty surge of strength, Kor'chak wrenched his arms hard to one side. Metal squealed against metal as the helm grated against the gorget.. and then there was a horrible, wet SNAP. The War Leader gurgled madly.. thrashed.. and then he went limp.

But it wasn't enough. Kor'chak wrenched again and again, howling in rage, until there was a further wrenching of metal, and all resistance gave way. The Orcish War Leader's body slumped to the ground, while Kor'chak turned to the parapet and the field behind. He stepped up onto the archer's step, and stared out at the armies still fighting.

A piercing howl tore the sky, and he thrust his clawed hand skyward, bearing the head of the Orc's War Leader.. still bearing the shock expression of his last breath.

In the months and years after the war's end, there were many debates within the Elders' Council about what should be done next. The Gate was a fact, and it was bitterly clear that they Children had absolutely no ability to understand what it was, how it worked... much less how to make it go away. Which meant that there was a hole permanently open to their beloved world - a hole through which enemies such as the hated Greenskins might try to invade again. The scars from the War were many and deep, and would linger for generations.

Many of the more militant (and they were indeed the majority) members believed that the only answer to this problem was to become a Power themselves, to continue their aggressive build-up of their race and their Grand Army, and expand through the Gate. They must, many said, expand through this new world and bring it under their heel. Only once they'd subjugated the other lesser races beyond, would the Children of the Gods truly be safe.

Others argued that this was folly - there was no telling how wide the world beyond was, and the Greenskins might well be just a tithe of what awaited beyond the next mountain range. And the next enemy might be far more powerful still... it was madness to attack them head on. Better still to expand just far enough around the Gate on the new side, to be able to protect it from invaders. Layer upon layer of defenses, a stout army for the sole purpose of defending the Gate.

In the end, this is what was done. The Children laid claim to a region surrounding the gate of approximately 100 acres, making good use of natural boundaries and defenses (the mountains to the north, the river) and fortifying those boundaries with the strongest walls and weapons they could muster. In addition, the perimeter would be patrolled aggressively, there would not be a second great surprise.

As fortune would have it, it was many years before anyone stumbled across the Children in Rhydin again. The Orcs were decimated and those who survived fled far to other lands. And with them gone, there were no other realms or inhabited lands for weeks ride in all directions.

Because of this, the fire in the Children's blood was given time to cool down before the next contact would be made. And as fortune would also have it... that contact would be a much more peaceful one.