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Our story opens up on Korotti Prime, named for its first sentient inhabitants. A name which it still carried proudly, unto its desstruction. And we, the Korotti, are as responsible for its destruction as the Russi renegades. But I am getting ahead of myself.

The Russi and Korotti were one, at first. Even when the Russi first began their expirements, we continued to offer them shelter, friendship, and mutual support. Our magics and their technology were a force to be reckoned with. We soon found ourselves capable of near-space travel, within the infancy of our race.

To our fortune, there were other sentient races in our system, though they were far from equipped to deal with our magnificent fleet. We were not a war-faring race, however. We were only interested in progress, at first. But still, we were feared.

We requeted tributes, and promised that as long as we were paid in rare metals and alchemical materials, we would leave their planets be. We were acquiesced, and in time, the fear subsided...mostly. In its place was left a cold respect. Eventually, this truce became known as Tyrastra Raike. Our Transition Era. At the time, though, we called it Relte Raike, our Golden Age.

Things seemed to be going well. We were progressing quickly. Soon, we had gone even outside our system, to visit the rest of our Galaxy. Colonizing outposts to keep an eye on our neighboring planets and expedite our tributes was not only commonly accepted practise, but mandatory, by law.

Things were going great, until that day. The end of the first Raike. The end of our Relte Raike. A coalition had been formed. We hadn't known it, but our neighbors in the Rikama system were being drained by our 'demanded' tributes. They could barely make ends meet.

Had they only told us something...but their perceptions of us had been warped. We had apparently made quite the impression on their earliest ancestors. So it had come to war. The coalition had struck us by surprise. The Eastern Reaches were ripped clean out of Korotti Prime, tearing apart the delicate balance holding our planet together. We barely had time to react.

But react, we did, my brothers. We managed to save nearly a quarter of our populuous, and nearly half of the Russi. We evacuated to the nearest system, outtside our own, just as the planet collapsed on itself. Fortunately for us, the new system was not yet colonized, nor even named. We felt we would be safe enough to rebuild, when yet another threat revealed itself. The Russi were mutating. No longer did they resemble we shorter, coyote-like Korotti. Their pelts began to shed the browns and auburns of our race, replaced by greys, reds, and blacks. They grew, as well, averaging in at eight feet, instead of the traditional five to seven.

At first, we were apprehensive. We made enquiries, but we got no answers. They seemed to know as little of what was ocurring as we did. We remained on guard, but continued our mutual companionship, sharing of forces, and progress. Until, finally, it was revealed what had caused the mutations. The Russi had implanted biomechanical parts into their own bodies, without testing them. These biomechanical parts agressively changed the genetic sequence of the implantee, turning them into something...else.

We, the Korotti, suggested they repent, remove the machines, and return to the Natural Way. The Russi, full of pride, refused. At first, they sought to reverse the process. They did not succeed. Soon, after failure, followed by failure, they begann to embrace their new nature. Even once the machines were removed, they found they were faster, stronger, and more agile than a Korotti apex warrior.

They no longer sought redemption, or even a return to their natural gifts. They were no longer Korotti. Finally, we were left with no choice. They had turned against our genes, and soon, against us. To this day, we do not know why they attacked us, but attack us they did.

It was the First Korotti-Russi war. And with so few of each race left, it is a wonder either survived. But the Korotti are nothing, if not resilient, and the Russi maintained that trait. Both factions were decimated quickly, and a cease-fire was negotiated, as both factions struggled to replenish their ranks.

The Russi, predictably, found their method first. Using flash-cloning, they produced meat shields, to bolster their army. But these clones were nothing, compared to the Russi. As they worked on perfecting their solution, we found something far superior. An art now forbidden as a perversion against nature.

We raised all of our dead back to life, my brothers. We created the Necromantic Art. It was not long before we disccovered our error, however. The undead wailed out their constant pain. Their desire to return to death. Was it their afterlife, they missed? Did such a thing even exist? Were their bodies not capable of leashing their souls any longer? So many questions, theological, philosophical, and thaumaturgical. We swore a blood oath to raise no more of the demons.

We weren't going to experiment on our fallen bretheren, nor would we murder those who were murdered once already. This was the first, and last known Necromantic ritual. Occasionally you may hear of the odd renegade, raising the dead in the Dead Scar, but these rumors are quickly silenced, and the renegade is soon disposed of.

Finally, the day came when the cease-fire was anulled, and both factions sennt their minions to fight their war for them. The battle ebbed and flowed magnificently, neither side seeming to gain an edge for more than an instant. The strategum of both sides was perfect. After all, how could it not be? Each army being directed by a hive-mind, genetically perfect, and wielding the strongest weapons in the known universe, the battle raged for hours. The landscape around them took more damage than either army.

Suddenly, the tide of battle turned drastically. The Korotti horde fanned out from behind the front lines, encircling the Russi with lines three men deep. The third line began a ritual to channel all of their magic into one collossal attack. The second line lobbed balls of fire, ice, earth and lightning from above, below, everywhere you could imagine, pinning them down, while the first line engaged the Russi in melee combat.

The scene was magnificent, with blaster fire and raw elemental energy illuminating the battlefield. Finallly, the third line finished their ritual, a ring of white light launching into the air, as the line of corpses fell, and crumbled to ash, the ritual draining the last of their life force, while the first and second lines immediately broke ranks, trampling the re-dead [sic] ashes into the dirt below.

Mere seconds after the remaining Korotti had fled the epicenter, an explosion rang out as the same white light crashed back down into the earth, right in the middle of the Russi ranks, evaporating all traces of the remaining Russi-Clone Army. It was then that the main Russi force waded into the affair, however. A third of our ranks depleted, and taken by surprise, they managed to eliminate almost a full other third of the demons, before we had once more reorganized our ranks.

The Necromancer who had first risen the army calculated the risk. He knew tthe outcome. He could still force this war into a stalemate. He orchestrated a grand counter attack. Splitting his focus, creating a ballistic shield between the demons and the assaulting Russi forces, whilst simultaneously spurring his army into action, the same light emanated from the last of the Korotti undead. The Russi moved to retreat, but the Grand Necromancer had accounted for this. His attack wasn't aimed at where they were, but where they would be. With a grand stroke of luck, they retreated directly into the blast radius, and both armies were destroyed.

Now, the Korotti and Russi were even in number. Another cease-fire was inevitable. But both forces would find new ways to rebuild. Between the blood-oath, and the physical, mental, and spiritual drain commanding such a vast army had placed upon the Korotti's most powerful Arcanist, we were at a distinct disadvantage.