Kuhl was the greatest city in all of Iridonia and boasted the world's first Gamut-spectrum plasma ray-shield that could fully encompass the metropolis. The city-shield was a marvel of off-world technology. And while some thought it was a gift from the gods, all of the Clans of Iridonia took note of Clan Kuhjuhl.
The red and tan-skinned lords of Clan Kuhjuhl made the city of Kuhl both great in strength and in culture. Street markets overflowed with artisans and tradesmen, the coliseum overflowed weekly and the ale flowed freer than water in the oasis city. Even before the advent of the city-wide shield, a gargantuan Geocrete wall blanketed the sprawling city in three concentric rings. Everything about the house that Lord Pre'am of Clan Kuhjuhl built was decadent and lavish and inspired envy where it did not inspire awe.
Envy is like love: it grows as you foster it and if allowed to, it will change you forever.
It is envy that gripped Saulen, leader of Clan Memnan. Green-skinned tribe of proud desertlords, Memnan had ever looked on the oasislords with disdain. But now the impenetrable ray-shield of Kuhl was an insult to him. Not just Lord Saulen but to all other Zabrak, for that matter. In his rage, he called upon the great clan-leaders of every province of Iridonia and a quorum was formed.
The leader of Clan Memnan put on the most grandiose festival the histories of Iridonia could remember. Saulen and his wife Klitaminis spared no expense in the revelries and predilections on display and before the festivities came to a close, the quorum was inclined to agree with anything the magnanimous Saulen and his benevolent wife would suggest. But it was Ifigenia, their oldest daughter, with her spectacular crown of pearl-white thorns, silver-lined white tattoos and her unmatched dancing skills, who bewitched the clan-leaders hearts and minds. With their loyalty in the palm of her hand, Saulen of Clan Memnan held his daughter close and proclaimed himself King of Iridonia and the clan-leaders swore their fealty.
All but Lord Pre'am of Clan Kuhjuhl, that is.
Pre'am knew no fear, even under threat of a united Iridonia, he had faith in his shield and in his warriors. Kuhl was insulated from the petty politics and squabbling of the other Clans. And so long as any clan denied him, King Saulen would never be Zabrak'hao. The conflict would not take long to boil over into outright war.
But while the forces of Iridonia amassed under the united banner of Clan Memnan, Kuhl continued to revel and dance and sing and play under their impenetrable defenses. And indeed, the first years of the war between Memnan and Kuhjuhl was fruitless for the newly proclaimed King. Try as his brave Zabrak warriors might, the walls were too high, the ray-shields too strong. After years of embarrassing stalemate the shamed King Saulen had to retreat his great Zabrak army.
Kuhl celebrated like it had never celebrated before. Such brazen defiance of the would-be-king led the people of Kuhl to pronounce their own lord Pre'am, King of Kuhl and the rightful Zabrak'hao! It was a wonderful time for Clan Kuhjuhl and it is during this revelry that Extor, oldest son of Pre'am and heir to the throne of Kuhl, fathered a son named Asjanax.
Asjanax was a burgundy skinned Zabrak, for red skin was the hallmark of Clan Kuhjuhl, with striking black horns and the most sincerely loveable smile any Zabrak ever had. His name meant "light of the city" in their native tongue, all in Kuhl adored him, all but his uncle Priis. Priis was not the vengeful sort, he was strong and passionate but loyal beyond anything. He loved his family and even his nephew, whose very existence ensured he would never inherit his father's throne, but found the celebrations hollow. So in the midst of his family and his tribe's greatest revelry, he left hearth and home for the wilds of Iridionia.
In his desperation the shamed king of Iridonia called together another war-band, larger than before, including the world's most advanced engineers under a renegade clan-leader named Disseus, and a warlord Oakilli of Clan Mirmidon. Disseus was as wily as he was prudent and tried to plead with King Saulen to see reason. Clan Kuhjuhl must have a way to get supplies in-and-out of the city with the shield up. They need only find it and they'd have a way behind Kuhl's defenses. So it was that Disseus and his engineers set off and promised to return to the king with a way to defeat Kuhl.
Time was all he asked for, and all that King Saulen could not offer.
Prince Priis of Clan Kuhjuhl took to the road as well and found himself wandering for years while Kuhl enjoyed its peace and prosperity. There then came a time that the prince found himself seeking out the gods for guidance. He did not want to wander anymore, he wanted a home and a life of his own. Priis came upon a tiny oasis and a young female Zabrak named Elen who was drinking there. She was pale and shapely and her skin was scrawled in the most intricate and floral tattoos that Priis had ever seen.
He was convinced she was a mirage, a dream the gods had offered him before he died of exhaustion in the dreary desert. But he loved her more than anyone had ever loved anyone, so he found himself grateful to be able die this way. She held out her arms and dropped the sword she had in her hand. Priis fell into her embrace and together they kissed and loved and cried till they slept by the oasis; too strangers found in the desert, madly in love.
As the time passed, King Saulen of Clan Memnan plunged into a deep and dark madness, forced by the audacious new king of Kuhl. Saulen raved that gods had abandoned him and swore to earn their favor again, at any cost. His eyes were full of fire, he frothed at the mouth and banned all in his kingdom from referring to the rebel city.
The cold war between Memnan and Kuhjuhl was taxing King Saulen beyond his limits. The clan-lords were growing restless and as time passed their loyalty dwindled. The king of Clan Memnan's bloodlust knew no end and in his madness a sinister scheme congealed and he called together a second quorum of Clans.
The clan-leaders all watched in devastating, grim silence as their king brought his daughter before them once more. Lovely Ifigenia was dressed in the finest white silks that hands could craft. By Iridonian standards the royal princess looked like an angel that had descended from the clouds. And as Queen Klitaminis sobbed in protest, the desperate king of Iridonia ran his golden sword through his daughter's heart, laughing and crying and praying that the gods would accept his sacrifice.