War is an ugly, messy affair; a terrible, taxing trial of two or more parties, and the toll it takes is no trifling matter. Families are broken, nations lay shattered and the earth itself is scarred for decades to come by the clattering steel machinations of grand-scale combat. The clashing of sword and board leaves the landscape littered with fallen fighters, carrion picked clean by buzzards, their bones left to bleach in the sun. Some folks carry on a time-honored tradition of scavenging the wreckage of battle for weapons and armor to resell or repurpose, but none are so masterful at the craft as the Children of War. A race of conscripted constructs, the Children of War are built from the twisted iron and broken shells left in the wake of two colliding forces. Cracked breastplates, pierced helms, chipped sabers, toppled trebuchets and fallen siege engines are all collected by the Children of War to be taken home to their forges, where they’re cleaned, smelted, hammered out and assembled into fresh new Children to join their ranks. Since they’re made from whatever they can find, Children of War come in many shapes and sizes, but they all look like they’re made from articulated armor and military millinery. Rumor has it the Children of War began as a single sentient steel-hearted soldier who pieced together new companions from the remnants of its conquered company, who in turn salvaged more parts from further battles, growing from a small band to the respectable army they are today. No one is certain where the first of the Children came from or how it learned to self-replicate, but the evidence of its handiwork is undeniable.
Fluent in the common tongues, the Children of War have built more than a respectable race from the ashes of armed conflict; they’ve raised an entire civilization of their own. Tucked away in the stone hills of the northern continent a great city of scrap sits, protected on three sides by the terrain itself. Buildings bolted together from the crumbled crafts of many nations make up the multi-tiered architecture protected by great iron walls, and the Children’s home extends into the hills and deep underground where their forges glow and cold steel rings long int the night. The social order of the Children of War is very militaristic, where rank and duty are reinforced and respect is shown to one’s superiors. Companies of Children set out to secure more scrap to expand their empire, sometimes selling their more intact acquisitions for working capital- establishing trade with other nations has been a recent development for the Children of War, and is a sign that their growth is not to be underestimated. It’s easy to tell the Children are born of military blood, as their proficiency in combat is without peer. While they’re masters of blade and bow alike, many Children of War favor the Greatwrench as their weapon of choice- a devastating bludgeon doubling as a gigantic means of disassembling even giganticker engines of war. And though life for the Children is highly-regimented, some do leave their city in search of martial knowledge, mechanical ingenuity or simply adventure itself. More than a handful have been spotted in the dusty Jackhare cities out west, commissioning gunhammers or blastwrenches or the like from the local gunsmiths. Jackhares take a fondness to the Children of War, since they’re quiet, to the point and they always pay in full, up-front and without question.
