Should they acquire such a world they may then, as they wish, and as they probably would, return to their ancient ways, and contest it amongst themselves. It seems a plausible supposition that whatever world the Kurii might claim and conquer they will eventually allot its acres according to the measure of the sword. It would not be the first time a planet was turned into a battlefield, and its continents became fields of blood. But one must first have a world, a mat, a terrain, an arena. One needs a coliseum in which to so entertain oneself, in which to so fervently practice such enviable skills, and sports.

And so, despite their many internal divisions, their ancient prejudices and hatreds, Kurii are quite capable of uniting in a temporary, dark brotherhood, in a brotherhood with a particular object in view, that of obtaining a world.

This world should be small enough to lose hydrogen and large enough to retain oxygen; it should be neither too close to its primary nor too far; it should have a star of suitable longevity; it should rotate and have an inclined axis, these things to assure a periodicity of seasons; and it should have large amounts of water, accessible water, water in a liquid state. In short, it should be rather like Earth.

And so the Kurii, their provisional habitats nestled within, lurking within, the asteroid belt, wait.

And they are not a patient species.

Too, it offends their sense of propriety, or natural justice, that an inferior life form, such as the human, should have, much to itself, so precious a habitat. Surely they have done nothing to deserve so splendid a house within which to conduct their trivial, nasty affairs, their prosaic slaughterings unredeemed by poetry and glory. They did not earn their world.