"It is truly fascinating, Axsel." Ojor says. "You feel for these humans and yet you are a god. I was certain, like the rest of us, that gods were only capable of feeling mental strain and we would create emotions along those lines, but you seem to do something completely different. You seem to feel emotions like the humans do. Please tell me, my friend, why is it that you feel emotions in this way."

"That is not the reason I am here, Ojor." Axsel says.

"Oh I know alright." Ojor says. "Yet I would still like your answer to my question. You see, I think that your way of viewing the world has put you in a better position to rule over subjects, since your thinking is closer to theirs."

"Since it's you I suppose..." Axsel says.

"Remember how Arthfael send me down to Oliron only shortly after I stabilised my form?" Axsel asks.

"Yes, I seem to recall he wanted you to rule humanity or some nonsense like that." Ojor says.

"Exactly." Axsel continues. "I was raised by a group of farmers who found me in a vessel Arthfael left me in. Ten years I spent learning their culture, until at some point I finally managed to free myself from the body, back to this realm. That is not the only reason for my behaviour however. I did some studying on the human physiology. They are managed by reactions happing consistently across the body. Some of these reactions, originating from the brain, influence a person's emotional state as well. This changed me and it still does, since I frequently travel down to Oliron. Maxwell must feel the effects too..."

"That is too bad really." Ojor says. "I was planning to try the same with my race, but I am a primary god. I have no way of living within a vessel."

"You want to start thinking like those creatures you made sentient." Axsel says. "I will warn you now. As you are someone who's being is not like theirs I am certain you will lose yourself. Do not accelerate your adaption to their ways to quickly, Ojor. This is a warning from a friend."

"Are you calling my race idiotic?" Ojor says. "Archil, as a secondary god you yourself are still incapable of such feats. How dare you call my eternities work useless!"

"Calm down, Ojor." Axsel says. "I merely said they were drastically different from the lifeforms on Ataria."

"What is it you wanted, Axsel." Ojor says. "Since you have listened to my request, it is only fair I listen to yours."

"I would request you refrain from attacking Ataria." Axsel says. "I know now what you plan to do with the materialised interriftal energy I gave you. I would humbly asks you do not target the planet I hold so dear."

"I fear, Axsel, it may already be too late for me to stop the destruction of Ataria." Ojor says. "The ingots of energy are already tossed into space and I have accelerated them through the interrift... I fear I sense one near this plane of this realm. That can only mean, that one has arrived on Ataria."

"Any life form in contact with that stone will start sending a signal to your fleet, right?" Axsel asks. "Your creatures, capable of space travel without a vehicle. It would seem that I must resolve this matter on my own terms. Please do tell me, where will this ingot of your land?"

"It will the land where no god sits to claim it." Ojor says. "That is the land of Suntrius, is it not?"

"The Northern great cities..." Axsel mumbles. "I will see you another day, Ojor. I must save my people now. Thank you for warning me of this danger."

"I apologise for the inconvenience, Axsel." Ojor says. "For your sake, I hope you succeed."

"Commander Allard, the recruits are preparing for training now, sir."

"Good." Daven says. "We must be ready when the rebels come. How many men have we recruited so far, captain Kellistar?"

"We have added two hundred men to our ranks, sir." Kellistar says. We have a few more men than before the Goblin invasion. The workshops are working on the restocking of our armoury as we speak."

"A little over two hundred men will not do, captain." Daven says. "From what I have heard, the enemy will be hear with at least triple that number."

"But we will be defending the bridge, sir." Kellistar says. "There is little numbers can do at this spot."

"Do not be blinded by our victory over the Goblins, captain." Daven says. "Goblins lack strategy and so few men can defend against a horde. Humans are harder to kill. We should expect to lose at least one man per two enemies we slay. That way are defences are studier. We need another two hundred recruits!"

"Yes, sir." The captain says, heading out to deliver the orders.

The tent opens and Maxwell steps in.

"I was expecting to find you on the Allard training ground, practicing." He says. "I could nit have possibly imagined you sitting in a tent next to the main gate. Have you been home since the Goblin attack at all?"

"I slept the day we last talked, Maxwell." Daven responds. "After that I have slept here, closer to my men."

"An honourable leader you are, Daven." Maxwells says. "However, we will need a clever leader to win the war that lies ahead. Are you sure you are capable of handling the tasks at hand."

"I am an Allard, Maxwell." Daven says. "We were born and bred for the protection of Oliron. So, what brings you to my tent this early in the morning?"

"I am hear to assert the status of our defence." Maxwell says. "I am pleased with the progress you have made, but I do hope you realise it is not yet enough."

"Yes, I do know, Maxwell." Daven says. "Actually, I plan on checking the new equipment at the workshop. Why don't you join me?"

"Since I have the time, I might as well." Maxwell says. "When are we headed?"

"Right after my conversation with you is over." Daven says, walking past Maxwell out of the tent. Maxwell hurriedly follows.

A woman carrying a bucket passes closely by the two men as they exit.

"I do hate the smell of shit in the morning..." Maxwell says.

"Records state that in the past it was far worse, before the pit system." Daven says. "Rather than throwing it into the pits, people would throw it out onto the streets."

"I guess." Maxwell says. "That was a truly exceptional way of dealing with the problem. Farmers can even use for fertilisation."

"I did read a disturbing fact about the creation of the pits." Daven says. "Apparently, shortly after their creation, the lake around the city of Oliron turned green."

"Well, it is no longer green now." Maxwell states.

"But it also lacks fish." Daven says. "This was not the case before the lake turned green."

"The workshop is just ahead." Maxwell says. "Let us focus on the matter at hand."

"Sure." Daven says.

They enter a crowded building. The temperature is high and people are consistently running past each other.

"We will visit the ironworks first, Maxwell." Daven says. "Try to keep up."

The forges are blazing with fire. The heat is even worse here. A man with a sleeveless shirt walks up to Daven."

"What's up, boss?" He says.

"Just checking in on your progress." Daven says. "How are the weapons coming along?"

"Well, we are producing spear tips at full speed, but I fear the boys down at the woodworks are incapable of keeping up..." The man says. "At the rate we are going now, the spear tips and arrow tips will be finished in two weeks, but they will lack any wood."

"I will speak to the men downstairs." Daven says. "Keep up the good work."

"Yes, sir!" The man says. "Oh, and that special request you handed in will be done around that same time."

"Good." Daven says walking away while waving.

"Special request?" Maxwell asks. "What are you spending our resources on?"

"A new weapon for myself." Daven says. "It is customary for an Allard to get a special weapon forged after being elected commander."

"Where are we going next, commander?" Maxwell says with a hint of sarcasm.

"Down." Daven says. "It is best we assess the woodworks before we head to assembly."

The two men walk to the back of the building, where the stairs are located. It is a lot darker, since no forges light the rooms. Hammer and saws can be heard consistently.

"What can we do for you, sir?" An older man asks.

"I've come to assess your progress." Daven says.

"Ah, yes..." The man says. "Well, you see, sir, we just don't have enough wood to supply the forges with parts. The city of Oliron alone simply doesn't have enough lumberjacks. We can only produce half to amount you still require and that would be stretching the supply."

"Those weapons are vital for our defences!" Maxwell says. "Nothing matters after the city falls. Our best course of action, Daven, would be to acquire any wood we require from the city itself. We don't need lumberjacks for that. These men down here should do fine."

"You would have carpenters move through peoples houses stripping them of wood?" Daven says. "The people will be outraged."

"The people will be outraged if we can't stop this rebellion, Daven." Maxwell says. "You must see that the safety of the city goes beyond a cupboard someone never uses."

"But if the people within our walls rebel against us..." Daven begins.

"Most of those people work in the mines." Maxwell says. "Whoever doesn't is either in the military, or one of a handful of merchants. As long as we stay away from the houses owned by our garrison, the resistance within the city should be low. We need those weapons, Daven."

"I see your point..." Daven says.

"I am sorry, but if you feel incapable of deciding on this matter, I will give the order myself, for it is my duty to protect this land as head of the council." Maxwell says.

"Fine!" Daven says. "I will give the order. It is my duty as an Allard to protect this town and I will. Even if that means we tear it apart first..."

Regret echoes in Davens voice.

"We best continue, Daven." Maxwell says. "The leather works and assembly may have something interesting to report."

Jallash Hellenshir Alacktirs, one of the oldest Atracarians, is wondering alone through the snow fields south of the beautiful city, Callish Reclis, commonly known as Snow Peak. The city is surrounded by mountains covered in the purest of white snow. Canyons run to the city on all side of the compass. To the south lie the Frozen Forest. Through every other canyon the other Nothern Great Cities.

Jallash soon decides that this beautifully sunny afternoon is perfectly fit for him to sleep, so he lets himself down on the snow. The cold has never bothered Atracarians. For birth until the rest of eternity an Atracarian would live in the cold. Jallash dozes off slowly and he soon finds himself on a vast plain of the purest white.

"What god summons me from my sleep!" He yells.

"No need to be rude." Fake says, appearing before the Atracarian.

"A human god?" Jallash says. "A human god has no business with an Atracarian. Goodbye!"

"Oh, surely you would not leave so soon." Fake says. "You are the one they call 'the curious' are you not. It is what your middle name is for after all. However, if you do not feel even the least bit curious as to why a human god would summon an Atracarian, then by all means, leave."

Jallash hesitates. This is a highly unusual situation indeed. Their would normally be no reason for another race's god to interact with the Atracarians. Since Suntrius is dead, Atracarians never enter the god's realm because of this very reason.

"Alright, you got me." Jallash says. "Why does a human god approach an Atracarian?"

"Please, call me fake." Fake says.

"How very unusual." Jallash says. "A got introducing himself with his title alone. I do believe you are the god they call Axsel, correct?"

"That is indeed the name some know me by." Fake says. "Now, my business here. I have come here to bestow upon you a quest of the utmost importance."

"You want me to do you a favour." Jallash asks in surprise. "You turn out to be more boring than you look. I am leaving."

"Just here what I have to say, Atracarian, and maybe you will change your mind." Fake says. "Have you ever seen a materialised ingot of interriftal energy?"

"Creating matter is already something that is beyond even the gods." Jallash laughs. "I am sure you are well aware of this. Let alone condensing interriftal energy into something solid."

"As a matter of fact, I am not aware of this limitation." Axsel says. "I myself am rather capable of creating complex object with only interriftal energy."

"I will need proof to believe you." Jallash says.

"All I need from you is to retrieve the piece and isolate it where no living thing can touch it." Archil says. "This entire world will fall if that doesn't happen."

"Am I not also a living creature?" Jallash asks.

"An Atracarian's soul is small and highly capable of magic." Fake says. "This will minimise your reaction with the ingot. Other living things would syphon energy through the crystal, emitting vast waves of energy that a certain threat will follow back to its source. Where a normal creature would emit a beacon the size of the sun, an Atracarian would only emit as much as a small forest fire."

"So this ingot enhances magical potential?" Jallash asks.

"Yes, but at the cost of the planet." Fake says.

"Fascinating." Jallash says. "Where will it land?"

"Just north of the Frozen Forests." Fake says. "I will help you find the spot."

"But I will be unable to speak with you after I leave." Jallash says.

"I assure you that it will not be a problem." Fake says as the dream fades.

Jallash wakes with a small layer of frost covering his cloak. Fake stands over him, smiling.

"I thought the dream faded?" Jallash says.

"It did." Fake says. "Come along!"

Jallash gets up and starts walking after fake.

"How are you here?" Jallash says.

"Yes, you are a curious one, aren't you?" Fake says. "I am here because I made myself a vessel."

"But even if you could create matter from interriftal energy, you still wouldn't be able to create a living and functioning body." Jallash says in confusion.

"Yet here I stand." Fake says. "I merely copy the patterns of energy I see within an object. Occasionally this does result in an unfortunate mistake, but generally a vessel like this is functional."

"What an intriguing god you are..." Jallash says, shaking his head.

After an hour of walking fake stops.

"We're here." Fake says, closing his eyes.

"So why is it landing in Reclar Ipsellenshir Atracur?" Jallash asks.

"Reclar Ips... Ah, those are what we call the Northern Great Cities, is it not?" Fake says. "The Atracarian language never seizes to confuse me."

"So why is it landing here?" Jallash asks again, annoyed.

"Just by chance I think." Fake says. "It could have landed anywhere really. Maybe even nowhere at all, but unfortunately that is not the case. Let's see... Where will it land exactly?"

Fake suddenly becomes very pale.

"Too close." He yells, running away from the spot. The sky suddenly becomes brighter as a ball of fire descends from the sky.

"Run, you stupid Atracarian." Fake yells. "No matter your sorcery, that thing will still fry you."

Jallash starts to feel the heat now and decides to finally follow fake. Moment later the fireball hits a spot ten meters away from the spot he stood at. The ground cracks and dents. A big hole marks the impact.

Fake comes running back.

"Grab it!" He yells.

Jallash does as he is told, jumping into the crater. This turns out the be an awful idea, as Atracarians may be highly resistant to cold, they are just as weak to heat. Grabbing the stone, the Atracarian burns both of his hands. He yells our in pain.

"Careful, it may still..." Fake's voice trails off as he arrives at the edge of the crater and sees the Atracarian with the ingot in both of his hands. "Well done. Now, step two."

"You just made me burn my hands..." Jallash says in disbelieve. "I listened to you and you get me burned."

"Man up?" Fake tries. "No... How does one say that? Anyway, we can't stop here. Good job still holding that. If you drop it we might all soon perish."

"What do we do next?" Jallash asks, still annoyed.

Fake notices Jallash's cloak burning and quickly steps on the starting fire.

"Now we put that somewhere no one can find it." He says. "Preferably underwater."

"Underwater?" Jallash asks, surprised. "I am no sea creature! I will travel to the island west of Atracaria. There I shall hide this ingot."

"People may find it their!" Fake protests.

"I will stay there to guard it." Jallash says.

"Underwater is still better." Fake says.

"See you in time, human god..." Jallash says, leaving. "I will build myself a little temple their. Be sure to keep me posted on events outside."

"You just want to study it, don't you?" Fake asks.

"Would I truly be as irresponsible?" Jallash asks, laughing.

"I fear as much..." Fake says.

"Are ready, Fenwick?" Xandrien asks.

"Yes, I do believe so." Fenwick says. "With the supplies from Taere we are capable of maintaining a long siege and the men are eager for a fight. Your work three weeks ago truly paid off."

"Good to hear." Xandrien says. "Do you think we have a chance at taking the walls of Oliron?"

"The walls of Oliron are the strongest defence their is, as we can only have so many attack it at the same time." Fenwick says. "I have a plan that might serve us well however."

"Do you mind sharing it with me?" Xandrien asks. "I may be able to help."

"No, their are still too many flaws in it." Fenwick says. "I will tell you when it is a more practical state."

"Well, you best prepare it fast." Xandrien says. "As you know, we march tomorrow."