[i]The Ivirian scouts return to me, relating stories of a barbaric massacre of a farmer and his family by the rest of his community. Upon hearing this, my mortal generals and advisors demand that the earth be cleansed of these vile barbarians. If I did not consent, they would all agree amongst themselves to label me a demon, a curse. My creations would abandon me. I could needlessly conquer a defenseless, ignorant race with the entire might of Ivira, or be deposed and deprived of my hard-earned subjects.

Grudgingly, I give the order to advance several legions of Ivirian infantry towards the human settlements. My generals name me the God-Emperor, a title I am not entirely enthusiastic to take. My once joyful nature has been sapped by the war effort. Just as I retreat into my own part of the void to slumber, I reluctantly send the invading force my blessing.

"Ventus Divine." [/i]