The Begining

         "Sire, your sons are causing quite the stir," said an imperiously dressed man in white. He was older, with long grey hair that was well groomed. "As your Chief Advisor, I feel it is time that I stop biting my tongue."

         "What would you have me do?" Lord Williams asked turning from the window overlooking the bay. Dressed in robes of purple and crimson, decorated with gold filigrie, he projected the very image of the Emperor he was. Standing at six foot tall, with a muscular build, even in the flowing robes, one would have thought him a warrior king. No one would have suspected him to be the pacifistic benifactor of the realm that he was. He had united nearly the whole world under the ospus of the Creator, moving entire countries to his side with words alone. "My sons are my sons. How could I punish them? How should I punish them?"

         "They are running rampant. Killing Arcanians and ruining your good name! People are beginning to believe that you have set them lose on the world, killing those who oppose your rule!" Spittle caught in the edges of his mustache, as he fumed. Devon Calros had been one of Abram Williams teachers, but had been taken by the child's intellegance and oratory gifts. As a child he had managed to sway some of Calros' best up-and-coming propagandists. "You cannot allow this any longer. The whole of your rule is based on the Creator's Touch."

         The Creator's Touch was an invention of Abram William. For decades the House of the Creator had been the chief religon of the world, but Abram had figured out how to use it as a weapon. Convincing most of the world that non-violence was the key to salvation, many flocked to the ideal, and slowly converts became indoctrinated to the idea. And there is nothing he noted, more potent in combat than a religeous zealot.