It was spring in Amadacia, my newly kindled kingdom, new to those like you and I. The blossoms on the cherry trees in the palace fluttered and fell to the ground, totally ignorant to the stench of the rebellion, the smell of my house guards burning and dying in the halls as the mortal peasants broke three centuries of beauty in their base spasm of vitriolic rage. I had brought my will over the elements to bear upon them but still they came, burned, buried and blasted. I stood their, on the balcony, idly turning over the uncut saphire you had given me on High Summer's eve. You sat, as casual as the fallen cherry blossom petals, even though I'd broken both legs for your previous impertanance, and stared at me. "I have given them culture and evoloution, Drydem." "You have given them suffering and fear, Galadeus. You are unfit to rule." "I have at my beck and call the power of a god. By natural law that makes me fit to rule over those ungrateful creatures." And then you said what I shall never forget. "You and they are one and the same, old friend. You both live and posses the joy and will to live and be. All your power has done is made them, for their part, wish otherwise."

And so, so long ago, I stopped by meddling in the world, and now I regret it with a bitter passion. Go and bury your kin. For causing me to feel this disease, this remorse that has now stayed my hand, every ten generations ten of yours shall die. I hope that comforts you in your ivory tower.

-Galadeus