There are many ways, many Arts that give the skilled an opportunity to control others. And there is a family that knows no higher achievement than to master one of those Arts.

There was a Grandmother focusing on Calligraphy and Heraldry, on History and Poetry. One carefully worded letter, filled with stories and poems and wisdom of old, written in the most beautiful and elaborate script, a work of Art in every way, made the rejection of the desire she’d expressed almost impossible. How could one deny the request sent in such a letter? Be sending an equally elaborate work, so as to avoid seeming crude? But who could rival her in the creation of such a thing? Any lesser answer would be seen as crude and the reputation and sophistication of the family questioned.

There was a mother, known to be pious and giving, humble and kind, full of insight and gentle concern for those who had less. If such a woman came to kneel in a church or temple until near collapse, driven by concern for those her consciousness cannot ignore…who would not change their course of action, denying such honest and kind pleas to the gods for sympathy? To show a cold heart in such a situation…what could such a person be seen as except a cold hearted, cruel tyrant unconcerned by those he ruled over and incapable of compassion.

There was a father, loyal to the core, always walking the straight path, strong and incapable of lying. If such a man were to swear an oath, who could call him a liar? Who could stand against him in court, where word stood against word? What could such a person hide? And how could anyone even think he might have secrets or betray his lord? There were very nearly none who could even consider the possibility.

There was an eldest son, athletic and sleek, confident and light hearted, full of fun and laughter and easy jokes. Everybody knew he was a liar, but if they found he had lied they still couldn’t hate him for everybody knew he meant no harm. To tell on him would ruin all the fun and make others hate the one who sang of things all those with humor loved, the one who made the most boring gathering a thing of fun and joy. To call him a spy would be such a dirty word. Such skills, too, had their place in that clan.

There was a daughter, beautiful and charming, whose magic made her only more so, whose skills could turn an ordinary room into a world full of wonder. To be with her was to live a dream, in many ways. And if the magical fairy of myth whispered words in the right ear, that ear was only too welcoming to hear them if it promised to bring just a little more time in such a sweet, sweet dream.

There were more, of course. There was a whole branch family dedicated to Dialectic in all its facets. There were those, who studied enchantment to let the line between mists and reality blur until it becomes an inseparable thing of mystery. There were those who sought to bewitch an audience with their music.

The field of manipulation is truly vast. And all ways could be found in this family.

All ways. All of them.