The Grey Ones
Overture

Alvaros Tyrio, 3570 AE, in the introducion of The Statue of the Grey Ones:

“They call themselves the Kas—or the Grey Ones, in the common tongue. It is not surprising. Next to the mountains, it almost seems as if they are born from them, cut from them. Their eyes glitter like gold, their hair is darkness and shadow, their voices rumble like thunder; I have never seen such warriors in my life.

In Noxborough, we call them the Demons of the North. Legends have it that if you don’t follow the Words of Edred, if you sin, they will walk in the shadows to take your children from their beds and eat them for breakfast; their sharp teeth are said to tear through human flesh within seconds, and their claws are strong enough to cut through anything. They kill men with a single strike, they want women to quell their carnal desires, and they laugh in the face of the Builder. Everyone has heard the stories, and everyone fears them.

Architects claim that brave warriors must fight these dark creatures, on these shores, to be able to enter into the White Void and join the Builder in the afterlife—but I see no barren tundra here, no bloodthirsty beasts. All I see is people. Mountainous and unyielding, yes, but people nonetheless. I see children, women, elders; I hear them laugh, cry, and live. If I close my eyes, I could almost imagine being back home, in Market Street in Noxborough.

I miss it; Winter Harbour and Fairgarden, the empty moors and the roaring sea; the scandals, the politics, the rumours; the nobles, the gentry, even the paupers. My home may not be the biggest of cities in the world, nor the best thought of, but it is a Free City, still standing strong after civil war and tragedy. House Arlington takes good care of it, and always has, as proudly as their Osprey sigil would suggest, and I miss it.

But it is still there, on the other side of the Winter Sea, and one day, I will get back home. It was not my intention to travel this far north; the storm tore my sails and sunk my ship, but the Builder spared me and let the waves bring me here.

I am impressed by my hosts—and thankful. They are welcoming, generous, and eager to teach me about their ways. Although they live mostly like any other people, there are things that distinguish them from what I am used to, apart from their quite intimidating demeanour. They seem to live much more freely than any Edredian, yet, they are steered with an iron fist; they have impressive forces but advocate peace. As a member of the trade profession, I find it highly curious they manage without currency—but somehow, they do. Somehow, they are thriving. They have yet to tell me of their history, of where they come from, but they have told me another side of the dreadful stories I grew up hearing.

In their words, they came to Nornest centuries ago, in search of new lands. They wished to spread their teachings, their knowledge. The Grey Ones wanted to teach the humans about ethics, conduct, honour, respect; they came with good intentions and were met with curiosity. For years, they kept a good relationship with the Nornish people, but then came the War of the Kings.

Everyone knows the story. The King of Nornest died. He left no heirs, no one to claim the throne after him, and the desire for power led every great family in Nornest to fight for their claim. What has been news to me, is that House Arlington wanted to enlist the Grey Ones, for with the help of the giant grey warriors, they would surely win the throne.

This, the Grey Ones told me, was an insult they could not accept. It was not their war, and they had no intention of fighting for someone else’s greed and corruption. So they left Nornest and vowed to never return.

And thus, the Kingdom of Nornest fell. Bankrupted, bled out, disgraced. The six Dukedoms decided to become independent of each other, but no one was to name himself King. It was because of their defeat, the Grey Ones said, the Nornish people started speaking about the Kas as if they were demons. It was petty pride, and spiteful revenge.

Within a hundred years or so, the memory of the Grey Ones faded; no one remembered the brief friendship they once had. All they knew were the tales of horror that had stuck like tar.

Seeing them now, living amongst them, I cannot imagine the stories I have heard as a child to be true. Indeed, they truly look menacing, and I do not doubt most of them are able tear me apart if they wished it—but they are kinder to one another than many of my own people, and they take care of their own in highly admirable ways.

It is true I miss my home, terribly, but I cannot say that I do not live in peace and abundance amongst the grey giants. I am thankful for the kindness they have shown me, and for the many lessons they have taught me thus far.

I have promised to spread the word of their true nature. I will be their agent in a world that fears them, and perhaps, my stories of the peaceful people on the island of Kasarath can one day become just as famous as the stories of the Demons of the North.

One day, they might even return to us. They might even join us.”

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