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History is a fickle thing. When a historian repeats a truth enough times, this truth becomes indisputable. And when truths contradict one another, historians fight tooth and nail for sole possession of the truth, as if it existed at all.

History can be found in many places: in the speeches that inspire, in fairy tales and fantasies told to amuse, in rage filled shrieks on battlefields, and in the whispers of the dreaming. History is a mosaic of fragments, puzzle pieces with broken connections, a mirror-cracked and warped, an underwater conversation spoken in a dozen languages.

Herein lies the history of Gregoor-Sheav, from the mouths and pens of those who lived it, lied about it, and imagined what it could be. But you are the historian now. It is your job to pick up these pieces, to challenge all the presuppositions, the biases, and the lies of those who seek sole possession of the truth. You cannot allow them to have it.

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