The Last of the Greyscales: A Tale from the Continent of Ao

It was obvious that he was no ordinary man. His skin was a pale gray, devoid of the warm color of ordinary flesh; it was rough and scaly like untreated leather. Though currently matted in blood, his hair and beard were of a dark silver hue. The two men with him were also quiet, but for a different reason. The moment they set eyes on this man they immediately knew who, or rather what, he is. The Greyscales were a warrior race that laid terror on these lands in days of yore, but the race had long since vanished, vanquished since the last days of the Worthless War. Yet here they were, face to face with one. In a place of veneration for the Eight Gods, no less. The two men wanted this to be over, and quick. They knew they were sharing a room with someone only spoken of in legends. They also knew they were sharing a room with a murderer.