Gregor Caynea
Hundreds of years ago, this land was not the fertile land we live in today. All that you see, from the plains of the north to the southern coasts, was but a solid sheet of ice. There were no farms, no bustling cities. There was no warm weather, no refuge from the wind and frost. Once in a while, you might have seen a small tribe, living off the land, hunting wolves to use for food and warm clothing. The people who lived here hundreds of years ago were a simpler sort, but even they realized how difficult life was for them.
For although our ancestors fought hard to survive, they knew that there was a better life above them. Very far above them, in fact, as a small mountain range nearby was where a certain fortress was located. The people knew full well who lived there, and none dared approach it. Those who had come close to the fortress had returned with fresh scars, or else never returned at all. For this fortress was home to the only authority any of them knew, a wicked man they called the God-Emperor Kasiell. It is by his name that the people knew their country; the frozen land was known commonly as Kasellia, when the people thought to call it anything at all.
The people knew Kasiell as an angry god. It seemed as if no sacrifice would satisfy Kasiell's whims; no amount of prayer and worship could fulfill his demands. Kasiell would simply sit in his fortress and deal death and misfortune on those people that he disliked the most. Kasiell was said to punish the most those people who dared speak of him as a demon. In truth, though, there was no other way to describe him. Kasiell's only satisfaction was in the torment and torture of those below him.
Civilization was at a standstill for two hundred years. Our kind could not progress, could not flourish or prosper; for every advancement our people made, Kasiell ensured that we would take two steps back. Even those who sought escape, to the warmer plains of the north or to the western seas, never made it very far without Kasiell's notice. They were struck down without so much as a warning. Accounts of the day spoke of the ice simply swallowing them up. Numerous attempts were made at rebellion, with new weapons each time. First stones, then clubs and crude axes, then slings and arrows. Each time, the rebellion was felled within minutes, with their leaders and key figures being impaled on spikes of frost along the edges of the one trail leading to Kasiell's fortress. The Emperor Kasiell was thought to be invincible, as if some other force were at work besides him.
Then came a lone wanderer. We don't know from whence he came, why he took such interest in Kasiell's fortress. Most folk of the day would have thought him insane, as he approached the fortress without fear or any thought of self-preservation. To be sure, most would have assumed that he, so bold as to dare walk the path to the front gates with no army and nobody at his back, would be punished for his insolence within a few hundred yards. But our wanderer received no such punishment. Many thought that perhaps HE was Kasiell; so few had seen his face in such a long time. Then his raiments...he did not dress like typical smallfolk. He was not wrapped in furs or hides, but simple cloth. He carried nothing but a staff. The folk thought him inhuman to survive the bitter cold. But our wanderer, he was not interested in his own survival.
Our wanderer sought to challenge the God Emperor himself.
Kasiell did not know what to think of this lone man, who marched to his front door with little more than a robe and staff. The man introduced himself as Gregor. He said that his intent was peaceful, that he had meant to ask the Emperor to speak his mind. What Gregor had hoped for was that Kasiell would explain himself, explain his reasoning, his intent. When Gregor asked why Kasiell needed his people, Kasiell laughed in his face.
"This man," Kasiell cackled, "this commoner, this mere SPECK of being!...wishes to know the God Emperor Kasiell!"
But Gregor stood fast. Though he questioned the Emperor, such was not his entire intent. When Kasiell summoned forth just an ounce of his power to entomb Gregor in an eternal prison of ice, Gregor did not so much as flinch. Kasiell had thought Gregor to be a mere commoner, and such an understatement was his first mistake. For although ice had completely enveloped Gregor, it did not chill him.
"That," Gregor spoke from within the ice, "was all I needed to know."
In a few seconds, the ice around Gregor had melted into a puddle at his feet. Gregor met eyes with Kasiell, and Kasiell looked back; both man and Emperor now locked in rivalry. With a wave of his hand, Kasiell sent Gregor flying towards a wall, but with a wave of Gregor's hand, the landing was softened at the expense of the wall. They traded gestures back and forth; walls crumbled, floors cracked, doors sprang from their hinges. Towers of ice were countered with bursts of holy flame; ignitions were shushed by sudden gusts of freezing wind. Fire met ice, and ice met fire, in an antipodean clash of sorcery.
The fight lasted a day, then a week. Neither Kasiell nor his challenger were any the worse for wear, though Kasiell's castle was now a pile of dust, and the surrounding mountains were significantly flatter than before. The duel had drawn the attention of distant onlookers from various tribes, who dared not approach, but could not bring themselves to run to safety. But unbeknownst to Kasiell, the destruction of his fortress was Gregor's plan all along. Not for want of depriving Kasiell of his possessions, but because there was no longer a roof over their duel.
Gregor raised his staff and commanded the heavens to open. Before Kasiell was aware of what his opponent was doing, the thick clouds over Kasellia parted for the first time in two centuries, and the sun revealed itself. Amidst the snow, everything became blinding whiteness, until the sun itself began to burn Kasiell in a holy pyre. For Kasiell was no human, but a demon of ice, and it was only through Gregor's sorcery that his true form had been exposed to his "subjects." Kasiell had sworn to rise again, but his parting words did not stop the rays of the sun from melting him into a small pond. The remains of Kasiell's fortress and its surrounding mountains eroded away in an instant, forming what we know today as our Northern Oasis.
Those men who mistook Gregor for their God Emperor were the first to exalt him as their new leader. On that day, Gregor Caynea rose above mere godhood, by opening the sky and vanquishing the God Emperor in holy light. He went on to become the first King of the new nation of Caynea, and united the nomadic tribes into prosperity for the first time in centuries. Gregor Caynea became our country's first hero. It is under his laws and policies that Caynea became a glorious Kingdom, and it is under Gregor Caynea's name that we continue to govern the Kingdom in his way.
"And that is why," says King Bermand of Caynea, "we see fit to honor him every year, come harvest season, at the Festival of the Opening of the Sky." Bermand rises from the chair at his young daughter's bedside and straightens himself. "Now, the sun has set, and your father tires of his seat. I bid you good morrow, dear Lynia."
"Good morrow, Father," replies young Lynia from her bed.
"But do not forget, my dear, that you will be appearing in public tomorrow, on occasion of the festival's opening. I will have your servants prepare you a suitable garment. All you need do is rest yourself well."
"Thank you, Father." Lynia watches as the King exits her bedroom. She turns over, but before she falls asleep, she remembers Gregor Caynea. Lynia wonders what kind of man he really was, past the legends of duels and demons. Was he a man of justice? Was he kind to his subjects? Did he visit his people, or did he stay in his palace like she and her family? There is no way of knowing, she reasons to herself, and with that, she finally falls into a deep sleep.
