"I speak of all of them," the Last Greenseer says. "The ones I set near Harroway, the cunning stone-folk who I offered passage into the Red Mountains lest the ever-snowy peeks fall under Winter's sway, even of their darker kindred—Redcaps, Rusalka, and Spriggan who rise from the blood-soaked soil of the Vale of Arryn—they are all drunk on mortal dreams or nightmares." He takes a deep rattling breath, the crimson eye once more looking fully upon the world of flesh. "As with all drunks that presents an opportunity to bargain from advantage."