For this eve:
In the hills and valleys of Urgashell, south and east of Mogadore and buried in the Kathvar Mountains, there is a little village by the name of Kassen’s Rest. For many years its citizens scraped a living out of the arid terraces and slopes of their little vale. Year after year they evaded the attention of the dark skinned denizens of Marghul, the flat desolate valley below and to the west. Recently, however, all that changed. The Margh-Bull’s, the frenzied, red-eyed warriors of the Marghul came hunting. They searched for slaves and loot and meat; slaves to mine in the Pit of Sorrows, sometimes called the Navel of Jadub Gura, loot for their master’s greed, and meat for their insatiable hunger – any meat.
Kassen’s Rest was established – cut from the wilderness – many years ago by a heroic figure named Erkat Kassen. He died centuries ago protecting what he had founded, and in his memory an eternal flame was lit to keep vigil over Kassen’s Rest. Each year, on the anniversary of Erkat’s death, the townspeople lit it anew. Until recently that is. For the past few years, the residents of Kassen’s Rest just didn’t bother. Nobody could really say exactly why it wasn’t done, it just went out, and nobody cared to relight the flame.
But then, about a month ago, the first of the Margh-Bull’s came. At first they stole livestock, and only at night. Later, they stole people, and by day. All of the able bodied men and women were taken to work in the great pit that opened in the valley. Every animal, every bit of food, every dried Varka root, everything. And then they came for the less able. All muscle and heat and red burning eyes. And then the Margh-bulls stayed. They stayed and they ate.
Until two days ago, when they left. Most of them left. Only a very few remain. Now a few quiet citizens of Kassen’s Rest come out of hiding. They come to kill. They come to relight the flame.
You are the survivors. You avoided, you fled, you escaped. But, many of your fellow townsmen did not. They’re gone.