Ten days ride north of the great city, there is a small town named Treefall. Up until recently, this town was well known for its rich harvests, happy villagers, and prosperous weather. These days, however, the once-proud details from Treefall have turned darker. Instead of tales of unending prosperity, you hear hushed whispers of a great curse that has struck the once-happy village. Word has it that, where once roamed contented cattle, now strange beasts hunt by the moon's cold light and terrorize the hapless region. You have scoffed with the others at these stories. Despite the things you've seen in you adventures with your friends, the thought that such ill might befall such a sleepy town strikes you as terribly unlikely. There is plenty of evil in the world, true, but there are also much bigger and better targets. But, tonight despite the firmness of your disbelief, the stories come to find you. You have been traveling north along the roads on your own business, enjoying the rich fall colors and warm afternoons. Your camp os small and secure, with a roaring fire and meat cooking over the flame. It's one of those crisp autumn days that makes you long for a warm hearth after a long ride in the cool air. Still, the fire is good enough for now and you and your friends have a wonderful meal, talking and singing and laughing, anticipating a restful sleep beneath the blanket of stars. Until the beast attacks.
Deep in the elven forests of Myereth, ancient rowan trees spread white boughs above a sacred site. Pillars of stone twist like some strange form of vine, curling among the branches and reflecting the light of a silvery moon. The forest is silent, and beautiful, protected since the dawn of time by a powerful Unicorn. The elven forest of Myereth is well known throughout the world as a safe haven of good and peace, a place where evil cannot stand to enter and where the trees weep healing tears upon those injured within its boundaries. Any player character elves know of the forest, its healing properties, and its legendary beauty. They may have heard of it as a legend, or they may have visited its mystic shrine when they were children, brought along on a pilgrimage by other elves. But something has gone terribly wrong. Refugees from Myereth, terrified and confused, are flooding into other elven cities. They speak of a great evil that has conquered the forest, one that has killed the body of the immortal Unicorn and tainted its spirit. Myereth runs with blood, they say, and the once-powerful rowan trees have begun to wither and die. In the center of the Rowan Grove, the bloodied bodies of the last elven warriors of Myereth lie scattered and broken. Those responsible call themselves the Servants of the Blood Moon, and they are led by a dark-robed sorcerer. The surviving elves do not know this evil man — all but one of those who fought against the Servants died — but they know that the sorcerer calls himself Tamarat. He has butchered the Unicorn, the spirit of the forest. The Myereth, and the elves, are dying.