The heavens herald the coming of the Fair Hunt, when adventurers of all stripes band together to hunt the Fey Beast. They track the creature through the Mistlands for one reason -- those who dine on the animal's flesh are granted a single wish.
The tranquil lands of the Green Valley are little troubled. Their seasons are mild and their fields yield easily to the farmer's plow; would-be conquerers are far away and concerned with their own petty battles. What threats there are -- goblins that haunt the woods, trolls that seek to spirit away children, fickle spirits that dwell in trees -- are easily dispatched and guarded against.
Still, there is always anticipation in the lands, an undercurrent of excitement. Astrologers keenly watch the chaotic heavens that swirl above, waiting for signs of emerging order -- when the stars become fixed, and form the pattern of the stag, it heralds that the Mistlands will open and the Fey Beast will stalk the land again.
During such times, otherwise sensible young men and women abandon themselves to the Fair Hunt. Sometimes heading out alone, other times banding together, they seek to track the everchanging beast across the wilds. The journey is perilous -- wherever the Fey Beast travels, boogeymen and monsters are riled. Goblins boldly attack grown men, and trolls lose their fear of the sun. Many of these adventurers become heroes to dales as they battle off the malign wake of the Fey Beast -- a good deal of them becoming wealthy and esteemed in the process.
But the actual prize is the beast itself. Whoever captures the beast and slays it in accordance with ancient law is sanctioned to partake of the creature's flesh. Those who do find that their deepest wish is answered, whether they utter aloud, or even know what it is that they truly desire.
When the Fey Beast is slain, the Mistlands again settle around the Green Valley, and safety and tranquility again settle across the land.
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