The Hunter's Eve
Oh, company! Well, isn't this a surprise! I wasn't expecting any visitors tonight… At least none of your kind... What? Nothing, I didn't say anything. So, what brings you here tonight of all nights? … Ah, I keep forgetting this is only your first year in Moga. I'll bet that you want to know what's up with the forest, eh? Monsters of all sizes, from the smallest Altaroth to the greatest Jaggi, refuse to leave their nests. The bugs are quiet, the moon is full, and the air is crispy. Why? Well, kiddo, pull up a rock, because there's a bit of a story behind it.
So, do you know what tonight is? Yes, yes, it is October the 31st, but what makes it special? Indeed, tonight is All Hallow's Eve, or Halloween, as they call it up in the city. 'Round here, however, it goes by a different name. The villagers like to call it the Eve of the Hunter's Moon. This story goes back a little bit, and it's been here since the Chief's time. You weren't the first hunter in Moga Village, and you weren't the second, either. See, when the Chief finally retired from his hunter lifestyle (you knew about that, right?), the guild sent a new hunter to those parts posthaste.
This kid wasn't a novice, either. A real skilled one, specializing in hunting brute wyverns; mostly Duramboros. With all the parts he got, hunting them for resources, he made himself a pretty hefty scythe. Real deadly, that thing… Where was I? Oh, right. Anyway, eventually, this guy found a weird patch of pumpkins while out on a hunt. The things were huge, and they had some sorta weird feel to em; tougher than leather.
The guy brought the things to Moga's resident blacksmith, and together they dreamed up a real spooky design for some armor. I heard that he got the idea for the look from some books in the Chief's secret library, all the old and creepy ones with strange titles. "Neecronommy-khan" or something. So, in two weeks' time, they got the armor finished, just in time for All Hallow's Eve. What was odd about the armor was that the eyes and mouth, slanted like a Jack-o-lantern's, glowed, and an aura came out of it. This was all fine, seeing how plenty of armors have their own… abnormal effects, so nobody thought much of it. However, the guy started acting strange the few days before Halloween, talkin' to himself, muttering, and wandering around aimlessly. The night before, though, he stopped.
Without a word to anyone, he left for the Moga Woods at sunset, armor on, scythe in hand. That night, as the moon rose, it was red, opposed to the annual orange, and the villagers reported a series or despaired animal cries, as well as what sounded like maniacal laughter. What scared the people the most was that it sounded like their resident hunter, but his voice was both twisted and demented.
The next morning, when he didn't return, the men of the village went out on an expedition to find their absent companion. However, he was nowhere in sight. Instead, the men found something that haunts the legends of Moga to this very day. Monsters, legions of them, big, small, and bigger; all slaughtered mercilessly. Some were hacked to bloody pieces, others had their vitals pierced and had long ago bled out. The ground they were found on had soaked in the life-force hungrily, and each step yielded a 'squelch' and a shoeful of the crimson liquid.
What appalled them, and sent shivers down their spines, was that each of the cuts, each and every single monster bit littering the ground, had the same type of cut: They had been hacked to bits by a scythe.
A few meters away, they said, was a message, conveyed through arranged monster bones.
"The Spirit of Halloween Lives"
The hunter never returned. But every Hallow's Eve, as the red moon rises, they can hear faint maniacal laughter of his twisted spectre. Hm? Oh, yes, every one. Yes, yes, these woods.
So that, dear hunter, protector of Moga Village, is the story of The Hunter's Eve.
(*A light, steady knocking can be heard at the entrance to the cave*)
Oh, yes, the knocking. That'd be my other visitor. Uh-huh. He's a very special visitor. I think he'd like you…
You're not afraid of a little… festive spirit, are you?