They come when the moons are dark, when naught illuminates the world save their pale continence. The maidens of Moonshadow gather at the edge of the forest once every 79 days when all three moons have set. Their beauty is purely ethereal, their long hair caught in winds not of this world, faces bereft of the harrows of age and illness, unlined by care and unmareed by concience.
In their eerie luminescence the men and women of the walls see naught but perfection, beauty independent of the eye of the beholder. Soft voices fill the night air with promises of release, freedom and escape; these maidens never whisper of love or even lust.
Many have been drawn out into the cold umbral nights, one by one to embrace the object of their desire. One by one to fall to the ground, all life absent and not even a sigh to mark their passing. Had not a prisoner been chained to the wall in punishment, he to would have succumbed and none would have remained on the first night these maidens came to visit. Nor would he have seen them leave, their chiming laughter at odds with the horrible slaughter they had wrought upon those who answered their fell call.