Every year just before and after October 31st, the curse of Al Howin hits the World of the Twelve. Its nasty tendrils transmogrify gentle Tofus and Gobballs into frightening, blood-thirsty creatures. Take heed, this curse is very catching, it can easily jump from monsters to adventurers!
On the eve of October 31, every Gobball and Tofu in the World of Twelve will turn into the feared beasts that have come to be known as Al Howin's herd! When transformed, they become aggressive and attack passersby without warning.
This aggressive outbreak is contagious, and anyone unfortunate enough to fight an infected animal will in turn transform into a creatures of Al Howin. Fortunately, there is a mysterious Hat with unique properties that can protect us from the curse.
But there's a catch... the ''Pumpkwin Head'' is all that can save you from the curse. And since it is only worn by Al Howin's Tofus and Gobball, well, you'll have to get sick before you get better!
To the south of the Evil Forest, sits a Chafer swinging to and fro. Each year, when Asid's day is upon us, this Chafer can be heard from all around, heartily chortling and cackling. Guardian of Al Howin's Dungeon, he'll only let you pass if you give him the key... But are you really sure you want a taste of what's bubbling up in this terrifying stewpot?
Toadkins, Borbkins and Arachkins watch you from the shadows, whilst gloomy Worm-O-Lanterns and dismal Devhorrors impatiently await your arrival. Youll have to really battle it out if you want to face the master of these lands, the horrifying Al Howin.
And if you manage to make it out of Al Howin's Stewpot alive, it won't be without a new set and emote for your character! So, get ready to carve out he who devilishly tricks and treats. Al Howin must be slain!
It all started with an insignificant village pumpkin contest... not too long ago, in a region not very far away... For a handful of farmers though, the ultimate prize was at stake. One Pumpkwin pusher would become the official distributor for the whole kingdom of Amakna, respected by all and publically mandated by the king. It was a sought after trophy, and many a man had rocketed from rags to riches based on the size of his pumpkins alone.
This year was Al Howin's year. At least he thought so. No one could deny that the man had held the trophy fifteen years in a row - no one could deny his claim that he was without a doubt the finest Pumpkwin grower the continent had ever seen all agreed that he had the gift. But this year he was anxious. Anxious to see what other farms would bring in... And more anxious each time he reached under a Pumpkwin leaf to behold his jewels. They wouldn't grow! His crops were not only late in the season, they actually seemed to be shrinking as the weeks went by...
''This can't be happening!'' he thought. ''Why me,'' he also thought. ''There is something cute about a pea-sized pumpkin after all'' he even thought. He thought of so many things
but what he thought of last was to seal his orange-colored coffin for all time.
What people do not necessarily know is that even a trade as consuming as Pumpkin peasantry leaves plenty of time for thumb twisting. And Al Howin had been twiddling in all the wrong places of late, mostly with a certain Bwork Mage whose name we wouldn't dare utter.
Ah what the hell - the guy's name was Shtefwan, and when Al popped the question, the grizzled old Bwork Mage looked calmly at his protégée and growled: ''There is a way. But the price is worth more than the prize. Each time I double the size of that pure pumpkin nestled in your hand, you will suffer a year of shame for every seed in its flesh''
Al Howin ignored the warning. He swore that no price was too high for what he knew was his to begin with. For that, he would have been ready to take on Rushu himself. And so it was done. With a twirl of a Shtefwan Staff, and a few words that we really won't utter here, each and every Pumpkwin in the patch exploded in size.
Al Howin won, and night fell on the village.
There was great feasting after the festival, and Al Howin was far from modest in sympathizing with the competition. But rather like a carefully crafted sword in the hands of a murderous champion, the spell did indeed have a double edge. As the festivities grew in intensity, Al Howin's unwatched fields began to rustle with another kind of life altogether Gobballs. They were hungry and they were mindless and all they saw were Al's enchanted Pumpkwins. One bite was enough for the curse to take effect. They were immediately transformed into hideous creatures, half-gobbal and half-pumpkin. In panicked torment, the hybrid creatures attacked all they saw, and just when it seemed it could get no worse, it was found that the curse was contagious.
But finally the 'curse-that-could-get-no-worse', as the papers called it, began to recede. A cure was even discovered... It was found quite by accident - by a fearful child hiding in a hollow Pumpkwin - that by trading appearance for substance, that is, looking like an idiot in a makeshift Pumpkwin hat, the effects of the curse could be destroyed.
Al Howin's treachery was soon unmasked and his association with the disgraced Bwork Mage came to an end. The famous peasant was banished forever from Amakna, and he fled far from its borders, out of sight and out of mind. Nobody knows where he went or what became of him... but every year since then, when the anniversary of his last fateful and shameful victory approaches, his presence comes a-knocking once more, and the old misery befalls Amakna... if last year is anything to go by, it's gonna be a long month!