The feasts served in the Hall of Brass were the stuff of legends. Decadent, exotic dishes of the choicest game and freshest produce found their way to that gleaming banquet, all to serve the boundless appetites of the aristocracy whose gourmand palates demanded ever rarer and more precious meals.
Key to the Hall's function was Amatog, a singular hunter and chef both, who seemed to hold the harvesting of plant and animal, and the subsequent preparation thereof, to be their sole purpose in life. As the legend of the Hall and its feasts grew, so to did its list of guests. Dignitaries from every corner of the world, and some places beyond, came to sample the delicacies of the Hall and its enigmatic host. Soon the boundless gluttony of the aristocracy ensured that all the land for leagues around was stripped bare of produce and game. However, in spite of all the devastation, the feasts continued.
The guests enjoyed their feasts, even as the crowd grew ever thinner. Their own massive bulk gained over years of ceaseless indulgence obfuscating their waning numbers. The feast went on, and on, and eventually the Hall went silent.
The hall remains silent to this day, yet those who wander through that desolate land claim that as they pass that bulk of tarnished brass, they catch wafts of singularly delectable meals being prepared within, a smell that makes their mouths water and their hearts sick with fear