Skull Thursday is broken
Lord Ajjinor-Mull withdrew his blade from the now cloven raiment and vestrycloth of Undwyn the Dead. Sheathing the Nameless Butcher, he leaned down and clinched his fist about the fell amulet that did now burn Undwyn's throatpiece. Lo, he did not loosen his grip until his steed did pass into Hidden Valley, and his Ranch did come into view. Yay, 'twas only upon hearing the peels of the Great Bell of Hidden Valley Ranch, that he did feel warm. Warm enough to look upon the amulet that was in his weakening grip. And yay, did he look. There in his scarred hand there did coldly burn, The Darkenstone.
The Darkenstone made him sad, and he wept golden tears. And thus he spoke unto his now gathered peoples: "For now, no logge shall be thrown upon any fyre! None shall be thy numbyr of coles burn'd in thy stovve, no sup in all bellys. For now! Grumpy's Prophessy is upon our hearthsongs. The Darkenstone is with us! All food will poison, all logges will choke, all coals are ash. This is the End."