From Introduction:
In ancient, prehistoric days, before the advent of humanity, these highland hills were ruled by a callous race of serpentine philosophers. They built temples to the chthonic nature goddess known to us as Shab-en-Haggálath, to harness her power. Through her they had access to the primal chaos at the centre of Creation, and could make her monstrous spawn obey their bidding. These reptiles are long gone now, but some of their works remain extant, though hidden and remote. And they are not abandoned.
In the lands of Arkas it is common for the people to reflect the wildness of nature in their features. Fauns and satyrs mingle with the commonest villagers, and every town has those with a claim to dryad kin. At night, the howls of the wolf-blooded are not unknown, but neither are the ways to keep them properly at bay. And yet there are those for whom the touch of nature is not enough. They wish also to refute their humanity and revel in the beastly nature of a chaos from beyond the stars.
In the ancient temples, hidden behind the forests in the mountains, they learned to summon the spawn of Shab-en-
Haggálath again. The weird energies of their magic burned the humanity from their bodies, just as the sight of churning chaos burned it out of their minds. Now they revel in the inhuman delights they can conjure up. They can see through the veil into worlds beyond our imagining. If only they had left this world behind for good.
But they are still here, making trouble. Their black rites go unnoticed until a village is slaughtered by some winged horror or a castle is besieged by colossal nightmares. When they want something from the normal people they so despise, these spawn summoners merely bid their astral minions take it. They care little for the lives of others. To them, we are as nothing.