My name is Case, a hunter for the good people of the Hotel, one of the last two hunters remaining. For as long as I have known our people have been alone on the plains. Sure, at one time there were more. We have pictures of what the towns and cities used to look like. Those are gone now. Wiped away by the beast known as time and some fiercer beasts with sharper fangs. In our home we have stories written on the walls, passed down and preserved through the generations. Stories of a war hundreds of years ago and of a land that survived the destruction. Stories of beasts, long thought to be myths and legends, rising up from the shadows to take back a world that was once theirs. But, those are just stories. They can't be true. With black smoke on the horizon, emanating from within the ruins we are told at a young age to avoid, I have to wonder. With visitors to our land that closely resemble humans, operating weird machinery and wearing strange suits, I have begun to question everything. Are the Fables of York really just stories?