The people have forgotten.
It has been over three hundred years since the last time an army crossed the great desert to the south from the twice-cursed land of Cark. Everyone knows that a war took place, where an army of evil erupted from the desert and nearly destroyed the nations of Quana and Argona.
But the people have forgotten.
They have forgotten why the army came, who commanded the army, or even how it was defeated. All they know is that the forces of evil were vanquished and have not since returned in force.
To be sure, brave adventurers have occasionally ventured as far south as the massive edifice of Yara Castle, returning with tales of horror and dismay. But these are treated as mere oddities, entertainment for the workers as they labor on with their mundane lives.
Surely no army of evil, no matter how strong, could penetrate the solid walls of the gleaming city of Yikove. Surely no creatures are a match for the king’s own guard. Surely no spies could slip by the vigilance of the Order of the Lion.
And thus the people have forgotten.
They have forgotten that true victory cannot be won by force of arms. They have forgotten that it was not an army that defeated Carzag the Necromancer’s dark forces three hundred years ago. They have even forgotten that there were two armies and one did not come from the south. Most of all, they have forgotten the true source of their strength.
The people have forgotten faith.
-from the memoirs of Machaira Ktistes, elven smith