A Town called Malice

Bodush, Durin and Eolar enter the main room to find a meeting of grim looking men. General Oolf, at the centre, is a tall but painfully thin man. A whispered message from the one eyed guard causes the conversation to cease and General Oolf beckons the adventurers forward.
“I hear that despite your protestations, you’ve helped our cause anyway and killed several dozen of our dreaded enemy.”
General Oolf dismisses his men and invites you to sit down.
“As you know, the war is going badly for us. We are outnumbered and outmatched. It is only due to the help we’re receiving from the priests at the far end of this land, that we’re surviving at all.”
On seeing Durin’s confused face, General Oolf tells the story of the recent history of this land.
“Twenty years ago, this town was called ‘Alice’ after the first founder. Everyone just calls it ‘Malice’ now. The Monastery at the end of the land was run by peaceful Monks and the Fort at the top of the mountain was ruled by the clerics of Wee Jas. Neither group interfered with us or our day-to-day lives. They were more concerned with their own endeavours.”
General Oolf stops for a moment and sniffs.
“Then the War Priests of Erythnul came. They stormed the Fort, over running it very quickly and all the fat and complacent clerics of Wee Jas were executed. Obviously the town elders were concerned and went to the Monks for protection. A group of them went to the Fort and confronted the new arrivals. There was a brief battle and the War priests of Erythnul realised that their losses would be great if they continued.
Things returned to normal for nearly a year and we all relaxed. After all, what did the clerics in a mountain fort more than a days travel away have to do with us?
Then one day a solitary Monk betrayed us all. Some say he was mad, but whatever the reason, he joined the evil clerics against his own people. He led them and a mighty demon through secret passageways and attacked the Monastery by surprise. The Monks had no chance and were all defeated, mostly in their sleep. The evil clerics killed all the survivors.
Our lives were transformed. Struggle after struggle, year after year. We became little more than slaves, but that wasn’t the end.
The mad Monk trained with them and soon learned the path to Erythnul. He grew in power for years until one night; he killed the very people he’d helped, every priest of greater seniority than himself.
After that he declared himself ‘Lord Catidsis’ and we were forced to toil for him and his underlings.”
Eolar looks confused. “But that doesn’t explain why this land is divided, Black North and White South?
General Oolf grinds his teeth and continues. “Lord Catidsis ‘encouraged’ it initially. He spread lies through our community and although I’m ashamed to admit it, it was easier to hate each other than to stand up against the mad Monk. It started out foolishly, ‘You stole our cow!’ or ‘You’re holding back grain for yourselves!’ and then a boy was killed. From then it’s just been a case of escalation. Soon the town became divided by the river and hatred. All the while, the hatred being fuelled by the War priests of Erythnul.”
Bodush scowls but says nothing.
“Don’t judge us too harshly. We have lost this pointless war. It is only the medicines being supplied by the evil priests that enable us to survive at all. We don’t want to fight but we can’t surrender. The Black soldiers would slaughter us even under a white flag.”
General Oolf looks up at you through defeated eyes.
“The Monastery is just over a days walk from here. If you don’t help us, we’ll be stone cold dead before winter comes.”