Skyrik’s feet crunched through twigs and fresh-fallen leaves as he ambled through the forest. The basket in his left hand swung idly, the weight of the berries inside greatly lessened by the number that had found their way into his mouth. Fingers stained with fresh berry juice grasped a long stick in his other hand, which he swung in front of his face occasionally to ward off the nearly invisible spider webs that hung between branches. Occasionally, a web would make its way past his defenses and he would pause, spitting and snorting, to pull the sticky strands from his hair and face. Only twelve, Skyrik was tall for his age and strong from working as an apprentice to the town blacksmith since he was eight. Since orders at the shop were down, he had been given the afternoon off to forage in the woods, and he was taking full advantage.

He would have liked to have spent the day with his best friend, the girl who lived on the edge of town with her father, but Krosa had been fully occupied with harvesting the ever-growing garden that she carefully nurtured, and had promised she would join him that afternoon.

He had long ago left the main road that ran between Provints and Shelbivile, memory guiding him to the prime berry patches that he had plundered for years. Having gleaned all that was available there, he was now exploring a section of the wood that was mostly new to him, which was an adventure all its own. He pressed on, stopping occasionally to scan for berries or any other wild plant that might make a fine addition to his basket. He knew if he came back with it less than full, his methods would be questioned, and his supper of berries might be the only supper he got. Skyrik pushed confidently through a patch of thick underbrush and found himself in a clearing that he was totally unfamiliar with. Stretching his arms and breathing in the cool breeze that had been missing in the dense woods, he spied what he had been looking for on the other side of the meadow. A large patch of berries glistened only a few dozen yards away, enough to fill his basket and more! He grinned as he strode towards them, arms swinging in glee.

Halfway into the entangling vines, he heard the snap of a branch from the clearing behind him. Looking back, he froze in horror as he saw the creature that now stalked across the open space.

What looked like it had once been a bear lumbered towards him on powerful legs. The claws had extended far beyond what was normal, and gnarled horns sprouted from the beast’s shoulders. The tail, normally just a short nub, had grown and now whipped spastically back and forth, a gleaming knob of bone showing at the end. Open wounds and sores had stripped away fur and flesh, and gave the creature a sickly, mottled appearance. But there was nothing sickly about the roar that issued from its throat as it began to charge at the boy in the brambles, or the gaping mouth full of sharp teeth. Too many teeth, was the thought that came to Skyrik’s mind as he attempted to flee through the bramble and into the woods on the far side. The bramble, which has before resisted his attempts to get to the largest and most succulent berries at its center, now almost seemed to part before him, allowing him to gain several yards on his pursuer, who ripped through the restraining vines with fury. The boy sprinted into the forest, paying no heed to any direction other than away. Away from the massive, evil looking bear that now tore free from the last of the thorny vines and pounded massive paws into the forest loam, picking up speed.

Skyrik had once seen a massive boulder break free from a hillside and come smashing down through the forest. Trees had splintered, smaller rocks had been broken and sent flying, and the earth churned with the rock’s passing. The bear seemed to have the same kind of unstoppable momentum, snapping aside small trees and gaining speed and ground as its lumbering, shuffling jog quickly became a rolling sprint as the creature accelerated. Massive muscles bunched and released under the patchy fur, and fresh blood oozed from the open wounds on its flank, both the old, and the new caused by its struggle through the briar. The boy sprinted, dodging around the bigger trees in the hope that the sudden turns might slow the twisted bear down. They did not.

Gasping for air, he could almost feel the hot breath of the predator on his neck as he burst into another clearing. Unlike the last, this one was long and straight, appearing almost like a road. As his lead foot hit the smooth, hard surface of what he now clearly saw was a road, his other foot caught on a small branch that stuck out from the ground, ruining his balance and causing his momentum to throw him violently to the ground. “This is where I die” he thought, as his breath wheezed in his chest from the impact. He rolled over and struggled to his feet, looking around for a stick or a rock to use as a weapon. If he was going to die, he’d at least leave his mark on the killer that took his young life. Picking up a fist-sized stone, he stared at the woods, gasping. Nothing emerged from the trees but silence. The crashing, relentless pursuer was gone, as if it had never been. Frowning, the boy gripped the rock and peered intently all around him, fearing a flanking attack. But why would the beast need to engage in such tactics? Surely it was powerful enough to simply run him down and end him, so why had it stopped? Minute after minute went by, and eventually he dropped the stone and collapsed on the ground, sobbing with relief that he was not dead. As he recovered enough to regain his feet and begin wondering where he was, and how he might get home without again venturing into the forest of the frightful bear, a voice spoke from behind him, freezing him in place.

“Too close. You came too close, and now it has you.” The voice was somehow raspy yet deep, as if it rumbled from a massive chest through a throat not used to speaking. He could almost feel the voice in his bones as it continued, “It has you, and perhaps that is better than being torn apart by that bear. Or perhaps not.”

Skyrik turned slowly, and if he had not already exhausted his capacity for terror that day in his flight from the bear, he would have run again. Instead, he merely observed the figure before him with a sense of detached calm. He had already accepted death once today, what was once more? At least this thing seemed more reasonable than his last encounter. The creature before him was massive, standing eight feet tall despite a noticeable hunch. Ragged clothing covered it, massive rents torn in what seemed to have once been fine red velvet. The skin was scaled, but in the ragged, rough appearance of a disease rather than the smooth hide of a lizard or snake. Two horns of white bone sprouted from the creature’s head, gnarled like the antlers of a deer but only having one point. The face of the creature jutted out like the bear’s had, but the mouth was wider, and the teeth less numerous, although just as sharp. Massive shoulders ran seamlessly to the skull, making the neck appear almost non-existent. Long arms that seemed disproportionately thin compared to the neck and shoulders extended down, ending in massive hands which were slightly webbed. Although thin, the corded muscle on the arms made them look capable of ripping the boy in half if the creature chose to use them to that end. The trunk and legs of the creature were as massive as its shoulders. Bare feet spread out on the ground, blunt toes that looked like hammers digging into the road. Overall though, the general shape of the monster that confronted him was human, although distorted and massive beyond any human Skyrik had ever heard of. It was the eyes though, that made the biggest impression on the boy. The eyes were unequivocally, unmistakably, human. The eyes gazed sadly from underneath a mop of shaggy dark hair that ran from the top of the massive head, looking at the boy with something that almost seemed like kindness.

The boy found his voice at last. “What has me? What are you talking about?” Then realizing that he had his priorities mixed up, he asked the real question. “Are you going to kill me?”

The creature took a step back and raised its massive hands slightly, opening them in what was clearly meant to be a non-threatening gesture, although the effect was slightly lost coming from the terrifying beast.

“I mean you no harm, but harm will come to you nonetheless. You have been chased into the grips of a mighty curse, and it has you now. Like me, you are now trapped here, doomed to never leave, and to become whatever the curse makes of you. I am sorry.”

Skyrik digested this information as best he could, feeling bile rise in his throat has the hopelessness of his situation impacted his soul. He had heard of curses of course. In the wild world, magic users hurled their will at each other with abandon, spending the energies of heaven and earth to wreak destruction or work miracles. But none of that occurred in Provints, not in his home. Oh certainly, the brewer had a charm on his kegs to keep the ale fresh, and a few folks about town had a cantrip or two that had been passed down through families for things like healthier chickens, or rat-free buildings. But a curse? Real, dark magic like you heard of in the stories? It wasn’t possible. But here he was. More importantly, here was the creature, and it was an imposing argument for the existence of curses. His young mind reeled, as the full import of what the beast had said sank in. Cursed. He was cursed, and trapped in this place, with this creature, and who knows what else. His family, his friends, all would think him lost and likely dead. His mother and father, Krosa, all would mourn him and eventually maybe they would forget him. Maybe they were forgetting him already. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried not to break down again. In an effort to distract his mind from his predicament, he spoke again to the monster waiting patiently in front of him.

“Who are you? Do you have a name? Do you..do we live in the forest?”

The beast smiled softly, although the effect looked more predatory than it was likely intended. The eyes conveyed the message though, and that was enough.

“I am Baron Yashik Zevir, Lord of Zevir Province, and of Droigheann Castle. Protector of the King’s Peace in these lands, and holder of the Seal of Office for the Regent Army.” the smile widened. “And if you know what half of that means, you’ll be ahead of most. You can call me Yashik, or Yash if you’re pressed for time. What’s your name?”

“Skyrik Harflen” The boy answered politely, although he was still trying to figure out what the Regent Army was, and he had never heard of any castles in the area, or any lords aside from the Earl in Dermo. The beast, Yashik, continued. “I don’t live in the forest, and neither will you unless you wish to. Droigheann Castle is home to Flur Manor, and it’s more comfortable than you might expect for being the epicenter of a dark curse.”

The boy straightened his shoulders, thought of his family once more, and said, “Lead the way please, Yashik.”

As they walked, the boy distracted himself by peppering his new acquaintance with questions. He learned that the gigantic cursed man was only a few years older than himself, having reached the age of 19 only that year. Yashik was evasive when asked if he lived alone at the castle they were now walking to, saying only that there were few visitors, and nobody else at the castle like him. Skyrik tried to avoid asking about the curse, but found that his mind kept directing inquiries around to that topic.

“Is there no way for me to escape? Or break the curse?”

The beastly man shook his head. “Not that I’ve been able to find thus far. Of the few who make their way here, not one has ever left. And if anyone knew how to break the curse, they kept it to themselves. Now my mother, she had a talent for such things and I think if she were…well if she were able to break the curse I’m sure she would. As it stands, the only one who might be able to is me, and I don’t have a drop of talent when it comes to things like that. My abilities are more…physical.”

Yashik halted occasionally as he spoke, considering his words carefully. Skyrik suspected that he wasn’t being told the entire story, and that a great deal was being left out. That was understandable, he supposed. They had only just met, and the circumstances were hardly conducive to the revealing of deep secrets. The missing story details departed his mind the minute the road opened up and he say the castle ahead.

A gray stone wall standing at least 20 feet at the parapets surrounded a large manor house built of the same material. A deep ditch had been dug at the base of the wall, and a dirt causeway had been built across it leading to the towering gate house, the two giant doors there sat partially open. As imposing as the wall was, it was almost completely hidden by the mass of green vines that grew up from the ditch and ran along the entire length of the fortifications. The boy had never seen anything like those vines during his long treks through the fields and forests of his home, and never read about anything like them in any book either. Maybe Krosa had, she had always liked reading more than him, and reading about plants in particular. His eyes dampened at the thought of never seeing his friend again, but the sadness was replaced by a growing sense of fear and dread as he noticed the large, slightly hooked thorns that grew densely from the vine. The points glistened slightly, catching the rays of the afternoon sun as they filtered down through the clouds. He eyed the thorns nervously as they passed through the gate. The plants seemed almost to reach towards him, as if they hungered to sink their glistening thorns into his flesh and drag him down into the ditch below the wall to feed their roots. As he passed through the dark gatehouse and into the courtyard beyond, he gasped slightly at the sight of the manor before him. It was the largest building he had ever seen, larger than the Lodge in Provints and the Mayor’s house combined.

Like the walls, it was also covered in thick, thorny vines. Unlike the ones on the walls, which were adorned only with green leaves, these vines held delicate pink flowers that shifted gently in the wind as he watched them. He saw them continue to shift, even as the slight breeze died down, and shuddered a little. The manor was laid out in a rectangle, and loomed at least 6 stories high, The back end was joined to the wall by a massive square tower, which was the only structure that wasn’t covered in the vines, or other growing things. Nearly all of the buildings that had rested against the interior of the walls now sprouted various fungi or greenery. He spied what appeared to be a blacksmith’s anvil and forge under a thatched roof that sprouted a collection of daisy’s and lichen. He grew more and more nervous as he followed the broad, scally back of the young Baron.

His host leapt up to the top of the manor steps, and threw the doors open with a flourish and a bow. “Welcome to your new home! I know these are not the best of circumstances, but we try to keep things as pleasant as possible so I hope you’ll find your place here, and perhaps even some kind of happiness.” Skyrick walked through the doors, inspected the inside of the manor, and slowly collapsed to the floor.