“So, what was his name?” Asked the wise owl, glancing at the armor-clad skeleton slumped on the stone throne.
“Nobody knows anymore.” Answered the old fox as he carefully examined a rusting sword.
“Isn’t this place a tad big for just him?”
“I don’t think he lived here alone.”
“I didn’t see any more bones around.”
“Neither did I. But that doesn’t mean he lived alone, just that he died alone.”
“And that makes sense how?”
“Apparently he did some nasty things in his time.” Answered the fox, shifting his attention to a crumbling shield on the floor.
“What kind of things?”
“And he’s the reason nobody comes into this forest?”
“Well, not entirely, but it does help.”
“So that’s the famous ‘curse’ of this castle? Some bad memories nobody really remembers?”
“Yes and no.” Answered the fox while carefully retracing several sigils around the old throne, once again making their forms clear. “I know it sounds silly, but if the things he did were bad enough, those who saw them might not want to talk about them. Eventually everyone would just avoid the forest without really knowing why.”
The wise owl thought about this for a moment.
“That still sounds silly. By that same rationale the ‘curse’ itself would simply be forgotten. Why would they still fear it?”
The fox examined his work, adding some new sigils to the rest.
“Because, when a curse lasts long enough it never really goes away, it’s just given a new name.”
“A new name?”
“Yes, they will try to hide their fear behind things like tradition or respect and start calling it a legend.”