Strigen's Forest

Sometime in the hereafter

In a kingdom once ruled by laughter

But fear has since roamed the land

And creativity has been banned

The people there lived in utmost fear

Of what the new king held most dear

After their dinner, every night

The old-timers would whisper tales by the fire’s light

Of dark, shadowy monsters, each with a glowing red eye

Waiting in the murky depths of the forests for passersby

To eat the souls of each unwary traveller that was caught

Before the poor fools could reach the sanctuary they sought

In the quiet town of Wappapello

Down a side street of Montecello

Lived an adventurous boy named Thomas Frey

Like everyone else, Thomas was always dressed all in grey

But where he differed from any other

He was born of no living mother

His miraculous birth was talked about throughout the town

For the boy suddenly appeared in front of all, without a sound

Raised by the gentle man he called father

In a wooden house built by a grandfather

Thomas grew up straight and strong

Learning fast and never doing others wrong

The boy was well-liked by many of his peers

In contests, he would receive the most cheers

A sturdy boy, always ready to play any sport

Then the recruiters appeared, from the fabled King’s Fort

Forcing recruitment on all able-bodied youth

And anyone who wasn’t too long in the tooth

Thomas’s elderly dad, upon hearing this news

Quickly woke the boy up and handed him his shoes

“Head North, my son. This war is not for you,” warned his father

Kissing his father’s brow, the boy left before the pother

Thomas ran well into the long, hot day

Finally, coming to the Strigen’s Forest, where the wind held no sway

Standing at the entrance to the forest, fearing to choose

He geared his courage, gathered his resolve before exiting the blue

Stepping below the canopy, enveloped by an eerie silence

Turning back to leave the woods, Thomas could sense malviolence

To be met with a thick curtain of thick, hardy vines

He looked for the trail he’d taken, but he could see no signs

The way out was gone; he’d walked deeper than he thought

Shrugging, Thomas continued towards the exit he sought

Intensely focused, he began to notice a low, warbling sound

Blindingly rushing through the vines, heart beginning to pound

Thomas wondered if he’d ever reach the light of day

Or if in this dark, cursed forest he’d forever stay

Grey clothes ripped, skin torn,

Getting snagged on every thorn

Crashing sounds growing nearer

Thomas realizes there is plenty to fear here

Knowing now he won’t find the forest’s end

He begins to look for a place he can easily defend

Face begrimed, body bloody, profusely sweating

Helter Skelter, Thomas ran headlong into a netting

Tossing and turning, fighting for freedom

Appearing before him, the citizens of this dark kingdom

Each one eerily cloaked in darkness

Thomas, in his fear, fell completely unconscious

Waking up, he felt sure he was in some fevered dream

For what he saw made him want to scream

Inside some uniformly hewn clearing, Thomas was tied to a stake

Pale-skinned people danced around, causing the ground to quake

A tall, solitary figure, wearing a horned, one-eyed mask, overseeing

While some toothless old crone was at a cauldron, busy foreseeing

Fine young Lotharios, flexing rippling muscles

Nuptial maidens in a row, leashed bearhounds with muzzles

Musicians playing instruments that made Thomas's heart pound

A roaring bonfire scorching the packed forest ground

The one in the mask moved, then spoke to his tribe

Then, as one, the group turned towards Thomas, exuding an evil vibe

For his short life, the youth did plead

But they intended to go through with their violent deed

Thomas squirmed and jerked

While the young girls twerked

Feeling several strong hands grip him tight

He turned and held onto the post with all his might

Thomas let out a scream

“God, let this be a dream!”

They held him up high, passed him in a wave

The pounding of the drums belonged in some rave

Sibilant whispers of “lost”, “prince’ and “son”

Finally, settling him down before the masked one

The mysterious one did a shimmy and a shake

Slapped Thomas, proving he was awake

Then, taking a bowl, the masked figure sprinkled herbal oil

With fear, Thomas watched as the cloaked one raised a foil

Surprised when all that was sliced was his shirt

His birthmark exposed, Thomas dropped to the dirt

As one, the crowd let out a gasp, “The lost heir.”

As the masked figure jumped and shook, pulling his hair

Bellowing, he passed judgment, “Tainted’

As Thomas was dragged to the cauldron, he fainted

Chopping him up, they threw Thomas into the pot

Each one agreed that the stew hit the spot