A/N: So, this was an idea that sort of sprung to me at random when perusing the internet (specifically the Fantasytale AU) I have no idea if this is actually a smart idea but, hell, I don't really care. As a note, this is really an alternate universe, it ha=s the characters and setting but it will be very very different, as is to be expected when transferring something from one medium to the next. But, as I said, this shall be very different.

If anyone has any criticism, feel free to tell me.

(As a note this chapter has been updated as of 02/05/2016)

Chapter 1 - A Curse Brought and Forgotten By Man

For a dark, evil, cursed mountain, Frisk was surely surprised that it was so light. The sun softly ran down through the lush evergreen in ways that would entrance the regular watcher, but he kept on, step after step he walked, the pathless congregation of wood and dirt in front of him leading to no known destination. The fifteen-year-old mage known as Frisk kept strideing in steed of how lost he was. This was the path his brother had taken so long ago and was the one he would take now.

Four years ago, in 1543, his brother Chara had taken a long pilgrimage to the same dreaded Mt Ebott that Frisk was traversing, to use his powers to rid the curse that slept there, the curse had followed him and he had not been heard of again. Over the years his father fell to despair and the people of Ebott became more and more wary as more and more children went missing. One after one they were entranced to follow, and they were found in the outskirts of Ebot, either ripped asunder by wolves, or were never heard from again. Believed to be taken by the darkness that slept there. With each missing child, the hope of Chara ever returning grew thinner and thinner, until it was completely forgotten.

As each child died, the town grew more and more terrified and that terror turned to a great fury, the peasants grew a revolt and then it all cracked, and the fire at Frisk's doorstep had started.

Frisk had awoken to it, the first of the flames licking at his door and spreading like a virus, if he were not on the first floor of his and his father's home then he would have perished but he quickly scrambled out of the nearest window. He had been unnoticed, a tossed torch had just caused the fire and the true spectacle was some twenty yards away.

He found only horror; his father was in the center of the street, surrounded by a mob of angry peasants. He was on his knees with the leader of the mob, a man Frisk recognised as the massive, burly, local blacksmith, holding his head backwards in a firm grip so he stared at the sky. At the heavens he would be saying goodbye to, as was the custom of the people of Ebott when executing. Frisk's father, the once court mage of lord Ebott, was silent, holding the family staff in a determined grip so that he may die in the knowledge of his powers.

"You mages have brought nothing but pain!" shouted the blacksmith and the surrounding peasants, with an even larger fury, screamed, "he made the curse" and "kill the bastard!"

Frisk just watched in horrified awe.

Then, illuminated by the bright light of the home that burned next to him, Frisk watched his father be beheaded by one swipe of the sharp woodsman's body fell and the blacksmith held the head to the sky, the crowd erupted in bestial whoops and cheers. Unbeknownst to them, the curse had not left.

Frisk hid, as far from his house as he could, underneath the large elm tree was where he stayed. The elm tree that stood like a watching idol on the tall hill that loomed over his house, only to have Mt Ebott above that. It was where Chara and his father would show him the ancient ways of magic. Of fire and of healing, of strength and of peace. It was under that tree where Frisk cried himself to sleep.

In the morning he found his father left in the street, his head lolling not too far from his body, no longer oozing, now covered in flies. They were having the feast of their short, sad lives. His staff lay next to him, as a warning to any mages to move down the road to Ebott. With a sad, hollowed look at the destruction of the last of his family, Frisk decided that the peasants would not have their warning out in the open for long.

They had lived on that road, where the summers were beautiful and lush with blooming flowers and fine wine and when the winters were pearly white and all of snow, where no wolves would prowl and where no monsters lurked. It was now all dead with the ash of his burned home and red with the blood of his father.

Frisk wept once more, gripping onto the oaken staff as hard as he could, as if it could disappear at a moment's notice. Even in the gloom of his now fatherless world, he was still enchanted by the gem that adorned the staffs tip, the ruby sphere that was surrounded in vines of oak.

Then he thought of his brother, his pale faced bastard child of a brother, his caring, lovely brother, who would show him the fires of magic when the winters were cold and the ice of magic when the summers were hot.

Frisk only cried harder, he was without a father, a mother who had died many years previous and his brother was lost in the woods.

Then his cries were stopped, he saw that even though the flies that surrounded his father's corpse and the blood that stained his clothes, there was one article that remained untouched, his violet cloak. The one he had always worn, the one, which Frisk remembered would "bring forth the glory of magic" as his father had always said with a warm smile.

A strange determination filled Frisk and he swiped away the flies from his father's body, he undid the ruby brooch and brought the cloak from under his father's body. In the remnants of the street that he called home he wore the cloak, as he fastened the heart shaped brooch around his neck; the cloak shrunk to his size and he turned west to the forest that the road lead to, and then south west where the cursed my Ebott slept with its uneasy curse.

'All who traverse shall fall to mankind's worst enemies, and only those with the strength of kings shall survive,' he had learnt it off by heart, he had too, Chara would never stop saying it. It was Chara's legacy to stop the curse, to save Ebott from humanity's worst enemies.

"I have to go there," he muttered to himself and he reached down to his father's belt to bring out the dagger that he always held. Frisk sheathed it in his own scabbard. "I have to find Chara," he finished before dragging his father's body to the ashes of the home he loved so much, and burying him in those same ashes.

Once his father had been left to time, Frisk turned to the south west where Mt Ebott loomed, great, tall, and entirely green with grass, moss and plentiful trees. Chara had to be there, he had to be. Frisk knew that he would never fall to a simple curse, he was trained to destroy them with great fire and great lightning, he betted that Chara was fighting right now, with an all powerful blade of flames against a monster of many tendrils, to stop mankind's worst foe.

Frisk assumed his brother's role and entered the forest.

He had steeled himself to find all kinds of fell creatures, to face a great dire wolf with teeth like a dragon's claws, eyes glowing like corrupted stars and with hides as hard as iron but only trees, bark and fallen leaves met him. Sun beamed through the trees in shafts of yellow, sprawling to the ground like sunflowers in the deep brown of the dirt.

Even as the mountain sloped upwards, it seemed that the trees did not disperse, they only grew thicker and much denser, as if it were a living trap. Still Frisk ascended, urged on by both grief and madness, constantly thinking that he'd see his brother just around the corner, just passed the next tree. He had to be close by. He would never stray too far from home, that wasn't like Chara.

Then night fell like a blanket had been cast over the sky, the world plunged into darkness and Frisk was no longer in the bright, near cherry forest he had once been wandering, no, now he felt he was in a void of darkness, where it sucked the very life out of you. That was when he realised the madness of his plans and realised that he was lost. He realised that he had wandered himself onto death's door, sure there were no dire wolves, but even regular wolves were a threat. He had always heard from his window when he was young, the fighting his brother and father would go through to fend off the grey hunters of the night, who howled at their victory to a dark unfeeling moon. That was why no wolves prowled, Frisk discovered, not because their home was sacred, but because his family was strong and valiant. His family besides him, he concluded.

Frisk fell to the ground, and just led, staring at the starless, moonless night.

"What have I done?" he said aloud to himself, his voice thick with despair. "My brother has fallen to this curse but I have to... to my own stupidity." He sighed and felt his sobs fall stuck in his throat, he wouldn't cry again. "Why isn't Chara here?" He muttered quietly. "Why can't I just have Chara?"

Then the ground rumbled, a great earthquake wracked the earth, from Ebott all the way to the king's castle three hundred miles away it was heard, Mt Ebott awakening, for the first time in a year, the curse had awoken.

Before he could react, Frisk felt the ground beneath him split a great ravine awakened below him. This ravine was not of stone though; it was of vines, hundreds, nay, near thousands of vines splitting the ground in a mighty pull. Frisk flailed and tried to grab at safety, but he fell and his screams were silenced by the earth closing once more, like an egg reforming.

A seventh child, and Frisk was very much still a child, had fallen into the grasps of the dreaded Mt Ebott.