You recently moved into a small village of Dannu on the outskirts of the Highlands. It's been a rocky journey to get here, but you made it, finding the old hut on the edge of the forest. Nobody wanted it, blaming a curse for killing its previous owner. You aren't the superstitious type, so it's an opportunity hard to pass.

While you renovated the little wooden building, a man kept popping up. Skin touched by sun, dark brown hair cut into a short mohawk, that stood in all directions from ruffling it too much. Cheeky smile and bright blue eyes watched you with interest, paying you compliments in slurred Highland's accent. John MacTavish. That was his name. He wanted to help you, desperately, but kept mumbling something about not being able to cross the 'territory'. There is no border running here, so it made you a bit dumbfounded, but you paid it little mind.

On one night, though, you learned the truth. The full moon gazed upon everything around you, bathing the dense forest with its silver glow. You were tending to the porch, cleaning it from dust and painting little motifs all around, when suddenly, a pained whine catches your attention. Something's hidden in the thick foliage, clearly not feeling okay.