Title: The Dullahane Tale
Author: Unknown
Culture/Race: Gilnean
Deep inside the twisted, sinister forest known as the Blackwald laid a small farmstead, held by the persevering Dullahan family who had toiled over the farm for generations. The brown soil was shallow, often saturated with rain water, making drainage a perpetual challenge to survive. Throughout the years the tenacious rainfall that was a characteristic of the Gilnean climate began to fall heavier each year, which forced the overworked Dullahan’s to focus more on draining the soil by digging trenches to funnel the water away from what little crops they could grow rather than tend to their middling crops.
One day, Hyman Dullahan, a father of four threw his spade into the dirt as dug yet another trench to salvage this year’s yield. He approached his wife and told her that he was fed up with this meagre existence and that he would search the Blackwald for one of the Harvest Witches which would be sure to help them with their drainage problem the had plagued them for years. His wife clutched at his elbow, pulling him back begging him not to go, the Blackwald held all sorts of dangers and it was getting dark. Wrestling his arm free, he grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him, certain this was the only way he could provide for his family.
The winds picked up, causing the trees themselves to howl, hurling the derelict, crimson leaves that littered the ground up into the air, almost as if the Blackwald detected Hyman’s presence. Hyman pulled the collar of his coat up as he hugged himself for warmth, glaring left and right as leaves swirl around him. Hyman would not be deterred my paltry leaves and continued through the forest until the winds died down and in its place was a clam and soothing voice, who sang in a foreign tongue. Hyman jumped on the spot, his eyes searching every facet of the Blackwald, but he spied no one. As he stood there dumbfounded, a white rabbit burst from the dark brush, darting in past him, stopping a few paces ahead, turning back to look him in the eyes, as if he was expected to follow. Hyman rubbed his hands against the cold and followed the rabbit who lead him away from the path and into the thicket, stopping every so often to let him catch up to the speedy creature. Eventually the thorny trees and bushes gave way to a clearing, where a small, thatched cottage lay next to a pond, where frogs, sat idle on lily pads and butterflies soar through the air. A hooded woman stood in the doorway, holding her hands out in front of her, smiling as the rabbit ran rings around her.
The lady welcomed Hyman into her home and confirmed that she was in fact a Harvest Witch and that she could indeed help him, but on one condition. From one of her pouches she produced four seeds which she claims came from the god of Regrowth and Life, Sirona. The witch explained how if Hyman planted one seed each year, his farm would produce plenty of food for his family, in return all she asked was a portion of the harvest to be left in a basket outside his home, an offering to her God, to show appreciation for her gift. Hyman agreed and couldn’t thank the woman enough who placed four large, green seeds into his hand and sent him on his way, back to his starving family.
The next day, Hyman plunged the seed deep into the saturated soil, and within a few hours a new plant and began to sprout, soaking up all the excess water in the soil, not only bearing crops itself but seemingly improved the yield of the existing crops also. The Dullahan’s were overjoyed and for the first winter in years they slept with full stomachs. As promised, Hyman left his offering outside as Spring was about to fall, the next day both the basket and the food within were gone.
The coming year Hyman continued to nurture his field, planting plenty of wheat and corn to sustain them, leaving room for his special seeds to grow. However his wife complained about a great many things and wondered why they didn’t sell a portion of their crop to the market, such was their excess last year, they could used the coin and they wouldn’t know when they would be in dire straits again. With in mind Hyman figured he would plant two seeds and simply double his offering to the god Sirona, which would still leave him with enough to eat and to sell to the market. As the rain began to plummet into the shallow soil, Hyman plunged not one, but two seeds into the soil, expecting them to uplift his entire field and grant him another healthy harvest.
However this was not the case, instead the opposite occurred. With not enough water in the soil to sustain two of these seeds, the soil dried up, killing the rest of the field and leaving the two seeds with a meagre yield for the coming winter. Distraught, Hyman kept the crops for himself, offering none to Sirona and in the coming Spring he left his farmstead to fetch some water from the nearby river. As Hyman walked down towards the river, the winds picked up once more, Hyman took no notice and marched on, until a thorned tree branch swung down and caught him in the throat, cutting deep into the flesh. Hyman instantly clutched the branch which caused his own hands to bleed before choking on his own blood. Falling forwards and putting his full body weight on the tree, the branch managed to hold, cutting through his neck, decapitating him.
Hyman’s wife was hysterical, burying her husband in the same soil that sustained them for years. She soon left the barren farmstead, disappearing with her children, never to be seen in the Blackwald again.
The next year, as the leaves grew brown and fell from the trees, as the cycle of life and death turned, dark rumours spread across the kingdom. People spoke of a headless, dark rider stalking the roads, killing anyone whom he gazes upon. It was said if the this dark rider spoke your name, you would drop dead on the spot. A reaper of souls, his head grinned from ear to ear, which he held in his lap, his flesh green and rotting, he was known only as the Dullahane. Dullahane’s origin was shrouded in mystery, some speculated that it was a curse of the Goddess Sirona, others thought that he was some God of Death, here on Azeroth to take the wicked away, forever.
Regardless the tale of the Dullahane marching through the night was used to keep rebellious children in their beds or to stray them from bad behaviour.
Inspirations.
h ttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dullahan
h ttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirona
OOC Note.
A lengthy tale, I decided to give you the entire tale here, however if you decide to tell it IC, your character can make up their own theory or not remember all the details of the Dullahane, Enjoy!