The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.
This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.
A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.
In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.
This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.
In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.
In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.
The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.
Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.
Dao time: traditional herbal medicine of the Dao tribe in Vietnam
in the Ta Phin hills, in Vietnam, close to the Chinese border. Sapa, an ethereal mountain region in the clouds and hub for trekking (hiking), looked pretty, and I had heard rumours of amazing herbal baths.
The Dao tribe (pronounced Dzao) are known for these baths, which are a culmination of 200 years of medicine handing down from mother to daughter. The tribe use around 100 herbs from the local…
My first five Hill Tribesmen of the Vale, made from the Frostgrave Barbarian kit.
Since I’ll be using the Lion Rampant ruleset from Osprey Publishing, I’ll need seven more Hill Tribesmen to fill out the 12-man unit I was planning on using them as.
To be honest, I do like the kit since it does very much evoke the stereotypical fantasy barbarian image without being too grounded in any one set of fiction.
A braithuvi horse at rest under the close protection and watchful, scary, pale-eyed gaze of her herd's guardian, a dírgrahdain. Both are landraces developed within the Highlands. The ancestors of braithuvi (and other Highlands native horses) were brought overseas by the ancestors of the Hill Tribes, while the dogs were obtained from native livestock guardian landraces used by proto-Wardi tribes. Each have become distinct over their centuries of living in the Highlands, and dírgrahdain are have a particularly unique place in the cultural schema.
Braithuvi are a woolly horse breed (and one of many, wool horses are widespread, second only to camala in value for textiles) that are also somewhat specialized for milk production. Their meat is relatively poor (other horses are preferred), but they produce high yields of milk and thick, continuous growths of wool.
Horses are not as culturally significant as cattle to most in the Highlands, but are still highly valued animals that are critical to subsistence. Few plant-based textiles can be produced in the Highlands, and almost all in the region are made with braithuvi wool. They can eat a greater variety of forage than cattle, more efficiently converting energy intake from pastures into milk and wool. Their milk is considered to be the very best of all livestock, and is usually what is used to make the prized murre beverage.
Dogs have a very small specific place in the cultures of the Hill Tribes as utilitarian working animals (specifically for livestock and occasionally as home/village guardians), and rarely ever fill other functions. The practice of keeping dogs purely for companionship is virtually nonexistent (though affectionate bonds between people and their herding or household guard dogs will be fairly common), and their meat is considered worthless. Most dogs are not elevated within the cultural schema, and tend to be merely appreciated as useful, loyal animals. Livestock guardian dogs are an exception to this, and tend to be of more significant cultural import. They are animals that exist to protect the herds on which all subsistence depends, and thus have an elevated cultural status and roles in religion and folklore as uniquely protective entities.
Dírgrahdain are the key livestock guardian dogs in the region, and the only natively developed LGD. Their name means 'lion dog', both in reference to their maned appearance and their ability to fend off and even kill the largest of predators. The dogs are characterized by tall, long-legged builds, deep chests, a curly tail, thick hair (and a thicker winter coat), and a shaggy mane. Their bodies tend to be thinner and lankier than their fur coat suggests, but still well-muscled and powerful. Their coloration can vary wildly, but a black mask with a brown or reddish body like this is most typical. Unnerving, pale eyes are prized in these dogs, with the belief that they not only intimidate predators but are uniquely potent at fending off malicious spirits.
The dog's exclusive function is to protect livestock. They are used primarily for the defense of horses, which are small and very vulnerable to predators (lions, hyenas, king hyena, wild dogs, jackals, nechoi, and even eagles can be threats), though some dogs will usually be posted up with cattle herds to deter raiders.
Pups are most commonly born in the field among their herds. They will be carried in their master's coat while still nursing, but will be allowed to join their mother in her duties from the moment they are strong enough to follow. Dírgrahdain live with their herds day and night. Most will never see the inside of a home, and most seem to prefer it that way. They form close and protective bonds with their charges, and will thoroughly integrate themselves into the social fabric of the herd.
These dogs are not human-oriented, and will usually only form bonds with people that they have imprinted on as puppies (and will merely be cool and polite to those met later in life). They are highly aggressive towards strangers, and introductions must be done incrementally and with great care. This is desirable, as this trait makes them an excellent line of defense against livestock raids. Their loud, booming barks can alert of intruders from a great distance, and they can often successfully intimidate khait, causing some mounted raids to end in humiliating failure. Dírgrahdain are often killed in raids, either to fend off the attacking dog or to silence it before its master can be alerted. This is not outright dishonorable, but not something one will be commended for. Cattle raiding culture here values swiftness, stealth, and strategy- such smash and grab tactics are seen as brutish (and will often result in harsher retribution).
Like most LGDs, they primarily defend their herds by displays of aggression and power, using their loud bark, fearsome growl, and powerful bodies to chase and intimidate predators away without physical contact. Even so, it is necessary for all working dírgrahdain to be willing and able to physically confront predators when necessary. A well-trained, well-bonded dog will defend their herds with their very life, and is often effective in combat against even very large wild predators. Their dense ‘manes’ offer a degree of protection from wounds to the throat, and may be supplemented with spiked collars.
If a mother dog kills a predator, it is often customary to open the carcass and lead her puppies to feed on it. This is thought to teach the pups to be fearless against their enemies, and that they will grow up to be uniquely powerful and brave adults. Pups are given names upon reaching adult size, and ones who have consumed the flesh of predators will get unique names related to their mother's kill, or epithets as supplements to a given name (the exact details of this practice culturally varies). One might encounter dogs in the Highlands named things like Lionsbane, Hyena-killer, She Who Bites Jackals, Lion-Fed Shaggy (Lion-Fed being the honorable epithet, Shaggy being the dog's name, possibly given by a very small child)
The mere gaze of a dírgrahdain is said to fend off malicious spirits, and their thundering bark can scare away even the most dangerous of mountain devils. Their shed hair is needle felted into little dolls (usually into the form of dogs themselves) and placed into the cradles of infants and worn as charms by children to protect them from harm (both mundane and supernatural). Manes taken from dead dírgrahdain have uses among some of the Hill Tribes, and are typically only allowed to be used by their masters (unless recieved as a gift). The most prominent usages are being worn to fend off evil spirits and predators while traveling alone, and some traditions involve placing the manes around the necks or across the bellies of women in labor as a means of spiritual protection for mother and child during birth.
The Hill Tribes and Wardi both identify the same constellation along the ecliptic as a dog. In the case of the former, this stellar dog is identified as Mak-Urudain, a gigantic dírgrahdain with fur the color of flame and eyes as bright as stars, who is the eternal guardian of the Celestial Fields. He allows the souls of the worthy dead to pass into the afterlife and for esteemed ancestors to descend back to the land to guide the living, while preventing malicious spirits, devils, and the dishonored dead from entry.
One Bernike tale describes her attempting to fly into the Celestial Fields to steal the heavenly cattle who graze there. She took the form of a golden eagle, pretending to be an ancestor returning from a sojourn to the world of the living in order to get past the guardian hound. Mak-Urudain was not fooled for long, and led her on a long chase through the night sky before capturing her and hurling her out of the Celestial Fields.
She was never able to even touch the ground of the Fields (much less take any cattle), but had just enough time to take a single seed of heavenly grass in her beak. She returned to her mountain (missing most of her tail feathers and much of her pride) and planted the grass in her then-barren slopes. This is why the grass on Bernike's mountain is so tall and abundant and why cattle there grow so fat and healthy, like all cattle will in the afterlife. The howling winds heard from the mountaintops are playfully suggested to be the barks and howls of Mak-Urudain, calling down from the heavens to keep the witch grounded in the world of the living.
An old wildwoman, a fae-like mountain spirit closely associated with scimitar deer, as described in folklore in the Greathill region.
Wildfolk are depicted as petite humans, always naked, usually unnaturally pale, with older adult adult men and women both having long, shaggy beards and eyes that reflect light. Wildfolk youths are described as preternaturally beautiful in stark contrast, only gaining their unsettling appearances and unkempt beards as they age.
These spirits are said to make their homes in hills, forests, and mountaintops beyond the immediate borders of human habitation, where they live in dispersed parallel societies as herders and sorcerers. They are often depicted as mischievous, and take joy in meddling in human affairs and harassing travelers. Most of their pranks are not particularly malicious (though their victims may not see it that way) but they are said to be capable of inflicting curses and transforming victims into animals.
They are very fond of alcohol, and offerings of murre (a fermented milk beverage, usually made with berries for extra alcohol content) wine or ale may grant their boon. It is typical in villages to leave offerings out to any local wildfolk on the night of the new moon to maintain good relations and avoid their harassment.
Scimitar deer are said to be their livestock, herded and milked like cattle by the wildfolk but never eaten (most traditions hold that they eat no meat at all). Wildfolk themselves have the ability to shapeshift into deer (in some traditions, recognizable by retaining human eyes in deer form), and spend most of their lives in this form, only taking human form at night.
Their society is believed to be led by witches, powerful sorcerers who can influence weather patterns and shapeshift into any animal, most commonly taking the forms of eagles. Witches in particular are seen as highly dangerous (though not intrinsically malevolent), and areas believed to be inhabited by them are generally avoided. Exceptions are made in times of trouble, when offerings of grain and fine wine are left to plead for their boon. Exceptions are also often made by rowdy teenagers, trespassing on a witch's territory as a dare.
One tale describes a king of ancient Ephennos who, while on campaign, abducted the young and beautiful daughter of the famed wildwoman witch Bernike to take as his wife. In revenge, Bernike transformed him into a gazelle, and he was (unknowingly) hunted, killed, and eaten by his own men. The butchered carcass reverted to that of a human by the next morning, and the men committed suicide or were driven mad in the face of their cannibalistic transgression. Their restless spirits are said to still haunt Bernike's pass, while the ghostly gazelle-king is her personal mount.
Livestock raiding is of cultural significance in the region, and raid tales are another key part of the wildfolk mythos. These tend to involve a wily hero who steals a wildman’s deer herd, and manages to keep his prize and avoid being cursed by outsmarting the spirit's trickery. Once his, the deer provide milk that extends the lifespan (the folk hero Kulyos is said to have lived for 200 years), and plow fields with tremendous speeds without tiring. The native-bred khait stock of this region is said to have been hybridized with Kulyos' stolen deer, which affords these khait their hardy, surefooted nature and pointed horns.
The other common theme in folklore is a wildfolk youth as a bride or groom. Mortals with supernatural grooms are luckier, as the child is usually deemed fully human but has the blessing and protection of their supernatural sire (who inevitably transforms into a deer and leaves). Tales of marriage to a wildwoman usually end in the bride becoming restless and lonely, and transforming both herself and her child into a deer and fleeing back into the hills. Both bride and groom tales sometimes end with the wildman spouse returning to their human lover on certain nights, or meeting again at certain times of the year (usually new moons or midsummer).
These variants often involve elements where the returning supernatural spouse has developed their beard and rugged appearance, being almost unrecognizable from the beautiful youth that was wed. (Well kept beards are considered handsome, but the beards of wildmen are seen as humorously long and unkempt). Comedic versions of the tale involve the returning spouse being insulted by their human lover’s lack of enthusiasm for their appearance and laying a (usually humorous) curse on them. More romanticized tales involve the human spouse so overcome by their love that they are unbothered, and they often live a long life with the boon of their supernatural lover and child.
An example of such a tale under the cut:
A highly romanticized, 'uh' and projection-laden version of the wildwoman bride folktale as orally recited by Brakul, probably at least a little drunk:
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“So, there is this young herder. He’s a man grown but still unmarried, so he’s still tending his mother’s cattle. He has them out to pasture high into the mountains, right? He's from a lesser clan, so most of their land is poor grazing. His cattle are so skinny and sickly that no one's going to the effort of stealing them. So it's not worth sending any warriors along, and he will be up there all alone for many weeks.
Every day he is very bored. Very lonely. And every night he starts to see a herd of deer moving among his cattle. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen them, they are mostly like gazelles? But bigger, and the males have one horn.
Anyway, the deer are up in his pastures, and there is not a lot of grass to go around, but he knows not to chase them off. Deer all belong to the wildfolk, yeah? You let them do their thing if you know what’s good for you.
Obviously there is a wildman or woman living on this mountain, so each night he leaves some of his murre- um. Is that a word here? It’s fermented milk and fruit, like ale. Wildfolk love it. He leaves some murre out in a cup just outside his camp each evening, and the cup is empty each morning.
So, yeah, the deer come every night, but they all keep their distance. They're very scared of humans, right? They keep well away. Except for this one doe. This doe walks right up to him. Every night she walks up to him, just out of arms reach. No fear. And this is a beautiful, fierce animal, so he becomes quite fond of her.
Anyway, there is many days of this. The herder moves the cattle around, and at night the deer come to graze, the doe comes to meet him, so on and so forth. His cattle are growing huge and fat and have plenty of milk, even with the terrible forage. He suspects the wildfolk of these hills have given him their blessing. So, things are looking pretty good for him, but he’s still quite lonely.
One night, it’s the new moon. Very dark. And it’s very cold up there. He is sitting at his fire, all wrapped in his blankets, you know, shivering and miserable. And he sees the deer herd making their way towards him, but something is different. There is a girl with them. And she’s completely naked. So, uh, you know, why is she naked? Isn’t she cold? No shoes, even. It’s crazy.
And this girl would’ve been walking for days to get up there, but there is no dirt, no cuts on her feet. And she's strange looking too, she's very short and has long, dark hair, and big, dark eyes. But the thing is, uh, she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. She's so beautiful, she frightens him.
She comes up by the fire and sits right down next to him. I think he’s probably going, uh, are you okay? And he’s trying to give her his blanket or something, but she laughs at him. She’s just fine. Better off than he is.
So they talk, and he shares his food with her. And this guy is not stupid, so yeah, he figures out that this is a wildwoman, this is probably the same doe that had been visiting him. So he’s careful and polite with the strange, lovely girl. But he is not too careful to fall in love with her. Which, uh. He does. Immediately, I guess.
She visits every night from then on, and I think they probably have a lot to talk about. A lot to learn from each other, right? She really likes him too. She is a powerful wild spirit, but she’s still young, and has feelings just like any other youth. She’s fallen in love with this human too. Wildfolk are probably just as lonely as herders, I think. Just up there on the- the hills. Not a lot going on up there.
So. She’s there each night for the rest of the season, and they are, uh, having sex a lot too. You have to pass the time up there somehow. You know how it goes.
And finally, the day comes that he has to take the cattle back down the mountain. Soon it will be too cold, and the grazing too poor to stay. He doesn’t want to leave her behind, and she doesn’t want him to go. And she could just turn him into a stag and keep him there forever, but she would never do that to him. She truly cares for him. So she agrees to leave her mountain home and go back with him.
So he dresses her in his cloak, because she’s been naked this whole time and that, uh, doesn’t fly. And they descend to the village. He went up alone with a skinny, sickly herd, and came back with fat cattle and the most beautiful girl anyone has ever seen.
He lies and says he found her as a stranded traveler. Some people probably have their suspicions, but if they have suspicions of her nature, they, y’know, also know better than to cross her.
The herder and the wildwoman marry, and she realizes that she is pregnant soon after. It’s probably scary for both of them, but, uh. They’re both very happy. For a while.
But he’s a young man, so. When he is not out herding he has to protect the village livestock, and go out on raids. So he is often away from home. And she often finds herself alone. She does not fit in well with the villagers, right? Many of the men covet her, many of the women are jealous of her, and all are a little afraid of her. She’s very lonely, and misses her deer and her hills. At night, she sneaks out naked and roams the foothills, calling out to her herd, but they are too far away.
Months pass this way, and she is close to term. The herder desperately wants to be with her for the birth, but he is called away. They, uh-. The stories don’t usually elaborate why. He’s probably oathbound to protect his ruling clan’s khait, that sort of thing comes up a lot during the foaling season. You get- people always try to steal the foals as a, uh, political statement. It’s a whole thing.
Anyway, all he can think of is his wife and child, and he hurries back as soon as he can. His mother is waiting for him upon his return, and tells him that his wife gave birth in the night. Both new mother and child are safe and healthy, and the herder is now the father of a little boy.
He's sad to have missed it, but mostly just relieved that everything went alright. So he rushes to his home, all excited. But the house is empty. His wife and newborn are nowhere to be found, and the wildwoman’s clothes are shed in a pile beside the open door. There are prints leading away from the home, and he follows them as fast as he can. He’s running with all his might, you know, calling out for her, 'hey, come back'. He gets to the foothills, and looks up to the top of a great ridge. The doe is standing there next to a newborn fawn, all shaky on its little legs. He begs her not to leave, but she turns and runs away. By the time he gets up the ridge, both mother and child are long gone.
The herder has nothing else to do but go back to his old life. He is heartbroken. He did not realize she was so unhappy in the village, he was such a fool. He should have known better.
And he also should have long since been wed at his age, and is now, uh, kind of maybe divorced? His mother hates to see him sad, so she finds him many fine matches, all lovely young women. But he refuses them all. Probably causes all sorts of drama, it’s- uh. That sort of thing gets ugly.
So, after a while of this, the herder's friends and family pity him. They’re annoyed with him, really. They’ve figured it all out by now, and they just think he’s insane. He should feel lucky that he came away from a tryst with a wildwoman unharmed, right? It was never going to work. He should just move on. But he can’t. He doesn't want anyone else. He wants her, and he wants his son. He is so depressed that he falls ill, and can’t go up to pasture that summer. Everyone is just all, 'gods above this guy is so fucking useless', haha.
Um. It’s funny.
The next year, the herder is still depressed, but he's put himself together, a little. So he is back up in the mountain pasture again that summer. Days go by, but there is no sign of the deer herd, much less of his wife or child. He has never felt more alone.
Then, on the night of the new moon, he is awoken by the sound of hooves on rock. He cannot believe his eyes. The doe is back, and with her a strong young buck, just beginning to grow his first antler. The herder is overjoyed, he runs up to greet them. Both doe and buck change shape, and before him stands the wildwoman and a young boy. His bride is older now, so she has started to grow her beard and is much less beautiful. But he doesn’t care. He embraces her, and holds his little son for the very first time.
Uh, the herder can barely speak. He’s sobbing, he’s a mess. The wildwoman tells him she regrets leaving like that, and she's missed him too. But she needs the hills, she needs her herd. She can never be happy in his world.
They come to an agreement that night. They will have to spend most of their life apart, there’s no way around it. But they will meet again every summer, up in the mountain pastures. And their son is both human and wildfolk, so, maybe he can be happy in both worlds? They agree to hand him off year after year. The child will spend half of his life in the village with the humans and his father, and half of his life in the hills with the deer and his mother.
So, the family spends that summer together, and when the time comes to part, the herder returns to the village with his son. The child is rather eccentric. He's only a toddler, but can already run like a deer. He takes a long time to learn to speak. And he hates clothes. His father eventually gets him to stay dressed, but the kid never wears any shoes. His little feet are strong. Like, uh. Hooves.
Anyway, yeah, the herder misses his wife every day, and dreads each year that he will be apart from his son. But he can live with it. He knows he will see them both again.
And that’s how he spends the rest of his days. His son stays with his human father one year, and with his wildwoman mother the next, and all three meet together during the summer. It’s not a normal life for a herdsman by any means. He has no wife in the village to run his home and manage his livestock, and his son is often away, and-. Usually there’s a bit here where the kid grows up and has babies with, um, normal deer. So the herder doesn’t exactly have grandchildren either.
So, yeah. He lives a strange life, and he leaves no heirs behind, but he would not be happy any other way. Uh. That’s it.”
