w o l f
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Dullahan information
m o t h e r Mary Anne Howard ✞
f a t h e r Arthur Jace Howard ✞
c r e a t o r He's forgotten
d u l l a h a n - c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s
Missing head; wolf mask on instead;
the eyes of his severed head are white.
Metabolically similar to humans, a Dullahan is closely associated with supernatural myths; most notably with those connected to death and the afterlife. Most of those are really nothing but myths. Though rumoured to be 'heralds' of death, who accompany souls into the afterlife (a belief fuelled by the regular appearance of a dullahan close to the place where one eventually dies), these creatures do not make death lighter - contrarily, they are the ones to grant it.
The Dullahan is obliged to fullfil the wishes of the person who has its head. Often Dullahans are set to kill, like Wolf is. They are imprevious to wounds in dullahan form, but not to decapitation.
-Dullahan possess the same basic anatomy as a human baring the removable skull. However, they have some traits that give them an otherworldly appearance such as deathly pale skin even with their head attached, inhumanly pale and bloodshot eyes. Constant hemmorhaging is a regular occurence in both the headless and the non-headless form of the dullahan.
- Daire, upon being turned into a dullahan via head removal after death, returns back to life at times when his head is attached. This is not similar to ressurection or necromantic revival, as only the body is brought back to its former functions, whilst the mind has to learn and remember everything anew. Physically, Daire with his head on exhibits the ability to perform a wide range of muscle memory actions, but has no recollection of his past and often cannot speak at first.
- As their head attaches and detaches at the neck it is mostly the place where necromantic magic is most likely to be centered - once the head is removed, the point of detachment emits a faintly visible dark aura, which is the magic necessary to attach the head again. To prevent the magic from expiring, dullahans often are obligated to wear some sort of container over their neck instead of a head, so it would contain the life-saving magic. Daire's statement in the early stages of his Dullahan form was a Halloween-esque carved pumpkin, which added to the Headless Horseman legends. His creator had a sense of humor, clearly...
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He's a colossus, both in height and weight. He's made up of wired muscle, his well-build body accentuated by a proper posture, which makes all aspects of his chiseled physique stand out. The pretty arrangement of musculature is hidden behind concealing clothes. His skin is light, judging from what little patches of it he shows that aren't covered in leather. He's dressed properly, body clad in a black T-shirt, a gray bloodied hoodie over it and ripped jeans. Leather gloves that encompass his entire fingers but bear holes at the knuckles. His jacket has a hood that is constantly drawn up and the male wears a metal wolf mask covering his entire face and head to hide the rest of him. The muzzle is long and the eyes are small, and the mask goes around as well, encompassing his entire head. The eyes holes don't show his eyes, however. They're pitch black and relatively small instead.
Personality: One would almost think he's mute. He doesn't talk whatsoever, but always finds alternative ways to communicate with people, showing himself as a decent being despite his ghastly appearance and the colossus-like physique he has, as well as the job he is bound to do. Quite emotionless otherwise. When given a task his actions are linear and orderly with a sole purpose of completing that task - he forsakes those emotions in exchange for completing his task. He acts differently in his two separate forms. As a dullahan he's dull and emotionless, but once his head is back in place, he adopts an entirely different attitude. Upon his 'awakening' back to life, he acts very stunted and mentally slow, often unaware of his surroundings and unresponsive/incapable of verbal communication. It takes him a while to regain basic motor and mental functions (not awfully long, a few hours suffice) and until then he may seem and act like a toddler - responds to affectionate gestures and may grow a brief attachment to the person offering them. Even after regaining verbal and motor capabilities, he remains phlegmatic and obnoxiously calm. Seemingly uncapable of getting roused - he doesn't respond or exhibit more passionate fiery emotions like extreme happiness or sadness, anger, etc. He rather sticks to a more relaxed and stiff demeanour. A homebody - while his dullahan form is the epitome of adrenaline experience, Daire in his human form trades that for reading or more menial tasks. -
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Background
Let me tell you a story...
Once upon a time, there was a little prince. He wasn't royalty, per say, but his father was very wealthy and his nannies always told him bedtime stories where he was a little prince, so he believed he was one very much. He wasn't like the storytale princes, for knights in shining armours were suave and kind, while the little prince was very cruel. He was quite like his father. They lived in a far-away village where they were the wealthiest, most aristocratic family and the little prince grew up in luxury and riches. His father was a hunter and he loved collecting animal pelts in his home. The little prince really loved the wolf furs in particular. He grew up listening to tales of the wolves in the forests near his village and took pride in knowing his father had killed so many Big Bad Wolves.
I'm Big Bad Wolf, You're little pig
You're very small, I'm very big
But now I've got you in my pot
The water's getting very hot
I'll cook you up and make a stew
Why, that's an awful thing to do
The little boy wailed in fright and scuttled away crying as his bigger brother sung the end of the short tune, advancing towards him draped in wolf's fur, the furry head sitting atop his morbidly. Yes, the little prince was really quite cruel - he loved draping himself in wolf's fur and scaring his younger brother - the littler prince - who was very easy to frighten. The opposite of his brother who was egoistic and stupidly brave. The two brothers grew up spoiled rotten and adopted the attitude of their father - they became skittish, arrogant and self-entitled.
The older brother - the prince, though not so little anymore - grew infamous in the village for his harshness and mercilessness. He treated his servants and those below him like he treated his hunting prey.
And oh, how he loved to hunt. He was a blood-thirsty little boy and now he had become a blood-thirsty man. He craved power and what bigger power than the power to take a life? He punished his maids and servants but did not harm them severely. His bloodlust he expressed in the woods with a hunting rifle and a carving knife. So much so that he earned himself the title Prince Wolf, for her paraded around with a wolf's fur in cold winters and his bedroom's wall bore an array of trophy wolf skulls.
Their poor mother, the fourth wife of their father at the time, wished to raise her sons to be kind like her, but her husband did not allow her, for she was of a poor background and he had taken her only for her beauty. He didn't want to grow old with her, as he hadn't wanted to keep any of his other wives past their prime. The prince had even encountered one of his father's first wives - an elderly woman he kept under lock and key in the servant's chambers of their home, like a prisoner. The elderly woman had a family of her own and children, though they were not children of the prince's father. The prince had been warned many times not to dwell around this woman - she was a witch, some said, others believed her to be the devil's accomplice. She was the only wife the man had left alive. All the previous Ladies of the house had met with unexplainable deaths and the little prince's mother soon followed. Choked on her dinner or perhaps fell down the stairs - petty details, really, all that mattered was that she was dead and the two princes were not allowed to mourn. Thus, they learned not to care anymore, and the little prince's cruelty grew.
The little prince's father usually did not stay wifeless for long and soon he had his sights set on another woman. She wasn't quite a woman. A girl, rather, but she was heavenly beautiful nonetheless. The prince's father could not rest without having her, but the girl's parents refused him however many times he had asked for her hand. How dare they!
Did they not know that if his son was a little prince, then he was a king?
Sickness had befallen the king's mind long ago and, like his young children pretended to be princes, the man pretended to be a king. And no peasant could say no to a king. In a moment of insanity, he ordered the death of the young girl's family. They persisted in their rejection, but the king couldn't have anything standing in the way of his new bride, for what he wanted, he always received. And so one night young Evangeline Cryer came home to a burning wreckage instead of a house and charred corpses instead of parents. Oh, how the poor girl cried as she discovered she had lost her parents.
And she cried when she was sent to an orphanage.
And she cried when she was bought by the king.
And she cried every night as the king left her bedchambers.
Poor little queen, the little prince thought as he saw her cheeks turn blue and purple with bruises and her lips bloom a brilliant swollen red. What a horrible fate she had come upon. He pitied her, yes, but this did not mean he was more merciful or gentler with her. He was a king's son and she - a mere peasant. He didn't wish to get close to her, for upon beginning work in the aristocratic house, she immediatelly grew close to the elderly woman, the first wife of the king, and she became her confidante. The prince disliked the elderly woman and began to resent the girl as she grew into a woman, preferring the old hag's company in front of company of men like the prince. The girl even referred to the elderly woman as 'Grandmother'. The prince resented them for having found solace in each other and went out of his way to bring harm upon them.
It is here that the tale starts.
Once upon a time there was a dear girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a little riding hood of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear anything else; so she was always called 'Little Red Riding Hood.'
One day Little Red Riding Hood went on a journey to her grandmother's house, for her grandmother was a witch and the Little Red Riding Hood was bringing her ingredients for a potion. The grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village, and just as Little Red Riding Hood entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red Riding Hood knew what a wicked creature he was, and was wary of him.
'Good day, Little Red Riding Hood,' said he.
'Thank you kindly, wolf.'
'Whither away so early, Little Red Riding Hood?'
'To my grandmother's.'
'What have you got in your apron?'
'Cake and wine; yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to have something good, to make her stronger.'
'Can I have a look?
'It's only cake and wine, dear wolf.'
'Let me see, Little Red.'
Little Red Riding Hood was forced to unearth the contents of her basket and the Wolf saw that there were ingredients for a potion there rather than food and drink.
'Where does your grandmother live, Little Red Riding Hood?'
'A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood; her house stands under the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below' replied Little Red Riding Hood.
The wolf thought to himself: 'What a deceitful young creature! What a lying little knave - she and her grandmother may be plotting something against the king. I must act craftily, so as to catch both.'
So he walked for a short time by the side of Little Red Riding Hood, and then he said: 'See, Little Red Riding Hood, how pretty the flowers are about here - why do you not look round? I believe, too, that you do not hear how sweetly the little birds are singing; you walk gravely while all is merry'
Little Red Riding Hood raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing here and there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere, she thought: 'Suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay; that would please her too.'
So she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood.
Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked at the door with guards tailing him.
'Who is there?'
'Little Red Riding Hood,' replied the wolf tauntingly 'I am bringing cake and wine; open the door.'
The elderly woman could tell it was not Red Hood's voice, but did not have time to react before her home was being barged into. The wolf lifted the latch on the door with his hunting knife, the door sprang open, and without saying a word the wolf and his guards walked in. The guards held great big dogs by their straining leashes and when they released them, the beasts pounced on the elderly woman. They tore into her savagely while the guards tore into her home. They trashed the witch's potions room as she scream at the dogs' attacks. Rip went the cosy house's curtains. Rip went the woman's skin.
Little Red Riding Hood, however, had been running about picking flowers, and when she had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she remembered her grandmother, and set out on the way to her.
She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she went into the room, she screamed in fright and sorrow at the sight she found there. Her grandmother was very hurt and her potions had been destroyed.
The little red riding hood wanted revenge. The wolf had been right to fear her and her grandmother's powers but by harming them he brought their anger upon himself. That very night as he returned from the woods, with yet another beastly wolf to make a wolf fur coat from, the wolf's dead carcass came back to life before his very eyes and ripped into his throat savagely like his dogs had ripped into the Grandmother's skin. It was a revenge and a proper death for the Big Bad Wolf.
But the young woman with the red hood was not done with him yet. She had got rid of him but the Wolf Prince's father still posed a problem for her - he was an abusive man and she needed protection for him so she thought to make herself a guardian - a creature under her control and answering only to her beck and call. The night of The Wolf Prince's funeral she dug him from his freshly made grave and, with his own hunting knife, cut off his head. What a handsome head it was now that it could not speak anymore. She intended to keep it that way. The rest of the corpse she enchanted with necromantic magic and then she left.
He rose from his grave not long after and went to chase the woman who had his head. He could not harm her, however, as he was under her control and could not deny her when she ordered him to fulfill a wish of hers - to kill the cruel man that held her. The Wolf Prince's father. The woman took the head of the most recently killed wolf that hung in the Prince's room and placed it upon his neck. Then she sent him off to kill.
And kill for her he did.
