Fingal Eadgils
Appears Human
A dullahan? Hrrm. Which kind?
Ah.
That kind. Born of blood an spirit. Of bodies tossed together in a grave for the dead and dying. Upon the ley lines with a single burning desire, crying out to every god and powerful being in a desperate plea. For a single wish that outshines even the stars with the final thoughts of some repsite from their woe.
A miserable existence that one.
That kind can never know peace. They have no true place in the world, and none would have them in any true way. For their kind are a blasphemous concoction of fae magick and twisted mortal spirit. Be it greed, loathing, or indulgence. Doesn't matter in the end.
Best you mind yourself walking in its presence. Only death dares to stand with them as equals.
Appearance
Bearing sharply pointed features as if cut from stone, the only softness present hides inside of his narrow eyes. With a brow typically found to be knit together in some continuing sense of perturbation. A clear contradiction of the sly grin that perpetually paints his face when greeting or speaking.
Clear cut lines of humor flank his grin, guiding the eye down to an equally sharp chin always decorated with long stubble as though the skin has never truly known a proper blade.
A spry and lean build as if made for something more than simple craft, the woodsman is easily recognizable from most by his towering height alone. Broad shoulders exaggerated with every swing of a felling axe, which rests easily inside the man's hands, capable of holding even the largest tankard without use of the handle.
Labor comes easily to the being known as Fingal.
Always in search of a place to ply his trade for a time, he brings with him a jovial aura, donning a smile as one might wear a piece of clothing. His hair is usually seen untied, but never unkempt. Allowed to both frame and hide his face as needed. The most notable feature is the permanent scar that is across his left eye, a thing always played off as a horrible accident rather than the strike of a nobleman's ring in a failed hunt.
Clear cut lines of humor flank his grin, guiding the eye down to an equally sharp chin always decorated with long stubble as though the skin has never truly known a proper blade.
A spry and lean build as if made for something more than simple craft, the woodsman is easily recognizable from most by his towering height alone. Broad shoulders exaggerated with every swing of a felling axe, which rests easily inside the man's hands, capable of holding even the largest tankard without use of the handle.
Labor comes easily to the being known as Fingal.
Always in search of a place to ply his trade for a time, he brings with him a jovial aura, donning a smile as one might wear a piece of clothing. His hair is usually seen untied, but never unkempt. Allowed to both frame and hide his face as needed. The most notable feature is the permanent scar that is across his left eye, a thing always played off as a horrible accident rather than the strike of a nobleman's ring in a failed hunt.
Skills and Abilities
Witching Hour - Fin's power is most potent in the darkest hours of the night. Coming into life beneath the full moon that commonly holds sway over the world rather than the celestial body responsible for blotting out the sun every four years.
Dark Hunger - Fingal can eat and drink just like any being, but it does not satisfy his sensation of hunger. Just as he was born of the flesh of mortals, the blood of the living is what sustains him. Unlike vampires however, it isn't simply restricted to the blood, as the entirety of a living being is a viable option.
Unlife - A curiosity of the ley lines and the unyielding spirit of mortals. Fin walks the fine line between undead and fae. Being both and neither simultaneously.
Tis but a Flesh Wound - Most Dullahan are known for their headless physique. Fin however retains his entire body, and while uncomfortable, does not perish from simply removing his head or limbs. All of which can be reattached via magick or regrown with both time and magick.
Similar but Other - Being born of both fae magick and mortal will, Fin bears a weakness that threatens his existence similar to fae. Remade from the flesh and blood of man however has changed his weaknesses from Iron to the ultimate undoing of mortals, Gold. As greed is their ultimate weakness, it is exaggerated by his fae magick connection to the world.
Wood Carving - A favored pastime when the work gets slow. A whittling knife present in the times when he is at rest or sitting silently. Often found working on intricate and often times delicate pieces in the depiction of different wildlife.
Dark Hunger - Fingal can eat and drink just like any being, but it does not satisfy his sensation of hunger. Just as he was born of the flesh of mortals, the blood of the living is what sustains him. Unlike vampires however, it isn't simply restricted to the blood, as the entirety of a living being is a viable option.
Unlife - A curiosity of the ley lines and the unyielding spirit of mortals. Fin walks the fine line between undead and fae. Being both and neither simultaneously.
Tis but a Flesh Wound - Most Dullahan are known for their headless physique. Fin however retains his entire body, and while uncomfortable, does not perish from simply removing his head or limbs. All of which can be reattached via magick or regrown with both time and magick.
Similar but Other - Being born of both fae magick and mortal will, Fin bears a weakness that threatens his existence similar to fae. Remade from the flesh and blood of man however has changed his weaknesses from Iron to the ultimate undoing of mortals, Gold. As greed is their ultimate weakness, it is exaggerated by his fae magick connection to the world.
Wood Carving - A favored pastime when the work gets slow. A whittling knife present in the times when he is at rest or sitting silently. Often found working on intricate and often times delicate pieces in the depiction of different wildlife.
Personality
Seldom few are able to delve beyond what Fin considers a surface level veneer.
Jovial and easy going, there is effort put into appearing as though he is an ambitionless buffoon. Nothing seems to truly trouble the man beyond a simple grunt of short lived irritation. Adapting to his surroundings with astonishing ease at times, even when thrown to the metaphorical wolves.
Aside from verbal jabs, there is seldom any mention of anyone seeing Fin going beyond that strange calm that seems to take hold of him when presented with a volatile situation. A quirk perhaps of an early life lesson in his staggering height and power. Whatever the reason, he never allows anyone to tread beyond the topical troubles of the day.
Beneath the façade exists a troubled being.
At odds with wanting a simpler life, and to enjoy the company of others. To make friends that go beyond the need to satiate a hunger that he cannot control if ignored. The threat of his existence to those around him leads to self-isolating behaviors and wariness around those who would linger in his presence. The fear of death however is a stronger thing than the want of peace, and continues to drive him further into isolating behaviors.
Jovial and easy going, there is effort put into appearing as though he is an ambitionless buffoon. Nothing seems to truly trouble the man beyond a simple grunt of short lived irritation. Adapting to his surroundings with astonishing ease at times, even when thrown to the metaphorical wolves.
Aside from verbal jabs, there is seldom any mention of anyone seeing Fin going beyond that strange calm that seems to take hold of him when presented with a volatile situation. A quirk perhaps of an early life lesson in his staggering height and power. Whatever the reason, he never allows anyone to tread beyond the topical troubles of the day.
Beneath the façade exists a troubled being.
At odds with wanting a simpler life, and to enjoy the company of others. To make friends that go beyond the need to satiate a hunger that he cannot control if ignored. The threat of his existence to those around him leads to self-isolating behaviors and wariness around those who would linger in his presence. The fear of death however is a stronger thing than the want of peace, and continues to drive him further into isolating behaviors.
Biography & Lore
Fin has concocted several different stories during his extended life among humans.
Once easily playing the part of a bumbling idiot that had been long abandoned to the Wilds with a head injury draped in little more than poorly tanned animal hides for clothing. It had been a welcoming experience that brought with it memories not his own. Remembering through another's eyes how daily life happened, and what was expected of the common folk as many called themselves. At least until his saviors and benefactors had passed and left many wondering what exactly had wandered into their little village.
Overstaying his welcome after beginning to realize what he truly was, and being chased out by a fear fueled mob as an omen, Fin had fled to wander the Wilds once more. Though far better prepared the second time around. He wandered for many years, testing his newfound abilities in different ways as he began to figure out the details of his deathless life.
And discovering a horrible detail about his diet that made his existence difficult among those he had learned to cherish.
Stumbling upon the final moments of a pitched battle between humans and a bear, he watched in silence from afar as the bear led those still able to fight away as a the tide turned with a lethal strike against the creature. Blood poured from the wound inflicted by a spear that had been pressed into the bears armpit, and left it squalling while limping away as quickly as it could manage.
All watched intently by the tall being hidden in the brush just out of sight beneath his collection of furs. His senses less and less his own as his rational mind found itself entranced at the sight of the fight as a predator might in the wild upon finding choice prey.
Mortal men lay on the ground, groaning and heaving air in their final moments as the few others among them broke away to finish the beast. Fingal drawing near enough to cast a shadow across one unfortunate soul as something within him stirred as he stared down. Meals had been less filling of late, even with how much he had attempted to hunt. The gnawing emptiness bore tight claws around his stomach as he stared down at the man clutching a gaping wound across his chest.
The man fearful once more at the towering figure, green eyes alight behind the makeshift hood of furs as others tried to holler and scare Fingal off. Not realizing it wasn't merely another predatory creature among them.
A long, dirt smeared hand extended and wrapped itself around the dying mans leg before dragging him away. The mortal giving his best to remain in place by clawing at the ground or kicking at the binding hand. The tightly wrapped furs not revealing anything about Fingal as the protests of dying men fell on deaf ears. The trail of blood short lived from the stolen mortal as Fingal lifted him to his shoulder, sprinting away before the other hunters could return. The primal hunger within him sated finally as his true senses came back to him.
He had truly felt other in that moment. His hunger having finally overridden his rational senses as he sat in silence, processing what this meant for and about himself. The struggle of remembering those that had welcomed him with open arms trusting blindly in a vicious battle against what he had learned about himself in that moment.
Unlike the bear, he wasn't some wild animal that hurt mortals out of fear and potential meal. He was the predator in the night that came for them. Would hunt them as they hunted the wild game of the woods.
He sat with himself for some time to process this new information. Not pleased that his desire to be among the mortals conflicted with his primal desire to devour them. He was other, and the realization that he would never truly be at peace among them solidified his idea of simply wandering rather than attempt to live peacefully. The world had already held a fear of the night, only made worse by the unknown things that lingered in the woods. And he was simply another addition to those frightful and terrifying things that existed in that dark.
The earliest memory that Fin remembers clearly, was the opening of his eyes to find the welcoming embrace of the dark. The feeling of being pressed on all sides by something unknown to him brought with it an urgency to move. To shift and break free of its hold.
But to where he did not know. Up was the only thing that remained clear. But which way was up? His senses swam for a time as he remained still, sorting through the feelings and sensations around him.
A gasp filled the silence, his first breath of air that carried the rot and other detritus into his being from all around him. Making him gag violently as his senses came to life in a burst of pain and confusion. His mind searching the swimming darkness that threatened to swallow him whole and return him to that quiet calm of nothing. The desire to push through that all encompassing unknown and be free growing as he lingered to sort out what was happening.
He tried to move, tried to shift and found himself stuck, or bound in place. Neither of which helped with the alarmingly strange sensations that took hold of his budding mind in that moment of effort.
A feeling of fear, loss, and a need not his own spurning him into motion as smaller extensions of himself pushed through the dark nothing all around him. A cold crept into his senses with each lunging and awkward swipe of what he came to recognize as a much larger extension of himself. Arms. His arms pressed against the strange blockades as he pushed in the direction he believed to be up. The way that made sense as another feeling began to creep in and take hold of him.
Those blockades in his path barring passage as they groaned and snapped against the strain of his vicious escape to be free. All too late to close his mouth as he breathed deep once more as his hands clawed at the loose soil, and another sensation filled him as that unknown dark filled his gasping mouth.
Something pressed into his mouth that registered in his mind and thoughts as disgusting. Tongue. Something had filled his mouth and it tasted... wrong. Had pressed against his tongue, bringing with it a strange, nauseating sensation as an unknown feeling began to sap his willpower and strength. A feeling as though he could devour endlessly without reprieve. He was hungry. But for what? What was hunger? What made that feeling go away?
Confused as to how he knew the words and sensations as his efforts yielded to the new information.
The earth around him shifting as more weight attempted to arrest his movement and keep him trapped beneath the strange unknown. Anxiety and fear reminding him to push onward and upward. To think later as his hands dug once more. Snapping through those unknown barriers with effort every time his arms propelled him forward. His legs kicking as his feet found purchase to help his escape. Each push finding pockets of cold that spilled open across him as he began to ascend.
Breaking more of those annoying barriers to see a pinprick of light well ahead of him. The effort up and out finding new purpose as he pushed with more effort. Digging with feverish intent as something inside him guided him onward with wordless promises of safety and freedom.
The pinpricks of light began to form a wide but dull beacon as though he were getting closer to that unknown goal. To something he knew at a baser level was needed to survive. To live on and bring with it more understanding of what surrounded him.
His efforts doubling in their speed at the realization, pushing down the questions this information brought with it. For all the effort he was putting forth, it felt like a losing battle as the space around him shifted in sudden and harsh ways. The snapped barriers poking and jabbing him as he felt tiny cuts all along his ascent. Not yet giving up as the urgency to live drove him onward and upward. To escape the cold clawing that seemed ever present on his heels as he climbed and pulled his way through.
All at once he felt something give with another push, the cool kiss of air on his skin causing gooseflesh to emerge.
Light began to flood into the carved tunnel behind his arm as a new feeling filled him. The tension in his whole body relaxed briefly as his mind tried to put a name to it. Enjoying the sensation of that cool breeze against his exposed hand. The world becoming slowly brighter as he lingered in place, staring up as little splotches of dark broke away from the wall to fall onto him.
The stink of rot never truly left, even with the opening before him. Worming his other limb towards the opening and making a desperate attempt to widen the gap and press himself through to finally be free. To be out of that dark unknown and get his bearings.
Eventually breaking through the find himself in a growing scenery of the sky as he broke through the ground, his hands pulling him upwards with a triumphant bellow of relief upon achieving that goal of rising upward. The burn of great effort settling into his limbs as he rested only halfway free of the his prison. A steadying breath as he found his hands pressing into the soil around him.
A strange sound drawing his attention away from the prepared effort to spy a strange bit of debris beside him.
That familiar clawing hold of something other wrapping itself around his spine as he turned the dirt over in his hand. An empty eye socket staring up at him as he held onto the dark soil, the beams of light present under the moonlight casting a strange tint over the coarse bone in his hand as he yelled and threw the piece away in disgusted surprise.
His gaze catching that same glimmering tint all around him now as his eyes adjusted to the dark further with more remains presenting themselves with each sweeping glance. His scream filled the air, his effort for freedom shifting from determination to fearful desperation to escape the lingering feeling of something other hanging over him.
The ravine filled with the lingering cold stink of death and rot as Fin began his life.
But to where he did not know. Up was the only thing that remained clear. But which way was up? His senses swam for a time as he remained still, sorting through the feelings and sensations around him.
A gasp filled the silence, his first breath of air that carried the rot and other detritus into his being from all around him. Making him gag violently as his senses came to life in a burst of pain and confusion. His mind searching the swimming darkness that threatened to swallow him whole and return him to that quiet calm of nothing. The desire to push through that all encompassing unknown and be free growing as he lingered to sort out what was happening.
He tried to move, tried to shift and found himself stuck, or bound in place. Neither of which helped with the alarmingly strange sensations that took hold of his budding mind in that moment of effort.
A feeling of fear, loss, and a need not his own spurning him into motion as smaller extensions of himself pushed through the dark nothing all around him. A cold crept into his senses with each lunging and awkward swipe of what he came to recognize as a much larger extension of himself. Arms. His arms pressed against the strange blockades as he pushed in the direction he believed to be up. The way that made sense as another feeling began to creep in and take hold of him.
Those blockades in his path barring passage as they groaned and snapped against the strain of his vicious escape to be free. All too late to close his mouth as he breathed deep once more as his hands clawed at the loose soil, and another sensation filled him as that unknown dark filled his gasping mouth.
Something pressed into his mouth that registered in his mind and thoughts as disgusting. Tongue. Something had filled his mouth and it tasted... wrong. Had pressed against his tongue, bringing with it a strange, nauseating sensation as an unknown feeling began to sap his willpower and strength. A feeling as though he could devour endlessly without reprieve. He was hungry. But for what? What was hunger? What made that feeling go away?
Confused as to how he knew the words and sensations as his efforts yielded to the new information.
The earth around him shifting as more weight attempted to arrest his movement and keep him trapped beneath the strange unknown. Anxiety and fear reminding him to push onward and upward. To think later as his hands dug once more. Snapping through those unknown barriers with effort every time his arms propelled him forward. His legs kicking as his feet found purchase to help his escape. Each push finding pockets of cold that spilled open across him as he began to ascend.
Breaking more of those annoying barriers to see a pinprick of light well ahead of him. The effort up and out finding new purpose as he pushed with more effort. Digging with feverish intent as something inside him guided him onward with wordless promises of safety and freedom.
The pinpricks of light began to form a wide but dull beacon as though he were getting closer to that unknown goal. To something he knew at a baser level was needed to survive. To live on and bring with it more understanding of what surrounded him.
His efforts doubling in their speed at the realization, pushing down the questions this information brought with it. For all the effort he was putting forth, it felt like a losing battle as the space around him shifted in sudden and harsh ways. The snapped barriers poking and jabbing him as he felt tiny cuts all along his ascent. Not yet giving up as the urgency to live drove him onward and upward. To escape the cold clawing that seemed ever present on his heels as he climbed and pulled his way through.
All at once he felt something give with another push, the cool kiss of air on his skin causing gooseflesh to emerge.
Light began to flood into the carved tunnel behind his arm as a new feeling filled him. The tension in his whole body relaxed briefly as his mind tried to put a name to it. Enjoying the sensation of that cool breeze against his exposed hand. The world becoming slowly brighter as he lingered in place, staring up as little splotches of dark broke away from the wall to fall onto him.
The stink of rot never truly left, even with the opening before him. Worming his other limb towards the opening and making a desperate attempt to widen the gap and press himself through to finally be free. To be out of that dark unknown and get his bearings.
Eventually breaking through the find himself in a growing scenery of the sky as he broke through the ground, his hands pulling him upwards with a triumphant bellow of relief upon achieving that goal of rising upward. The burn of great effort settling into his limbs as he rested only halfway free of the his prison. A steadying breath as he found his hands pressing into the soil around him.
A strange sound drawing his attention away from the prepared effort to spy a strange bit of debris beside him.
That familiar clawing hold of something other wrapping itself around his spine as he turned the dirt over in his hand. An empty eye socket staring up at him as he held onto the dark soil, the beams of light present under the moonlight casting a strange tint over the coarse bone in his hand as he yelled and threw the piece away in disgusted surprise.
His gaze catching that same glimmering tint all around him now as his eyes adjusted to the dark further with more remains presenting themselves with each sweeping glance. His scream filled the air, his effort for freedom shifting from determination to fearful desperation to escape the lingering feeling of something other hanging over him.
The ravine filled with the lingering cold stink of death and rot as Fin began his life.