The year is 2019. The month: July. It’s been exactly one year since the publication of The Harbinger’s Head… what better day than this to revisit the story behind the game and dig a little deeper into the mythology that inspired it?
As I’ve explained before, the idea for The Harbinger’s Head sprang from two main sources: Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” and the Celtic creatures found in traditional Irish folktales. (The anime Durarara also played an important part, but that is another tale for another time.) In short, I was inspired by Ireland, and all the fantastic fairy stories that have long been inextricably intertwined with Irish culture and entertainment
So, in celebration of its one year anniversary, let’s take a closer look today at the Celtic creatures featured in The Harbinger’s Head, and the stories they came from.
Celtic Creature #1: The Dullahan
“A demon in the shape of a tall, dark, and headless man, clad neck to toe in black. Its cloak swings back and forth behind it in the wake of its manic entrance, yet no rustling of cloth reaches your ears.”
Our titular headless harbinger is one of the most fearsome creatures of Irish folklore. The dullahan’s connections to Irving’s short story are obvious, but I drew a lot of inspiration for his character from various other sources as well. The picture my research painted was deliciously vague, and directly informed my decision to keep his morality in the game similarly ambiguous.
In Chapter II of The Harbinger’s Head, the player is granted the opportunity to learn more about the dullahan they encountered in Chapter I through researching local folklore. These in-game notes rely heavily, but not exclusively, on the traditional portrait–painted by stories like “Hanlon’s Mill” by T. Crofton Croker–of the dullahan as a headless harbinger of doom. In such stories, the dullahan is said to drive a black coach bearing a coffin and drawn by headless horses; sometimes he carries a whip fashioned from a human spine, and sometimes he keeps a basin of blood with him to be tossed in his victims’ faces. His origins, if they are discussed at all, are typically variations on two possibilities: one, that he was evil in life, a criminal beheaded for his crimes; or two, he is, and has always been, of fae nature
Two other sources of inspiration, however, helped flesh the dullahan out as something more than just a grim reaper without a head—these sources are referenced directly in Chapter II’s optional reading. One, Croker’s telling of “The Headless Horseman,” features a surprisingly chatty dullahan who seems rather more good-natured than the average headless horseman. In this story, the dullahan and his steed were once mortals who died when they broke their necks in a riding accident over a century ago
The other tale referenced is that of Hackelberg the Wild Huntsman, whose story I came across in German Legends of the Brothers Grimm. Another undead mortal, Hackelberg gave up eternal rest in heaven in order to keep hunting with his hounds, and those who hunt after hearing the ghostly sound of his hunting horn risk injury or death. (Many thanks to artist Kit Gentry, with whom I have never spoken but whose insights on Sleepy Hollow and headless horsemen helped point me in the right direction when I first began my own research.
There are actually quite a lot of headless harbingers out there, if you know where to look. Chapter II makes brief mention of Crom Cruach as well, the “Bloody Crooked Man”–er, god–associated with human sacrifice, but also (oddly enough) fertility, depending on which text you go looking for him in. But there are many other dullahan-like figures out there, both in Irish mythology–including the Hound of Ulster himself, Cú Chulainn, who was beheaded–and many other traditions as well. It seems we living folk have a bit of a preoccupation with the headless undead.
Celtic Creature #2: The Pooka
“With hooklike claws and gnashing teeth, it leaped out at you from the shadows, lunging for the bare, unprotected skin of your throat.”
The Irish pooka plays a relatively small role in The Harbinger’s Head, appearing only in the player character’s childhood memory related in Chapter I. The pooka’s true nature, like the pooka itself, is difficult to pin down–different tales seem to contain wildly different perspectives–but E.W.’s version of “The Pooka” gives a similar description to the hobgoblin seen in the game, referring to the creature as a hairy and malicious type of “Irish goblin.”
Celtic Creature #3: The Fear Dearg
“Sharp, jagged-edged fangs gleam white in the darkness as the three of them grin at you, and the tallest one beckons to you with one long, claw-like finger. ‘Come clossser,’ he whispers, and his voice is the voice of a man hanged at the gallows. ‘Come clossser and take your turn.’”
The fear dearg (AKA “far darrig,” or “Red Man”) is another of the creepier entries in old Irish lore. Said to wear a red coat and cap (red being a magical color in many traditional fairy tales), the fear darg is known for his especially dark sense of humor. His main source of entertainment seems to be playing gruesome jokes on his victims, as seen in Letitia Maclintock’s “Far Darrig in Donegal,” where a man comes upon four Red Men turning a corpse upon a spit. They invite the man to “take his turn,” and when he declines, they pursue him, appearing again and again no matter how far he flees until at last he is saved by the rising sun
The Red Men featured in The Harbinger’s Head draw heavily on these stories, but also bear physical resemblance to their (supposed) other name, “Rat Boys.” (I’ve only ever seen this referenced online, with no source material to back it up–but the image stuck with me, so I used it.)
Celtic Creature #4: The Clurichaun
“A fancifully-dressed male figure no taller than a short man’s shinbone, he’s perched atop of one of the kegs and wearing a Cheshire grin. Decked head to toe in miniature-sized red and white finery, his shoe buckles shine in the candlelight.”
The leprechaun, of course, is a staple of Irish folklore–and particularly, foreign interpretations of Irish folklore. So instead of the obvious, I decided to pay tribute in The Harbinger’s Head to the leprechaun’s lesser-known cousin, the clurichaun.
Similar to leprechauns, clurichauns are typically depicted as small, cheeky fellows who love to sing and chat almost as much as they love to drink, but can have nasty tempers and demand respect. According to Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, they are listed among the solitary fairies alongside the leprechaun, far darrig, dullahan, and others. In stories like Croker’s “The Haunted Cellar,” they are said to take up residence in wine cellars, protecting stock from would-be thieves in exchange for a small fee paid by the pint rather than the pound.
Celtic Creature #5: The Redheaded Man
“A big, burly, redheaded man nearly a head taller than the captain is making his way towards the pair of you. . . . After checking to see if you are unharmed, your good samaritan takes off after the captain, and you are left alone–and, by some mad stroke of luck, alive–in the alleyway.”
The mysterious redheaded man plays a minor—though potentially vital—role in The Harbinger’s Head, coming to the player’s aid only if he or she has enough luck to draw his help. His presence was inspired by my initial research for the game. I’d read somewhere that a mysterious redheaded male figure appeared in various folk tales and legends, often to bring luck or help to the hero of the story. I found him fascinating, and not just because I am a ginger myself. However, my research notes, like the man in the story, seem to have since vanished without a trace.
Celtic Creature #6: The Witches
“‘Long hair, black as a shadow, and cold blue eyes. Looking her too long in the eye felt like standing in a blizzard.’”
Maire and Sorcha Morgan, despite being human, are perhaps the most complicated “creatures” featured in the game due, in part, to the fact that their natures draw on multiple sources of inspiration. First, of course, are the witches of Irish mythology who, in stories like “The Witch Hare” (related by Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall), were said to be able to take the forms of animals such as rabbits, cats, or wolves
However, once upon a time, the Morgan sisters were known by a very different title: fairy doctors. Stories like “The Fairy Doctress” by Lady Wilde and “The Fairy Cure” by Patrick Kennedy portray fairy doctors as generally well-meaning healers who have unusual insight into the world of the fae and use their knowledge to help find natural remedies to unnatural problems or ailments caused by the fairies
And, of course, Sorcha is also one more thing: dead. In Ireland (and many other places besides), ghosts are traditionally depicted as spirits trapped between life and death. In Sorcha’s case, because she did not receive the viaticum before dying (and thus believed she could not pass on), her soul was trapped in a sort of otherworld limbo. When she escaped in order to come to Maire’s aid, she merely traded one transient existence for another by becoming a ghost.
Sorcha’s death, however, was inspired by one story in particular–a story relayed by Giraldus Cambrensis, AKA Gerald of Wales, in his 12th century work, Topographica Hibernica. In this story, a talking wolf approaches a priest and his traveling companion in the woods and asks for their help. The wolf claims that he and his wife are humans who have been cursed with beastly forms, and that his wife is dying and in need of her last rites. The priest is reluctant to help, only doing so when the male wolf reveals proof of his wife’s humanity by removing her wolf-skin to reveal her womanly form. (The Morgan sisters, unfortunately, fail where he succeeded—and thus the seeds of the The Harbinger’s Head plot are planted.)
Letting the Right One(s) In
For every legendary Celtic creature I was able to include in the final, published version of The Harbinger’s Head, there were probably a dozen that I considered but, ultimately, could not invite in to play with the others. (Not this time, at least.) Black dogs, vampires, joint-eaters, and doppelgangers were all among the candidates I took note of when conducting my initial research, and the merrows of Croker’s “The Soul Cages” very nearly had a chapter of their own before being cut halfway through the first draft.
Those special few Fair Folk that did make the cut were chosen, in the end, for fairly simple reasons. They made the most sense. They provided opportunities for interesting player-character interactions.
But most importantly, they were chosen because they chose me. They came a’knocking one late night, demanding to be let in—and I respectfully obliged.
