When the veil between the mortal and fey realms thins during the dying light of autumn, strange things stir in the fields. A scarecrow, meant only to ward off crows, suddenly twitches. The wooden joints creak, straw rustles, and the hollow gourd atop its shoulders flickers to life with eerie green fire. Thus, a Harvestfolk is born—an animated husk given sentience by wild Fey magic, or perhaps by something darker that slipped through the cracks between worlds.

No two Harvestfolk awaken for the same reason. Some are created by sorrowful Dryads seeking guardians, others by forgotten rituals, and a few simply happen—a cruel joke of the season’s dying magic. But all awaken hollow, their carved pumpkin faces forever grinning or grimacing, and within their hollow chests burns an ache they cannot name.

Appearance

A Harvestfolk’s body is a patchwork of wooden limbs, twisted straw, and stitched cloth, all bound together with twine, old rope, or rusted nails. Most wear a carved pumpkin as their head—each design unique, some crude and smiling, others jagged and monstrous. Inside, a green flame burns like a will-o’-wisp, glowing brighter with emotion or when feeding on life essence.

Over time, their bodies change—those who walk the path of decay rot and blacken, while those who learn to nurture others grow moss, flowers, or even small roots through their straw.

Personality and Purpose

The Harvestfolk are driven by one thing: the void within. They awaken with no past, no warmth, no heartbeat—only the instinct that something vital is missing. Many begin kind, curious, and confused, seeking companionship or meaning. But rejection and fear from mortals often twist that yearning into desperation.

When they discover that draining the life essence of others can momentarily quiet their emptiness, temptation grows. Some Harvestfolk hunt criminals or beasts to justify their hunger; others lose themselves entirely, becoming feral harvest wraiths that stalk the countryside.

Yet not all fall to darkness. A rare few channel their hunger into purpose, joining adventuring parties or serving as protectors of farmlands, using their powers to reap evil instead of life.

Culture and Behavior

Harvestfolk have no true homeland, though they often linger near abandoned farms, old shrines, or forgotten crossroads—places steeped in lingering fey magic. Some form small, hidden communes where they attempt to recreate a sense of belonging, crafting mock festivals and rituals to imitate the living.

They have strange beliefs about “the harvest of souls”—seeing life and death as parts of a cosmic cycle where every reaping must be balanced by a planting. Some pray to the Autumn Queen, a mysterious fey figure who may be the one who gave them form.

Adventurers and Outcasts

A Harvestfolk adventurer is an eerie sight—a scarecrow carrying a lantern lit with its own inner fire, walking side by side with mortals who flinch at its glow. They fight to prove that they can be more than monsters, wielding fear and darkness as tools of justice.

But when the nights grow long and the air smells of rot and old hay, even the bravest Harvestfolk feels the hunger rise again. And in that quiet moment, the green fire flickers—caught between light and shadow, good and hunger.

Common Saying

“The field remembers every seed… and every scream that watered it.”