The Tale of Tuath and the Three Daughters:
Tuath’s fifth wife, Lillith, was very fair and had hair as beautiful as moonlight on water. She bore Tuath three equally fair daughters named Tua’dorne, Tua’lathe, and Tua’bithe. Tuath loved them, but not as much as he loved himself. One day Tuath gathered his daughters around him and asked, “Which of you loves me best?” Each swore that she was the one who loved him best. “Prove your love to me,” Tuath told them. “Go forth from here on the last day of summer, and do not return again to me until you have found a gift worthy of your love for me. Whoever loves me best shall have my blessing and her heart’s desire.”
The first daughter, Tua’dorne, set out among the mountains. She searched the dwarven holds and markets for a worthy gift, but she found nothing. After many months, she came upon the Reultar Searach sitting under a tree, but he had disguised himself as a burly and armored dwarf. He was drinking from the most beautiful silver chalice that Tua’dorne had ever seen. At once she coveted it. “I am Tua’dorne, daughter of Tuath,” she said to him, “and as is my birthright to claim that which is required of Tuath, so I claim this chalice from you.” Searach replied, “It will not be so, for I have fashioned this chalice with my own hands and it is mine; I will not render it unto you.” Tua’dorne departed, and when she returned she came with food and drink, and pretended at friendliness and humility. When Searach’s belly was full, he fell asleep under the tree. Tua’dorne stole the chalice away while he slept. Because she feared tarnishing the silver with her fingertips, she wrapped it in linen cloths and kept it safe in her bag.
However, Tua’dorne was unaware that Searach had known she would steal the chalice, and had laid a spell upon the chalice.
The second daughter, Tua’lathe, set out among the valleys. For many months she wandered, finding no worthy gift, until she came to a spring that was the heart of a river. Beneath the waters came a strange gleam. Tua’lathe strode into the spring, and with all her strength unearthed shining green gems around the spring, heavy and potent with magic. “These are a worthy gift for my father,” she said, and she gathered the best to take back to him.
The third daughter, Tua’bithe, set out among the forests and the shores. In her second month of searching she met a huntsman and his wife, who had hung outside their homes the loveliest fur pelts she had ever seen. The finest was pure white, and soft, magnificent to behold. “What can I trade you for this pelt?” she asked. The huntsman replied, “I would not sell it for the world.” “I ask not for myself, but for one I love,” said Tua’bithe, “and I will do anything you ask.” The huntsman was moved by her earnestness, but he did not want to exchange the pelt, so he said, “toil for me until years’end, and the pelt is yours.” “I will toil for you,” Tua’bithe said.
For the remainder of the year the huntsman and his wife set Tua’bithe tasks. She worked the land, she cared for the livestock, she cooked and cleaned and laundered. Tua’bithe’s fine clothes became worn and dirty. Her fair skin became calloused, her beautiful hair unkempt, and her hands and feet blistered, but she never complained. The huntsman and his wife were weakened in resolve, and began to consider her as a companion, and she them. At the end of a year, the huntsman gave Tua’bithe the pelt willingly.
As Tua’bithe took the pelt and headed home, she realized that she would not reach home in time. In her haste, the forest began to take a toll on the pelt: the fur became matted, the skins became dirty, and the odor of wood and dirt clung to the pelt.
Tua’dorne returned home the day before the years’ end. Tua’lathe returned one year to the day. And Tua’bithe, the youngest daughter, arrived home a day late.
When all three had returned, Tuath gathered them around him and demanded they present the gifts. “Father, see how much I love thee,” said Tua’dorne. She unwrapped the chalice before him, and Tuath coveted it greatly, and he was well pleased. “Father, see how much I love thee,” said Tua’lathe. She unwrapped the gleaming gems, and Tuath was pleased by them. “Father,” said Tua’bithe, “for your gift I toiled for ten months; I labored in earth and hearth to bring you the best pelt of the forest.” She laid the pelt before him, and Tuath was angry.
“You are Tua’bithe, daughter of the great Tuath, and you permitted yourself to labor like an animal for this mangy pelt? You shame yourself and you shame me, you are no daughter of mine,” said Tuath, “take your pelt, and go with this curse: that you shall never be parted from it, and when the moon is full you WILL be akin to an animal, and those love you will become akin to animals, and this will always be your shame!” As he spoke he cursed her. Tua’bithe fled as the curse came over her, and her screams rang out in the halls until they turned to distant howling.
“Tua’dorne, your love is pleasing to me, and so I will give you a gift,” said Tuath. As he plucked the chalice from the linens, the spell that Searach had laid on it came over him and struck out at the heart of him, his magic. Tuath shouted. As he flung out his arms his other hand fell upon the gems, which shone so brightly and suddenly none there could see anything, and then Tuath flung both the chalice and the gemstones away from himself.
“Foolish daughter!” Tuath shouted. “This might have been the end of all of us!”
“I’m sorry, father, I didn’t know!” Tua’dorne cried.
“I promised you a gift,” said Tuath, “and this is it: your sister’s curse will be your gift. You will always know who you are, but you will never be able to return home until the bloodline is cured: your sister and her offspring must be wiped from the realm.” Tua’dorne was thrown from the castle that hour, and Tua’lathe won her heart’s desire, but would never see her sisters again.
The dwarves believe the children of Tuath are all like him, full of wrath and pride, ready to sacrifice their mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, rather than let themselves be humbled. The children of Tua’dorne are thieves and bullies, and the dwarves have never forgotten.
The wandering folk say Tuath, though he was loved by his daughters, was a terrible father who pitted his daughters against each other. This is their sorrow – that they hunt the feral werewolves forever, and they can never go home. This is their sorrow – that they no longer want to. They have no homes, except in each other.
And the Tieflings know that those who are not clever enough, or not careful enough, are not worthy…but is being worthy really what is most important?