386: Slavic Folklore: Really, Really, Ridiculously Good-looking (part 1 of 2)

This week on Myths and Legends, we're in Slavic folklore and we'll learn that being really good looking can be both the cause of and solution to all of your problems always, and how you can get rich by getting drunk and tackling someone on the beach.

The creature this time just wants to dance with you until you die.

This is Myths and Legends, episode 386: Really, really ridiculously good looking.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore.

Some are incredibly popular stories you might think you know, but with surprising origins.

Others are tales that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen.

We're in Slavic folklore this week, and while I would like to be more specific than that, the story isn't really super specific.

It comes from a collection of folktales entitled Russian Garland of Fairy Tales, but it was put down to paper in a time when the Romanovs ruled the Russian Empire and the Russian Empire was so big that a translator playing fast and loose with the details could have accurately called Finnish and Alaskan folklore Russian folklore.

So we're going to stick with Slavic folklore because most of the story this week takes place in Armenia and also the Middle East, though that's not without its own inaccuracies as we'll see.

All that to say, it doesn't really matter.

Set in a world of warring kings, murderous princesses, and jacked centaurs, today's story begins with a king holding a familiar request and a princess with an unconventional response

So King Guidon what do we think?

King Kerbert held out his hands King Guidon had just left for his homelands after spending some time in the kingdom getting to know Princess Milatrisa.

Uh, he's horrible, Milatrisa crossed her arms.

Horribly rich, powerful, renowned, sorry, I don't think I caught the rest of that sentence.

Kirbet smiled.

No, you did.

There wasn't another part of that sentence.

Guidon was a pig.

A violent, nasty, brute of a man she could never love, Milatrisa stated.

Hopefully, pretty unambiguously.

Like when I'm trying to sell the family on a hike on vacation, Kerbet just forged on past the protests and legitimate criticism to frame something he knew his daughter would hate as a fun and exciting opportunity.

Look what our friend left.

An envelope flapped through the air in the throne room.

The king took out the message inside, written in Guidon's own hand, he might add, and he read it.

It was

a request for the princess's hand in marriage.

Such a nice, polite thing that he wrote.

So, once again, how do we feel?

Excited or ecstatic?

Let's go pick out dresses, right?

Let me read the message, Princess Milatrisa held out her hand.

The king laughed.

Why?

He just said exactly what was in it.

Then there should be no problem.

Give me the letter, dad.

Princess Milatrisa's hand remained outstretched.

The king sighed and tossed it toward the fire, but it only fluttered through the air because it was a single sheet of paper.

Milatrisa snatched it and read it and demanded?

He has demanded my hand?

She couldn't believe it.

The answer was no.

She would wait while her father sent the letter and she would carry it to the servants herself.

King Kerbit said, well,

no,

no, she wouldn't because, well, the letter had already gone out.

What?

It was a yes from me, Kerbet winced.

Look, honey, to refuse his request is impossible.

He would return with a large army.

He would storm our city and carry you off by force anyway.

King Kerbit shrugged.

His hands were kind of tied in this matter.

Not literally, but definitely literally if King Guidon sacked his city, which he would absolutely do if Milatrisa refused his proposal.

Milatrisa put her hand to her mouth and squinted, then backed down with a sigh, and then opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then back down.

Okay, but didn't her dad see that the kind of guy who was going to do such a thing was a terrible match for his daughter?

Not like King Dadon.

No, Kirbit pointed.

No, he did not want to hear about Dadon again.

I love him.

He's a reasonable man and a good king.

He's our neighbor.

We could stand as a united front against Guidon and

And

all die?

Kirbet finished the sentence.

That was how it would end.

He was sorry, but they all had their roles to play.

Hers, unfortunately, would be as a happy wife to a man she didn't like.

Oh I'm going to kill him.

Milatrice crossed her arms and looked off to the corner of the room.

Ooh, I I did not hear that, Kerbet nodded and pointed.

If you marry me to him, I'm going to straight up murder him.

He's terrifying to even look upon and to share a bed with him.

Princess Milatrisa shuddered.

This is on you, you know.

Milatrisa pointed to her dad.

You send a rabid dog to someone, you can't be surprised when they get rabies.

If he sent her to Guidon, knowing her intention to murder him, Kirbet was just as responsible as her.

Kirbet didn't think that particular moral logic tracked, but he didn't know enough to argue it.

Also, he wasn't hearing it.

He shoved his fingers back in his ears and yelled for his daughter to get ready.

She was leaving at the end of the month.

King Dadon looked at the envelope.

Huh?

Militrisa.

Hadn't seen her in four years?

Ever since she had been forced into marriage with King Guidon.

She hated that guy, as I remember from our last little tryst.

Lecharda, the servant, smiled.

Yeah, maybe.

Read the letter first.

King Dadon nearly spat his wine at the letter.

What?

Really?

Lecharda nodded.

Yes, really.

Dadon read it again, and then a third time.

Okay, so she wanted Dadon to take an army of 30,000 warriors and march up to her city, and she would deliver her husband?

One-to-one recapitulation of the entire letter, but yes, Lecharda said.

How do I know this isn't a trick?

Dadon asked.

Le Charda asked, What could possibly be the trick?

He marches up to a city, and Guidon isn't delivered to him.

He heads home.

Guidon is?

Hey, free city, and he gets to marry his first and only love.

So, Dadon left for the city of Anton, now Queen Milatrice's new home.

Hello, wife, King Guidon said.

Hi, Militrisa said, setting the bait right out there in the open.

Guidon stopped.

What?

Hi, Milatrisa smiled and continued on.

Guidon turned to follow, reaching out for her hand.

Okay, what's going on?

the king asked.

Nothing, dear.

Milatrisa smiled, and Guidan staggered back.

Now a term of endearment?

Who?

Who was she?

Milatrisa said she didn't know what her dear husband was talking about.

There it is again, Guidon pointed.

And she knew, their whole marriage, she had been nothing but terrible to him.

Every time they spoke, she threw in, at least, an, I hate you.

Sometimes, I'm going to murder you, or I love my old boyfriend and maybe I'll get him to come kill you and we'll rule together, and more frankly, creative and disturbing threats.

Milatrisa laughed.

What could she say?

When she arrived here, she was 15.

She was 19 now.

She had really matured.

Well, I am loving the new you, Guidon grinned.

Well, how about you show me how much you love me?

Milatrisa turned her head toward the bedroom.

Oh?

And how might I do that?

Guidan said, taking her into his arms and kissing the side of her neck.

A boar, she said.

The A what?

Guidun stopped a what was that?

Yeah.

I'm really hungry.

I'm craving boar meat, you know?

Milatrisa pulled away.

Uh

yeah, okay.

Bore meat.

Do we have boar meat on hand?

Nope, Milatrisa pointed to the window, but she just saw a big one go into the forest.

Big, juicy boar.

Mm.

If I go kill the boar, can we

Oh,

sure, yeah.

Fun, Milatrisa smiled.

And not ten minutes later, King Guidom was galloping across the drawbridge, and Milatrisa followed close behind, going to the guard by the chain.

Raise the drawbridge, the queen ordered.

Then the man jumped to attention.

Absolutely, but it was the middle of the day, and the king just left.

Didn't they want him inside the castle?

Isn't that what castles were for?

No, it's a fun joke.

I got him a present.

It's his birthday.

The queen pointed.

To the army, charging the king, who had spun the horse around and was now galloping back toward the castle.

He's always wanted this.

He'll love it.

The queen grinned as her most loyal servants came in, restraining the drawbridge operator.

He's always wanted to be murdered by an enemy army?

The operator managed before they fitted the gag.

He must have, the queen said.

He married me.

King Guidon was killed, stabbed from behind through an unarmored shirt, begging to be led into his own castle.

When the deed was done, the queen's men opened the city and she walked hand in bloody hand with King Dadon to the throne room.

She invited anyone loyal to the late king's memory and position safe passage to the throne room so she could hear their complaint.

She just didn't promise safe passage from the throne room.

Anyone foolish enough to speak out found themselves unable to say or do much of anything until they made it to Dadon's waiting army, who settled the matter permanently.

In one day, Queen Milatrice's coup was complete.

None remained who would challenge her.

Loudly, at least.

The regular people didn't care.

One king versus another was functionally equivalent.

The nobles who were paid from Guidan's hordes were also content.

It was only the loyalists, the ones who loved Guidan for reasons beyond money or position, who cared for the king because, in his moments of kindness, he had looked after and practically raised the son of an allied king.

Simbalta was appreciative to the point of obsessive, and he was also the tutor to Bova.

We'll see Bova's great escape, but that will be right after this.

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Bovo was the three-year-old Prince of Anton, and as he watched the hallways of the castle fly past him, hearing the shouts of looting and feasting in languages he he didn't understand, Simbalda held his hand tighter.

Soon, they were in the stables.

Bova didn't know what was happening as the young man lifted him atop a horse.

He thought it was fun, that they were all going for a ride.

Even with everyone shouting after the tutor and the child, the child only laughed, clapping to go faster, laughing, clapping.

and falling.

Little Bova, three years old, bounced and slipped from the horse.

Simbalda didn't know until his pursuer slowed, then scooped up the toddler, and looking behind him to the empty car seat, he raged.

Despite his willingness to whisk the prince off to safety away from the man who had just killed his father, Simbalda knew that going back was pointless.

Dadon had even more warriors riding to greet him, riders that would chase Simbalda over the next several days, until his castle gave him refuge, return with an army, and besiege his father's kingdom.

As for the child, though, he was crying in Dadon's arms, the arms still red with the blood of his father.

Kill him or I will, Dadon pointed to Bova.

sitting in the corner nursing his boo-boo and being a brave boy.

He's my son, Milatrisa said.

She couldn't and she wouldn't.

He's the son of Guidon.

He'll come for me if he's allowed to grow up, Dadon shouted, and then took a deep breath.

The child must die.

And he will, but not yet.

I can't kill it.

He's three years old.

He's innocent.

Milatrisa hung her head.

Fine.

He'll live in the dungeon, Dadon decreed.

If Milatrisa had a problem with that, she couldn't say it now.

Dadon's spears had been her leverage against Guidon, but now Dadon was his own man.

She could resist him no more than she could resist Guidon.

For Dadon's part, this was simply a way to run out the clock on Militrisa's affection toward her son.

She couldn't kill a three-year-old she spent every day with, of course not.

But a 13-year-old she hadn't seen in years?

One who might look more like his hated father?

She might be able to look the other way long enough for a knife in the dark to get rid of all of Dadon's fears.

So the three-year-old was off to the dungeon, and Dadon found reasons for them to be gone from the city for long stretches of time.

Eventually, to his mother, Bova became less a melancholy remnant of the past and more just the past.

By the time she laid eyes on him again, it's not that she didn't recognize the boy, the man that gripped the bars,

It's that he looked all too familiar.

He had the face of his father.

Let me out, Bova said.

He was through pleading.

He had thought about it, thought about it for years.

This was unjust.

He did nothing to her or Dadon.

He had been kidnapped by a servant.

That was it.

He was three.

She could have told him Dadon was her father, and he would have believed it.

She smiled.

There was some of her her in him after all.

The deceitfulness.

He looked like his father, but he lied like her.

Milatrisa took a deep breath.

She was sorry.

Bova seemed so struck that for a moment he didn't reply.

Sorry.

She had never apologized.

This whole time we kept you locked up, because we feared you would grow to hate your stepfather and plot violence, but now see

that locking me up my entire life created the conditions under which I would grow to hate my stepfather and plot violence against him?

Yeah, now I feel like anyone could have seen that coming.

That being said, I'm really not.

I just want to get out of this prison where I've spent all the life I can remember, Bova said.

The queen nodded.

Okay.

She could see that he was earnest.

Great.

Let me out.

She said she couldn't.

not yet.

The king, Dadon, would be back the following day.

Only he could give the order.

In the meantime, she would send him fresh clothes, a basin of water with a towel, and some food.

She gripped her son's smelly, smelly hand.

She was excited to get to know him.

Bova stood, awash in a fresh pair of clothes, and he felt like a new man.

He asked the serving girl for the cakes, but she hesitated.

You trust me, right, Bova?

The serving girl, Chernovka, said.

Bova said that she and her family, his caretakers, were literally the only friends he had in the world, so yes.

She smiled.

She felt that way, too.

She took the cakes Bova's mother had made for him personally and tossed them to one of the dogs that she brought from the city streets above.

Bova demanded to know what she was doing, but foam forced its way up the dog's throat and he collapsed, writhing and twitching.

His death was neither quick nor merciful.

Chernovka left the other cake for the rats in the dungeon.

Bova told her to go, report Bova's death, say that she feared the plague, so she had him cremated immediately.

Chernovka didn't ask what would happen to Bova when the queen sent someone to investigate and found him in his cell.

That wouldn't be what happened.

As the sound of her footsteps became fainter and fainter, Bova turned and wiggled the stone in the wall loose, the one that hid the tunnel that led out to the beach.

the beach where two forms were already waiting for him.

Chernovka's parents stood at the end of the tunnel.

They told Bova their daughter had come to them first, and they knew where to meet him.

How?

I kept it a secret?

Bova marveled at their insight.

Yeah, you started digging this when you were like four.

You know how many secrets a four-year-old has?

The dad asked.

You were so proud of the tunnel.

We take the dirt until you realized you could just throw it out your cliffside window.

The mother smiled.

The father said that Bova was leaving, right?

He finally realized his mother would only ever keep him as a prisoner, that there was no hope.

Bova nodded, yeah.

Ouch.

I want you to have this.

The mother held out the loot.

Absolutely not.

Then he cracked a small smile.

Unintentional wordplay, but seriously.

That had been part of their family since forever.

He was just a prisoner they helped out.

The loot had been a small comfort in an otherwise lonely life, and playing it, along with them teaching him how to read and write, well, that was the only thing that kept him sane, growing up in a dungeon.

It was too much.

The mother pressed the loot into his hands.

He would need it all the more now.

This wasn't a discussion.

Besides, Bovo was family.

The father said he should go straight to the port.

He could travel along the shore to avoid the streets.

Go to the city of King Sincibri.

He was an enemy of Dadon.

Bova could find refuge there.

The couple embraced the son, the one they had not by birth, but because one day the servant father was tasked with taking food to a three-year-old in a dungeon, and they hadn't been able to leave him since.

Tears ran down Bova's cheeks as he rushed off down the beach.

Bova passed the troop of men who were each about six ailes deep in some day drinking.

And then Bova looked back to whispers and then heard snippets of, handsome,

and would make a great slave, and then get him and he's getting away, as Bova was trying to get away from the roving band of drunk sailors.

Trying, but failing.

Inexperience with the beach and terrible physical conditioning, remember he had just spent his whole life in a cell combined with his mostly symbolic and unnecessary run for freedom from the tunnel he just carved and well, Bova was winded.

The drunk sailors dogpiled him.

The captain, when they made it back to the ship, pinched the bridge of his nose.

Okay,

we've talked about this.

You cannot kidnap strangers, no matter how handsome they are, and the captain arched his eyebrows and leaned back when he spotted Bova, still struggling against his captors.

Wow,

that is a pretty man Right?

And look how ragged he is.

He doesn't have anybody.

The first mate swayed and threw up a little bit in his mouth.

Not much like quarter cup.

Beautiful young man, the captain called.

Who are you?

Who do you have in this life?

Bova sighed.

His father had been killed when he was young, and his mother got her living washing linen for strangers, strangers, which I can't tell if that's an insult, a metaphor, or just a throwaway line.

See, see, who's going to come looking for him after we take him off to the city of Sensibri?

A washerwoman?

Please, I shall take my new slave above deck, the first mate tugged on Bova's wrist.

But Bova didn't move.

Your new slave.

I was the one who pinned him, one man said.

I spotted him, another yelled out.

I was thinking yesterday, hey, we need a beautiful man as a slave on this ship, and I just didn't say it because it sounded, you know, weird, but now that he's here, it had to have played some role, a third said to a lot of confused looks.

Brandished pistols met drawn swords as the sailors argued over who got to keep this beautiful, beautiful man.

And then Bova spoke up.

What if it was like a shareholder thing?

Bova put out there.

The room turned to him as he gave them a brief overview of microeconomics.

and they mostly got it.

So I would like, own your foot, one of the sailors asked.

Bova said, in a figurative sense, yes, but if that helped the man understand the concept, sure.

The captain called out and put a stop to the second argument over who got what pieces of bova saying that yes.

In the interest of not killing each other, they would do the stock thing with the beautiful slave man, but it had nothing to do with with actual stocks, right?

Good.

Okay, it was settled.

Welcome aboard.

What did you say your name was?

I didn't, but it's Nhusi.

We'll see Bova's great escape, for real this time, but that will, once again, be right after this.

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You came from the city of Anton.

The port officer pretended to read the papers handed over to him by the captain.

The captain nodded.

Yeah, was that a problem?

No,

not if you're not smuggling anyone from Anton.

The port officer closed the file.

He waved his finger in the air.

Full search.

King Guidon had a lot of allies, so King Dadon had a lot of enemies.

And he'd spent most of the last few years fighting those people.

One of those enemies was King Sincebri, and as such, they harbored a deep mistrust of anybody from Anton.

So when they found Bova, obviously by his speech and dress from Anton, there was a problem.

Except, well, once again, Bova was just...

Really good looking.

Bova, who didn't know he needed to be hiding, plucked the loot.

And the port officers were stunned.

This beautiful, beautiful man had the skill and voice of an angel.

They stayed for three more songs in an encore before running to tell the king.

Why am I down at the port?

What is happening?

You're not kidnapping me, are you?

The king's voice echoed down into the lower deck, then a, Oh my gosh.

Right?

The port officer said.

The king, unable to tear his view away from this beautiful man playing beautiful music, told a noble that he brought with him to give the port officers anything, up to half of his kingdom.

And they settled in to let this beautiful music, the skill, and the pure unadulterated handsomeness just wash over them.

Wiping tears away from his eyes, King Sinsebri said he must have this beautiful man.

How much?

The captain said, well, that was a question for the crew.

They actually all owned shares of this guy.

There was a shareholder meeting coming up in Q3, so maybe the king could put together a proposal?

Or I could just confiscate the ship and everything on it and get him that way, the king asked.

Did the crew think they could come up with an agreement now?

Without any data on how big the crew was, it's hard to say just how much each crew member got for Bova.

They received 300 gold bars, according to the story, which that maybe 200 to 300 crew members was not enough to retire on, but still a pretty solid ROI for getting drunk and tackling a guy on the beach.

The king did what you do when you pay way too much money for a beautiful, talented singer.

He put him to work in the stables.

What with those gold bars being worth something like $30 million in 2024 currency on the low end, it's definitely a choice.

But Bova, who was just happy to not be condemned to spend the rest of his life in a cell until he was murdered by his own mother, was pretty happy.

He was also both really good and very bad at his job.

No one ever taught him the basics of looking after livestock or getting wheat from the field.

And he wasn't much of a learn-on-the-job type.

So, instead of figuring out how a sickle worked, or watching his coworkers for even 10 minutes, he just pulled grass up with his hands.

People thought it was funny until he started bringing home way more than anyone else, and they all gathered to see how hard-working and industrious he was.

That he was also the tropey, very attractive farmhand with a ruddy face, bulging muscles, and the shirt open to his belly button for some reason.

Well, that didn't hurt.

Hey, dad, Princess Drushnevna said to her father, King Sinsebri.

Hi, honey, King Sinsebri said, looking up from his papers briefly with a smile.

There was a pause.

She was still there.

Something I can do for you, dear?

Sincere asked, setting down the quill.

My gracious father, you are indeed powerful and renowned, not only in your own kingdom, but in all the countries far and near, and no king, czar, or knight can compare with you, Drushnevna said.

The king smiled at his daughter, obviously buttering him up.

But, O king, the princess repeated her clearly rehearsed argument, you have no trusty and clever steward in your household.

Now, I have heard that there is a young lad in our royal stables whom you have purchased from some shipman.

His name is Anhusi.

This lad will prove trusty and useful in your service.

Order him to be taken from the stable and employed in your household.

Okay,

Since Bri smiled.

She knew that he never refused to grant one of her requests.

Was she sure this man was

very wise and not just

very hot?

Trushnevna said, What?

Was he?

Huh?

She hadn't noticed if he was attractive.

Weird.

The king smiled.

Sure.

Okay.

If she wanted to bring him on in the household, he could be her servant.

In public.

Only in public, though.

Um,

is he dead?

Drushnevna asked when Bovo was unresponsive.

It started off innocently, ish.

She had tasked her new hot servant with carving the swan at a feast, and when she oops dropped the fork and he leaned down to pick it up, She kissed him on the head.

After the feast, he retired without a word.

And that was two two days ago.

Not really the response the princess was expecting or hoping for, but she would let this obvious dereliction of duty pass.

He was, after all, extremely handsome.

They didn't talk about it the day she found his room empty, and a few hours later, he returned with the flowers.

Aw, are those from me?

Drushnevna asked when she saw Bovo wearing a wreath of flowers on his head.

Bova didn't say that maybe he wanted to treat himself to a nice flower hat because he liked nice things too.

He didn't say that because he didn't say anything at all.

He took it off, held it out, and threw it on the ground.

He slammed the door so hard when he left that a stone fell from the ceiling, knocking him out this time for five days and five nights.

This is in the original, by the way, and I have no idea why.

I've told many Slavic stories, and I've never seen this before, so it's it's not a trope or anything.

I'm not sure if it's a medical condition or just odd, but I don't know where to look, and the princess,

she unfortunately had other things to worry about.

50,000 other things, in the form of the army at the gates.

King Markobrune had heard how beautiful Drushnevna was, and, well, didn't want to mince words.

He would mince people, though, if Sensibri didn't make the sensible decision and give up his daughter.

To Sinsebri, to have one of his peers demonstrate the audacity to bring an army to his city and threaten his people to try to coerce him to give up the princess in marriage, it was completely

unnecessary.

He should have just sent a letter, yes, of course.

Marco Brune laughed.

Wait, really?

No, totally.

She loves you.

Since Bri invited him in for drinks.

It's not just because I brought an army and threatened with all the massacring and pillaging.

Marco Marco Brune blushed.

I mean, I'll be honest, it's a little that, yeah, but not because we're scared.

It just shows that you're serious, that you really want to marry her.

Come on inside, son.

Since Bri winked and then squinted.

A horn blew and banners flapped as the shadows of horsemen emerged from a nearby hillside.

Since Bri said,

Marco Brune could call off the attack now.

Markobrune looked and then turned, walking faster into the keep.

Those weren't his guys.

They were Lucoper's guys.

Leucoper, son of Tsar Sultan Sultanovich.

And I'm not making that up.

It means, essentially, Tsar Sultan, son of Sultan.

They are from the Middle East.

Where does this guy get the nerve, attacking a city to demand a princess's hand?

I mean, who does that?

Markobrune glowered.

Look here, son.

If you want my daughter, you have to fight for her.

King Sinsebri made a fist.

This is marriage advice, but also a very practical, literal ask, because I can't give you her hand in marriage if I'm hog-tied in an enemy camp.

Marker Brune held out his hand, and Sinsebri clasped it.

Allies, let's get to work.

Two hours later, they were both hog-tied in an enemy camp, and Zarlu Coper's guys were advancing on the capital, which was making plans to surrender.

That's when Bovo woke up, found his horse, and rode out to attack.

I really, really wanted to keep this to one week.

and just resign myself to it being a very long episode, but it got to be too long.

Sorry to people who hate Parters, but 10,000 words plus is just too much.

We'll finish up next week with Bova going to war way too many times and finding out if that lifelong quest for vengeance against the people who wronged him gets him that fulfillment he's been chasing.

If you'd like to support the show, there's still a membership thing on the site.

For less than the price of an anti-soggy cereal bowl, a bowl that keeps your cereal and milk separate to apparently keep it from being soggy or, you know, enjoyable, you can get extra episodes and ad-free versions of this show that won't actively encourage cereal to cut the roof of your mouth.

For real though, like this bowl is just, I hate it.

Keeping the milk and cereal separate makes no sense to me.

Like that's a bowl of cereal.

You don't eat cake by taking a little flour, a little raw egg, a little sugar and butter bit by bit.

You know, you mix it all together like you should do with cereal.

I don't know why I'm choosing this hill to die on, but apparently I have strong opinions when it comes to cereal eating.

Check out mythpodcast.com slash membership or find us in Apple Podcasts for more info on the membership.

Oh, and find us on Discord at myths.link slash discord and on Instagram at mythsandlegends.

The creature this time is the Vila from the folklore of Poland, the Czech Republic, Serbia, and more.

Now, I've never died before, quite proud of that, but I can imagine that most people might go with some measure of unfinished business.

It's an encouragement to live with purpose because we don't know how much time we have.

You never know if you might miss that chance to dance naked in the town square.

And that's not code for something that apparently is on the bucket list of the Vila, all of them.

But unlike most of us, they get an extension.

And well, that's what they decide to do with their extra time.

Naked dance parties.

That's probably not a euphemism.

They love dance parties.

The Vila is the ghost of a maiden who, unfortunately, died before her wedding night.

Like I said, they will dance in the town square, but they'll also get together and dance at crossroads at night.

And if you're a young man walking the roads alone at night and a glowing, floaty woman invites you off into the dark forest to dance with her and her friends, look, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life.

But somebody probably should because that's how you end up dancing for the rest of your life.

How much longer that is, well, that's really dependent on your stamina because they will make you dance until you die.

The only thing more dangerous than accepting their invitation to dance is showing up uninvited because they'll take horrible revenge on you, with the revenge somehow being worse than being forced to dance until you die.

You don't even need to dance with them to feel the effects because if you needed any extra incentive to stay in, They'll roam the clouds at night, playing pipes and drums.

And if you call out something like, hey, who's playing those pipes and drums?

Or can you please stop playing those pipes and drums?

That's it for you.

You'll become stiff and only move with difficulty and die.

Eventually, which honestly just sounds like getting old.

I mean, the way you trigger this is yelling at people for being too loud, so maybe it's just that.

These creatures are varied as the lands in which they live because they range from haunted, beautiful ghosts with unfinished business and a penchant for naked dance parties to a full-on full-on Valkyrie ready to help you on your epic quest.

Just don't be too appealing though because it seems like no matter what the region, it never ends well for the object of their love and you will die a terrible death.

So try not to pull a bova and be so attractive that your life is in danger.

That's it for this time.

Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser.

Our theme song is by Broke for Free and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Colmes.

There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes.

Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.

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