It had started, as many of their shenanigans did, with a drunken wager.

In some dilapidated little shack that could barely be called an inn, they'd been three pints of swill in before the topic of ghosts came up. Atreion didn't know if they believed in ghosts, not really. Stories and songs aside, they had never seen one, and as unpleasant as the Marsh Flats were the rumours hadn't dug up a single thing. It was hearsay, superstition, and they'd been happy to tell Morrigan as such:

"It's stuff and nonsense, I'm telling you! I could start a haunting rumour tomorrow and it'd be in Sol City by the end of the week!"

"Yeah? So why don't you?"

And so it began. Once the idea was in their heads, neither of them would let it go. They headed to the Hauntwood, sobering up but still excited to try and give the Hauntwood its name. The rules were simple: create a convincing ghost, and whomever frightened the most travellers would be declared victor. Morrigan had suggested that the loser be the other's barker for a full week, and Atreion had jumped on it. He'd never admit it to him, but Morrigan's big mouth was great for moving coin, and they were gleeful at the prospect. That, and Morrigan's sulky face when they were proclaimed the victor.

Crouching by the main road, Atreion peeked out into the swirling mists. It was a good night for it: cold, damp and unpleasantly dark. Perfect ambience to put on a show.

They couldn't wait.

Morrigan had mostly been joking when they suggested the terms of the wager, though as Atreion latched onto the idea, the tiefling found themselves warming up to it. If they won, they would have the blessing of Atreion singing their praises for the following week. Of course, if Morrigan lost, it would mean a week of spreading the good word about the sun elf without getting to talk about their favorite subject- themselves- but Morrigan was confident they would win.

After all, Morrigan already pretended to be a great mage for a living, how different could a ghost be?

The tiefling didn’t pay much stock into the supernatural, a somewhat odd trait for someone of their nature, but Morrigan preferred to believe in tangible things they could see and touch. They’d heard the rumors of the Hauntwood, of course, but even after a couple of days in the Marsh Flats- several unfulfilling days of getting gunk in their hair and tail while stomping around in the bogs- Morrigan had yet to see a real phantom of any sort.

As the pair made their way to the Hauntwoods proper, Morrigan’s mind was already reeling with a character. While Atreion was undeniably beautiful, bearing all the features traditional of an elven waif, he lacked a certain… spook factor that Morrigan had in spades. They already resembled a devil, and what could be more frightening than the specter of a demon?

“We shouldn’t stray too far from one another- to ensure a fair fight.” Morrigan said with a wink as they got closer to a spot in the woods that looked well-traveled enough. With any luck, they would see enough travelers to make the night interesting. Atreion took one side, crouched by the main road, and Morrigan found a spot on the other, a little ways away behind a couple of bushes.

They double checked their bag, ensuring all their elixirs were fully stocked for this venture. Most were too deadly to use in a night like tonight when they were just trying to have a bit of fun, but there were a few that were sure to add a little bit of oomph to their performance.

Morrigan rubbed their hands together from their hiding spot, practically shivering in anticipation for what was to come. Or maybe that was just the damp chill in the air that was seeping into their bones despite the thick coat they wore. It would be worth it- tonight promised to be entertaining.

Down the road, Morrigan could hear a couple of distant voices steadily growing closer- the first victims of the night.

Atreion was so excited they could hardly stand it. It was like the first big debut of a song: all giddiness and nerves and hope all tangled up together. But just like those events, they had to get ready. With Morrigan hidden away on the other side of the road Atreion immediately started shrugging out of their brighter clothes, pulling off the sash, stays and boots. Next came the shirt: white would work for their plan, so it stayed on, but was still sacrificed for the good of the act. A bit of effort had the bottom and sleeves ripped into tatters, muddy and wet and thoroughly miserable.

Ooh! And the mud! Grinning, Atreion grabbed a big handful of the horrid gunk and slapped it into their hair, dragging it through until it was dark and dripping. Dirty water trickled down his face and neck and he shuddered gleefully. With any luck, he'd look horrible, an eerie drowned waif left to wander the marsh.

They'd barely finished with their hair when they heard the first victims approach, voices growing steadily louder up the path. Atreion made sure he was well hidden behind the tree, mind racing. At this time it was thoroughly dark, and if they weren't spooked already he was happy to amp up the ambience. He waited, listening hard for each footstep, and when it seemed that they'd grown close enough, sunk his fingers into the ground.

From where he'd touched the earth, thorny vines burst from it, filling the space and growing larger. At Atreion's direction they began to slowly creep across the road, just as the pair approached. He heard the tell-tale yelp as the thorns reached them, curling around their ankles and tripping them.

"What the--?" Cried one.

"They're moving, Alan! They're chasing me! Get it off!" Cried the other.

There was a thud and a shriek and Atreion clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a giggle. He could see their silhouettes, trying to fight off the vines that must have seemed like malicious creatutes, trying to drag them into the marsh.

“Using magic, hmm?” Morrigan murmured to themselves as they watched Atreion’s first performance from the bushes. It was, admittedly, a clever bit, and the tiefling reluctantly had to give it props. But they would not be upstaged. Atreion had two points on the board, and Morrigan had to step up their game if they wanted to win.

Luckily for them, a group of what looked like three drunkards leaning on one another ambled across the pathway, all laughing and mumbling amongst themselves. Morrigan hurriedly pried off their coat and tossed it haphazardly on the ground. They cracked their knuckles, putting themselves in the right mindset. It was all about delivering a character, and Morrigan knew how to have a damned good performance.

“Showtime.” They mumbled to themselves as the three villagers approached.

The three drunken men were engaged in a conversation on the benefits of swimming in swamp gunk to sober up- though it was quite unintelligible to anyone who might be listening in- when the first one of them heard a haunting, quiet moan somewhere nearby.

“^{... hungry…}”

He stopped in his tracks, nearly sending the other two careening into one another. “Oi, did you ‘ear that?”

The other two stopped, cocking their heads to better hear the sound. When they heard nothing, the second man rolled his eyes. “Probably just some swamp rat, Jeremiah.”

“Did you have too much to drink again?” The other chimed. Jeremiah had a tendency to turn a mountain into a molehill.

But Jeremiah only shook his head fervently, wildly glancing around for the source of the noise. “No, you buffoons, I’m serious, I ‘eard a voice. Almost sounded like it was sayin…”

^{“... I’m so hungry…”}

This time, all three of the stooges heard the sound. The shorter one next to Jeremiah jumped, whirling around as they searched for the source of the sound, when Jeremiah saw it. A figure, wafting through the fog as elegantly as if they were gliding. Most of the feature’s figures were indiscernible, safe for two horns protruding from their head- the mark of the devil.

“There, look over there!” He elbowed his friend in the side, pointing to the spectral figure, but by the time he turned back, there was nothing there. “Where did it go?”

“There, there!” The taller of the two friends cried frantically as he pointed out the horned figure in the mist about ten feet to the right, slowly approaching the three with their hands extended outwards. Even from here, Jeremiah could make out something dripping from their pointed claws- was that blood?

“... Please, I have not eaten anything in so long… would you spare me some food…?”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “Quick, someone get it some bleedin’ food!”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, dried jerky, a piece of cheese, anything!” He cried, frantically shaking his friend as he patted down his pockets, searching for something that would appease the spirit.

“I got nothin’!” The second one cried.

“... Nothing?”

“We ain’t got anything, we swear!”

“... Hmm.” The spirit paused in their trek, a figure frozen in the fog, distorted in the haze of alcohol. Its head tilted, as if contemplative. “... I see. In that case, I suppose I’ll just have to snack on your souls!”

The figure burst through the fog, revealing a lavender-skinned devil with fangs like a hellhound and claws dripping with a crimson liquid, forked tongue licking its lips like it truly was about to feast on their souls. That sight was the last thing Jeremiah witnessed before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

The other two of his friends let out guttural screams, both fearfully clutching their unconscious friend as they ran like the devil himself was on their heels back to the tavern they’d come from, both of them dragging an unconscious Jeremiah along with them.

Morrigan snickered as they licked a bit of the innocuous berry juice off their hands. “Suckers.” They said, clapping their hands together like a gleeful child. Yes, that one had been particularly fun. They returned to the bushes, tail flicking behind them as they started devising a new plan for the next batch of travelers.

Damn. Atreion hated to admit it, but Morrigan always shone as an actor. They had to clap both hands over their mouth to keep from giggling as the three drunkards were whipped into a frenzy, Morrigan's whispers sliding into their ears and up their spines more effectively than any whiskey. Points for style, most definitely, but in their opinion it felt a little rushed. Appearing like that after just a few whispers? Atreion shook his head, tutting softly. Morrigan would give the game away! Surely they would know a tiefling when they saw one?

Or so he thought, anyway. Atreion had to take a moment to blink, staring at the spot where the three terrified friends had been.

Huh... Apparently they hadn't. He stood corrected.

So that was three - maybe two, if you counted screams alone - but Atreion was far from beaten. When the screams had well and truly faded, he shot Morrigan a broad grin across the road.

"Showing your big finale a little early, there?" They hissed. Still soaked in mud and filthy water, they looked especially grim, crouching in the dark like that, but that smile was all mischief. "You must think my bag of tricks a meager one if that'll win you the game!"

With a gleeful cackle, he ducked behind the tree again, setting up to wait. It took a little longer this time, and Atreion had to reapply the mud a few times to keep it from drying too much. Thankfully the anticipation overrode any discomfort, and by the time another traveller came wandering down the road they were practically buzzing.

They sized up their target: female and travelling alone, a heavy satchel across her back. Sober, so not so easy as the three friends, but Atreion was determined. With the mists clinging to the ground, it was easy to slip from behind the tree and lie in the middle of the road, completely still.

Th-thud. Th-thud. Th-thud. Footsteps growing closer.

And then, out of the mists, a strange croaking sound, starting low and shivering through the air.

"Hello?" The footsteps stopped. "Is anybody there?"

No answer. For three, four, five breaths, all was silent.

And then... again. A rattling, rasping moan.

"Thun? Lorna? Come on now, this isn't funny!"

The girl seemed rooted to the spot, unwilling to move forward but held fast by fear. Her breathing caught in her throat, eyes darting into every shadow until they saw it: something dark lying in the road. Something moving.

"Hhhhh-- uuuuuuuuhhhhkkkkk..."

He could only imagine what she saw: a pale horror emerging from the mist, filthy, ragged and soaking wet. Its long, dark hair was plastered to its skull and hanging in dripping ropes, obscuring the face from view, and as it rose on shaking legs it reached out to her with pale hands.

The woman shrieked, scrambling back away from those grasping hands. Her foot caught on one of the remaining vines, sending her sprawling, scrambling back. The thing didn't care. Its mouth fell open, jaw slack and body crooked, and from its mouth came that awful noise again: an awful, choking gasp. No, a death rattle. The last sound a person ever made. And if it reached her---

That did it. The woman let out a wail of horror, scrambling to her feet only to fall again. She half-stumbled, half-crawled as fast as she could from the drowned dead, and when she finally found her footing again there was no stopping her. She ran as hard as she could the way she had come, not looking back for a moment.

Atreion almost felt sorry for her.

“On the contrary, that was only a little teaser for what’s to come!” Morrigan replied to Atreion’s ribbing, not offended in the slightest at his teasing. They did, however, get a laugh out of the muck and grime that currently covered the entertainer’s body, making them resemble more of a swamp thing than a real person. “I must give credit where credit is due, my friend- I did not think that you would choose to don your natural appearance for this show!” They returned with teasing of their own.

… Admittedly, the sheer horror of Atreion’s next trick was commendable, and Morrigan could not help but be impressed by how well they’d played the part. Morrigan’s own theatrics lended towards scaring drunkards and pissants, playing on their natural fears to give them a fright. It took a special kind of talent to put that kind of fear in a sober mark.

The scales had officially been tipped in Atreion’s favor, but Morrigan had the chance to settle the score and tie it now- there was one lone man traveling up the path, carrying a lantern in one hand that flickered against the trees.

How to play this particular scenario? They didn’t exactly possess the capability to play off the fear of a group, nor did they have the aid of earth magic to help with their stunts. But what they did have, was audacity.

Morrigan plucked a flask from their bag, immediately smashing it on the ground at their feet.^[1] The ground surrounding them, including the entire section of the road that the traveler had been wandering around. The smoke was from one of Morrigan’s rare bombs they’d concocted without glitter, giving the Hauntwoods an ominous, demonic feel. The air smelled faintly of ash and brimstone.

“What the-“

Morrigan couldn’t see the traveler anymore, but neither could he see them. Morrigan heard the faint crash from the lantern hitting the floor, glass shattering upon impact from the shock…

And that was when Morrigan began.

Elias had been having, by all counts, a perfectly normal evening. He was on his way back from work to where his wife and children were no doubt waiting for him- it was unfortunate that the trek was long, and took him through a rather shady part of the Hauntwoods. He usually just kept his head down as he passed through, not wanting to encounter any danger. And usually… all was quiet.

Until now.

Elias dropped his lantern in shock as the dark smoke began to well up, flooding his vision and his lungs until his lantern slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor. He coughed, waving a hand in front of him in an attempt to clear away the smoke in vain. Just as he was about to make a run for it, he heard a voice welling up from somewhere in the distance.

“Repent, sinner…”

“I- I didn’t do nothing!” Elias cried, fear gripping his heart. “I’ve never committed a sin in my life!” That, of course, was not true, and he knew it. In the depths of his heart, he already knew exactly what he was being punished for, and why he’d been targeted. Elias had been committed the sin of adultery, and it was just blind luck that Morrigan had selected this particular target for a prank.

“I know what you’ve done…” They whispered. “What lies in your heart.”

Elias let out a fearful cry as the vengeful demon’s voice drew ever-steadily closer. Tears slipped down his eyes as he dropped to his knees, pleading to whatever was in the smoke to spare him. “I- I was drunk, and it hasn’t happened since! Please, you have to believe me, I’m a changed man!”

But the demon was not appeased.

“You must repent for your erroneous ways…”

“I’ll do anythin’ to prove it, I promise! Whatever you want, just don’t take me away! I got kids to feed!”

“… You’d give… anything?”

“Yes, anything!”

There was a pause, a silence in the smoke as Elias caught the silhouette of a demonic figure, complete with curved horns, tilting its head to the side. “… Then scream. Confess your sins and your fear to the world, and your life might be spared.”

Elias didn’t need to be told twice. The fear had already struck in his heart, and he didn’t want to risk angering the horrid demon specter of judgment that had offered him mercy in the form of penance. Clasping his hands together, Elias let out an ear-piercing wail, begging for his life. “PLEASE FORGIVE ME, DIANA! I WON’T EVER DO IT AGAIN, I SWEAR! I WANT TO LIVE, I WANT TO LIVE!”

Morrigan stepped closer, a wicked smirk growing on their face that Elias couldn’t hope to see. “Now, run for your life, mortal, and repent.”

Elias bolted like a bat out of hell back in the direction he came from.

Morrigan emerged from the smoke on the other side, covered from head to toe in ash and residue as they flashed a thumbs up in Atreion’s direction. They may have only gotten one person with that particular scare, but they wanted to see Atreion try and top that!

---

Meanwhile, in a tavern not too far away from where Morrigan and Atreion had set up shop for the evening, two frantic men and their passed out companion were set up at a table, frantically shouting at whoever would listen. “I’m telling ya, it’s gonna eat your souls! Don’t go anywhere near the Hauntwoods if you value your life!”

“Sounds like someone’s been hitting the bottle a little too hard!”

“Go home, assholes!” Another, considerably more annoyed patron shouted.

It was at that moment a woman entered the tavern, pale-faced and shivering from the near-death experience she’d just had. It was then that she heard one of the men shouting about a spirit in the Hauntwoods, and relief flooded her heart. She hadn’t been alone! Legs still trembling from the effort she’d exerted to get here, she approached the three with a hopeful expression on her face.

“What was that you said about a ghost?”

---

1. Smoke Flask