Keel set out from the tavern early in the morning. Despite it being late in the spring, the sun seemed incapable of piercing the soupy fog. Not a soul was visible in the village courtyard, the hamlet appearing like a ghost town. After speaking extensively to the town elders, Keel had learned that the townsfolk rarely left their rundown homes anymore. The farms had been reduced to plots of decaying vegetation, the well contaminated with a foul smell, and wildlife rarely seen at best. In short, Wetheridge was dying. Nearly half the population had left as things got worse, but those that remained seemed content to simply wither away. Keel had picked up on something two days ago when he entered the village, some kind of ethereal corruption, and he was determined to find the cause.

  His goal this morning was to discover where the local hunting grounds were. He wanted to wander the nearby woods to get a feel for what lurked there, but didn’t wish to do so blindly.

  Keel located the Tanners cabin and strode to the door, rapping his knuckles loudly upon the wood. A long stretch of silence before a mumble of acknowledgement was heard. Keel took that as permission, and pushed through the door. The interior matched the exterior: shabby, rundown, heaps of garbage laying everywhere, and the stench of rotting carcasses permeating the air. Hides hung from racks on the wall, most in some state of decay, as if the tanner had simply given up halfway through. The man himself sat at a table in the corner of the room. His looks matched the building. His hair and beard were shaggy and unkempt. His clothes were baggy, indicating dramatic weight loss, and clearly hadn’t been washed in a while. The man’s dull eyes scanned Keel slowly, taking in his dramatic appearance.

  Keel had become used to this. Even amongst his own people he dressed a bit eccentric. His black boots were regularly polished, their tops over his soft, brown, deerskin pants. A large gleaming buckle secured his belt, with a dark purple shirt smartly tucked in. The cloak around his shoulders was made from a wild deer local only to the southern region, and a wide brim hat sat atop his head, cover his long, light brown, shoulder length hair.

  He gave a dramatic bow, sweeping the wide brimmed hat off his head.

  “Good morning sir, Keelashivian at your service, but you may simply call me Keel.” His voice was thick with his foreign accent, common only to those from the southern region.

  The dirty man stared at him for another several moments, before awkwardly lifting the dirty cup in his hand as a salute.

  “Well met, I ‘spose. What can I do fer ya?” The man slurred his words, clearly intoxicated. Not uncommon among the townsfolk as of recently.

  “My good man,” Began Keel, raising to his full height, but keeping his hat off. “I am hoping to find where the men like to hunt. Where is the bounty most prevalent?”

  The man took a moment, his mind working hard to decipher his question through the accent and alcohol.

  “Aint no huntin ‘round here no more. Not since the fog rolled in.”

  Keel unrolled a map for the satchel at his side, bringing it to the man.

  “Please sir, if you can, show me where they used to hunt.” Begged Keel.

  The man leaned forward, squinting at the parchment. Keel pulled away slightly, the stench of his unclean body mixed with the pungent alcohol almost too much for him. The man mumbled to himself for a while, his finger tracing around the map. Finally he stopped, tapping twice on a paper. He was pointing to a grove deep in the woods.

  “This here was where folks used to go. Right up till…well, there’s nothin’ there no more.”

  “Pray tell sir, when was the last successful hunting party?” pressed Keel. The man glared up at him, clearly becoming annoyed.

  “I already told ya, aint no huntin’ happinin’ no more. The fog and the…whatever else, done scared off everything.” The man leaned back, reaching for his cup of grog.

  Keel took that as his final words, and bid the man farewell.

  The man’s attitude was not unusual here. Everyone in town acted more or less the same, like they had simply given up the drive to do anything. The children were frightened, but shed no light, other than advice to not go out at night, and a vague warning about the “crying lady”.

  Keel sat on a bench in the empty town square, looking at his journal. The elders said the fog had slowly crept in from the woods over the past two months, bringing with it a heavy presence. Most of the capable people left soon after, abandoning their homes. Some had simply disappeared, although no one had bothered to send out any kind of a search party for them. At the edge of his perception, Keel could feel a disturbance in the air. It was a lingering uneasy, familiar to when he had ventured into a haunted crypt once. It wasn’t outright evil, more of a smoothing sense of hopelessness. After speaking to everyone he could in town, and roving around the area, he had three theories.

  Flipping to a page, Keel studied his book. The fog and emotional impact could be a spell, beset upon the town by a magic user. But the lack of any real action against the town people seemed odd. Theory two, something had been uncovered in the woods. Some kind of cursed artifact or relic. He had seen things like that corrupt the land and nearby people before. The third theory was based on what the children had said. The “crying lady” they spoke of could be a spirit or ghost. Some kind of undead entity that, for whatever reason, was causing these effects. He had read about specific spirits whose emotional energy was so strong, it created physical effects to those around them. A crying lady seemed to match up with the suffocated sense of hopelessness that permeated the town.

  Snapping the journal shut, Keel rose to his feet. The spot the tanner had indicated on his map would take him at least an hour to get to, likely more since he planned on moving slowly.

  Keel stepped off the dirt road and onto the thin hunting trail that veered off into the woods. The old trees before him seemed to hunker down, as if their branches were weighed down by winter snow. The fog was even thicker here, and what little late spring sunlight made it through the fog, failed to penetrate the gloom under the leaves. He had never seen a more foreboding forest.

  Double checking his bag, he made sure it held the curious stash of items he always carried. Blessed idols, enchanted pendants, and a wide selection of alchemical goods. He was prepared to confront any of his theories, as well as anything else.

  Shouldering his bag again, he set off into the trees. The temperature quickly dropped, both as the amount of sunlight decreased, and from a spike in the ethereal energy he could feel. It was eerie beneath the branches. It was clear the wildlife had fled the area. No birdsongs, no chattering squirrels, and try as he might, Keel couldn’t locate any tracks or droppings. There was even an abnormal amount of around, further showcasing the lack of animals. Fallen fruit lay wizened in the grass, and berries rotted on their bushes.

  Keel slowly made his way deeper and deeper into the bizarre woods, his growing sense of unease becoming stronger. He stumbled suddenly as his foot knocked against something. Peering through the fog, he made out a pair of antlers. He knelt down, pinching his nose as the smell of decay hit him. At his feet lay a small deer. It had been dead for a few days at least, but it was still remarkably intact, with no indication of what killed it, not even spilled blood.

  Keel rose swiftly, the hair on the back of his neck rising. The fog had grown much thicker, choking the trees and bringing a chill to his skin. The feeling of being watched made him weary, but he couldn’t see anything in the soupy gloom.

  He checked the ring on his finger, relieved to see the single unremarkable ruby remained dull, indicating no arcane activity. However, when he pulled a pendant out from under his shirt, his concern grew. Dangling from the chain was a small, flat piece of glass, about the size of a coin. Inside was a tiny sprout, which ordinarily, was green like new growth in the spring. Right now though, the sprout was brown and wilted, warning him that the veil between the living and the dead was thin.

  Feeling more sure of his suspicions, Keel began trekking back to town. Confident with his sense of direction, he had no fear of getting lost, despite not being able to see anything beyond five feet in front of him. His confidence waned dramatically however, when his boot struck an object, nearly toppling him.

  Peering through the fog, he was disturbed to be once again looking at the fallen deer.

  “Curious…” He muttered, twisting his head around.

  He felt no urge to return, no pulling sensation, and he was sure his ring of detection hadn’t been wrong.

  Picking up an armful of twigs, Keel set off again. Every few steps he dropped a branch, leaving a trail behind him. Sure enough, only moments later he stumbled upon the deer again. A trail of discarded sticks led off into the trees ahead of him. It was as if he had simply walked in a big circle.

  Keel dropped to the ground, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes, concentrating. He opened his mind, attempting to detect a consciousness other than his. The hush of the silent forest fell around him while he meditated. For several minutes, he didn’t move.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. He had felt…nothing.

  He stood, removing an object from his belt. It resembled a compass, but was encased in a globe of glass, rather than being flat. Inside, a complex clockwork needle spun in every direction before settling, pointing towards where he had gone before. Holding the device in front of him, Keel set off, once again.

  Occasionally, the needle would wobble, but his course stayed true. His journey through the foggy woods was uninterrupted this time, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw faint light though the blanket of mist.

  With visibility somewhat restored, he stored his gadget and made his way back into town.

  “A spirit, you say?” The man asked.

  Keel nodded, his mouth full of food.

  He sat at the table of the village elder, who had pleasantly supplied him with supper.

  “I cannot tell its intentions yet, or even if what it’s doing is on purpose. But it wanted me to stay in the woods.”

  “So, it isn’t hostile then?” Questioned the elder.

  “I didn’t say that.” Keel replied, taking a sip of cider. “I never actually came across the entity. I don’t think it even manifested. But I was close to where it roams, close enough that I should have been able to sense something. I suspect it’s only actually active at night.”

  The old man glanced out the window. It was dusk, and it would be dark before too long.

  “You’re not thinking of going back out there, are you?”

  Following his gaze, Keel could see the tree line off in the distance.

  “I fear I must, good sir. I won’t be able to really help if I don’t confront whatever it is.”

  The elder bowed his head, his eyes on the floor.

  “Too many people have died or vanished, and many others have left. I cannot ask you to risk your life for what’s left of this hamlet. I fear we won’t last the summer.”

  Keel reached across the table and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Nonsense. With my tools and skills I could not leave with a good conscience. Besides,” reassured Kell. “It doesn’t seem like it’s very dangerous. Likely, its negative energy is simply affecting the environment.”

  The elder looked at Keel wearily.

  “If you really can help us, we could never pay you back.”

  Keel waved his hand in the air between them. “I am not asking for payment, my friend.”

  Standing, Keel stretched, then headed to the door.

  “I must return to my room now. By tomorrow, I should have some good news for you.”

  Keel sat in the grass, just off the dirt road that led into the trees. He had bribed some children with sweets, and in return they had told him exactly where they had seen their “crying lady”. It coincided exactly with where the trail branched off into the woods.

  In anticipation, he had come out hours earlier, emplacing several items that should assist him.

  As the night dragged, Keel began to wonder if the entity would show itself at all. Contemplating if he should simply return to his room for the remainder of the night, the sound of a wooden wind chime caught his attention. It was a spirit charm, used to detect such presences.

  A cold draft slowly creeped over Keel, who still sat in the grass. He shivered, but it came from within, rather than the fog. A faint glowing red light emanated from the ground around him. His circle of protection he had drawn had been activated, meaning something was actively targeting him. He stood, peering into the trees. He reached up to his forehead, gently touching a circlet he was wearing. His vision shifted, and the colors of the world suddenly became that of blues and purples.

  From within the woods, slowly approaching, was a shapeless mass. The magic of the circlet portrayed it as black in the center, with a dark purple border, telling him it was a very cold entity. Cold, and powerful. The mass hovered above the ground, moving between the trees towards the village. His circle of protection flared again, and the floating mass stopped. The glow of the magic circle grew brighter, and Keel could feel a pressure on his mind. Whatever this was, it was definitely trying to harm him.

  Keel struck a match, lighting a red candle that sat on the ground before him. Faint blue smoke wafted into the air in front of him, and the pressure he felt in his head subsided. As the glow of the magic circle began to fade, the shapeless mass began to change shape. Keel watched with interest as the bottom of the mass elongated, forming into legs that reached the ground. A head appeared at the top, and the middle began to condense, looking more like a person by the second. He touched the circlet on his head again, returning his vision to normal. As he blinked, a figure made its way out of the trees towards him. Through the fog drifted the sounds of gentle sobbing. It appeared as a woman, barefoot and wearing only a long white gown. Long black hair fell to her waist, her head bowed and her face in her hands.

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  Keel recognized her figure from one of his books. It was a banshee. This new development caused him to hesitate. Banshees were very dangerous, and rather unpredictable. Sometimes they would latch onto an individual or family, showing themselves only to their target. Other times they would haunt a location, killing anyone who entered their territory. They would often cry to attract prey, then tear them apart in a frenzy. It was said their strong emotions could plague an area, causing symptoms like what was happening here in Wetheridge. It was rare however, for a banshee to linger for so long without people realizing what was happening.

  Keel inserted wax plugs into his ears, dampening the sound of her cries. He had never personally dealt with a banshee before, but he knew they didn’t need to touch to kill.

  He touched a pin that was affixed to his collar, and directed a blast of mental energy in the direction of the entity.

  Why are you here, spirit?

  The ghost's sobs became wails, and the circle of protection flared again as she reacted to his attempt to communicate. Keel could feel her anger, simmering behind the wall of sorrow.

  She continued her shambling walk, moving closer. Her dress was ragged, her skin pale. Keel's heart began beating rapidly, her ethereal power forcing its way through his rudimentary circle of protection. From his pocket he pulled out a small stone figure. It resembled a man in armor, clasping a sword to his chest.

  “Exanthis, patron of paladins, give me strength” Muttered Keel.

  The figure warmed slightly in his grasp, radiating divine energy.

  Tell me what you want banshee, that I might help free you from your torment. Keel mentally called out again.

  A sudden blast of chilling wind brought him to a knee, and the banshee screamed. Keel was nearly toppled by the sheer force of negative energy. The magic circle flared angrily, before fizzling out completely. The circle had been broken.

  Keel struggled to his feet, the shriek of the banshee now ringing in his head. He looked up to see her raise her head, her hands falling away from her face. Terror bombarded his mind, and it took everything he had to not fall to the ground. The banshee reached for him, her long fingers, ending with wicked claws, brushed his face. It was gentle, but he could feel his skin open and blood run down his cheek. The holy figure grew hot in his hand, protecting him from the deathly cold of her touch.

  In a desperate attempt to save himself, he ripped an item off his belt and flung it on the ground. A flash of blinding divine light filled the night. The malevolent spirit howled, backpedaling.

  The mental assault disrupted, Keel fled. He sprinted back towards the village square, seeking the safety of the small church.

  The light of dawn shined faintly through the window of the tavern. Keel sat at a table, a cloth pressed to his face.

  “A banshee you say.” Spoke the elder. “But why here?”

  “I can only assume she was slain in the woods, and now seeks vengeance.” Remarked a priest, seated opposite of Keel.

  “But vengeance on who? We haven’t had any murders, before her arrival at least.” The elder replied.

  “She may not be from here.” Keel said, intervening. “Or, she may have been killed long ago, and was only recently awakened. That’s not uncommon with amateurs messing around with magic or rituals.”

  The owner of the tavern, one of the only other senior residents of the village, scoffed.

  “This village has never had a history of unsanctioned magic use. If any young folks got involved with anything, I’d have heard about it.”

  “Perhaps.” Replied Keel, removing the cloth from his head and inspecting the blood. “But it could have been a newcomer, or someone passing by.”

  “Do we need to know why? Can’t she be banished without knowing her backstory?” Questioned the elder, clearing becoming agitated.

  “You will need a much more powerful priest than I.” Countered the holy man.

  Keel placed his journal on the table, flipping to the page about banshees.

  “From what I've learned in my travels, banshees are difficult to banish compared to other spirits.” He began, leaning forward. “They cling to an area, family, or individual that’s generally involved with their past life or their death. They constantly grow stronger, as the negative energy they give off is a side effect of them feeding on the spiritual energy. They become connected to their target. There is a chance I could find whoever or whatever that is, if the residual aura is strong enough.”

  The tavern owner looked at him skeptically.

  “Half the town is gone, you really think whoever started this is still here?”

  Keel shrugged. He had never dealt firsthand with a banshee before, so this was simply his best guess.

  “We have town records.” The elder said. “They aren’t very detailed, but anyone whose owned land will be listed.”

  Keel nodded in his direction. “Allow me a few hours of rest, and I will look into those.”

  After a quick nap, Keel had spent the morning and into the afternoon pouring over the town ledger. It was a long and tedious job, and after a few days in the town, he could feel the heavy weight of the banshee’s presence affecting his mind. He had slept poorly and woke up grumpy. His face showed stubble that he had never let grow before, and at the back of his mind was a voice compelling him to simply leave the hamlet to its fate. He forced himself to continue, however, determined to help the remaining occupants.

  The town ledger gave him little clues, however. The only interesting thing he found was a record of a family that moved here five years ago. A man and his pregnant wife, with deeds for a small plot of land in a clearing on the edge of town, up against the woods. The records showed that after the first year, they had struggled to pay the kingdom's taxes, and finally disappeared altogether, sometime in the last six months. Keel asked about this, and was told their small cabin had been found abandoned. The townspeople assumed they had simply fled, but as the closest property to where Keel had felt the entity’s presence, he decided to investigate.

  When Keel finally made it to the cabin in the late afternoon, he immediately noticed several things out of place.

  Despite being right up against the edge of the woods and abandoned, the home looked like it had only been empty for only a brief time. No vines grew along the walls, the grass was slightly tall, but he wouldn’t call it overgrown. A tilled field sat behind the cabin, devoid of any crops, but equally devoid of any weeds.

  He approached, keeping his eyes on his pendant. The little plant inside was only slightly withered, indicating some residual spirit activity, at best.

  Keel tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. A thick layer of dust coated every surface, but the place wasn’t in bad condition. It looked as though the family had just up and left, not even taking anything with them. Their boots sat by the door, and cloaks hung for pegs.

  Keel circled the central room, checking the multiple tools he brought with him. There was definitely a lingering presence here, clinging to the walls like mold.

  Stepping into the single bedroom, Keel was hit with a wave of cold air. The little plant in his pendant shriveled, and a small cube latched to his belt began to glow. He lifted to his face, eyeing the device curiously. It was a glass cube filled with white sand. The metal edges gave off a faint red light, and the sand inside began to arrange itself into runes, like an invisible hand tracing shapes. He didn’t recognize the runes, but it told him something unexpected; There was divine magic at work here.

  He stowed the cube and started searching the room. The wardrobes and drawers gave no additional clues, but he noticed the floorboards in the center of the room were especially loose. Dropping to his knees, he began prying at the wood. As he suspected, a space below the floor was revealed. A sizable hole had been cleared out, with mud bricks lining the walls. A crude ladder descended into the darkness below. Keel removed a small crystal from a pouch and gave it a shake. A soft green light radiated from the object, which he then dropped into the hole. He watched as it fell. The hole appeared to go dozens of feet below the house, and open into a large expanse. Keel readied himself, then swung over the edge.

  The temperature continued to drop the further he went, and a strange buzzing filled his ears. As his feet hit the soil at the bottom, his stomach twisted sickeningly. The space was roughly the same size of the cabin above. In the faint green glow of his crystal he dropped, he could make out rough tapestries on the walls. A large, low stone table sat in the middle, and what appeared to be an altar sat against the far wall.

  Keel approached cautiously, weary of the horrible feeling that was worming itself into his mind. The table was large, big enough for his tall body to fit on. Channels were carved into its surface, with dark stains running along them. He was sure this was dried blood, but chose not to investigate. Instead, he walked to the altar-like object against the wall. A shiny black figure sat atop a stone shelf. Keel held up the crystal, lighting up the object. His breath caught in his throat and his mind spun as he looked upon it. At first glance, it appeared to be a goat with too many eyes, but as he looked, it seemed to bend and shift. It grew tentacles, then the face changed to that of a fish. The hooves grew claws. The longer he stared, the more it changed, with different animal aspects appearing and disappearing. The buzzing in his head grew louder, and he swore he heard voices whispering in the darkness.

  Finally, he wrenched his eyes from the evil object. He stumbled back to the ladder and began climbing. As he arose back into the cabin, he was shocked to find the sun had completely set.

  How long was I down there?! He thought in shock. He felt exhausted. His hands and feet moved sluggishly. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

  Spinning around, he was face to face with a ghostly woman. She was adorned in a simply white night dress, and her long black hair fell to her waist. She was deathly pale, but her eyes were clean. Slowly, Keel reached up to the circlet on his forehead. He tapped it, and his vision jumped, outlining the woman in a fine blue light. His suspicions confirmed, he switched it off.

  “You are the banshee.” He said, addressing the woman.

  She stared at him silently for a moment, then nodded.

  “What happened here?” He asked.

  Her eyes dropped to the entrance to the hidden space, and a pained look crossed her face.

  “You…were you the wife?” He began to mentally piece the puzzle together.

  The specter lifted a hand, pointing to a small, detailed painting that sat on a nightstand. It showed a thin man with a haggard face, a small boy, no more than 2 or 3, and standing next to the man, was a smiling woman, the same as the ghost before him.

  “Where is the child?” Keel inquired.

  The banshee cringed, tears springing from her eyes. Keel could feel a shift in the air, a tangible tension.

  “Your husband–he killed your child, didn’t he? Then he killed you.”

  The ghost covered her face with her hands, nodding. She began to sob gently.

  “Is he still alive? Or did you kill him?”

  She lifted her head suddenly, a scowl on her face, her eyes a fiery red. He could feel her rage, like standing too close to an oven.

  “Dead then. You got your vengeance. Yet you remain. Why?” Keel tipped his head to the side.

  The specter reached her hand out again, towards the painting. Her fingers brushed the face of the child, a sob escaping her lips.

  Understanding dawned on Keel.

  “You and your child–you were scarified. Your remains were not properly disposed of. Can you show me where they are?”

  The banshee began to drift out of the room, floating just above the floor. Keel followed, as she led him out of the house. She drifted through the fog, passing through it as she moved towards the trees.

  Keel's hunch was confirmed when she led him to the very spot he came to yesterday, not far from the body of the deer. She stopped, indicating a spot on the ground. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but it was clear now. A large patch of dirt had been disturbed. Had she not returned to haunt the location, weeds and mushrooms would surely have grown over it. But as it was now, he could clearly see it was a hastily dug grave.

  He knew what he had to do now. He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with the spirit.

  “I will help you. I will bring a priest here, and we will make sure the remains of you and your child are properly put to rest. I swear it.”

  The ghost stared back at him for a moment. Then, ever so slightly, she smiled.

  Keel nodded once, then turned back towards the village. He had a priest to fetch.