Intimidation through illusion and deception.

Arms raised, you scan the six bandits before pinpointing their leader. Only one of them is wearing a hat, and the man clearly put effort into making it stylish; it even has a feather in it. You discreetly weave arcane gestures with your fingers behind your back. You could have chosen to dispatch the captain with a bolt of abyssal magic to the face, or you could have tried charming him, but you decide to reserve your more powerful magics for serious threats. No, no. For this you would only need a simple illusion and your silver tongue. As you complete the somatic component of your unspoken spell, whip-thin shadows thrash and whirl in a silent tornado before coalescing into the form of a floating, black spectre nearly 15 feet tall. It hovers above the ground beside you, its torso, arms, and head dangling limply like a strung-up corpse. Its ethereal form appears garbed in a tattered, black robe. But it is not entirely motionless. No, just to up the fear factor, you add the lovely garnish of **** rattles and eerie spasms to the illusory ghost.

"W-What in the Nine Hells is that?!" one of the bandit men cries out. A disposable lackey and nothing more. You know that winning without fighting means crushing the morale of the leadership. And feather-hat looked shaken, but he stood his ground. He wants a show, does he? Tendrils of smoky shadow appear and lash around the illusory ghost like intagible tentacles. You lift your fingers behind your back, and the horrid phantom lurches its head upward. Baleful, glowing violet eyes glare at the trio of bandits before its spine spasms and it flops the other way, glaring at the capped bandit and his two lackeys. You bare your teeth in a fierce grin, and snap your fingers to summon an auditory illusion. A bonechilling wail erupts from the hooded spectre and the two women drop their weapons to cover their ears.

"Throw down your arms, the lot of you. Lest you tempt the wrath of my pet here," you extend your arm toward the apparition, palm up. On your silent command, the illusion lashes out at the bandit captain and the two women. You see his white knuckle grip tighten on his scimitar. Still nothing? You admit, this man was made of stern stuff. Perhaps it would have been better to charm him after all. Oh well, no backing out now. In for a penny, in for a platinum! That's what old blind Mirzav always used to say. "It hungers for wicked souls, and I think I just found it half a dozen fresh treats. Drop your weapons NOW!" Just for that cherry on top you add the illusory sound of rolling thunder after your final word.

"Wait! Don't--don't kill us, all right, pal?" At last the bandit captain complies and tosses his blade to the dirt. He holds up his hands in a non-threatening manner and drops to one knee. "Listen, we didn't mean you no harm. Why don't we just part ways and pretend we never saw each other, huh?" He cracks a feeble, frightened grin. To your amusement, you see the dusky, dark-haired woman slap a palm to her forehead. She has a fierce, calculating focus about her, and you strongly suspect she might be the actual brains and balls of the bandit clan. Your mind dips into the gutter as you imagine your hands gripping her plush, generous hips. You return your attention to the public face of the bandits, the laughable capped fool.

"That's a good boy. Now then... what am I to do with you?" you crack your knuckles. Wordlessly, you compel your spectre to charge toward the bandits, but then conjure the image of glowing red chains lashing around its wrists, waist, and neck. It reels back to its original place beside you, thrashing wildly against its bonds. Feather cap falls back onto his ass and scuttles a few feet away from you. By Grevakhnu, he's actually pissing himself. You've really outdone yourself this time, and allow a smile of satisfaction to settle on your face. For a moment you get lost in the thought of how easy it will be to sway the simple farm folk when you arrive at their quaint, helpless village. Buuut you had started a bluff, and you needed to end it now, before any of them catch wise. Even in this moment, you see the dark-haired woman with the peach-shaped backside casting furtive glances at her crossbow on the ground.