Gloamhitch are spirits of the between-realms - twilight tricksters, born of fading memory and lingering kindness. They wear the hollowed-out body of dead Tatoes, a small round fey fruit-creature once said to house joy and chaos. The shell grins with carved teeth and glows faintly from within, giving it a permanently eerie yet oddly comforting expression. Perched atop its rounded, bobbing head is a wide-brimmed witch’s hat, too large and stitched with star-thread, slouched dramatically to one side. A long scarf, wrapped several times around its neck, is embroidered with runes of safe passage and old lullabies, muttering softly in forgotten tongues when the fog grows thick. Its cloak flows like mist, frayed at the edges and heavy with age. From beneath its folds, four arms protrude — long, delicate, tipped with razor-like nails that shimmer in the half-light. Observers sometimes swear more arms move under the fabric, shifting like shadows beneath water. The hem of the cloak is lined with ghostly notes - scraps of paper, bark, and cloth inscribed with prayers, names, and regrets. These float and rustle as if alive, whispering the thoughts of those who left them behind.

‍

Gloamhitch commands the mists of the Fog Forest with casual grace. When guiding, it forms glowing fog bubbles - floating spheres that gently pulse with light, used to: Carry its signature lantern like a drifting star. Transport fragile objects and is even capable of spawning friendly elementals called Brain Fogs. It does not guide all who wander - only those it deems worthy, sorrowful, or funny enough to interest it. Will appear only to the lost or lonely, hovering at the edge of vision. When approached, it may circle travelers silently, flicking its lantern’s light to read their emotional residue. It tests intention with subtle acts - those who harm the forest, mock the dead, or fear truth will be misled deeper into the woods. For those it chooses to help, it forms a trail of soft flame bubbles, winding safely through spirit-haunted paths and across thresholds of death.  The Gloamhitch is a shepherd of the stuck. Spirits caught between life and afterlife often trail behind it like faint candle-flames. These “Hitchers” flicker in and out of view inside its lantern, gathering for warmth and memory. In dire moments, it may burn one to protect a traveler - a boon paid for with sadness, and one it mourns with silence and retreat.