"Are you sure these are the ones, … they don't look like their worth much?"

"Trust me; I saw them in the market earlier. The man there gave a beggar ten septims. If he gave that much away, how much would he keep for himself?"

"How much would he keep for us you mean," the bandit said, grinning as he faced his partner.

"Keep it clean this time," the second bandit said.

The two of them were crouching, hidden in the brush. They were waiting for the father and daughter to cross the next bend in the road, and to leave the line of sight of the city guard.

Both bandits wore armor, and carried swords in their hands with enough skill it felt like no more than extensions of their own arms. Each was a professional highway man, and took no risks, left no witnesses.

They would take the gold, and the valuables, and leave two bodies in the wilderness to be devoured by wolves.

The bandits tensed their legs, and prepared to sprint down on their quarry bellow; vulnerable, helpless, and outmatched.

That was when each felt the soft skin of an open palm land on the small of their backs. Shortly afterwards they felt the horrendous flash of lightning coursing and burning through their nerves and their flesh.

Then they felt the sudden magical surge that pulsed and radiated through their bodies, breaking the molecular connections holding their particles together. It was a most excruciating pain, but it lasted only for a moment.

Then they were dead, dissolved into puddles of smoking ash on the forest floor.

The Justiciar casually walked away, fading back into the skulking shadows.