"No, your mother looks like a Skeever!"
The bandit swung his sword at his companion, missing by nearly a foot. The weight of his attempted blow was enough to make himself lose balance, and he fell into the dirt surrounding them. His friend merely laughed.
"Hah ha! This is why you get stuck with petty contracts like this one!"
The man glared at him, trying hard to stand without dropping his weapon. Not that the sword could actually cut anything, but still. He'd need it later on.
His elven friend, on the other hand, let his bow hang loosely off his back. If he had any concerns about the mission, he certainly didn't show it.
"You know, if your going to strike someone down for insulting your mother, you should make sure not to miss." He offered a hand to him which he grudgingly took.
"If you're such a good shot, then why were you assigned this contract too?"
His friend smirked. "Someone has to watch you. Just in case you topple over a hill or something."
"Ha. Ha. Ha."
They continued their journey in the woods, the moon glowing above. Such a simple contract they had received. To kill an old woman living in a shack in the woods. Hardly exciting.
The real question was why someone would want to kill the old hag anyways? Her style of living made it obvious that it wasn't for coin, and the bandit honestly doubted that someone could hold a grudge against a poor little woman like her.
But it didn't matter. Someone wanted her dead and had offered a very large and plentiful reward to do it. And if there was one thing that motivated bandits to kill, its was coin.
So here they were, tromping through the woods in the middle of the night, searching for an old hobble of a shack that held their contract. Childsplay.
"Wait."
The bandit suddenly stopped walking at the request of his friend. He peered through the thicket of trees and underbrush for any sign of civilization.
There it was, barely noticeable among the earthen colors of the forest. A small shack could be seen. weathered and beaten down by years of abuse, it stood in a small field. Or, perhaps a better word would be wavered, the bandit thought. No doubt the wind could knock the entire thing over with little effort. Vines aligned themselves around the cracks that had formed, and small mushrooms sprouted from them, seeping out of the walls like water. It was quite a site, not necessarily revolting, but certainly... disturbing. This had to be the woman's home, it was as old as she was.
With gentle steps, they crept forward, careful to avoid the brush at their feet. Soft snoring could be heard from within the shack, which was good news for the two of them. It was time to finish the contract.
But instead of entering the wooden home, they stalled at the door. A feeling of dread washed over the bandit. There was no reason to feel nervous, and yet he did. And apparently his Elven friend felt the same. He turned towards him, the playfulness from earlier gone.
"You go first."
"Wait, what? Why do I have to?"
"Because it's your contract!" He nudged him forward. "Besides, you said it yourself, it's just an old hag in a shack. Let's just kill her and get it over with."
The bandit hesitated. He could still hear the soft snore of the woman from inside. With a deep breath, he entered.
She was old and frail, with lines across her face that told stories of another life. Thin blankets laid across her lap, not the best way to keep out the cold. But the woman didn't seem to notice, sleeping soundly and carefree. Oblivious to her fate.
The bandit gripped his sword with with unsure hands. He felt the invisible hands of justice wrap around him, squeezing until guilt poured from his body. The tip of his blade was starting to shake, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to finish the contract. His companion watched, eyeing the helpless victim in the bed.
"I'll do it."
He breathed a sigh of relief, stepping aside for the elf. With somber eyes, he grabbed a dagger from his belt, turning to his friend.
"You look for something to salvage, I'll take care of... this."
The bandit nodded, gazing around the shack for some form of profit. Nothing caught his eye, just old books and rotting food. No surprise.
He glanced over his shoulder at the elf who still hadn't moved. He continued to stare at the woman, most likely wondering the same thing as his friend. Why would anyone want to kill her?
Only then did he notice an indentation in the floor, just next to the bed. A small hatch that most likely led to a basement.
"Hey, I think I found something."
The elf didn't move, and the bandit didn't try and make him. Instead, he crept silently towards the trap door and silently pulled it open. It squealed, but not enough to wake the woman. With a sigh of relief, the bandit grabbed at the ladder leading down.
It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He squinted at his surroundings, hearing the door from above shut behind him. When he could finally see, a gasp escaped him.
The room was small, but held plenty. Shelves lined the walls with bottles of all sorts. Hundreds of shades of red, blue, and green glimmered in the bandits eyes. An alchemy and enchanting table stood in each corner, littered with ingredients and soul gems.
This wasn't just a collection of an old woman. This was a collection of a sorcerer. A very powerful one at the least. One that fed on weary travelers and fools just like him.
A witch.
A scream pierced the bandit's ears, and he jumped at the sound. Fear ran through his veins, recognizing the scream as his friends.
He bolted up the ladder, nearly tripping twice. He could still hear the elf above, his shouts become screeches. With a gasping breath, he pushed against the trap door.
It didn't budge. He felt panic settling in as he continually banged against the exit. It creaked with strain, but did nothing else, trapping the bandit inside. Suffocating him.
And soon, his screams matched that of his friend's. The only two witnesses to the witch in the woods.