“Oomph” was the only sound I hear escape from the lips of the bandit as my silver blade slides through his iron armor like a hot knife through butter. The magic of the blade flares, searing his flesh while turning his skin to ash as his soul flees to Aetherius.
The rush of the magic fills me, urges me on. I kick out with my steel-shod foot and push the body off the blade as I turn towards his three companions. With a stretch of my left hand, I will my magicka to rise. Lightning streaks through the air, crackling with intensity, as it strikes the center bandit. He convulses as his iron-clad chest explodes, spraying ichor and shrapnel across the clearing. He falls as the lightning arcs out to his companions. Each staggers as it hits but does not make them fall. The stench of cooked flesh fills the air.
As I rush towards them I pull free my second blade. The second silver sword dances with the first, their magics warping the air around them as they clash with the bandits. Thrust, strike, parry, we work the careful steps of the dance of death. Each bandit pulls away from me, just out of reach. They circle like vultures over a carcass as my green eyes look from one to the other.
A downward stroke by one bandit I block with my left blade as I punch him in the face with my pommel. He staggers, blood streaming from his nose as the second jumps forward, sweeping for my legs. With precision, I leap on top of his blade, smashing it to the ground as my right sword sheers his arm from his body, his leather armor parting for the blade as if it weren’t there. He screams and falls, blood squirting from the wound.
The remaining man backs away, forgetting his broken nose, a look of terror crossing his visage. I turn towards him and he turns, bolting. I push my right blade gently into the ground and watch him for a moment. He weaves through the trees as if possessed by a devil. I call upon my power once more, drawing Oblivion closer and loose the magicka. A form coalesces, flames taking shape into a beautiful female form. She looks at me expectantly. I nod towards the fleeing man and her form brightens, flaring to the point where I squint slightly. She takes after him with murderous intent and I turn away from her, knowing the deed shall be completed.
I turn back to the mortally wounded man who is lying in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. The forest floor seems to happily lap up the blood as it rushes from the man’s arm stump. His screams have became whimpers now and I look down on him with something akin to pity. He barely looks my way, muttering to himself, “Finish it, you bitch.” My mouth quirks into a parody of a smile and I walk forward, wiping my blade on his dead companion’s cloak. I sheath both weapons and pull forth a dagger, twisted with Oblivion’s power. I squat down near the man and look him in the eyes, turning the dagger around and offering him the pommel.
He eyes me through heavy lids. How much he is aware of at this point, I don’t know. He sees the dagger, though, and reaches for it. I let him take it and watch closely, my pulse of my magicka roaring in my ears as it sits simmering below the surface of my body. The man looks at the dagger, looks at me then back at the dagger. I can almost hear his thought process as he considers plunging it into his own heart to end his suffering. Then a change comes over him and I smirk.
With one final burst of strength, he lunges at me with my own blade. Had I been unversed in understanding the body language of others, I probably would have been caught off-guard. I assumed this was his course though as I watch him and the magicka bursts forth from me in a fount of power. Fire explodes all around me as I scream, the dam holding the power back dissolves in a fraction of a second. Flames pour out and engulf the man and turn him to ash within moments, nothing but scorched bones crumpling to the ground. A few moments later, it is over, my blackened daedric dagger lying on the ground.
The ground around me is nothing but scorched earth and bones for twenty feet in all directions. I lean down and pick up my dagger, replacing it in its sheath. As I stand up straight, my plate armor clanking, I hear a man holler in the distance followed by an explosion and a pillar of fire in the distance. I feel my atronach’s exuberance at the death of her prey and release her from her bonds, dissolving the spell.
I walk over to my pack which I had unceremoniously dumped to the ground when the bandits had attacked and picked it up, slinging it over my shoulder. Whiterun is still several hours walk, I thought. One foot in front of the other, I started through the woods and leaving behind the barren clearing...
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