this is somewhat of an experiment for me, I appreciate any and all feedback!
The bandits were arguing too loudly to hear their doom approaching through the mist. The sorceress wasn’t particularly stealthy, but caution is seldom needed when facing stupidity. A cold, dense mist further muffled sound from travelling more than a few yards in any direction.
“It was my skills what fell these scrags, I should be first to loot them!” hissed the first as he knelt, dirty hands rifling the pockets of some unlucky merchant’s corpse. The man and his horse-drawn cart had wandered too far from the main road.
His robed partner spat into the dust disdainfully. “You couldn’t fell a shrubbery if you held Wuthrun Itself. I’ve burnt them to crisps, s’obvious by looking.”
The stench of blackened flesh hung cloying in the air surrounding the still burning, overturned cart, flames guttering in the not-quite-rain that permeated the entire forest, if you could call it that. Trees endured here among the rocks and bracken, roots exposed and tangled, branches mostly bare and skeletal. A sallow moon could just be seen through the webbing of their sparse cover. The cold and damp night seemed to be winning the battle over any light, shadows concealing the glowing hands of the hooded form stalking their position from the cover of darkness.
Lightning suddenly exploded from the ground at the pair’s feet, sending villains and corpses alike flying as the sorceress finished quietly murmuring her spell. She leapt soundlessly forth, daggers whirling before her in a deadly fan. The first thief’s gasp of shock was inaudible over the roar of electricity drawn up from the earth by the incantation, his skull briefly illuminated from within as his brain fried, sending sparks from his eyes and mouth.
Blades flashed through a tangle of dull, linen robes as the sorceress somersaulted through the clearing, coming to rest lightly on the balls of her feet with a snarl, staring fiercely at the remaining ruffian who was attempting to raise a crudely carved length of maple in defense as she struggled to her knees.
“Too slow,” whispered the sorceress as she flung a wicked looking knife at the mage’s face.
The bandit spell-caster was fast enough with her staff to deflect the missle, simultaneously sobbing out a choked, “No-ooooow!” as she realized the damage was done, ribbons of red blooming from her raiment, life draining from her as she struggled to stand.
The sorceress stepped forward, plunged a dagger to the hilt in the mage’s chest and shoved the limp body away with a leather-clad boot, a look of surprise still on the dead woman’s weathered face. The scent of ozone mixed with copper tickled the sorceress’s nose as she wiped away traces of blood from her steel.
Cautious Realism 