After creeping back into the corner where the quivering candlelight couldn’t quite reach like a scuttling rodent wary of the guttering glow, the maverick- like all good hosts- treated me to a long and incredibly awkward span of utter and exasperating silence.

I waited with as much patience as an impatient man who has just fallen off a cliff in the middle of nowhere and found himself stripped of half his clothes by a stringy walking beanpole in the freezing cold can offer, and I tried my best not to complain about my deplorably bruised body and his complete lack of social decorum for anything that isn’t dead, but I couldn’t help but feel from the quietness that, now that he had realised I wasn’t just some corpse that he could filch from, I wasn’t entirely welcome; maybe it was just a hunch, or perhaps it was the particularly deadly pair of throwing axes which he was currently sharpening with painful deliberateness, and the morbid glare cast in my direction which would have withered even the sun. I had no doubt whatsoever that the man had limited social experiences. By limited, I mean none at all.

Finally, I could take no more of it, and before he could pass the whetstone over the blade with another shuddering shing of stone on steel I brazenly cleared my throat and spoke the words which had been building in the back of my mind since first he spoke.

“…You don’t happen to know a certain witch, do you?”

Another grating of the whetstone, the sound shearing the silence with the chilling sharpness of one of those axes splitting a skull. This time, however, there was brief hesitation, and although his form was concealed by the shadows I could make out the dangerous glint of his eyes as they darted upwards to regard me through the gloaming of the hut’s interior.

“A witch?” His tone was casual, and his eyes were obscured in the dimness as they lowered once more to study his blades as though indifferent to the topic, though I thought I could catch the faintest note of interest hanging on his words. I ploughed on, clinging to that small slither of curiosity which I judged to lie behind his apathetic façade, though I was getting the increasing sensation that I was talking to a brick wall.

“They tend to live in caves? Like to dissect newts? Are overly friendly with black cats of the evil variety? A witch,” By Gods this was getting tedious, was the man going to claim to have a paranormal phobia of witches, now? “Specifically one with a great big wart under her eye, here,” I tapped the area with patronising intentions, “An ugly bastard with what I imagine would be a wicked left hook from the insane strength of her. Ring any bells?”

A long pause. So long, in fact, that I wondered whether he had keeled over while I spoke from the toxic fumes which probably emanated from a dead herring gull which hung close to his face. I was tempted to tiptoe over to take a look, but unfortunately I’m not that lucky for I had barely set a foot forward when he hissed through the dark.

“…I do not know of any witches.”

Well that was a stinking big lie if ever I heard one, and I’ve heard a lot of lies- particularly my own. I didn’t call him out on it, though. Not because it would be hypocritical of me to do so- just because I tend to lie through my teeth and expect no one to accuse me of it, doesn’t mean that I won’t charge another liar with telling fibs to get them into trouble- but because I wasn’t fond of the idea of having my head cleaved from my shoulders. Still, I certainly hinted at his deceit as I continued, though I was careful not to blatantly shout it in his face as I would my siblings.

“Well she certainly knows of you,” Somehow I was certain of this now, despite not even knowing his name; there was just something about him which clicked into place in my mind, “You’re the man who can grant people favours, yes?”

A soft scoff and a tremulous giggle, and the keening of the whetstone continued as the male spoke.

“If you had wanted a favour, you could have asked anyone you knew kind enough to offer you one, not a threatening stranger which you had to find by falling off a cliff.”

I opened my mouth to object, but found that I had no words with which to answer. He made a valid argument. I lifted my hands to my face in infuriation, massaging my scathed temples to try to dislodge some sense into my head until I remembered that my hands were smeared in blood. Grimacing, I dropped my hands to my sides and slouched against the table to my back.

“Look, are you or are you not able to help me?”

More quiet. I was unsure whether he was purposefully doing it to vex me now, or whether he was just naturally annoying.

“Depends,” Finally an answer, but one which was far from worth the wait, “Depends what it is. Depends what I would get in return. Why should I?”

This time it was my turn to hesitate, my heart sinking. Dammit, it turns out there were a stupid amount of loopholes in my plan and the hermit seemed to know every single one of them. How in the Realms hadn’t I considered the possibility of a price to be paid? It was only natural- you don’t go to an assassin without payment, and you don’t go to a stinky northern fisherman for a favour without spare change. Or nice clothes, apparently.

I was still pondering my dilemma when I suddenly became aware of cool breath slinking down my spine. I almost shat myself as I jerked away from the stimulus, staggering across the room and staring wildly at the snickering figure who stood to the immediate right of where I had just been sat. It seemed I had been so consumed by my thoughts that I hadn’t been aware of my harrowing host dislodging himself from his seat to creep toward me.

My wrenching movements had twinged whatever jolts and strains I had experienced during the fall earlier that evening, and I spent the next short eternity cursing against the pain which had awoken throughout my body. Fortunately I still managed to keep an eye on my freaky friend this time despite wanting to collapse in a mushy heap on the floor, so I was not caught off guard as he lumbered precariously closer; even his walk was an oddity, a hazardous lurch which looked like he might topple over at the slightest breeze. He circled me with that same strange gait, prowling about me as his restless eyes roved over my every inch. I felt like a slave being examined for auction- or a pig being chosen for slaughter.

A willowy white hand stained black at the fingers pounced at my belt, and I made the best effort not to yell and slap him in the face, for he had slotted the twin axes one on each of his hips and I didn’t care to test their edge for sharpness. Half a second of struggling and his hand had slithered back into the folds of his musty cloak, something small and silver glinting in the gloom. His head was bowed to examine it, and despite myself I couldn’t help but lean forward also to take a better look.

It was a dagger: more specifically, my mother’s dagger. It wasn’t a pretty thing, made more for manual use than ornamentation, with a notched blade that was short yet still sharp, the only mildly interesting thing about it being the block of obsidian which made up the hilt, though it was bland and undecorated. I hadn’t seen the thing for years- I hadn’t even known I still had it, come to that, for I was prone to gambling away a few of my lesser items- so it was a surprise to see it sitting there in the other’s bony hand.

I blinked, staring at the weapon blankly. I was so sure I hadn’t taken any kind of blade with me- a stupid thing in retrospect- yet here it was, held in the stained charcoal clutches of the lunatic in front of me. If I had known I had a weapon on me that whole time, I would have stabbed the bastard already and shimmied on out of there. The outrage must have shown on my face, for the bedraggled beggar uttered another of his irritating laughs before pocketing the blade. I watched it disappear from site with a plummeting of my heart and gut, an unsettling emptiness crawling in to fill the void.

“Alright. What do you want?” His voice startled me from my suddenly vacant mind, and I swallowed the clingy dryness which had caught unexpectedly in my throat. I dragged my eyes from where the weapon had vanished to, meeting the man’s satisfied gaze.

“I…” I wetted my dry lips, giving a small shake of my head to shake loose the cobwebs which were gathering there, getting back to business, “I uh… I want to be rich… I’m already impossibly good looking so I’ll forego any upgrades there, but… but I want a title, and land, and I want a bloody big-“ I was just building up the momentum which I had so recently lost when he cut me back down like a swatted fly.

“And how the fuck do you expect me to do that? I’m not your fairy godmother."

“…But the witch said…” I felt like a puppy denied a leg of ham at the dinner table, and had no doubt I looked every bit as pathetic, so I did my best to hide my confused disappointment as the stranger shoved past me. The streak of light which was admitted through a crack in the woodwork revealed the first glimpse of dawn. Shit, had I been there all night?

“You want me to kill someone.”

The declaration was so unexpected it astounded me to silence.

“-No!” My voice was slightly hoarse when I finally dredged it out from beneath the rubble which had crumbled atop it from the shock, “No, of course n-“

“You want me to kill two people.”

“Wh- No-!“

“Alright, you cut a hard bargain, but ten is my highest-”

“Dammit, I don’t want you to kill anyone!” It was practically a yell. Outside, I could hear some seabirds taking flight in a raucous racket. We had a standoff then, each staring speculatively at the other. Slowly, his pale lips peeled back to reveal a cracked smile, and I didn’t trust it for one darn second. It was a ‘I get you, we’re on the same page’ grin, whereas I was definitely trying for a ‘no we are bloody well not’ smile.

“…Okay, whatever you say, ahahee!” Again, that simpering smirk hinting at deeper knowledge, followed by the same high-pitched spout of impish laughter, “Who or what is it that is in the way of getting what you want, hm?” He had crept back into the corner to fumble with some furs, though the grey of morning had already begun to seep into the room and illuminated his lanky figure to a small degree.

“Well…” I temporized, disliking the treacherousness of his tone, and I watched him with deep suspicion as I went on with mild reluctance, “My grandfather, I suppose… Him and all his whelps: uncle Dagric, uncle Herol, uncle Dorias, and my father Malcin, I guess-“

“Done.”

I looked up from my hands upon which I had been counting out my family, staring at him in confusion.

“What?”

“I’ll have it done,” The man reiterated in slightly more detail, turning to face me and closing the gap between us; my eyes had dropped to his own hands, and more specifically the translucent crystal dagger which sprouted between his fingers as he held out his other palm to me, “Now give me your hand.”

“What do you mean you’ll ‘have it done’?” I demanded, shuffling a wary step back, “I didn’t say what I wanted you to do.”

“You want me to get you what you want?” It wasn’t really a question, but I found myself nodding anyway. His eyes were firm now as they held mine, unwavering, and I stood locked in place like a rabbit caught in a sudden glare. His lips hinted at a smile, though there was something animalistic about it which had me on edge more than the knife in his hand, “Then, like a good fairy godmother, your wish is my command.”

I barely felt the blade bite into my hand as he snatched it from my side. What I did feel was cold. A lifeless chill which deadened my hand, my arm, my entire body. I could only stand agape as I watched my blood stain the colourless crystal a deep and swirling scarlet. My mind reeled. Rotting eyes. Muffled laughter through a fog-laden dream.

I tumbled into the abyss.