Light spilled into the street casting strange shadows on the ground and walls opposite. A fat man, most likely a merchant due to the way he was dressed, staggered out the door, slamming his shoulder into the frame and cursing loudly while doing so. His foot crashed into a puddle, sending waves of muddy water outwards. He spun around and crashed into the barrels stacked against the wall next to the door sending the stray dog into an uproar of howls and barks. Aurora watched with disdain, rolling her eyes and letting out another sigh, he breath devoured by the never ending onslaught of the storm.

“Time to move,’ she sneered ‘If the lightning strike didn’t catch people attention that mutt surely will.” The merchant had toppled some of the barrels and was lying face down in the mud, his girth the only thing keeping him from drowning as the dog continued to create a clamor. She double checked her equipment once more before jumping from the edge of the building. Her cloak billowed out behind her with almost a life of its own, tasting freedom before being snapped back to follow its wearer down towards the ground. For a fleeting moment Aurora felt one with the storm, falling as the rain drops did, cascading towards the earth. Then just as suddenly as it came the moment was gone and she fell to the ground, dropping to one knee into the mud, sending splatter around and onto her clothing. Just as quickly as she landed she sprinted towards the inn, taking shelter around the corner of the building.

From her position she could smell the strong stench given off by the drunkard and his expensive ale covered clothes lying in the mud only paces away causing her to cringe. She briefly considered silencing the dog but quickly dismissed the idea as it would only fuel suspicion and at worst a search should it be discovered. “If the target won’t come out, go in and make them,” she stated as she slung her bow over one shoulder and across her body pinning her cloak to her back preventing it from getting in the way indoors and loosened her katana in its black and thorn patterned sheath.

She pressed herself up against the edge of the building and peered around the corner. The door had swung closed after the merchant had left the building, leaving the street in darkness once more. She left the cover of the building, its walls damp with rain, the wood absorbing most of the moisture, and began to stalk towards the front door, double checking that the windows were fully covered by the drapes as she passed. Gritting her teeth, with one hand on the door and the other on her sword handle she prepared to enter the inn and to what awaited her.