The night was quiet and black. The only light came from the Dancing Dragon tavern, where the hum of activity spilled out through the cracks in the windows. The creaky old sign above the door quivered in the breeze; the only indication of the approaching storm.
In a corner booth, tucked away in the shadows, sat a lone figure, hooded and cloaked in black.
It seemed to be just another normal night at the tavern. Tired farmers, thirsty travelers and dirty characters all gathered together with the same intentions; drinking away the cares of the day, and possibly finding solace in the bosom of the buxom tavern girls for the night.
No one else expected a change in the normal routine, but the figure in black had a strange inkling that this night would make a sudden turn for the worse. And it did.
As the minutes turned into another hour, the storm outside rolled in, bringing first a light sprinkle, and quickly turning into he