It was late on another dark and miserable night in Doskvol. There was a surge in traffic on the streets as the taverns and gambling dens began to close down for the evening. Lowly workers slowly trudging home in the pouring rain while the more wealthy and important travelled in opulent carriages.
So many people, so many pairs of eyes, and not one noticed the dark shape moving swiftly against the skyline. Jumping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop.
It was dangerous to be up here in this weather, the rain always made the tiles treacherously slippy. One wrong move and you’d fall to a quick and undignified death. He didn’t mind though, he’d been following these routes since he was a child. These were his streets, his pathways, not like the commoners down below. Up here he was free.
This was it, his final jump, a street slightly wider than most. You had to get your footing just right or there was a chance you wouldn’t make it.
He nimbly adjusted his stride whilst increasing his speed setting himself up for the leap. Running along the wet tiles of the Manor House, he spotted what he was looking for. The small gargoyle peering out from the chimney stack.
With perfect timing he made a small jump to the side, allowing his right foot to land on the stone monster’s ugly face, then pushed forwards with all his strength out over the void. For a few brief moments he was weightless.
The wind tore back his hood and the storm pelted his face. He braced for impact. Jumping a street this wide it was never going to be a graceful landing. With his vision impaired by the heavy rain he was relying purely on instinct.
Suddenly, all of the air was forced from his lungs as his chest collided with the unforgiving bricks of the building across the street. He was sure he just felt a rib crack. He scrambled for a foothold before his fingers lost their grip then slowly dragged himself up.
Pulling up his hood he gave himself a second to catch his breath, then made his way to the opposite side of the building. He’d be able to see it from here.
Across the canal out in the distance he could see a light coming from Crow’s Foot. A fire atop an old tower burning brightly in the cold night. Crouching, he took shelter by the side of the chimney. A faint warmth from the fire in the house below helping to keep the evening’s chill at bay. Now it was just a case of waiting.
An hour or so later he saw what he came to see. A figure passed by the fire, and for a few seconds the flame burned bright purple.
That was the signal, he turned and set off running back across the rooftops. Leaping between buildings on his way to the rendezvous. He couldn’t be late, the gentleman didn’t like to be kept waiting.
He knew exactly what to expect. Just like every other time, the carriage would stop, the gentleman would hand him a pouch of strange coins, and tomorrow…
…well, tomorrow he could get back to work!